Day Two

At 9:30 Monday evening Mickey was moved from recovery into what they call at Beth Israel step-down care—sort of like ICU, a place to keep watch over people who have had major surgery before they are dispatched to their regular rooms. He was in a room with three beds, and a nurses’ station that adjoined another room. The other two beds were unoccupied. His spirits were generally good, but he was in pain, and a little cranky. By the time his sister, Penny (who had arrived from Philadelphia), Susan, and I got there he had a full hate on for the young male nurse on duty, a strapping guy with a thick Korean accent everyone called Mr. Oh (or perhaps O, I don’t know if it was an initial or his name—sorry.) Mick had been visited by a physical therapist, and was already occasionally rolling from side to side, stretching ever so carefully, because it felt good. This astonished us. At one point while we three visitors chatted apart, Mr. Oh came in and checked all Mickey’s tubes and beepers and clamps and flashing screens, and adjusted his meds. They seemed to make their peace. I think Mr. Oh had simply become a focus for our boy’s discomfort and frustration. But who could blame him? The room was overheated and noisy and open to random intruders. (Mick to the cleaning lady: “Miss! Please stop mopping.”)

A little before 3:00 Mr. Oh disconnected Mick from almost everything but the self-administered pain pump and said he would shortly be moving to his actual room, which pleased everyone. (We’d been told it would happen around this time, but you never know.) By 4:00 Mickey was firmly ensconced in a private room. Adele, the first private-duty nurse, could not have been nicer or more attentive. Ditto staff nurse Natalya, a stout Borat’s-sister type, with matching accent.

A little later a young associate of the orthopedic surgeon came by. She allowed the head of the bed to be raised to a 35 or 40 degree angle (because the removal of the benign growth involved entering the spine and stitching it up, he’d had to remain flat on his back for 24 hours.) She also authorized him to drink water. Tomorrow he begins a clear fluid diet. (Heretofore his diet has been restricted to ice chips, and swabs from those heinous little sponge-on-a-lollipop-stick things.) By now he was beginning to doze for the first time, so I got the hell out of Dodge.

Mickey is doing very well. It will some time before he is ready for calls or visits, but he sends his love and thanks for everyone’s good wishes. As do we all.