Last night I spent some time kicking some Hamilton butt.
And, as I know you all love seeing the evidence of that, here it is:
I gave Heather some time to relax, and figured she'd be asleep by the time I got back (11:30), but she was waiting up for me!! Kinda felt like I was sneaking home from a high school party...except I didn't get in trouble.
1 AM....I decide that if I don't attempt to sleep, I will fall flat on my face on the treadmill during physio the next day.
I wake. I detach myself from my feeds and drag my weary body to the bathroom.
I come back and reattach. I feel it...it's stirring. I try my absolute hardest to avoid it, but alas it begins.
I turn on my side and move my hand to prop myself up so that I can cough properly, when I feel it. You know. IT.
Why feeds why!!!???!?!?!
The feeds have come apart again and are attempting a hostile takeover on my bedsheets.
I fly out of bed and rip the soaking sheets from the mattress. My pillow! Did you have to get that pillow?? I, followed by the O2 tubing and the feeding tube line, trudge to the bathroom and stuff the ugliness into the washer where it goes round and round and round, and eventually becomes beautiful again.
I ended up grabbing the book I had almost completed the night before, and resumed reading. I gave up folks; I don't think I was meant to sleep. The G-man however, was sprawled out on the mattress, snoozing peacefully (he didn't even care that I had pulled the sheets out from under him).
I'm too tired to keep typing; even my fingers are sleepy.
Feeds - I'm begging you to stay attached tonight. Brain - I'm begging you to shut off at a normal time tonight.
May we all sleep as well as this guy: