More Omens and More Operations

So, here we are, four days following my re-admission to Hospital X. According to my wife, I've since had several pints of blood transfused, had several more pints of other fluids and nutrients infused, and now have a piece of titanium permanently wedged into a major blood vessel to keep clots from killing me. The internal bleeding appears to have stopped and my blood pressure is up a bit, so I'm finally out of ICU and am being given morphine for the pain. Meanwhile, both my ankles have been somewhat re-set after sustaining both dislocations and multiple fractures and are now wrapped, awaiting an operation to put everything back in its proper place.

Things would appear to be getting better, right? Well, you've probably guessed it - another bad omen popped up earlier in the week, this time involving the doctor scheduled to fix my ankles. He had a death in the family and had to go out of town for the rest of the week, meaning his associate would be performing the surgery. (Someone upstairs apparently took notice and showed a bit of mercy, though, as my employer told my wife on the same day that the company was willing to put me on FMLA leave until I was physically able to return to my job.)

The ankle repair surgery took place Thursday afternoon. It was supposed to last around three hours, but after a four hour wait my wife has still not heard from the surgeon. She says she got someone to call and check on me at that point and was told that I was already on my way back up from the recovery room. The surgeon didn't even bother to stop by and talk to her about the operation. I heard about this from her later on, and she was supremely pissed with the whole situation. Our relationship with this doctor would not improve until much later (after I'd left the hospital, in fact).

Up to this point I'd been going in and out of consciousness and lucidity, thanks to my physical condition and/or whatever drugs or anaesthesia was being used on me at the time. Aside from feeling goofy at times and at other times thinking that I was in Austin instead of Dallas (see the previous update for info on the latter), I hadn't had anything disturb me mentally other than the sheer pain of the situation. Something different happened during the ankle surgery, though - I don't know if it was in the operating room or in recovery - but I had some kind of dream that scared the hell out of me for a while. It was disturbing enough that I apparently felt the need to describe it to the recovery nurses, who then told my wife so that she could have a good laugh at my expense.

I'll describe what I saw in the next update and let you be the judge.