Tomorrow is the Big Day! El Hubbo heads under the knife to replace the first of what we foresee will be many of his joints. He does not seem to appreciate my non-stop rendition of Mack The Knife, however, he does appear to be looking forward to some sort of pain relief. I think he's truly looking forward to the two hours of uninterrupted, drug-assisted sleep - which is probably more than he's gotten in the past two years.
It has been touch-and-go with getting this done. I almost declared it a no-go and told him he'd better cowgirl up when I got off the phone with the hospital's billing department. They decided they would give me a "courtesy call" (at 9:30 p.m., mind you - I find nothing courteous about that time of the night). In a far too chipper voice, the young lady, who shouted into the phone as I am sure she assumed I was 75+ and deaf (as most of her clientele and their spouses are), informed me that after insurance, etc, etc, I would be responsible for $XXXX and how would I like to take care of that?
I am barely capable of more than grunting at 9:30 p.m. But, that sure enough woke me up. I said, "WHAT???? HOW MUCH???? YOU WANT PAYMENT NOW????" For half a second, I thought it might be a telephone scam. I asked her if she could tell me what all that covered. I grumbled about, tried to negotiate a discount, asked about payment plans, and basically dodged any financial commitment while I formulated a cost-savings plan. I hung up with her and began my research. El Hubbo came in the room and asked what I was doing awake. I told him I was searching Pinterest for how to make him a hip. He paled slightly. I told him that based upon my extensive study of internet how-to videos that I was pretty sure I could put something together and possibly do this surgery here at home. We could set up the folding tables in the garage on top of some painter's plastic, he could bring a saw from work - LET'S DO THIS!
His response? "You frighten me." He's refused to go to sleep before me ever since. I've come to suspicion he's doping my tea at dinner. My first clue was the morning I woke up with my face in my dinner plate.
Undeterred, I've sketched out a rope-and-pulley system to use instead of whatever traction system the hospital plans to charge me for. And, I'm ready to keep copious notes and a list of every glove, Q-tip, hospital gown, etc. that is used to compare to the itemized statement from the hospital. I'll take El Hubbo's vet kit as I'm sure I can create some sort of concoction to get him up and running down the hallways a lot cheaper than anything the hospital has. I've signed El Hubbo up for a roomie to share expenses. I will spring for someone to empty the bedpan, as there are some things one shouldn't cheap out on.
So, early in the mañana, we'll head to the hospital, where a major piece of El Hubbo's anatomy will be swapped out for a newer model. He assures me he plans to take better care of this one, which is good as I have assured him he only gets one pro model - I've bookmarked the paper mache hip joint I found online and will be sharpening the saw for next time.
Wish him luck!
It has been touch-and-go with getting this done. I almost declared it a no-go and told him he'd better cowgirl up when I got off the phone with the hospital's billing department. They decided they would give me a "courtesy call" (at 9:30 p.m., mind you - I find nothing courteous about that time of the night). In a far too chipper voice, the young lady, who shouted into the phone as I am sure she assumed I was 75+ and deaf (as most of her clientele and their spouses are), informed me that after insurance, etc, etc, I would be responsible for $XXXX and how would I like to take care of that?
I am barely capable of more than grunting at 9:30 p.m. But, that sure enough woke me up. I said, "WHAT???? HOW MUCH???? YOU WANT PAYMENT NOW????" For half a second, I thought it might be a telephone scam. I asked her if she could tell me what all that covered. I grumbled about, tried to negotiate a discount, asked about payment plans, and basically dodged any financial commitment while I formulated a cost-savings plan. I hung up with her and began my research. El Hubbo came in the room and asked what I was doing awake. I told him I was searching Pinterest for how to make him a hip. He paled slightly. I told him that based upon my extensive study of internet how-to videos that I was pretty sure I could put something together and possibly do this surgery here at home. We could set up the folding tables in the garage on top of some painter's plastic, he could bring a saw from work - LET'S DO THIS!
His response? "You frighten me." He's refused to go to sleep before me ever since. I've come to suspicion he's doping my tea at dinner. My first clue was the morning I woke up with my face in my dinner plate.
Undeterred, I've sketched out a rope-and-pulley system to use instead of whatever traction system the hospital plans to charge me for. And, I'm ready to keep copious notes and a list of every glove, Q-tip, hospital gown, etc. that is used to compare to the itemized statement from the hospital. I'll take El Hubbo's vet kit as I'm sure I can create some sort of concoction to get him up and running down the hallways a lot cheaper than anything the hospital has. I've signed El Hubbo up for a roomie to share expenses. I will spring for someone to empty the bedpan, as there are some things one shouldn't cheap out on.
So, early in the mañana, we'll head to the hospital, where a major piece of El Hubbo's anatomy will be swapped out for a newer model. He assures me he plans to take better care of this one, which is good as I have assured him he only gets one pro model - I've bookmarked the paper mache hip joint I found online and will be sharpening the saw for next time.
Wish him luck!
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