Exit, pursued by zamboni

I was sitting in my mother's hospital room this morning trying to keep track of all the medical personnel moving through when I heard what sounded like a train going by out in the corridor. Great, I thought, now I'm imagining things too--except it wasn't a hallucination. Out in the hall a guy was riding past on a floor-waxer the size of a zamboni.

I'm fine with zambonis at the hospital as long as they stay in the corridor. We needed a traffic cop this morning to keep the steady stream of people moving: nurses and students nurses and physical therapists a dietician and a cardiologist and a nephrologist and a case manager and a visitor and the cleaning staff and the person who brings in the meals I don't remember who else paid a visit. Everything was better today, all vital signs and tests and mobility and alertness and every measure of health, so if all goes well tonight, she'll be moved tomorrow to a rehab facility so she can build up her strength and (eventually) come home.

Best of all, my Mom is back. "I don't know where I've been," she says, but we're thrilled to see that she seems to be returning.