Sunday Update

 "'Ouch' is not independent of social training. One has only to prick a foreigner to appreciate that it is an English word." ~Willard Van Orman Quinne
 
   Les texted me shortly before noon to say he slept all night and felt better this morning. This is because the anesthetist gave him a bolus of Tramadol, morphine, and anti-nausea in one big wollop yesterday evening before we left, to bring Les' meds up to an acceptable level in his system so he would experience adequate pain relief when followed up by pressing the button on the medicine dispensing machine.
   When the bolus took effect last night about seven minutes after the injection, Les' eyes bugged out and grew glazed. Sliding back into his pillows he asked nurse Marian, "You know those people who inject drugs?" She glanced warily at me, looking perplexed and I could see she was wondering what he was on about and where this conversation was going. 
   "Yes, what about those people?"
   "Do they inject those drugs because it makes them feel like this?" Kev, Marian and I crack up with laughter. Les was high as a kite for the first time in his life. He shrugged his shoulders and said, "I'd be just as happy to go down the pub and have a couple of pints." No wonder he slept soundly last night.
    This morning Les managed to get up and walk, but was pretty tired out afterward. Kev and I drove in and arrived to find Les in a fair amount of pain again. He was thoroughly p'd off at the nurse who was working with him. She kept saying, "Just hit the button Les--if you will keep hitting the button the medicine will work," repeating this mantra in a tone usually reserved for small children and the mentally disabled. 
   When Kev and I looked at the machine it was almost out of medicine--only a bare drop remained. We pointed this out to her and she mumbled, "Oh fine I'll go get some more," and hustled quickly away.
   I sussed things out while we waited. His gown was stained and wet where one of his incisions had leaked, and his bed sheet was also wet and rumpled. Les assured me the staff had cleaned his incisions this morning, and put a clean gown on him, but the pain was growing steadily worse and the nurses weren't listening to him which was making Les quite agitated.
   The nurse returned in ten minutes and replaced the empty medicine in the machine. Then she told Les to press the button. He did but the green light didn't flash and when he pointed it out the nurse cut him off and said patronizingly, "Never mind the display--you don't need to read it--just press the button." Kev looked at the display monitor on the medicine machine which indicated the machine was on standby with no battery left--it had come unplugged in the back and therefore had no current with which to function and had used up its short battery life! He pointed this out to the nurse who said nothing--not one thing. She plugged it back in and from then on was far more cordial, and helpful to Les. When Nurse Ratchett left the ward he said, "She is behaving nicely in front of you but believe me she isn't like that when you aren't here." Of that I have no doubt.
   This morning the doctor said he thought Les was doing well--his bowel sounds were good and his vital signs stable, however Mr. H. has decided the "enhanced recovery program" is probably not a good idea for Les; he has been taken off all solid foods now and is only supposed to ingest liquids. No one has offered him any food today at all--no soup for lunch--nothing. He was offered Coffee, tea, and flat, room temperature water. As far as pain relief is concerned the surgeon told Les he doesn't get involved in that part of the process--that is left up to an anesthetist if needed...
   Les moved from his bed to the nearby chair for thirty minutes, sipping slowly at the banana, Blackberry smoothie I brought for him. He took a walk down the corridor and back with me and Kevin. Les' bed had been remade with clean sheets and the nurse cleaned his incision and got him into a clean gown. He was laying in bed and said he felt a bit better. He looked at me lovingly.
   "I wait every day to see you come through the doorway. When I see your face I think to myself, 'That's what it's all about. I'll get better and go home to Jaq'."
   For myself, I have finally been able to speak with my daughter in America who thinks an NG tube down Les' nose to his stomach would be a very good thing right now. It will give his system time to recover. I will see how Les is faring tomorrow and discuss this with him. If it means he recovers more quickly then we should consider it. 
   It is a one hour minimum (depending on traffic) bus ride in to Watford creeping behind the lunchtime traffic crowding the roads, and another ten minute bus ride to the hospital; two hours visiting and then two buses in reverse. The Arriva 500 leaves Watford and crawls through Hunton/Langleybury, Kings Langley, Apsley, Hemel Hempstead, Berkhamsted, and Northchurch before my stop comes up. It is a double decker heading back in the early evening, filled with junior high and high school teenagers--loud and obnoxious as kids that age can be. It's been a lovely respite to hitch a ride with Kev yesterday and today while he was off work for the weekend. I get a little teary eyed and sad when I think of Val; she didn't live to see how well her youngest son turned out. She would be very proud indeed. 
  I am so grateful to get home every evening to NB Valerie. I start the engine to top up the batteries, rake out the ash, start a fire in the wood stove, make myself a cup of tea and dry out from the deluge which poured from the clouds accompanied by lightening and thunder. I make notes of everything that occurred today and a list of things I need to do tomorrow. I washed Les' soiled clothes, towels and PJ's and will return them to him when I go to visit. I remembered to pick up a Towpath Talk and Kev bought Waterways World and Canal Boat magazines for his dad.
   I don't know if I can manage to get home cooked food to Les while it is still hot enough to eat, but when he is cleared to eat solids again I will try. My thanks to our daughter-in-law Bev who brought us some styrofoam containers to keep food hot and who is taking Ginger Ale and cold, bottled water up for Les tonight. 
   Thanks everyone for your kindness and concern. Sorry I came unhinged today. It's been very hard, complicated by being the foreigner--the one with the accent--the person who sees everything around her with a totally different perspective and who does not always understand how things go down in Britain or why they go as they do.