Dr. Bob

I have shallow knowledge about many things, but not about hospitals, nursing care and post-op care. All of which we experienced yesterday.
Here's the update.
Ken's second eye surgery to replace the bad corneal pumper cell donated tissue with a fresh new one went splendidly. This morning when we saw Dr. Bob (the affectionate name for the eye surgeon who is now our hero) Ken could read not just the big E on the chart but the second line too. (When we went for the post-op check the morning after this same surgery in November he could make out the nurse's three fingers having failed to see the big E let alone the line of letters underneath it.)
We left with three bottles of eyedrops, detailed instructions along with a dose chart (something not given by the other doctor the first time around) and Dr. Bob's cell phone number. (Certainly not anything I was given the first time. Although, in fairness, I didn't ask how I would get hold of the doctor over the weekend if something happened. Dr. Bob offered his cell phone and said please don't hesitate to call me. I know.)
Yesterday, the nurses were arguing over helping Ken through his pre-op stuff because they loved working with Dr. Bob and his gas guy, Dr. Peter. They had each had these two men do surgeries on them. They would have no other. Now, neither would we.
In the midst of this is Chuck. He got up at 5 after flying here yesterday and being stuck on the tarmak in Columbus and Memphis for de-icing. He waited with me until 11 a.m., with a break at Matt's Big Breakfast and a plate of their incredible organic thick-cut bacon and sourdough bread, for Ken to be transported back home.
When I got home, there was a tablecloth he had brought from Columbus (Mexican theme) on the dining room table. Candles lit, a cheese plate ready and a salad ready for tossing. We had leftover chili and cookies for dessert, something Chuck had brought with him.
We are on the mend here in Phoenix.