And so Sami has pneumonia, and also coronavirus. Where did that come from? Perhaps it attached itself to a Rubic’s Cube belt and rode in from SPAIN. Plus he’s so loaded up with morphine, Percoset and Valium that they can’t get him out of the bed. Whenever they get him sitting at the edge of the bed, he weaves around like he just got up close and personal with Joe Fraser.
After two days of trying to catch 40 winks while upright in the worlds worst seating* and not bathing, I threw in the towel and asked our daughter to come spell me while I went home to shower and nap while laying down. (I made that decision while standing in a ladies’ room stall wearing only knee highs and a bra attempting ablutions with a travel pack of baby wipes. Picture that. You would have called for help too.) Also sleeping in a chair in a public place is a young person’s game.
* Next time you’re stuck in an airport praise heaven for the comfortable seating. This whole place can’t produce one liveable chair.
They won’t let me in his room from 11pm to 6am, so I’m not going to trying overnighting for a while. I left the house at 5am today and even with a few missed exits and an unlit tour of the Yankee Stadium grounds**, I still made it to the front door by 6:20.
** That’s in the Bronx. The hospital is in Manhattan.
So that’s the new plan. For now anyway. Instead of my 3 day diet of coffee and Atkins bars in a stupid cafeteria that doesn’t open until 7 am, I had a bagel a with lox and all the smelly savory trimmings in the comfort of my own home. And about a gallon and a half of gin. And then I slept for 5 hours straight. Woke up to some very charming texts from our daughter.
I stopped at a bakery on my way home -on the advice of a very wise woman- to invest $30 in fancy Italian cookies for the nurses. It’s like paying protection money to the mob. It’s just got to be done.
Because of his respiratory issues, Sami is now in a private room with a Hudson River view. Say hello to the Little Red Lighthouse.