Hubby is doing better. He seems less anxious and afraid. He is shaking less. He really benefits from a structured environment, where he has to get up and go to bed at regular hours, eat at regular times, pills delivered by nurse, etc. He also benefits from having people around to talk to, interact with. It wasn't good for him to be home alone, with no one to talk to but the cat, and a derangement of schedules, haphazard medicating. I'm delighted he's feeling better.

[Always it astonishes me that a person with a Ph.D. in Management Theory would have been so unable to manage his own domestic incumbency, would actively fight against a structured, organized life, squatting in chaos and wretched disorder, unable to manage anything better.]

The doctor is looking into a rehab facility for him to go to after he gets out of the hospital, where he can continue to exercise under supervision (he won't do it on his own) and be in an organized environment. And, hopefully, be closer to where I live and work so that it isn't such a long round trip commute every time I want to visit. The VA will pay for the first month.

We have two VA medical facilities: an inpatient/clinic major hospital, and an outpatient/clinic facility about 20 miles away. The interns come from UCLA, which is a major medical teaching university, so it's first class. Of course, there are always a few chunks of coal in the pile of diamonds, but for the most part, the staff is excellent, doctors, nurses, aides, volunteers. Hubby's doctor is first class, professionally top notch and personally compassionate.

Things will be "interesting" for the next few months. I feel it incumbent upon me to mention that.

Mostly, however, I feel an enormous sense of gratitude, that maybe, just maybe, there is the light of a candle of hope in this particularly dark place.

Life is good.