I turned in the first draft of what essentially is my Masters Thesis last Wednesday, so Thursday the 7th I took myself to Soho to shop and play! It was a lovely mellow day, and the shopping was successful - so many flowery dresses! Peckish, around 4, I decided to stop by Dean & Deluca and pretend I was really really rich and actually buy something there. My wee feast could not have been more dreamy.
Nor could the view. I just stood and snacked and soaked it all in.
We were supposed to go to "Catch Me if you Can" on Broadway that night - I had gotten cheapo tickets through NYU and we were going to have a night on the town together. I just basked in my lovely view and dreamt about where the night would take us.
And then everything changed. From dreamy dreamerific...
To this. A 4:30 am snack eaten after being kicked out of the rehabilitation floor where David and his appendix waited for surgery. Visiting Hours!?!?!?!?! Is this not 2011?? We had been at the ER since 5:30 pm, and he finally got a room at 3:30am. David wouldn't be having surgery until 4pm the next day (ack! can you believe that??) and wouldn't be coming home until Monday night, the 11th. OOF. It was awful, more so for David of course, but it took a toll on us both. Every night at 9pm, I was (rather forcefully and by security people) asked to leave. I (who has a bit of a problem with obeying authority figures who I don't completely love / respect) would just go wait in the lobby. The security officer down there was friendly enough, and it felt good to know that I was just an elevator ride away from the David. I ate from vending machines, guided by excellent advice from a friend to pay absolutely no attention to healthfulness. I ate a bag of Ruffles too (45 cents! apparently and not surprisingly their vending machines are from 1964) but it was long gone by the time I thought to take a picture.
salads from the cafeteria sustained me too, sort of. I scarfed these over the course of the days - when David napped mostly. Sad-looking though they were, he was living on orange Kozy-Shack 'jello' and chick'n broth from little packets so I didn't want to tantalize him by eating actual textured foods before his very eyes.
For day after day, this was my view as I frantically scarfed that $7 hospital salad
And now David's home, on the road to health, and even up for a little stroll around the hood. He's moving slow, but that's ok. It gave us time to notice a new little pizza spot down the street that we would have missed racing by at our usual pace. We sat down, and got a delicious, basil heaped grandma slice
to nibble on in the soft warmth of evening, watching the sun set over park slope. and life is ours again!