Elinor Nauen

So Johnny's in the hospital, his reaction to a routine-ish prostate biopsy was to bleed uncontrollably for two days, somewhere in there making it to the ER & being admitted. Many procedures & guesses—this was unusual. Not a good thing. Complex & common is as bad as you ever want your loved one's health crisis to be.

A huge shoutout to every single person at NYU Medical Center, from the medics (actually from Mt Sinai) to everyone in the ER, like the guy from Huron who hung around & chatted about South Dakota to me & basketball to Johnny, the nurse who found me a sandwich after we'd been there 8 hours, the doctors who invariably acted like they had all the time in the world to explain, which they did clearly & patiently, the wonderful, beautiful, kind, fun nurses who leapt to wait on Johnny (& me!) hand & foot—mood lighting! pineapple flambé! It was more like being at a spa, except for the suffering. Even the guys who took him from the ER to his room were totally chill. Do they pipe pot into the ducts so everyone is high 'n' happy?

Update: He's home! And fine! Now I'm fighting my feeling that he was safer confined to his bed, surrounded by doctors & nurses.