My surgeon floated into my awareness after the surgery to inform me that he did a full replacement. Or as I called it, The Big One. Then I was brought to The Best Room in Memorial Hospital. My transporter told me so. My mother, a charter member of the hospital auxiliary who as a volunteer had traveled all over that campus, told me so. Maybe someone recognized her name on my contact list and pulled some strings, or maybe it was just Irish luck. I'll never know. The Room was as big as a hotel room, not square but wedge-shaped. I had it all to myself, another exceedingly pleasant surprise. Moreover, it was at the end of the hallway, so noise and traffic were nearly non-existent. The Room had huge picture windows looking to the north and east from my fifth floor perch. I had watched the sun set and rise 3 times and now it was time to go home.
Yes, I was a bit melancholy to be leaving this haven of pain and privacy for the harsh reality of a corner of a crowded bedroom with a view onto the sideyard with the air conditioning unit and our ancient RV. The kind nurses at Memorial never let my call light ring more than twice before offering services. They insisted that I ring them every time I wanted out of bed. They took care of the machines and tubing with cheer and grace. All I needed to do was report my pain to them on a number scale.
But Oh That Shower! It was bigger than my entire downstairs bathroom at home. I could walk in and sit down to shower like taking a seat in a waiting room. There was plenty of space to separate wet from dry towels, old from new clothes, bath items in order of use. Simple luxuries the nurses could not discern. This was so much better than what awaited at home: a bathtub shower that I would not be able to place all of my body into at once. I was determined to shower before leaving the Best Room in Memorial Hospital.
My nurses were somewhat horrified, imagining me helpless and broken on the shower floor, I guess. This was certainly not standard procedure. But I pointed out to them that I had no tubes left, my dressing could go into a shower, and I was using my walker without help, no dizziness, pain heading towards negative numbers. What could they say? I promised not to fall. I promised to leave the door unlocked so they could check on me at will. I would have mopped up myself, it was that good.
I had a hot shower all by myself in the giant bathroom of the Best Room in Memorial Hospital on the morning of my departure. Fond memories help to dissipate the pain.
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