The countdown isn’t the day I leave, but the day of the second operation. There will be two or three days of monitoring after the operation – which I expect and actually hope happens.

I want this to be a one-and-done thing. After packing and stretching the muscles with who knows what, I’d feel more comfortable and less anxious if someone took the time to make sure everything will hold. If I’m sent home and something isn’t sealed right or whatever and I bleed out while I’m alone, that could be bad.

What determines when someone is sent home, exactly, do you think?
The surgical team? How much demand there is for the bed (a new customer)? Insurance and what liability could be involved? I guess I’ll never really know or care, maybe. But, if I have to guess, I’d say Big Money is key.

New guy – Vinson — was introduced. He replaces the delightful Helen from last night, who will be gone for three days. Joy didn’t stop by last night, but that’s okay. I don’t know if Vinson has a second. I’ll find out eventually.

HOPEFULLY Vinson doesn’t give me any grief for walking around and stuff. I hate fighting that because I can’t win. My entire day is structured around what I can do and what I can’t.

The neurosurgeon stand-in flew in early. I asked if a muscle being stretched or inflamed could cause the surgery to be delayed or slow recovery. (When I carry the wound vac, I can feel it pulling on the shoulder. I don’t find the vac heavy… not at all… but I can still feel that pull. I wanted to ask. He said it “shouldn’t” be an issue.)

Lord, I’ve given people SO much flak over vague words, especially the ones I feel comfortable with. This “shouldn’t” hurt. You “might” sleep better. Might. Should. Little bit. All nice little disclaimers slipped in to negate liability and subdue expectations. Most people are so caught up in their own thoughts that they miss those.

And certain professions, like the medical field, are probably trained to use vague terms, some without even knowing it.

People don’t catch them because they’re caught up in their own thoughts, don’t care, or automatically believe anything from an authority figure.

It’s frustrating — but I do that in class.
“If you turn in this assignment, you “Might” pass.”

But in my defense, gradebooks are weighted, and I can’t control an assignment’s quality. If I say, “Turn in your late final, and you might pass,” The student turns in a line of emotes… hopefully, that doesn’t pass.

I do so out of variables. The others might do so for other reasons.

I’m oddly hungry this morning and ordered breakfast early.

That’s also what I had for dinner – breakfast.

The kitchen ran out of what I usually order – turkey. I distinctly dislike their chicken — too salty and the consistency is weird. It’s not like it’s one piece but like a McRib – a bunch of stuff squished together. Which probably isn’t the case…. but it turns into a paste in my mouth.

So… no. Breakfast for dinner!
It’s all good.

I’ve ramped up the Ensure to three a day.
That’s one between lunch and dinner. One after dinner. And one around midnight or whatever. That way, I feel like my body is continually getting some sort of protein. Instead of pushing it all at once and shedding what I don’t consume, small doses are better.

It probably wouldn’t hurt to exchange the one from late night to just after breakfast. I could try that.

Anyway… breakfast is here.

I’m going to get to it.
Walk around a bit. Maybe write or play games for a bit. Since I’m ‘independent,’ I’ve started to give myself sponge (or cloth) wipe-downs. I could do that and really need to ask for a fresh gown. I’ve been wearing this one for a couple of days.

And… order lunch. Hopefully, the turkey is back.

Okay! Useless eater is eating