FRIDAY . DAY 10 . MAYBE LAST DAY
7:15 AM. Unlike the majority of American hospitals who kick you out as soon as they can, even before you're medically ready, Johns Hopkins does the opposite, not releasing you until you can fly again, or fly as best you can. Thinking about this upon awakening this morning, the restlessness to bolt out of here is eased a bit.

9:00 AM. Two docs, Mathai colleagues, just came by to see Colleen, remarked on her improvement and related that the CAT scan done earlier in her stay showed nothing new of concern.

Yesterday, more than one member of Colleen's Hopkins team recommended strongly that upon her discharge she transfer directly to an acute physical therapy rehab center to assist her in regaining her strength following the surgery, the ICU experience, and her ten days in a hospital bed. It took a few hours for Colleen to accept and see the wisdom in this idea. She's fully on board now. We're just waiting to hear whether the rehab center she's chosen, reputed to be the best at the Jersey shore, has a bed available for her. The lack of an available bed could delay Colleen's discharge. This morning's docs are all too ready to keep her here over the weekend to work with the PT lab downstairs.

And so again we wait. "Colleen, shall I try to find out what's happening?"  "Let's give them some more time," she says.

wait: to remain stationary in readiness or expectation, to look forward expectantly, to be on hold, the side effects of which are frayed nerves, glassy eyes, melting brain cells, torn cuticles, hopelessness, and failure to thrive