floating

Mr. dd had his hernia repaired this morning at 6 am. This means Mrs dd was there to hold his hand and ask the surgeon how long we should wait before we resume conjugal rites. He acted like he had never been asked that question before. What is this world coming to?

Of course my mister isn't worried about such concerns at the moment. I walked into the post op between his curtains to find his bare shoulders on view as his gown hung around his white rabbit torso. His thinning blonde hair was everywhere - and the tubes and monitors mimicked its chaos as they disappeared under the blankets and bed. His watery blue eyes were lined in red and slowly blinking with the awareness that he didn't die when he went under. He was a muddled mess since he was up until 3am the night prior with a deadline he promised to meet before his surgery and medicated bliss.

I like knowing he's here where I can look after him. Hospitals terrify me for good reason.

He's in bed now wearing a large flannel nightshirt my grandmother gave me many years ago.
It has tiny red crowns with the word princess in a continuous pattern all over it. Most men would balk before letting me slip such a thing over their head. Mr. dd is putty in my hands as long as he is on his meds. Actually, he's lovable putty most days. I'm happy to know he won't be hurting anymore. Now if he'll just accept the fact that he shouldn't lift anything any heavier than our youngest cat or an armful of art books...