My roommate is going home today. I feel like I'm losing my Wilson (Wilson as in what the volleyball was to Tom Hanks, not as in what Wilson was to Tim the Toolman Taylor). By comparing her to a volleyball, I realize I may be objectifying her a smidge. But she's been a lovely companion. I will miss her talking...and mostly not talking, as well as all of the conversations that have revolved around her bowel movements.
My nurses have been very kind. One nurse, however, has been getting under my skin. She's the one who brings me my food. My lovely, liquid food. Each meal she walks into my room waving the menu with items like "smoked turkey breast" and "whipped potatoes" and "julienne carrots" and says, "Don't you wanna eat, Honey? Don't you know you have to keep sipping liquids until you feel better? You need to get better so I can bring you real food. Don't you want real food, Baby Doll? Wouldn't you like a hamburger?" I'd like to have a snappy comeback, but I haven't been able to come up with one yet. Plus, she brings me orange jell-o and I don't want to do anything that might jeopardize that.
I've had some lovely visitors so far. My friend Katie just came with a huge bag of goodies: Mad Libs, The Velveteen Rabbit, Elf, watercolors and paper, cards, a Barbie pen, and many many other things that only Katie would bring. You would have to know Katie to get the full effect. She also brought me an Irish Whistle that she said I could use to summon a nurse or communicate with my roommate.
By far the best thing I brought with me to the hospital has been the noise-reducing headphones I bought for John when Sam was born. I actually sleep here! I put on my eye mask, plug the earphones into my computer, and listen to 18 minutes of falling rain put on "repeat" all through the night. Ah!