And some friends help hide the body parts.
Marc is one of those guys.
He may be the most squeamish chickenshit in the room, but when I was tied to every fuckin' hose in the ICU, he was there. When my body was blown up to twice its normal size and wires and IVs were coming out of every orifice... he was there.
Every bone in his body said flee! but he came anyway.
When I started coming out of the coma, I was hooked to a trach-tube. That meant my mouth was open and suffering from chronic cotton-mouth. Due to the tracheostomy and the other abdominal surgeries, the nurses wouldn't let me drink until I had passed the swallow test. The "bedside" version of this test requires the patient to swallow applesauce doped with mega-blue dye. Then they ask you to cough. If the blue dye ends up anywhere other than DOWN your throat, then no solid foods, ice, water, etc.
I began my swallow testing while Marc and Carol came to visit. I wasn't uncomfortable, but I really wanted something to drink. I was stoned out of my mind on Fentanyl and other narcotics of the day. Meanwhile Marc kept making jokes about ArtTrail and offering to go "help" with customers.
I wanted to laugh so hard, but the drugs kept me nearly paralyzed. Even now, remembering that moment, I can hear the laughing in my mind, knowing full well I couldn't tell Marc how funny he was. Thank God for good friends. Each and every time Marc and Carol showed up, everything in my world improved.
Yesterday Marc surprised me by just showing up to check up on me. After talking indoors for a while about all my current maladies and general feelings of malaise, we went outside into some seriously shocking sunshine. I had to catch a few images of Marc kickin' back with the alliums.
