Gluttons, thieves and a moose ready to roll

This just in: John B. Saul's blood is finally cooperating instead of overcoagulating. While I slipped out to pay a quick visit to the office Monday afternoon, John got the news that the magic "therapeutic levels" of the blood thinners had at last been reached. He's still on the IV, but this morning it will come off for two hours as a test run, the vampires will suck some more blood, it will be tested and we shall then see if he "maintains." If so, he may be only one more CT scan away from escape.
In the interim, our hospital regimen will continue.
MJ has gotten quite expert at stealing towels and pillow cases from the large cart usually parked near our door. She is the chief thief, but I'm not so bad at it myself. The chocolate eating persists, too. And soon, after the herd of surgeons, residents and hangers-on parades through this morning, we'll hitch him back up for a round around the grounds of these units.
Through all of this, the tiny crew that produces the weekly miracle we call Pacific Northwest magazine has been carrying on without me, figuring out how to spread the load and pick up the slack in my absence. They have done it all, sucking it up and plowing ahead. They are so talented and smart, it's a pleasure to be in their company. And I thank them a thousand times for allowing me the space I desperately needed to get through this ordeal. Now I look forward to diving into those yummy soups they've made.
And here, we're allowing ourselves to think about home, what we'll miss and what we won't in these halls.
Among the people and things we'll miss:
-- Our old pal with the duckbill cap. He's picked up a buddy of late, one who also has a duckbilled cap, and the two of them now maraude the cafeteria daily, at all times of day and night. The senior fellow seems to be instructing the other one in the ways of the cafeteria, a trip in itself.
-- The odd couple day- and night-shift ladies who run the coffee bar there.  She of the day, a tall, lovely Ethiopian woman with long fingers and equally long earrings that always capture my attention. She remembered my order after only one time! And she of the night, with her Janis Joplin rasp and a cackle to match, a tooth or two missing and as much 'tude as you might imagine you'd need to run this crazy place in the wee hours.
-- The Harbor"view." The blue-gray bay, ships and ferries slinking by, the Olympics still frosted in snow, the Smith Tower with its neon-blue ball all aglow in the evening light. We surely do live in a wondrous place.
-- A host of small kindnesses from a nursing staff that is almost universally professional and respectful, even to those who have tried their patience mightily.
Among the things we won't miss:
-- The bland, watery scrambled eggs in the cafeteria and the equally bland, watery succotash that we foolishly ordered (twice?) for John's dinner.
-- The little knot of patients clustered on the corner outside the ER entrance, most in wheelchairs, dragging their IV poles and sucking on cigarettes. Really, you have to shake your head.
-- The parking fees; they make 4 bucks an hour look like a bargain.
But enough about the negative. I hold close a memory from the other night when Jake and Megan, MJ and I took a break from the usual fare in the basement and slipped over to La Spiga for a very late meal. On a Saturday night, it was a long shot to get a table, but for once our luck was good, and we sat right up front by the window. We raised a glass to John B. and to the many blessings of friends and family. Jake shared a Native American proverb that happens to be etched in the granite floor of the lobby here in West Hospital:
"Sorrow shared is halved; joy shared is doubled."
KT