I haven't spent much time in the waiting room so far today. Mom and I have been hanging out in Dad's luxury ICU cube. Ah, the joy. He is feeling better and is only still there because he has a slight fever. Feeling well enough to be a total grouch. I suppose he has good reason.
But he's skeered the poor little nurses.
Dad's always been one of those people who wakens from a deep sleep slinging punches. My brother and I used to like to stand just out of reach and then yell, just to watch the show. This tendency apparently carries over into anesthesia as well.
When they tried to awaken him following surgery, he decided he needed to get out of bed.
That's ok, nurses can handle it, right? Well...
My father is 6 feet, 7 inches tall and weighs probably close to 300 pounds. His nurse was a nice little oriental lady. You do the math. They eventually had three nurses in his room and ended up tying him to the bed. He was. not. pleased. *snicker*
The nurses kept coming out of there, wiping the sweat off their brows and muttering "he's so strong!" Now he has a male nurse in a Harley Davidson do-rag. *more snickering*
* I can also tell he's feeling better because I had to listen to most of last Sunday's sermon yesterday afternoon. I think he was peeved that he hadn't gotten to preach it. Jonboy owes me because he wasn't here for it. Owes. me. big.
* Oh, you'll be pleased to know Mr. Couth just walked in. White t-shirt today. He brought food. Wonder if it's possum? His father is in the lavish, dee-lux ICU bed next door to Dad's. Poor man is still hooked up to a breathing machine, still comatose. But I noticed he is wearing his glasses...
* Stop the presses and call the president! Mr. Couth has solved the crisis in Iraq! It seems we should pull "our boys" back home (ladies stay behind, I suppose) and tell those towel wearers they got six months to work it out for themselves or we're coming back to bomb them off the face of the earth. Hmm, why didn't George think of that? I'm sure history will come to call this the "Don't Make Me Stop This Car" doctrine of diplomacy.
* In a bit of a role reversal, the local funeral home sent flowers to my dad.