It's Like a Bad Dream

I watched in horror as another little kitty got run over by a car. This was the third one, except this time the kitty managed to survive by hiding in a deep pot hole, emerging unscathed after the car had passed. It was relentless, kitty after kitty running out into traffic while I lay there powerless to stop them. Just then a loud siren sounded and the carnage stopped. What was that sound? I slowly awoke, realizing I was in bed having a bad dream.
"Whaaa......hell.... ", the words stumbling out of my mouth as I quickly sat up.
"It's the oxygen machine. I can't breath." Mark rasped.

Mark has problems. He hasn't needed the oxygen machine for a few years now, so I knew it had to be bad. Recent visits from friends and family on vacation, and the reports of a virulent respiratory ailment made me worry. "It's those damn germ infested northerners.", I wailed. Never mind the fact that one of Mark's favorite hangouts is a dance bar where smoking is allowed. Or, the fact that we have dust bunnies the size of actual bunnies under our bed. I was sure he had the northern visitor flu.

Mark is in the hospital as I write this. He says he feels much better now, but he always says that so I won't leave him there. He is under very good care, and getting the medicines he needs including Ambien, which means he won't be calling me in the middle of the night. For that I thank the doctor.

There is one bright spot in this little health crisis. I insisted that Mark cancel his Oscar party on Sunday, and with the backing of his doctor, I prevailed. This has turned out to be a bit of a blessing in disguise. Tonight I will only have to share the bed with two dogs, who will have the whole other half of the mattress to stretch out on, and Sunday night I'll be able to watch the Academy Awards in my big fluffy chair, in my underwear.