I had to review what I wrote the last time. Did I actually say that maybe last Thursday we’d be headed home? And here we still are in the big G. But OUT OF THE HOSPITAL! That finally happened last Wednesday, almost a week after the operation itself.
The time Larry spent in Intensive Care was grueling for us all. I kept thinking of that movie Hands On a Hard Body, where a group of people are trying to win a car, and they have to keep one hand on its surface constantly or be disqualified. That’s the way those seats in the ICU waiting room were. Somebody responsible for the patient MUST be available at all times in one of two designated seats per patient. The seats depend on what bed the patient is in. It is a detailed system designed to minimize transfer of germs and keep track of people. it also insures that when a patient is moved OUT of ICU someone is on hand to know where they’ve taken him. It makes a lot of sense, once you see the logic of it. But the execution can wear you out. Didn’t help that we had the lousiest seats in the place — the only two left that were that fiberglass egg-carton shape with no padding and no “give,” where the front lip of the seat cuts off the sitter’s circulation mid-calf. (I know: gripe, gripe, gripe. Sorry.) Marta and I took turns, she spending the majority of the night hours there. I was allowed in to see Larry three times daily: nine in the morning, one and six in the afternoon.
When they moved him, it came quickly. Late Monday afternoon they called out “Mish-ah-el, arriba!” Because of the way Mexicans write out their names, they settled on his middle name of Michael as the family name instead of Cobb. So I grabbed up everything around me and followed Mish-ah-el’s gurney down the hall, out the door, and up to a room on the fifth floor. There he was until after amazing amounts of paperwork (which Martha handled for me and I therefore know nothing about), her parting the waters to get a final x-ray, and then “borrowing” a wheelchair to shove him through “Urgencias,” we bundled him into the Hummer and made our get away just in time to dive into five o’clock traffic.
The AC in the Hummer didn’t work, and I took a wrong turn some place, but we got to Ray and Deb’s house out in the Palm Spring golf club atmosphere of Santa Anita about seven in the evening. Sweet refuge: big trees, birds, breeze and quiet. That’s where we’ve been recuperating — Larry getting stronger, the Hummer getting fixed, and my finally attending to the tooth that I fractured down the middle the first day we arrived at the hospital. I have one more trip to the dentist on Monday morning. I will go with the car loaded: bag, baggage, Larry and Martha, and as soon as dental surgeon extraordinaire Dr. Abraham Waxstein says I’m good to go, we will!
This is a bare bones update that doesn’t cover half of what’s been going on, but it’s enough for now. We’re headed to a bautizmo for the other Martha’s baby this afternoon. That’s Ray and Deborah’s housekeeper. We have a wealth of Martha’s around us, every one of them worth their weight in gold. I’m starting to think “our” Martha will be with us a long time more. She’s the wife I’ve always wanted.🙂 Happy Mother’s Day!