Saturday, September 22, 2012


It's been a few days since my last post and they have been harried and, well, discombobulated days.  I spelled that last adjective the way it sounds because I have never seen it in print.  It's one of those made-up words of my mother's generation that sounds the way it feels.  Bill came home from the hospital on Wednesday and is continuing his recovery at home very well.  The only snag is he has acquired the 'wait on me hand and foot' syndrome so common to men who have had their meals delivered to them daily, their bed linens changed daily, smiling women in colorful uniforms offering to fill their water glasses and get them extra Italian ices, etc., etc.  I have pointed out that the establishments that do this, i.e.: hospitals and five star hotels, have two things in common.  One, they each employ rotating shifts of many minions and, two, they charge enormous sums of money for the service.  I am a staff of one and I don't rotate seamlessly through the 24/7.  In addition, I have had to return to full-time work.  The religious education program I run for some 380 children begins with five Parent/Student Orientation sessions this coming week: late afternoon and evening sessions on both Monday and Tuesday and a late afternoon session on Thursday.  All has to be in readiness for the program.  So I put in an extra long day on Tuesday and again on Thursday with a half day on Monday and Wednesday and split my day-off on Friday between taking care of Bill, catching up on housework that has been ignored while spending 8-10 hours a day at the hospital and periodically collapsing pathetically on the couch.  I have pointed out to my darling husband that if he fully intends to return to work on Monday since the doctor's said he could "if he was feeling up to it" ... well, to put it bluntly, he should test his readiness with a few walks, starting with the one from his rocker to the refrigerator and culminating in some ambles around the neighborhood.  He should also attempt a few short trips in the car.  His workday is bracketed by a one and a half hour commute of car-ferry-shuttle bus-short walk to the office and I don't think he should attempt that marathon twice in one day without a bit of training.  And the car part of it is no picnic: 40 miles on the Palisades Parkway  and then the wild ride down NJ's River Road during full rush hour mode.  You have to understand that NJ and NY drivers are natural enemies, having completely different styles and philosophies of driving.  Putting both breeds on the same roads tends to create moments of extreme stress and high drama interspersed with the sheer boredom of traffic standstills.  I think my husband should either wait a few more days before returning to work or start with half days so that the return commute, at least, will not take place in rush hour.  The home-bound rush hour, a misnomer if ever there was one, extends from 3:00pm to 8:00pm here in the congested NYC metropolitan area.

I anticipate, as the coming week progresses and my husband's recovery continues, this blog will be less and less about my personal angst and return to the mostly stitching blog it normally is.  Thanks for your patience with me, writing all the worries and complaints down keeps me from spewing them all over Bill who doesn't need the added stress.


Vickie said...

Riona you and Bill are still in my prayers. I have to say, we experienced NY and NJ driving first hand. Uh, no thanks!!! Take care. ♥

Erica said...

Oh boy! I so commiserate with you!
There is no doubt that women are definitely the stronger sex!
My husband is still going on about his poor sore arm after receiving the flu shot!
I would hate see what he would do if he had surgery, or even a mammogram! LOL!
I wish you endurance!

Sarah Beth said...

Hang in there. Its hard to take care of a sick loved one. Everyone needs to be pampered a little when they are sick. He will back on his feet in no time and you'll be back to stitching and things will be normal once again. You and your hubby are on my prayer list.

Anna van Schurman said...

Surely your mother wasn't around in 1825...When my dad was recovering from a car accident, the doctors told us not to pamper him, to make him get up and do things for himself. Maggie would always say, "That poor man." And then tell which ever of us was closest to get whatever he wanted. It was kind of nice to say, "The doctor says I can't." Good luck to you.

Jo who can't think of a clever nickname said...

Hmm, American hospitals are different to the UK LOL.
Here you don't get that sort of service but at least you don't have to sell a kidney to fund the treatment!
Hope he's back on his feet soon then maybe you'll get a break in the other sort of establishment - the 5* hotel! You deserve it.