After another week in the hospital, my dad is finally back at home.

In the past month, I have spent more time sitting in hospitals than is necessary for any one lifetime. Even as a perfectly healthy person, after a day or two in the hospital, I end up feeling exhausted, drained, and frustrated. And as Dad and I have learned from both UVA and CVMC, "Freedom is Always Two Hours Away".
Take today for example:

• Today has been the planned release day since last Friday.
• This morning, Dad was told he would be out around noon.
• He texted us this information, and there was much rejoicing--Leslie, her son Nick, and his girlfriend Amanda blitzed the house and yard--mowing the grass, cleaning Dad's bathroom, washing the dog, and generally straightening up the clutter-- while I zipped over to the hospital to help pack up and move out my father plus all his well-wishers' gifts and offerings. (How he can walk into the hospital with only the clothes on this back but walk out with three full tote bags, an overstuffed care package box, and a laptop is some kind of loaves-and-fishes type miracle to me)

I'm going to Tarantino this story and tell you now that we didn't pull out of the hospital parking lot until 6:58pm.

"What happened in the nearly 7 hours in between?" you ask.
"Not a damn thing" is the answer.

Just like at UVA a few weeks ago, we sat. And waited. And heard nothing.
Luckily, unlike the hospital in Charlottesville, the commute home from CVMC is only about 5 minutes, as opposed to 5 hours.
And just like at UVA, every time we talked to someone, they all basically said the same thing: Discharge is Imminent.

But I think I'm figuring out that the Stalled Circus has its own sort of science: Take whatever time period has been given to you, then triple it. This results in a far more accurate estimation of the minimum wait period ahead of you than anything that comes out of the mouth of someone being paid by the hospital.
Proof?
Today, we were given a final estimate of 20 minutes for everything to get wrapped up... and an hour later, Dad was actually getting wheeled to the elevator. At UVA, we were told 2 more hours, and it was 6 hours later that Dr. Pubescent finally stopped by to say that we were good to go.

Don't get me wrong--at either of these facilities I have not encountered a "bad" nurse in any sense whatsoever. Both staffs are fantastically good humoured and friendly and kind and skilled at their work and I absolutely appreciate what they have done for my dad.
But at the same time, there's something maladjusted about the institutions themselves.

I didn't mean to rant about hospitals.
However, if I end up one day with a kid who breaks every bone at one point or another and/or catches pneumonia repeatedly, I'll know that it has something to do with karma from this period in my life.
I would do well to learn from my father's seemingly endless patience in these situations.