Chapter 1: Part 12

continued from part 11
What is it about being a hospital patient? After spending a few hours on a narrow cot your will and identity fade away and you turn into a hospital gown with legs.

We learned there were two important components to Hal's post-surgical recovery; first was the resumption of eating solid foods and the other was the passing of gas. It’s all pretty basic; food in, gas out, nature’s way of signaling that the body is functioning. The blockage was corrected, at least for now, the incision was healing properly and the body gases would once more be passing through instead of backing up and causing pain, as before.

The first couple of days after the surgery, each nurse approaching the bed asked, “Passed any gas yet?” That’s what it’s all about, getting the machinery to function. We added body gas to our daily conversation.

That was the first victory.

Hal took his first solid food with a casual air but it hit me with almost dramatic impact. There had been the usual round of clear broth and gelatin, but finally a tray of identifiable food was brought in. With each mouthful he took I visualized padding returning to his body so that I could no longer count his ribs and vertebrae. That was as far as my mind could travel ahead; just imagining him with his weight restored.

Next on the agenda, nurses carrying scraps of paper and pen would ask brightly, "Had a bee- em today?" It cuts through all that idle chitchat, such as, "How did that missile crisis sort itself out?" Hal was passing his tests extremely well and was beginning to grumble about missing his own bed and his computer, in any order.

Six days after the surgery a resident popped in during breakfast to tell Hal he would be released later that morning. Hal telephone the news to me and I raced around preparing for his homecoming, changing the sheets, laying out fresh pajamas and searching our neglected city garden for fresh flowers. I rushed to the hospital.

Then, we waited. And waited.

“He can’t leave until the release is signed, “ said the nurse.
“So, let’s call the doctor and get is signed.”
“Doctor is in surgery; you’ll have to wait until he is finished.”
“Then, please call one of the residents.”
“Well, I’ll try.”
Silence.

I thought of who might be waiting in an uncomfortable emergency department bed, waiting and waiting to be transferred to a ward. To Hal’s bed.

At five o’clock, nine hours after the news that Hal could leave, the surgical resident was tracked down and came in to talk to us.

“You’re free to leave now, Mr. Tennant. You can resume your normal life and get back to work whenever you feel ready. Soon the surgeon will arrange for you to see an Oncologist, a doctor who specializes in treating tumors.”
“What restrictions are there in his diet?” I asked.
He looked surprised.
“Why, there aren’t any.” Just resume your normal life.”
“Then what about drinking alcohol?” I persisted.
“Well,” long pause. “A drink or two won’t hurt.”
In a damaged liver? This was our first write-off and I wasn’t prepared to face that yet. (The guy is going to die of this so let him do what he wants. The outcome will be the same.) He gave Hal a prescription for Tylenol 3, “ In case of discomfort,” and wished us well.

continued in chapter 2:part 1