15,942. POST-OPS FIFTEEN

POST-OPS    FIFTEEN         

Itemizing things gets tedious, but that never bothers me. One thing I did in my hospital bed in the immediate 2 or 3 days after the surgery, was to slowly go over most anything I could think of. I was afraid of, and searching for, any 'new' gaps or losses of information or knowledge  that, for some reason, I'd grown fearful of having lost during my 7 hours 'out'. I tried remembering most anything  -  the alphabet, a times table, adding and subtracting, the capitals of states, and states across the map. The Lord's Prayer, Gettysburg address, some William Blake I knew by heart, the Preamble to the Constitution, etc. It was all still there. That was good. I wondered about the piano keyboard, scales and chords, notes and finger skills; and even the computer keyboard, but those I couldn't tell until I got home (they too were fine). I told myself this wasn't normal but myself told me back that it was to be deemed important, because  -  like a fleeing dream  -  once the exit begins, the flood broadens. I wanted NO escapes.

     So, that made enough sense to me. I made sure to remember the names of artists and writers upon command; even Moe Larry and Curley were drafted in, as well as Popeye and Olive Oyl. I couldn't remember all of The Little Rascals, but figured it didn't matter, since I never knew all of their names anyway. Darla. Alfalfa, Mrs. Crabtree (or was that 'Miss'?), and the rest. No matter. Same with the middle-era Presidents. Who cared?

      After a few days in that hospital room, the idea of 'confinement' still never set in. I was happy to be there; happy, like the comedian says, to by anywhere! So why sulk? There seemed no ostensible reason for it. In fact, there's probably no more 'free' stance to have than to have been told you had 6 months to live, unless you get this operation asap, and you get it, and survive! That has to be akin to absolute Freedom! Like wearing slip-on deck shoes when riding a Summer motorcycle  -  like my friend John always did. The most unprotected and happy-go-lucky guy I'd ever met. And, paradoxically, the one person facing the most legal infractions, crime problems, and problematic situations I'd ever met.

      Again, checking memory and memory gaps, I had to think about concepts, to see that I still remembered many of the components :  Redemption and Salvation? What were they? the varied schools of Philosophy. What had they been? It all ended up into long, boring, daytime quizzes about inconsequential matters. And then the food kid would come in with a meal! Hallelujah, a diversion! I got to unwrap the fork, spoon, and knife thing, wrestle with opening the containers, lifting the food lids and 'diving in' to yet another, sumptuous hospital meal.  Maybe life was really nothing at all  -  certainly nothing pertaining to heavy things like Redemption, Salvation, and Philosophy. Maybe it was all just 'food', as delivered and as on-time?

       Sometimes distractions are necessary  -  like the silverware I mentioned. It would come wrapped in a napkin, held in place with a sort of post-it note coating at one end that would adhere the whole thing together. That fascinated me, and at each meal I'd spend 2 or 3 minutes again just going over the way they were wrapped, noting the color and adhesion quality of the sticky piece wrapping it. It was all pretty glorious, and sometimes I felt like one of those parody-characters high on pot or whatever, just lost in space staring at the jellybeans or the candies. It was a very-public moment of solitude, happening three times a day!

      Even the nurse routines became sacrosanct. About the same times each day, 'round the clock, the same visitations and probes and readings. Small talk, but gentle and serene; little progress reports; talks about weather, or how close Christmas was (the 15th really for that clock ticking). I admit, I got to know the nurses' shapes and forms, so that even in the half-light I'd most often know who was visiting.

      Time got funny too. It stood still, and then it got lost within itself. I often didn't recall what date it was, or day, and  -  most especially - the long, black nights of slow and intense time often had me, mixed in with naps and sleep, wondering if a 6 on the clock was morning or night. It was odd. Awakening was easier for mornings than sleeping was at night, in dark  -  since the clock was in half-light and the oft-confusion of sleep just mixed things all up. I got to know the shift changes at the nurses' station just outside my doorway, by the noise and the chatter and conversation  -  especially as Christmas neared. There was nothing to be done. I was still tethered and connected to pipes and tubes, and this big sluice thing that went into my neck and caused a lot of annoyance.