Friday 1.2 Razzbear & Grover
In what seems becoming a tradition, Joe - - who brought me my bear Grover when I was a patient at Cleveland Clinic in 2011 - - Joe arrived last weekend with a bear for Malinda. It's raspberry color, pink, raspberry pink, and while my bear is named Grover because I was in Cleveland (Grover Cleveland, get it? even though Cleveland, Ohio was not named for President Grover Cleveland but for General Moses Cleaveland who headed the survey team that set off the Western Reserve in which Cleveland, Ohio is situated http://www.ohiohistorycentral.org/w/Western_Reserve and the city's name was changed by dropping the "a" so it would fit across the masthead of The Cleveland Plain Dealer newspaper), Malinda's bear is named Raspbeary but even though I have abdicated all family decision-making, I am calling him/her Razzbear. I think the bears Joe brings are from Patty's collection, which makes them all the more dear.
This update I'm writing after nine-thirty Friday evening, June 1st. Linda is asleep on the couch under the south-facing window here in the ICU room, Malinda is asleep dozing, or maybe even quite sound asleep. She has an especially kind and caring night nurse at the moment, in fact we have been happy beyond well-pleased with all the staff here at Sacred Heart Hospital, Pensacola. And I have placed Razzbear in Malinda's hands because she keeps reaching up and pulling at the oxygen tube and at the feeding tube, and touching, rubbing at the row of staples at her hairline at the top of her forehead, where the flap was cut and pulled down to get to the place just aft of the "X" on her right temple where the neurosurgeon went in. Fiddling with all that bothersome newness on her face seems perfectly natural, so I'm trying to give Malinda something else, Razzbear, to reach for, and touch, and pull at. But at the moment she's definitely sound asleep.
When I put my finger in her left hand, where the glowing red oxygen thing is attached to her left index finger, she didn't squeeze, so I know she's asleep. First Daughter, I'm not letting you go.
Too cool in here for me, I'm sitting in an upright chair at the foot of her bed, with a hospital blanket around my shoulders.
T
This update I'm writing after nine-thirty Friday evening, June 1st. Linda is asleep on the couch under the south-facing window here in the ICU room, Malinda is asleep dozing, or maybe even quite sound asleep. She has an especially kind and caring night nurse at the moment, in fact we have been happy beyond well-pleased with all the staff here at Sacred Heart Hospital, Pensacola. And I have placed Razzbear in Malinda's hands because she keeps reaching up and pulling at the oxygen tube and at the feeding tube, and touching, rubbing at the row of staples at her hairline at the top of her forehead, where the flap was cut and pulled down to get to the place just aft of the "X" on her right temple where the neurosurgeon went in. Fiddling with all that bothersome newness on her face seems perfectly natural, so I'm trying to give Malinda something else, Razzbear, to reach for, and touch, and pull at. But at the moment she's definitely sound asleep.
When I put my finger in her left hand, where the glowing red oxygen thing is attached to her left index finger, she didn't squeeze, so I know she's asleep. First Daughter, I'm not letting you go.
Too cool in here for me, I'm sitting in an upright chair at the foot of her bed, with a hospital blanket around my shoulders.
T