I was up and down all night with hubby, he was so weak and shaking he couldn't even get up off the toilet or get out of bed by himself.

By 3 a.m., he was clean, dried off, swaddled and ready to go to sleep. I threw away the rubber gloves, washed my hands to the elbows (for about the fourth or fifth time that night) and fell into bed, exhausted, my back aching ferociously.

At 3:30 there was this gosh-awful ALARM type sound that jolted me from my bed, scattering fluffed out cats, one right and one over the foot of the bed. I ran down the stairs, sure that disaster was upon us, reviewing resuscitation protocols in my head.

He was just as startled as I, sitting upright in bed, where half an hour before he had been too weak to roll over on his side so I could slip a bed pad under him. Amazing what adrenalin can do for you.

We homed in on the problem: He had shut his laptop computer case without actually shutting down the computer. Then on top of it, he put down his cell phone (out of reach from the bed, of course).

It had squatted there, so shiny and innocent, until the feedback between the two erupted into an ear splitting squeal/yowl. I'm sure both cats lost a life each.

He doesn't understand the difference between closing the cover (the computer is hot but on standby) and shutting down the system. I tried to explain it, but at 3:30 a.m. I am not at my most eloquent.

Once the computer was shut down properly, it shut up.

I tried to explain that the reason I got him a cell phone was for him to use in an emergency and putting it halfway across the room on top of the computer was at cross purposes to my intent. That didn't sink in, either.

I went back to bed at 4 a.m. Got up at 5 to get ready for work. It's now 11:30 and the only thing keeping me awake is an album of Peter, Paul and Mary's greatest hits. Singing along keeps me from snoring.

I'll sleep soundly tonight, without interruption, I hope. But if he needs me, I can't say, "No," although I'd like to. Maybe he was just punishing me for going out to an evening meeting for my church (once a month thing).

And try not to resent the fact that when he got out of the hospital, he chose to go home instead of going to assisted living--his choice being against medical advice. Good old reliable Rhubarb--we can always count on her. Heard it all my life (and it's true) and it will be the death of me yet.