Work has been, well, WORK! A new director and power plays amongst the staff—while patients continue to stream through the doors confused about the changes and upset regarding the trimming of expenses.
On Wednesday, my dear husband had Mohs surgery on his right eyelid and on Thursday the repair of the hole left behind. He was a good sport about it, having me draw an eye on his eyepatch and dressing as much like a pirate as he could AND practicing his Arrghhs at intervals.
On Thursday, I celebrated my 60th birthday, a time to reflect upon what I’ve accomplished in life and what I had dreamed of doing. I hadn’t planned on going to work that day but discovered my desk covered with confetti and ribbons and a lovely tiara and bubble wand AND cinnamon rolls—one of my favorite breakfasts. The number sixty sounds immense but it is just a number—a speed limit—and I am grateful to be alive and as functional as I am.
My youngest son and his wife had their first prenatal visit and I was treated to a photo of the ultrasound—that was Wednesday—and on Thursday, my middle son called me from IHOP to tell me that their baby was having some cardiac arrhythmias and so their doctor planned a C-section in the morning. He thought they would be ready for visitors on Saturday or Sunday—-WAS HE OUT OF HIS MIND???????????????? No way would I miss this!
So now I have a grandson—7 pounds 12 ounces—with ten fingers and ten toes—his feet look like his dad’s—I’ve held him—some—not nearly enough but then I guess Mama should have dibs. It is odd to hold a baby that is yours without the physical effects of having given birth. I have given strict instructions to my son to guard his wife carefully, restrict visitors, and that she must have time to rest. But I think they are too excited to pay attention to Granny’s advice.