All time is relative

Albert Einstein wrote that time is relative. Now I took a number of classes during which learned instructors attempted to explain the concepts to me.

I do have an intellectual grasp of daylight time and standard time. My emotional grasp of the necessity of these vacillating times is frail. Two times each year I find myself yawning and complaining.

These changes are not surprises. I have them well marked on my calendars. I delude myself into believing that I have mentally prepared for the change. A couple of days later I discover that I haven’t.

Not long before we moved our clocks and minds forward this spring, I encountered yet another more pervasive time. Hospital Time.

Hospital Time gives you no illusion of choice, consistency nor control. The aide, the nurse, the medical professional awakens you stating, “I’m here to take your vitals.” The 3AM medications follow the 2AM vitals. I think about the old cliché of waking me to give me a medication to help me sleep.

I think but do not voice, “Really! Since I didn’t sleep a lick last night.”

There is nothing like a 7 day stay in a modern American hospital to prepare you for change. The Hospitalist, a new medical specialty, has replaced your family physician as the primary coordinator of your care.

The familiar face garners importance. Amber, a relative to my granddaughter by marriage, works on the floor and claims me as “Grandpa”. It helps.

Family visits are vital. Son Michael has been my companion and extra pair of ears during this illness. Son David comes and we talk about politics and books. Cheryl, my daughter-inlaw, brings a favorite snack, S’mores Trail Mix. Vickie, my neighbor, brings wonderful homemade cookies and visits.

My close friend, Dave Walker, comes with intellectual conversation and a charging cord. My evening nurse comes in shortly after shift change and in a somewhat exasperated voice says, “ The girls tell me Dave Walker came to visit you. My husband and I are huge fans of The First 48.” She continues, “He is our favorite person on that program.”

After my return home and some conversation with Dave, this nurse who had been more than kind to me, found two signed photocards complete with quotations waiting for her at shift change.

Laura Ingalis Wilder wrote, “Home is the nicest word there is.” I feel she must have just spent some time in a hospital. There is nothing in this world like home and wife.

I want to tell you, regardless of what time our clocks might say, there is nothing like settling into your own lumps in your own bed next to your wife. And only there lies the sense of genuine belonging.

Of all the home remedies, a good wife is best. – Kin Hubbard

Hal McBride writes a column, Just Thinkin’, published each week.