Smell Ya Later, Motown

We sprung our man from the joint today and now he’s in the halfway house. The social worker and the doctors had a scream fight with the insurance today and negotiations were had. The doctors wanted him to go to inpatient rehab. Insurance wanted sub-acute. Freddie wanted to go home and have me drive him to outpatient therapy every day for a month.

HAHAHAHAHAHA that boy has got JOKES, I tell you.

The doctors prevailed and he was safely delivered earlier this evening. I was able to make sure he was collected by the staff there, even though it was way past visiting hours there and yeah well go ahead and try to tell me what I can’t do, lady. They’re like “um, you can’t be here” and I’m all “well I AM here so let’s just make sure he has what he needs, mkay?”

I hope this goes well and quickly. He is so incredibly sick of NOT BEING HOME and we are so incredibly sick of not having him here where we can keep an eye on him.

Eleven days, this has been going on. I am so fucking tired, I can’t even tell you. I keep forgetting things like how to unlock the front door of the house or that you should probably empty whatever’s left of yesterday’s coffee before you make new coffee on top of it. I did not do that this morning and it gave my coffee a rather… chewy feeling. It was fine, I’ve had worse cups o’ joe, but I’m pretty sure the lining of my travel mug disintegrated.

I’m super extra glad to have him out of the hospital. It was very people-y in there at all times and that’s not my favorite thing. Too many people trying to ask me questions and talk at me and I just can’t. So not having to go there every day anymore is going to be nice but I am going to miss that Starbucks employee discount. Maybe I’ll see if there are any open jobs there when I decide to start looking.

Freddie asked me today if I’d ever considered becoming a nurse and I laughed for about 15 solid minutes. I am very good at many things, but me being a nurse would be a crime against humanity. He said it’s because I “speak medical” very well and ask the right questions. Apparently the nurses have asked him if I have medical training and I do, but unofficially. My first “real” job was working in the Physician Assistant program at Butler University in Indianapolis. It was based out of Methodist Hospital and my time was shared between that and the Nursing Education department and I transcribed reams and reams and reams of paper into electronic formats and I learned a lot that way. That’s where Dr Mom got her credentials, you see.

I tell you, that knowledge goes a long way toward keeping me sane. I can’t imagine what it would be like to be confronted with all of that (from the hunk of meat in the bed to all the beeping shit attached to him) and not have a clue what any of it does or means. I was able to put myself at ease by going “okay so I know what that machine does, I know what this drug is, I know what all this stuff is for.” That helped.

As for the rest of it, welllllll we’ll see how that goes. I am holding it together but eventually that dam is gonna break and it will be interesting to see what that looks like. When I have time for it. Which could be months from now. Can’t wait!

Obviously, nobody ever wants to be in a situation like this. I can’t say I wouldn’t wish it on anyone because I keep a list, but for the most part, I wouldn’t want anyone I’m fond of to have to go through anything like this. It sucks out loud on several levels. But the staff at Morristown Medical Center have been outstanding. The trauma staff, the surgical ICU staff, the neuro floor staff, everyone has been absolutely amazing and so good at putting up with Mr Querulous and his Pushy Wife. If you have to be in a hospital, you could do worse than end up there. I’m glad we’re out of there, though.

I have more to tell you, including the Eyeglasses Replacement Caper and the Roommate #4 Plot Twist but I’m tired so you’ll get that tomorrow.

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