Well, lemme tell ya, I concur.
Am on board.
This was another weekend spent in hospital, this time without benefit o' iPhone. Another call from a doc that hemoglobin count was so low it was critical, and time [was] really important, and, getchyer ass down here. Etc. So I drove down, grabbed the old lady, and headed to the hospital.
I knew I was ducked once they got her outta the Emergency Room and admitted her into a room. With a bed and one uncomfortable-looking chair. . . .
But theings went well until the early-morning wakeup. In which she couldn't understand her surroundings, and the displacement brought on some paranoia and some ugliness rarely seen. Except under those circumstances. luckily, I'd seen it before.
And I've accepted that it's just what I have to go through, like anybody else in this position [and boy, there are lots!].
But it's damned disheartening to go back to see her after her release, and sit down at her favourite visiting spot, only to be asked how she could possibly have gotten all those bruises [failed IV attempts] on her arms.
Me: "Oh, those happened in the hospital."
She: "What hospital?"
goddammit I is tired