Imbolc Valentine Moon
The viral merry-go-round goes round and round, round and round. Here some phlegm. There some chills. Here some fever. There some sore throat. Here a cough, there a cough. And, overall…yuck. I told Kate I didn’t remember ever being this sick. “Austria,” she said, “You were pretty sick in Austria.” True. In that case I had my new physician wife with me who had, in what I would come to know as her way, packed for this. Antibiotics, thermometer. Bed side manner. Don’t remember much of Vienna and I was sick to some extent when we hit Paris. OK. I’ll take Austria, but that was 1990. So, not for a long time.
Misery. Discomfort. Dis-ease. Feelin’ rotten. Down the rabbit hole. Indisposed. Feeble. Ill. All. Ready for them to go back, hide in somebody’s closet.
The second time in two days when I wrote this blog later in the day. I couldn’t brave the cold to go up to the loft.
Back from Edwin Smith, surgeon:
A kind man. And, cautious. He wants Kate to have a week or two of pic line fed nutrition before he operates. “To be as sure we can that you’ll tolerate the procedure.” Guess that falls under, Physician, first, do no harm.
This will be in-home, started by nurses but managed by me. I can learn this, right? Besides I’ve got Kate as backup. Surprisingly, he also said, after the feeding tube is put in, that will be at home, too. Not sure whose decision that actually is, Gidday’s I imagine, but I know Kate wants a few weeks in a rehab center.
But, that’s for later. For now, proceeding.