Hello Internet! I have some AMAZING news: The doctors have cleared Hank to come home! As you know, we’ve had a couple of rough weeks lately and God knows, I’m sure we have a lot more ahead, but at last, a little light at the end of the tunnel! Yay!
Before you get too excited, I want to be honest about the light/tunnel ratio. We’re still about 97.5 percent tunnel. For one thing, I think Hank might be getting addicted to his daily sponge bath with Nurse Samantha, because he is in no hurry to head back home.
(Nurse Sam: Thank you for taking such good care of the big lug! But maybe next time, could you make the water a little chillier? Or be a little rougher with that wash cloth? Or delegate Hank’s sponge bath to Nurse Gabe?)
The other major hurdle is a small L-shaped piece of metal that stands between me and several necessary new additions to our home. You know the little bastard I’m talking about — the hexagonal dealie that comes in a plastic baggie every time you buy one of those flat boxes of wood chunks that miraculously turn into a tv tray after you’ve stared at the instructions for two head-crushing hours.
I know, I know, I should have paid for the in-home assembly, but with Hank in the hospital, I’m never home during the day, and I don’t care how official these guys look in their polos and khakis, I’m not leaving some stranger alone in my house.
I had no idea how hard it could be to put together a fricking cart. I mean, when we reorganized the closets in the master bedroom, it took Hank about four hours to assemble everything and get it installed. One minute it looked like a Container Store exploded in our living room, then poof! Fifteen square feet of customized shelving, cedar-lined cabinets, his and her shoe storage (okay, mostly her and her), with hand-polished pewter drawer pulls and accents.
He made it seem so easy, you know? Okay, yes, when he came home and saw the pile of boxes in the living room, I guess he did sort of … wince. A little. But then he just shook his head, grabbed his tools and went to work.
That’s just what he’s like — he can do anything he sets his mind to. No complaining, no asking me what the hell I was thinking. (Well, not much, anyway.) He sees what needs to be done, and he does it.
And any day now, he’s going to realize it’s time to come home.Read More