Second Helpings

A Little Romance

As it's the month for lurve and all that jazz I thought I'd relate a little anecdote from during my hubby's traumatic ordeal in hospital. It will demonstrate what thirty something years of marriage leads to.

Hubby had been in intensive care for six days in an enforced coma. During this time we had seen no movement or heard any sound from him. Very unusual, but very scary too. On Christmas eve nurses tried to slowly bring him round, but he was so agitated they had to sedate him with different drugs and wait until the following day to try again.

On Christmas Day he was awake, but unable to speak or move much. We were relieved that he appeared to know who we were and understand what was being said to him, though we couldn't be sure.

A few days later, when it was safe to declare he was out of danger, he was moved to a high dependancy ward. He still had a tracheotomy in place and was very poorly, but nurses were very encouraging and hopeful.

On the Saturday morning I phoned the hospital as soon as I got up, which I did every day, to see how the situation had progressed. The nurse who answered the phone said he was doing okay and was managing to communicate with the help of a large keyboard and good old fashioned pen and paper. I asked if there was anything we needed to know from his communications.

'Well,' she replied. 'He is very agitated and concerned about...'

I contemplated what was coming. The family? My ability to cope? Missing Humbug? My emotional state? Not being at home?

You'd never guess if I gave you five hundred attempts.

'His missing dental plate.'

Who says romance is dead?

* Footnote. After all these years I never even knew he wore a dental plate. It was never found by the way, but the hospital did foot the bill for a new one to be fitted. I can only assume it was whipped out in a hurry when he needed emergency surgery, but I now keep getting visuals of all these lost gnashers clacking around the dark corridors of the hospital at night.