Back among the living
Part VI

Continued from yesterday:

It wasn't exactly a meal that I would have chosen, but after having had nothing at all to eat for almost two days, it tasted pretty good, even the artificial mashed potatoes and the overcooked roast beef. The green beans were awful, no seasoning at all, but I ate a few, and most of the mashed potatoes and gravy. Bob made me eat the beef. Like a little kid, I said, "Can I eat the pie now?" and he said, "Just two more bites of meat, and you can have your pie."

After I ate (and after he finished the beef and the pie), I got dressed, discarding the hospital's pair of disposable panties and the hospital's diaper-like sanitary for one of my own (another of the few things that I brought that I actually used), but keeping the little slipper socks. When the nurse had unhooked me from everything, she had also helped me get out of the support hose, and she had asked me if I wanted to keep them. I declined, although I probably should have told her I wanted to keep the amazing electric inflating boots . . .

They don't let you just walk out of a hospital, of course. When I had my stuff together, I rang for the nurse, and told the attendant that I was "ready to check out." She said, "You mean you're leaving?" and I said yes, but after the intercom was off, I looked at Bob and said, "No, I mean I'm dying." "I'm ready to check out!" Sometimes you just have to shake your head. "Check out" probably wasn't the right terminolody, but hey, I've been sick!

It took forever for someone to show up--but I really have no complaints, when I really needed something, they came pretty quickly. Obviously I wasn't in pain or danger this time, I just wanted to leave. A supervisor eventually showed up and said that my nurse was tied up on the pediatric ward (the women's ward was right next to pediatrics, and the nurses worked on both sides), so she (the supervisor) would take me downstairs. She got me situated in a wheelchair, and told Bob we would meet him downstairs if he wanted to go get the car and pull it around.

She was a little impatient when Bob wasn't waiting, motor idling, outside the front door, so she asked if he had a mobile phone, and she called him from the front desk, saying that she thought she might have miscommunicated where we would be. He told me later he knew exactly where we would be, it had just taken him a little while to get the car. I think she had thought he had shown up just to pick me up, and had parked right in front of the door, but since he had been there since early morning, he'd parked in the parking lot just like a regular visitor.

Anyway, we eventually hooked up, of course, and there weren't any problems. In my discharge papers (or is that only in the military?) was a prescription for pain medication, and rather than have Bob go back out, I thought we might as well stop and get that filled, as well as pick up a few groceries.

I suggested we go to Target, because I usually get prescriptions filled there and they would consesquently already have my insurance information (I hadn't taken my purse or any identification or cards or anything with me to the hospital). I told Bob that there was a bench by the pharmacy, and that I would wait there for the prescription while he picked up a few groceries, and he could just meet me there when he was finished.

And therein lies the problem.

To be continued . . .