Home Is Where The Heart Patient Is

A couple days ago, driving home from the hospital, I put the cruise control on in my mom's car. I put my legs in a more relaxed position. Then, suddenly, whirrrrrrr, hummmmmm, I am slowly being crushed against the steering wheel. Apparently my giant ostrich legs have discovered a decidedly poor placement for those "seat memory" buttons. Number 1 is set for my mom. Number 2 is set for my dad. Number 3, which I assume I hit, is set for a leprechaun.

The good news is that this is South Florida where people rarely drive in one lane at a time so I didn't attract much attention.

My dad is doing so well, they sent him home today; a day ahead of schedule. They gave him a few prescriptions. My dad looked at them and said, "These are for William. My name is not William." "Oh, let me check on that," replied the nurse.

One of the prescriptions was for Darvocet. My dad has taken nothing but acetaminophen since his first day when they gave him Percocet. That was a bad trip for him. When my sister had her surgery (long ago) and they gave her that, she wanted to jump out the window. But as long as you're not allergic, they don't much care.

Now, for the hardest part: taking it easy, getting up slowly, remembering to hold that pillow against his chest when he coughs (to prevent his ribcage from exploding), that kind of stuff.