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Hello Internet! I have some AMAZING news: The doctors have cleared Hank to come home! As you know, we've had a couple of rough weeks lately and God knows, I'm sure we have a lot more ahead, but at last, a little light at the end of the tunnel! Yay!
Before you get too excited, I want to be honest about the light/tunnel ratio. We're still about 97.5 percent tunnel. For one thing, I think Hank might be getting addicted to his daily sponge bath with Nurse Samantha, because he is in no hurry to head back home.
(Nurse Sam: Thank you for taking such good care of the big lug! But maybe next time, could you make the water a little chillier? Or be a little rougher with that wash cloth? Or delegate Hank's sponge bath to Nurse Gabe?)
The other major hurdle is a small L-shaped piece of metal that stands between me and several necessary new additions to our home. You know the little bastard I'm talking about -- the hexagonal dealie that comes in a plastic baggie every time you buy one of those flat boxes of wood chunks that miraculously turn into a tv tray after you've stared at the instructions for two head-crushing hours.
I know, I know, I should have paid for the in-home assembly, but with Hank in the hospital, I'm never home during the day, and I don't care how official these guys look in their polos and khakis, I'm not leaving some stranger alone in my house.
I had no idea how hard it could be to put together a fricking cart. I mean, when we reorganized the closets in the master bedroom, it took Hank about four hours to assemble everything and get it installed. One minute it looked like a Container Store exploded in our living room, then poof! Fifteen square feet of customized shelving, cedar-lined cabinets, his and her shoe storage (okay, mostly her and her), with hand-polished pewter drawer pulls and accents.
He made it seem so easy, you know? Okay, yes, when he came home and saw the pile of boxes in the living room, I guess he did sort of ... wince. A little. But then he just shook his head, grabbed his tools and went to work.
That's just what he's like -- he can do anything he sets his mind to. No complaining, no asking me what the hell I was thinking. (Well, not much, anyway.) He sees what needs to be done, and he does it.
And any day now, he's going to realize it's time to come home.