Part 57 Back in the corner with glazed eyes


Two days after my accident I am recovering very slowly in my hospital room on the twenty second floor, with a great view of downtown, just across the street from where my procedure took place. My brother Craig comes to visit very early. I’m not really sure when he enters the room. I am still dazed and not tracking well, but I hear his voice and recognize him. Others come by too. Steve and Melynda are here at some point, and I even attempt some communication. My friend Mike comes by later that day (ironically, he celebrated his birthday two days ago), with gifts, a portable DVD player and some movies. He doesn’t stay long; I am dragging and probably lousy company.

I am soon introduced to the hospital staff that will be caring for me. I am immediately upset that I will have to answer a myriad of questions from all these strangers who parade into my room. Dr. Ly- is the oncologist, a tall stocky man with a slow, folksy delivery compliments of his southern upbringing that is in direct contrast to the manner of my original oncologist. To his credit, Dr. Ly- is very thorough and seems knowledgeable in his area. He is accompanied by Dr. Wa-, an female Oriental resident physician. Things brighten considerably when a gorgeous brunette enters and introduces herself as Christine, my speech therapist. After I adjust to her appearance, I realize that she is also intelligent and offers techniques and a program for me to follow to help me swallow my food better. Becah chats with her and is suitably impressed. I try the pizza for dinner that Becah brings, without much luck. After that, Becah pushes me out in my wheelchair onto the floor and everyone comments about my flashy yellow hospital socks, trying to bring a smile to my somber face. At night, when everyone is gone, I watch “Woodstock” on my DVD. I am lonely and depressed.

The next few days I try to acclimate myself to this place. I meet a flurry of new people – technicians running tests on me, nurses at shift change, physicians - but I am still in shock and in utter disbelief that I cannot even raise my left hand. Christine drops by and accompanies me for a swallow study to determine what foods I can ingest. She waves later when she sees me in the hall, and quips “here comes the miracle boy!”, encouraging my meager efforts at showing some progress. Becah is even trying to smile despite being miffed when Christine showers me with compliments while grinning all the time. “Stop flirting with my husband”, Becah says good-naturedly, but with a firm edge to her voice. Look at me, all beaten up, and two women are still fussing over me.

It is the first official day of summer. Surf’s up. Somewhere, but not here. I manage to eat the grits and yogurt for breakfast but the eggs and pancakes are beyond me. The day is most memorable when I reach to untangle a wire on the side of the bed and accidentally tear out my feeding tube. Without too much of a problem it is replaced. During the day I am weighed – an amazingly poor 143 pounds! I am wasting away! Quick, get me out of here fast!... At night I watch a Brian Ferry in concert DVD on my new portable player while an Astros game plays on the hospital set. I am not sure that either one diverts my attention from my situation.

What I cannot get over is the fact that I am here indefinitely now. I expected to have a routine procedure, not to be hospitalized, partially immobile, and falling apart. Nothing I can do gets me out of this realization.