I've been picking on Golden for using the term "swinging a dead cat," but I'm doing much the same thing by talking and talking and talking about my approaching surgery. Honestly, I can't help it - I'm pretty scared about what's coming and even more scared about the aftermath and all the painful rehab. So, I'm "beating a dead horse" by talking about it until everyone else is sick to death of hearing about it.
So to hell with it, here I go again! The countdown has now reached two weeks and five days. Next week, there's nothing on my huge "to-do list" that I compiled painstakingly from all the various lists I was given by the hospital and my doctor's office and even the nurse who is supposed to be my "representative" during this whole process. I think this idle week will probably be the worst because I'll have more time to worry and dread what's coming. On the other hand, Hubby seems to have adjusted better to his huge role in the entire process, bless him. I still don't look for him to be a kind and gentle caretaker. I may have to unfold my walker and run away. Well, limp away, anyhow. I got him to say that if I have to come straight home from the hospital, he willl hire some help for around the house. But I have a feeling that he will back out of that the way his own father keeps backing out of going to a nursing home!
Speaking of Dear Old Dad, we took him some lunch and ate with him today. He told me several horrid stories about when Mom had her knee replacement - all the terrible things the rehab lady did to Mom, how much pain she had, and how easily she recovered all on her own once he got her home again. At least he waited until Hubby was in the bathroom to tell me all that stuff. I frowned and commiserated with him. A person can't actually argue with him because he's deaf as a post!
He did tell a funny story about getting a call from a friend of his this morning. He told his friend to hold on while he hunted for the TV remote to turn down the sound. Dad set his phone on his lap while he looked for the remote and it slid off onto the floor. He could hear his friend on the line saying, "Are you there? Hello! Hello! Are you coming back? Is something wrong?" etc., etc., etc. Dad hadn't seen the phone fall, so he was hunting all around on his lap and on the seat cushions of his huge recliner. By the time Dad figured out that he had dropped the phone on the floor, his friend had given up and gone away.
On the serious side, though, Dad doesn't sound good. He has a really juicy cough and he's wheezing heavier than I've ever heard him before. He has a doctor's appointment in less than a week so Hubby can mention that. If the doctor asks Dad, he will just say he's fine. I swear, he'll be saying he's fine all the way to the funeral home!
Okay, I've talked myself down from the tree for now. Thanks for listening, those of you who've made it this far!