You can’t believe it, Jay. When they heard at the office they all nearly cried. First the prostectomy. That wasn’t so bad. With fifty percent of us supposed to get it, no man should think he’ll be exempt. But that other thing. Hospitals. When I was in. Not this one, the V.A. downtown, good God what a mess. Same thing, only different. Good hospital, I’m not saying that. Our taxes have at least gone for something and our soldiers are getting treated right, but one thing always leads to the next. Went in to get a few boils on my butt cut off and what happens after that? One week is three. Pneumonia it turns out. You’re telling me pneumonia from boils? Then a bad reaction to the antibiotics to cure up the pneumonia. Then I trip over my roommate’s walker — an ex-major — and he breaks his other wrist and me an arm. Get me out of here, I yell, hand-to-hand combat was never as bad as this. Of course my arm’s set wrong and the boils begin to return. Double pneumonia’s on the way, I begin thinking, and even spare me the thought of what’s following next. You think I don’t discharge myself to have my new boils taken off somewhere else? Just got dressed, packed my gear, slipped down the stairway past the guards and reception desk and went to a private doctor in his office, where in a day he did it for me one-two-three. Also reset the arm and sent me home in an ambulance with a free air cushion and all the drugs in my life I’ll ever need. But how they treating you, Jay? Your wife says they’re making up for all their past mistakes by giving you extra-special food and service. Whatever it is you rate, I’ve never seen better-looking nurses. All Orientals it appears, which I think they’d make the sweetest and most competent. Everyone at work’s optimistic that things are at last working out right for you. They’re also getting you up a plant. Chipping in as if you never retired a hundred years ago. Even half the new help who never heard of you, and a box of chocolates as well, though I’m not supposed to tell. I told them but he’s diabetic and one scimpy bite might mean so long our dearest old pal Jaysie, but Betty the great arranger there said, so, he can give the chocolates to his guests. But you suddenly look tired, as if falling asleep on me. Just go ahead, it’s probably what your body most wants you to do. Their chair’s very comfortable, so I’ll sit here and read my paper and maybe take a nap myself.
Good evening. Your operation’s scheduled for tomorrow morning at eight. It’ll take from two to three hours, and naturally you’ll be totally anesthetized the entire time. After the operation you’ll go to recovery room for several hours and then be returned here. You’ll be getting the best after-surgery treatment available, and at home the hospital’s best physical therapists and homecare nursing staff. I also understand you have an excellent nurse in your wife. I would have preferred getting your written permission, but because there isn’t a day to lose with your leg, I’m satisfied with your wife’s okay. I want you to know I’d never operate if your internist didn’t say you’re a thousand times improved since you were admitted with your urine retention and had your prostate removed. And then your self-inflicted development, which you’ve healed faster than expected and have sufficiently recovered from. Let’s be frank. You were here when your wife asked what would happen if the implant didn’t take. I said we’d discuss that bridge if we had to come to it. Well we’re there now and must cross. I told you both at the time that we were one run behind with two out in the ninth with your leg and what I wanted to do, but unfortunately couldn’t, was hit a homerun with a man on. Now it’s a brand new ball game, one much simpler to win and with negligible trial and risk. I can’t think of anything else to tell you, other than you’ll be shaved tonight, wakened at seven and fed no food or fluids till tomorrow’s I.V. If there are no further questions, I’ll see you in the morning when they bring you up at eight.
Come on now. Breathe deep. Breathe deep. Take a deep breath. I said deep breath. Deeper. More. More. That a boy. You’re all right. He’s okay. Only a little scare.
It’s the anesthesia. He’ll be less groggy tonight. What we’ll have to check daily is how his diabetes affects the thigh’s healing. The Parkinson’s pills we’ve taken him off till he’s well on the road to recovery. Closest I can pinpoint for you for a discharge date is a month or so, most likely more. One thing I never like doing is sending my patients home with dressings or packings or where they still must use drugs, drains or pills.
You think he looks bad now? You should have seen him when he was wheeled in. I was the only person in the room. Your mother was having a cigarette in the lounge. Dotty was down in the cafeteria getting coffees and teas for us all. His face was greener than your shirt. We thought for certain it was going to turn blue. The man who wheeled him in didn’t know what to do. I rang for the nurse. The orderly came in and slapped his face around and called for the doctors and oxygen tank. His color’s about back to normal now, but for a few minutes we thought your father was gone.
Dear? Jay darling. What a morning we had. I’m so glad you slept through it all. Last night I couldn’t get a single wink’s sleep. Right now I’m so exhausted I could pass out on my feet. But I won’t leave. Not at least till the night nurse comes. She called in saying she’d be an hour late. Something about her car stuck in the garage. But isn’t it all so grand? You’ll be home by the end of the month, maybe less. More than likely less. The doctor says it was a complete success. But sleep then. Close your eyes if you can. Tomorrow they’ll try and give you real food.
They’re all excited, Jay. With flying colors you passed the test I tell them whenever anyone asks. I reported in sick for the day. Though if they want to know the truth and dock me, then I was right here. I see all the candy’s gone. What kind of vultures you got for guests? And I don’t see the plant and Mrs. Jay says none was delivered. Since Betty said they said it was sent a day ago, maybe I should call her to check.
Now that you’re well on your way to health I’ll be leaving. I’m sure the person I left my fishes and animals with has glutted them, to death. And my boss is beginning to ask what’s up with me. And the kids are screaming daddy, daddy, and my ex-wife Sondra is writing oh, some terrific father you make. Next time I fly in it’ll be good seeing you sitting up again. So goodbye and best wishes and I’ll be phoning mom periodically to hear how you are.
Lil Bird from number ten. I would only drop by when I knew you were feeling well. Now that I know you are, I came over. The whole building misses not seeing you in front, as on the sunnier days. You were a pretty good watchdog against people who shouldn’t be coming around for things that aren’t theirs. Whether you knew that or not, and my husband sends his hellos also. I don’t mean watchdog in the dog sense but as a watching human protector. Seeing someone there might be just what a thief needs to make the wrong person turn around. My husband likes hospitals worse than I do but thought it was our duty. I was undecided at first but happy I did and if you want anything, or the lights turned off, you tell me to tell your wife and I will.
I was your aide on the fifth when you had your prostectomy. I always like to keep posted on my old patients if they’re still around here, my little boys and girls. It’s fabulous what one higher floor can do, so much extra light making the room so much more brighter. And your chart reads fine and your aides tell me you’ve been good as gold. I’m a bit rushed today but if there’s anything you ever think I can do for you, just holler. Ask for Mrs. Lake from floor five, floor five, and goodnight.