My sweet Dear Hubby spent two days and one night in an expensive hotel this weekend. Not by choice. And, although I spent a lot of time with him in his room, I didn’t stay the night.
After coming up with the same symptoms that put him in surgery two years ago, his cardiologist told him to check in. I got to sign all the papers while he got the V.I.P. treatment and an escort to his room on the fourth floor.
Although the staff were caring and considerate, and housekeeping did a fine job; the room service was appalling. I didn’t tip anyone.
The recreation options weren’t great. They gave him rides down the hall and up and down the elevators several times a day to take pictures of his internal organs. Leisure activities involved having stickers stuck all over his chest which were attached to cables. Plus he got regular finger and arm stabbings and tummy proddings.
The view wasn’t great.
Although we did get to see the medevac helicopter come and go twice.
After all the prescribed tests,
we had to wait for our doctor to return
to go over the results and give us a diagnosis.
I saw more football than I’ve seen in years. We watched the Saints lose...
…and the Packers win.
Love those tight ends
We waited some more.
Finally Doc arrived. He said after analyzing the results of the tests that he didn’t think surgery was necessary. He gave DH a list of dos and don’ts, some new meds; and the option of spending another night or going home to sleep in his own bed with no beeping monitors, hourly wakings, weird sounds from adjoining rooms and some of the worst hospital food ever.
It was a tough choice, but he turned in his high fashion gown and chest stickers, and I took him home.
It’s so good to have him back. If he wanted stickers and a ride or two in an elevator he should have just said so. I ‘m still mad at him. He scared the crap out of me.