I've been home from the hospital 2 weeks now. It's been 4 weeks since my ileostomy reversal and port placement surgery. My body is healing nicely, but my mind seems to be stuck in this forgetful, cloudy, lazy place. I keep asking about things that were said in the hospital. It's almost as if it might not have happened. I have evidence that it did happen though. First of all, I have these big scars on my belly. Secondly, I have the notes I wrote to myself during my hospital stay. I have my Morphine Diary.
I have a cat that lives in my room. I see its shadow and know exactly where it is. I talk to my cat even though he remains nameless.
I have many visitors in the darkness of the night. Sometimes the visitors are the people who have stayed in my room before me. They used to startle me and make me search for meaning. Now I just acknowledge them, smile and say hello. Then we go our separate ways. I hope they remember me later.
I hear people whispering my name and saying hello. I am sure that one of these voices is Death himself. He assures me that he is here and will be here again. He assures me that he knows me.
I woke up in a hotel in Europe today. I can tell it's Europe because of the 3D television.
There's someone in my bed. I'm in the bathroom and can see her head reflecting in the mirror. I can hear her walking around in my room when I am in the bathroom. She's always gone when I check my bed.
I need to readjust my car AND auto insurance.
Just because a package is a small tube doesn't mean that it's toothpaste! (I brushed my teeth with shaving cream. I had to get a new toothbrush because that filmy taste would never quite wash off.)
These are actual excerpts from my Morphine Diary, written by a strange hand in red ink. I think I borrowed the pen from a nurse. I am sure that the nurses have many drug-addled patients with silly requests. I hope I was at least a little amusing when I asked.
