Smokey had his back surgery yesterday morning. I dropped him off at the hospital at 6:15am. He went immediately to the surgical unit, was anesthetized at 7:30, work up in the recovery room at 2:30, and was asleep in his hospital room when I arrived at 3:00.
Did I hang around the hospital all that time, knitting, biting my fingernails between rounds, and waiting for the surgeon to come talk to me?
No, I did not. I drove directly to our rental house in south Minneapolis with the intention of taking a nap (having gone to sleep at 12:30am and gotten up at the ungodly hour of 3:45 for the drive to Minneapolis). But as I pulled up in front of the house I remembered that our new renter — a true handyman and DIY-type (he built his own cabin in n.e. Wisconsin) — had, per our request, replaced the lockset on the front door… and I didn't have a key yet.
So I hit up the neighborhood Starbucks for cappacino and yogurt and wi fi, ran some errands as soon as the stores were open, and attempted to attend a required in-office class at work. Which I discovered had been canceled as of 8:04 that morning.
Back to the hospital to check on Smokey (still in surgery, although all I knew was that he wasn't on the unit* yet) and lunch in their cafeteria. Check again at the nursing station on the unit. Find out he is in the recovery room (whew, now I know for sure he didn't expire on the operating table, always a possibility albeit a remote one). Check in at the surgery waiting area (pictured above), knit, and wait to be told he is in his room.
Eventually I checked back at his room and found him dozing. We chatted a bit, him dozing off between sentences. I arranged the bedside table to his satisfaction and plugged in his cell phone within easy reach. Texted both sons to tell them the surgery had gone off without a hitch.**
Ate dinner at Chipotle and stopped at Target for nail polish*** on the way home. Was greeted enthusiastically by two canines who had been cooped up in the house for 15-1/2 hours but who had not done anything bad as far as I could tell.
Glass of wine and read until midnight (Turn Here, Sweet Corn by Atina Diffley, thanks for asking).
So. How was your Monday?
* Unit = what used to be called a ward.
** Elder Son, aka Dr. Jensen, had called me three times during the day to find out how things were going. Such is the burden of too much knowledge of what can go wrong. Younger Son was much more laid back about the whole thing.
*** We have reached high humidity season, the only time my nails get longer than .000001mm. I now look forward to this time of year and celebrate it with colorful nails****.