Florence was with me in the hospital when the nurses weren't attentive. My husband had to use the bathroom. I called the nurse once. I called her twice. "She's with another patient right now," the aide said.
"But my husband has to use the bathroom," I urged. In the meantime, he was beginning to get up out of bed, which was a no no. In the end, I helped him to the bathroom, and Florence encouraged me to stay overnight so that he would have the attention he needed.
By the time we got home, he was walking and moving. He was getting up with just a cane. By day two he was off meds. Flo left me for a little while. "Can you grab my shirt from the closet?" No problem. Shirts he needed. "Eggs for breakfast would be nice." Uh oh. Flo was getting up to walk away. Was it the tone of expectancy? Was it that he always made his own breakfast? Was I just tired?
"Sure," I grumbled.
As the days wore on, Flo visited less and less frequently. Last night, my husband said, "You're not sweet to me anymore." Was the "anymore" referring to just after surgery? The beginning of our marriage?
He was right. Florence has left and makes infrequent visits here. Everyone is independent and Flo isn't needed. But sometimes we could use a visit.
