It's Tuesday evening, day #9 of this adventure. Regis went down to surgery about an hour ago but I haven't heard yet from the Surgical Communicator that he is actually IN surgery. This is a well-oiled machine, everybody has a role.
I have walked miles around this hospital. Yesterday, 5.2 and today, 2.5 so far. It's a huge place. I was so tired when I left that I overshot my parking ramp by about two buildings and wound up in some far flung parking lot. I didn't remember the name of the lot where I was parked so it was hard to help me. Eventually I found my way to a place that looked familiar.
This afternoon, I retraced my steps to see where I made the mistake. A nice volunteer (They are like ants here.) helped me figure it out.
You overhear things. Like this from a crying woman as she walked right ahead of me: I don't think I can Three weeks ago he was a lively, vibrant boy.
This from a man who sat near me at breakfast: My wife and I have been married 67 years. She came here by helicopter.
He recommended the crepes, homemade and filled with strawberries.
This from a man I visited with over my walleye cakes: I'm 53 and I have prostate cancer. It killed my dad and my brother in their 50s.
Always a story.
Regis went down to one of 64 operating rooms. We are in the midst of a lightning storm but the nurse assured us they have a generator the size of this wing.
I'm fascinated by the workings of this place.
They expect his surgery to take about two and a half hours. When he goes into recovery, I'll hear from the surgeon, wait for Regis to come back to his room in the surgical area, and then I'll head back to the hotel for something to eat. I think I will go home tomorrow and come when they release him.
I know I have written here about my aversion to work. This month I had committed to working almost every day but now, not only am I not working but I costing a bundle. Regis won't be driving the transit for maybe six weeks. We're going in the wrong financial direction. Oh, well. Shit happens.