i love the smell of hospital food in the morning.
when your husband is being prepped for back surgery, you CAN keep it together until you round the corner past the exit sign.
never underestimate the power of coffee. never.
every member of my husband's OR team was female: nurse, anesthesiologist. administrator. coincidence? i think not.
my husband's surgeon totally checked out my rack. twice. so touche.
men really, really, REALLY don't like catheters.
the oatmeal in The Ray Charles Cafeteria is bitchen.
you say a prayer in the chapel and find peace under The Star of David.
you are not above squatting on the floor of the waiting area next to a power outlet to charge your IPHONE. #addictedtosocialmedia
reigning in your inner Shirley MacLaine in "Terms of Endearment" [GIVE MY HUSBAND THE SHOT!!!] is oddly satisfying.
your husband is adorably sentimental when medicated. ["See Kevin, I TOLD you Dilaudid was awesome"]
when willing to sign up for the bone marrow registry, you can't because 1) you have had a whole organ transplant and 2) you have left the box [age 18-44]. broken and old? OR saved and set free? discuss.
whatever you do, SANITIZE.
how come i never looked that hot in a hospital gown?
the words, "i think my neck and legs feel better" sound like, "we have achieved world peace".
when you feed your husband ice chips, it's the most romantic thing on earth.
32 years as a patient did not prepare me to see my husband in pain.
we are overwhelmingly, ridiculous loved.
hey, McIntyre! The Elizabeth Taylor Suite AGAIN? geez, how many Cedars-flier miles has a girl gotta rack up to score da crib?
[and I can't wait to do it all again tomorrow. i love you, Kevin.]