Tuesday 27 May 2008

Putting the "Coup" in Recuperate

The first time I met Bethany, by the end of the night we had exchanged jeans. For six months I felt badly because my jeans were from the Gap and hers were Diesel. I stopped feeling badly after another long night when she confessed that they were actually her roommate's jeans. Those jeans looked really good on me and I never felt badly for wearing them again. The theft was on Bethany's conscious, not mine.

Bethany and I have a lot of good stories that involve really late nights and clothing swaps. Then I moved to New Orleans and she moved to London. Then I moved to Boston and she moved to San Francisco. Then I moved to Mexico and she moved to South Africa. And so we spend most of our time sharing stories via email from continents and oceans apart. When she emailed to see what I was "up to" because she had 2 weeks to kill, I didn't hesitate to ask her to come sit in a hospital waiting room in Mexico. She didn't hesitate to say yes. She hasn't indicated yet that she regrets doing so.

Not even when she has just finished emptying my catheter bag and is in the midst of filling a bucket to give me a sponge bath.

Brit and I are also long distance friends. We met just weeks before he moved to LA and became the bestest of pen pals. At times, he annoys me like a big brother. At times, he makes me swoon. At times, he makes dinner in LA and I make dinner in Mexico and we eat together via long distance. All of the sudden, here we are now, eating together-together. Well, he's eating and I'm taking in nutrients intraveneously with the occasional bowl of oatmeal for variety. He's even more annoying and swoony in person.

He hasn't emptied my catheter bag but he's given me 2 sponge baths and he puts lotion on my skin more than the average serial killer who's planning to make a suit out of me.

More importantly than doing some pretty gross stuff in the past week, Bethany and Brit have been the bestest at pretending that me being a crippled, oozing, vomiting, whiny mess is completely normal and that they just love hanging out in hospitals. And that has been really cool.

I, on the other hand, do not love hanging out hospitals. On that note, I just met with my surgeons to discuss breaking out of here as soon as possible. There is always criteria to determine release dates but with 3 surgeries and my usual cancer stuff, it's difficult to prioritize which criteria is more important. The doctors would really love for me to be walking with a walker and getting up out of bed without assistance and be drain-free. Heck, so would I. But what if it doesn't happen anytime soon? Rehab hospital? Assisted living facility? Live-in nurse? Those are all the options that were presented to me. And then I said, "or I could go home where there's a delightful 3 year old who has a penchant for running headfirst into my legs and recuperate there." The doctors snickered. The last time my doctors didn't want to release me from the hospital, I held myself hostage as a negotiation tactic. I'd do that again this time but I can't get out of bed by myself to lock the door so I need to think of another plan.

Wow, this blog has now referenced theft, serial killers, and (self) kidnapping. Either I'm on too many or too little drugs.

posted on Mexico time @ 13.51 (menos o mas) |