Hello, Internet! Things are progressing nicely with Hank — we’ve found a great physical therapist and if you ask me, I think it’s only a matter of time before he’s up and around and pestering his bosses to get back to work.
The more time we spend in the hospital, the more I have to really question the scrubs my fellow medical professionals wear. I myself prefer to wear a nice, freshly-pressed lab coat, although I realize that’s not always a practical option for folks that have to scoot around changing bedpans.
But really, is there any call for a grown adult to wear a top patterned with teddy bears holding bunches of balloons? Is that supposed to make small children feel safer? Because to me, it just raises the question of emotional maturity. When I see a nurse in a scrub top covered in fat little elves, I’m afraid she’s going to get distracted in the middle of a blood test by Thomas the Tank Engine playing in the next room. And two minutes later she’ll be clapping her hands and giggling, and I’ll be bleeding out.
Sorry for the whining, Internet. Can you tell I’m sick of hospitals? Can you tell I’m over this whole thing? The sooner Hank comes home and we can get back to normal — and we will — the happier I’ll be.
No, actually? The heck with normal. I’ll settle for normal-ish.Read More