I was released from Backus Hospital yesterday afternoon to my wife and daughter (who took an excused absence from a class at Eastern to come and get me. My son had taken the early shift on Monday to get me to the surgery by six in the morning so my perfect record of achievement as a moocher remains unblemished).
I am, says my physician and the hospital's physical therapist, Dmitri, doing very well. I was, said Dmitri, only the second person in his experience at Backus to get around without assistance of a walker just two days into recovery (I carry a variety of baits, as I'm always fishing for compliments and Dmitri's just flopping on the dock right now, hook in his mouth). I didn't ask about the other person just in case it's one of those 'he walked down an open elevator shaft' or 'he was carried off by flying monkeys' and the happy ending is not so much very happy.
I am overwhelmed at the skills and talents health professionals, of all walks and jobs, possess, and am saddened at how much of their effort is spent battling with insurance companies (in theory, one or the other is on my side) in terms of payment. I don't know how much a heart transplant is worth or what a liver surgery costs a family when the patient dies. I'm not a car, but I can offer the prospective customer a practically all new undercarriage. Now how much would you pay?
It looks like interesting things almost happened in Norwich politics this week, but just getting up is such an effort right, I'm punchy with exhaustion. You won't catch me on Dancing with the Stars, but I'm hoping to be better and stronger tomorrow than I am today. Not really much of a hope, come to think of it. And exactly who's flying monkey is that one over there anyway?
-bill kenny
No comments:
Post a Comment