The hospital tests turned out good. Despite the "blood in the sample" his colon is all good. Our little outing to the horstipipple went swimmingly. As usual he did wait to the last minute to leave the house and there was a HUGE traffic jamb so I got to enjoy his inarticulate growls of rage at the other "dumb fuckers" and hold onto the inside of the car and close my eyes as he weaved (wove?) through traffic. But to give him credit, he got us there on time.
I did not go in with him, I am pure dee smarter than that. I sat in the waiting room with my computer and wrote about a thousand words and eventually a nice lady in blue hospital greens came and got me. She said everything went fine but now he would not wake up and I was supposed to go in and talk to him and try and get him to open his eyes. I looked at her like she was nucking futz. "DO YOU KNOW HOW DANGEROUS THAT IS????" She laughed.
I kissed his forehead and he opened his eyes and then closed them. I touched his hand and told him, "They say you need to wake up now." (See... shoving the blame and responsibility off onto the great and guilty "they".) He blinked and frowned and stubbornly closed his eyes again. I tried again and got the peremptory grunt and hand gesture that unquestionably means, "Shut the fuck up, bitch." Eke... I sit back and shut the fuck up. So well trained.
The nurse came in and started a line of chatter. He opened his eyes more. She offered a drink of something and he shook his head. Finally he mumbled, "Am I supposed to put my clothes on?" He was still all IV's and other stuff and I laughed and said, "You are supposed to wake up first, then we will worry about getting dressed."
He kept drifting off and every time I touched him, talked to him he would open his eyes and say the same thing, "Am I supposed to put my clothes on?"
I took a while, Master does love to sleep. But eventually he did accept the drink and then the lady took out his IV and all the other stuffs and I helped him put on his clothes. I remember one moment with him sitting on the edge of the bed, looking a little out of it still and I just wrapped my arms around him and held him close to my chest, just held him close to my heart.
He had to ride in the wheelchair and protested. I giggled and said he had to follow the rules just like all the other peoples and when would the next time I get to push him around like an old fart come along.
He did insist on getting out of the chair as soon as we were in the parking garage and walking in sort of a drunken zigzag off out to the side walk and smoking. I glared at him with impotent rage, fucking nicotine addiction... but he had in that "don't you dare talk back voice" ordered me to "take the chair back" and then wait in the car until he came back. Grrrrrrr....
He was so sleepy that there was zero, zilch, nada back seat driving when I took him home. That was huge. We had a nice quiet afternoon. I made chicken noodles... soup with so many homemade noodles that they soak up all the stock and it turns into this big pot of chicken, noodles and vegetables. Yum... just as well, Master said he was not in the mood to eat anything soupy. (too many bad memories from the bowel clean out experience... poor baby... (super quiet snicker))
We have been walking again, which is just as well. My pants have been getting a little tight, the muffin top has been getting bigger. When he ordered me to "put on the walking shoes, bitch" I gave him the cow eyes and got a vicious pinch to some that flabby middle stuff. Motivation and explanation all in one efficient youch!
Well time to get ready for work. Got to love the Fridays... especially a Friday before a week off. I do love my work schedule.
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