Chapter 14 - The Next Hospital Visit Looked Different
Three years after the first hospital stay, Adrienne had cataract surgery.
Routine.
Outpatient.
Still:
hospital.
The night before, she sent a family text:
Procedure at 9. Malcolm driving me in. Who wants the three uncomfortable chairs?
David:
Me.
Sarah:
Me.
Owen:
I’ll bring coffee.
Adrienne:
Do not buy hospital coffee. I raised you better.
The morning came.
Adrienne checked in.
Malcolm sat with her before they took her back.
“You nervous?”
“No.”
“You’re lying.”
“Yes.”
When Adrienne woke after the procedure, her vision was blurred on one side.
She turned her head.
Three chairs.
Occupied.
David reading.
Sarah knitting badly.
Owen asleep with his mouth open.
Adrienne smiled.
Sarah noticed first.
“Mom?”
All three stood.
Adrienne held up one finger.
“If anybody has a real-estate packet, leave.”
Owen laughed so loudly the nurse told him to lower his voice.
David came closer.
No folder.
No plan.
No panic.
“What do you need?”
Adrienne thought.
“Water.”
David handed her the cup.
That was all.
No one discussed:
her condo,
driving,
future housing
because cataract surgery did not automatically become evidence that her life required restructuring.
Later, when the doctor gave discharge instructions, David asked Adrienne:
“Do you want me taking notes?”
She nodded.
“Yes.”
He did.
Asked:
nothing beyond that.
Outside the hospital, parking really was terrible.
May you like
This time nobody used it as an excuse.
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