When I got to the hospital to pick up Smokey yesterday, he was sitting in a wheelchair and puking his guts out. Morphine and oxycodone make him mega-nauseous in spite of the anti-nauseous drug the nurse had given him earlier. His pain level was still high, and he got nauseous all over again any time he moved.
So he stayed in the hospital for another night. Whew. I cannot imagine trying to drive him home (90 minute drive) with him throwing up every few minutes.
We will try again later today.
Funny story: after I finished talking to him yesterday morning I tried to call a colleague to cancel a meeting later that day; I knew I wouldn't be back in time. But my desk phone wouldn't work. I quickly figured out that Smokey hadn't hit the "End" button on his cell at the end of the call — like I said yesterday, he was really groggy when I talked to him. I used another phone line to call the nurses' station and ask the station secretary to go end the call for me. She and I both thought the whole thing was pretty funny.
…and now I will have a chance to wash his bedding. Misha The Dog (whom I have not blogged about much) threw up on his bed Tuesday night. The universe sure keeps my life interesting.