My trip to the hospital was quite an experience. It went better than before but there were more complications and it turned out that I was anemic and needed transfusions. I guess I was so bad the first time, they slipped me a mickey before the big procedure. My anesthesiologist, Dr. Phan actually called me at home to see if I had any questions about the anesthetic. My first post operative day could be called yellow day. Not having eaten or drunk from Monday night to Wednesday morning when breakfast was at 11 a.m., I was pretty hungry and thirsty. Good thing because it was a liquid diet apple juice, chicken soup, a cup of tea and yellow cubes of Jello. My first medications and the airway dried my throat so that I asked for a lozenge and blast if the R.N., Nic, didnt offer me a yellow one and darned if that didnt put him on my list. They pointed out the guest house from my ninth floor room where the building was painted yellow as well, but of course I knew that already. Maybe they were trying to tell me something. DonnaBelle, an avowed troublemaker, brought me the trays so I got to protest her as well. Then there were Sue and Crystal, David and Kacey (Kaycey Jones, that is), Karim and Gea, Sun, Lisa, Reine and Robert and many more whose names I didnt get and cant spell. Each got a taste of my evil disposition. They were so glad to see me go.

I had five visitors on the second day and two were ministers, Christina and Richard, the latter of whom, nurse Nic had called. It really cheered my heart that they would bother to come, bearing gifts and services. I have wonderful friends. Several tried to call but couldnt keep up with my changing room numbers. I cant say it was a fun trip but at least it was interesting.

Not long into my first post-operative day, there was a fire alarm on my floor and no one seemed to know what was causing it. Of course I went into the hall against drill routine and my blood pressure went to 228. Forget the diastolic. Turned out some smart aleck was smoking in the elevator. There was another the next day but by then I was an old hand.

Thank God my nursing days are over. When I had four of the creatures in my room at once, I told them there was no nursing care anymore of the kind we did. No fluffing your pillows or giving you evening care which included tightening your sheets. Just took your vital signs at regular intervals and the heck with the Nightingale stuff. Glad I leaned in the old school. Wow! Were we ever slaves. We took care of patients and pillows; flowers and floors; the whole ball of wax.

It turns out my walking has been effective too. I heard the Doppler whoosh in my feet at the hospital, so all is not lost. Maybe some day I can do the speed work my kid is always nagging about. Another vein graft is out of the question so Ill be taking good care of myself. Post surgery is not always beer and skittles. My eyes hurt, my teeth hurt and my head feels like a hard-boiled egg which has been dropped on cement from 40 feet up. Wherever I touch, it feels bruised as though a hobnailed boot had walked there. Where the breathing tube was removed, a lot of skin seems to have gone with it, so I cough a lot.

However, I soon intend to be my old, old self. Hallelujah.