PapaC is at home, in his recliner, watching the Rangers play baseball.
It was a longer day than it was supposed to be--we despaired of getting to come home when the anesthesia didn't wear off as quickly as it was supposed to. His blood pressure dropped way low, he got white as a sheet, and he was freezing cold to the touch. (And this is the man who has kicked our covers off every night for 25 years.) He scared me there for a minute.
But the nurses were just peachy, both Catholic and very caring. Thank you, God, for the lovely Kay and Aida who made PapaC comfortable and watched over the nervous wife with compassion and love.
You know, it goes back to "dat bwessed awangement" that Smock mentioned below. After 25 years of living it, I cannot fathom living without it. Even "minor" surgery makes me hold on to my precious PapaC with every ounce of my being.
For all my many blessings, of which a PapaC on the mend is the biggest part, I am most certainly grateful.