Cutie Bobsquinch is off the oxygen mask and on a nasal cannula now, to the delight of the bloody crater that has been carved into the bridge of his nose by the BiPAP. Honestly, I feel like I'm getting a bedsore on my arse from sitting on the horribly uncomfortable seating in this fishbowl in which I now dwell. Seriously, there is a huge glass box that juts into the room where two nurses sit and watch our every move. I like the nurses and they like me, but sometimes I just give them a blinkless Damien stare just to mess with them.
Hospital living is complicated for those of us who were well-educated by that Good Morning America segment dedicated to the super bugs which lurk these halls. If anything touches the floor it is immediately scrubbed down with those disinfectant wipes that are so powerful they'll give you cancer if you don't use heavy duty gloves. If the item is porous, it is promptly incinerated. As for body parts, they are scrubbed with said carcinogenic wipes, prayed over, and anointed with oil by the nearest church elder. But maybe that's just me.
On the other hand, there is a certain section of our population that allows their children to play on the waiting room floors. They spread out the cheeseburger paper from the Happy Meal ON THE FLOOR to make a placemat on which they squirt out the ketchup for the fries and burger that inevitably wander off the paper. Funny thing, my kid is in Intensive Care. Go figure.
Anyway, there's your update.