I went to visit the boy after surgery #2 this afternoon, and boy, what a difference from yesterday.
I picked the evening shift, as his mother had made him some soup and other comfort-food yummies. Upon delivering them, I was greeted by a grumpy, slightly bleary-eyed version of my beloved. I soon learned that while the second surgery was also a success, the pain of the first was starting to set in, coupled with the fresh discomfort of the second.
He was completely on edge today. And I tried not to let his surliness get to me, but when he’s miserable, he can be a downright mean and ornery SOB. I had to take a moment at one point to have a little cry in the bathroom (again, hormones. The un-pregnant me would have sucked my teeth and cussed him out, surgery or no).
The patient rooms bunk in twos, and he’d gotten a new roommate – a brown, Muslim guy from Trinidad whose name escapes me at the moment (meh. For story’s sake, I’ll call him Jamal). He was talkative and lively, in the way I find most Trinis to be, and I was thankful for his presence. Jamal had apparently come in the night before, and the boy had told him all about me and my Bajan background. Having him there today forced the boy to be social, and we spent the rest of the evening exchanging funny stories and bonding over our West Indian commonalities.
Still, I was relieved when 9 o’clock rolled around and visiting hours were over. It’s been an emotional week, and even though he’s in pain, I know the boy will be okay. He walked me to my car, and sent me off with a kiss and an apology for being so surly. He’s got one more full day in the hospital, and then he can come home to convalesce.
Thank God. He’ll be a LOT happier there. And then his mother can dote on him for a bit. I’m not cut out for this.