Hello my dears, just wanted to give a final health-of-the-husband update, and then I hope we can put this all behind us and get on with more frivolous fun.
It appears that his stomach and esophagus have begun to work again. He's still on meds to force them to work, but has forgotten the meds a couple of times recently, and the food went down happily. So now he has to try and get his weight back up - to go from concentration-camp skinny to regular-old-him skinny. So, after all I've been through, this poor middle-aged woman has to endure watching him force himself to eat ice cream, buttered toast, cookies, whole milk.... The illness, the ten-hour surgery, the ICU vigil, I could manage. But this .... is torture.
He gets on the scale every day and comes downstairs bitching about how hard it is to gain weight. Well that's what happens when you send a man in to do a woman's job. I can gain weight on a moving tread mill. I can gain weight with my eyes closed AND my mouth closed. I'm that gifted at it.
So you can see that the world is slowly settling back on it's axis and my priorities are slipping back toward self absorption. I still feel like one of those stuffed animals our dog disembowels all over the living room carpet; floppy with just a little bit of fluff left inside. I haven't had anything remotely resembling a deep thought in ages. Don't want to think. Just want to garden and watch things grow during the day, and pursue escapist piffle at night. In the words of the immortal John Lennon, "Whatever gets you through the night." Right?