Totally tubular...

Well, day four ... and there's discernible progress:
One tube down! Not the dreaded "nose-to-stomach" tube, unfortunately, but the runner up in the "Most Hated Tube" contest, The Catheter, is history! Which means, of course, that Trish has to now GET UP to relieve herself.... but she can! And does!
Unfortunately, it's not all blithe, care-free urination, as there are the OTHER dratted tubes complicating the procedure,... but she's knocking them off, one by one.
A delightful divertissement in the day was provided by the arrival in her room of TWO "commode chairs", and she was allowed to select her favorite. Trish went with the more streamlined, "moderne" version, a good choice as it blended nicely with the minimalist, utilitarian furnishings of room 562.
The other major event of the day was that one of the remaining tubes was used to actually get real food in her. Well... "real" in this case is a relative term, but she's been existing on intravenous Gatorade (or pretty close to it) since Monday, and today one of the less heinous tubes delivered dextrose directly to her digestive track (or is that tract?). And more nutrition equals faster healing.
And she's been healing at a rapid pace. She's been sitting up, and walking around, usually accompanied by her son, and the ever-present IV stand, which tags along beside her like an anorexic C3PO.
Once again, the doctors seem pleased with her progress, and once she gets the now thoroughly loathed Tube-We-Dare-Not-Name (I'm calling it Voldemort) yanked, she'll be sailing!
And, as her wise and witty son Willie observed "This tube shall pass".
More tomorrow.