The rest of the 15th was awash in strange and
unfocused activity. I remember distinctly disobeying the ‘four hour’ lie down
rule, or at least trying to, by telling myself that the hockey game must be
watched. I Must represent minority hockey rights (read: not be a Leafs fan) in
the TV chamber. I tried to move, a burning pain shot throughout my entire body,
a purposeful tearing sensation screeched in my groin…”oh boy, well, I am half
way there”…meaning, I was half way to sitting up on the bed, let alone any
standing on my own accord or any success in shuffling to the toilet. Sitting on
the edge of the bed became a problem immediately…waves, waves of nausea not
unlike those created by the eruption of Krakatoa were sent upwards and reverse
peristaltic reactions began in earnest…”back down, back down, back down, ok”
and I went back to the opiate induced stupor.
Throughout the initial aborted attempt at movement, and all
subsequent aborted attempts at movement during those tenuous hours on the 15th,
I could hear braying chatter emanating from the left side of the bed-chamber.
My procedure ended at around 3:00 in the afternoon and therefore right in the
middle of the first round of visiting hours (2:00 – 4:00). I knew this would
present an interesting situation as I was already familiar with the parents of Roommate.
He was, as mentioned, a chap of 19 (born in 1992) and therefore still in the
bosom of the 21st century of the Cradle to Grave Hellaparent. He
intimated to me that his mother was texting incessantly regarding absolutely
everything and anything related to surgery, a hospital, walking, eating, personal
hygiene, breathing, moving one’s eyeballs, existing, you name it. They were in
the room when I arrived, the parents I mean, and they were really en place, as it were. Roommate was well
solidified by Mommy’s insistence that the clothes were well placed in the
closet, that the entire table was well engrossed with the personal effects of Roommate.
Forget three days in a hernia hospital, this chap was outfitted for a ninety
day slog with Wolseley to put down that irascible Riel across the Great North
West. You would think he had ten sherpas popping out of his bag with steaming Ceylon tea and
a birch bark canoe to paddle down into the OR. Only ten years ago, a boy of 19
would be perspiring with embarrassment at the intrusion, yes, intrusion of
mommy and daddy in preparation for surgery. I would probably have received one
phone call from my mom…she loves me, on that score I am certain, and I her, but
never would she have been so involved with a 72 hour sojourn into the Herniated
unknown. But, I imagine in this age of festering narcissism, it never occurred
to parents and child that anything was out of the ordinary. I could see a nurse
eyeing all of this and muttering to herself: “uh-huh, white boy problems”. Or
maybe I am just bitter, maybe I was bitter because no-one called me, no one
visited, I am not sure people even knew I was in the hospital. Or, maybe
because of years of self-imposed exile and a well-known streak of high-minded
misanthropy, coupled with a Total and Unrelenting Hatred of personal
communication devices, I could not communicate with anyone, nor really wanted
to. I mean, really, what could I articulate in a fog of opiates that could not
be inferred by anyone realizing that I came out of surgery only an hour ago.
What really would be on the docket of conversation? Let’s see, down to brass
tacks over the euro-debt problem, or that latent homosexual optometrist in Syria ,
how do we deal with such an effeminate tyrant? Or, oh wait, I can’t even sit
up!
Which brings me back to the original observation . . . even
roommate was now getting annoyed at the shrill-hee hawing of Mommy in the room.
After Roommate’s second Tylenol-3..he stated: “Well, I can’t really stay awake
here, why don’t you guys head back to the hotel?”…Indeed, I thought to myself,
please get out! I was not acknowledged, not really, and this was amusing to me,
all I could think of at this point was, aha, yes, I can eat in peace once the
nurses come. Come the night. I was in pain, yes, and I was nauseous, yes, but
the last thing a man wants to hear is hard-edged bitching from anyone, and
luckily, all of that manner of audible tyranny was put to rest as Roommate
drifted into a fitful sleep. At this point, the meal cart came in and I enjoyed
two sandwiches (Roommate could not keep anything down), a mug of coffee, the
best cookie I have eaten up to this point (or so I thought, this was the first
proper ‘unhealthy’ desert I had eaten in 50 days, and I was fairly high on the
opiates) and raspberry Jello. By this point I thought to myself, “well, it must
be around 7:00 PM and I must make my way to the TV lounge”. The time was
actually now two in the morning and I realized that I was therefore not
apparently conscious after that final bliss inducing swallow of Jello, the room
was black, and there was no food tray. At this point, my bladder was explaining
to my brain that after such a long relationship with coffee and litres of IV
fluid, that it was time to withdraw all funds and close the account. So, it was
up and at them time again, and I could barely shuffle into the
bathroom…Discomfort was at fever pitch, I was completely nauseous, as one feels
after an eight hour Scotch drunk, only to wake up half-drunk, with the room
spinning, but also with the urge to pee…so, in this state, I had to sit on the
toilet. I have never done this before, and felt Donald Smith look down on me,
with those Granite Eye-Brows furrowed and dire, his mouth, hidden behind that
mighty beard, pursed in a droop and his Blue-Steel Celtic eyes looking at me
with shame and disdain..Yes, I felt ashamed, to pee sitting down for me was a
nadir of sorts, a surrender to the mad-house, with the red-heat lamp seemingly
filming the whole ordeal and bathing me in rusty embarrassment. After what
seemed like three hours (and it may well have been this long) I used the hand
rail (!) to stand. I pulled my smock pants up, with the effort usually required
to design the CERN cyclotron, and tried not to vomit on the lengthy 4 foot trip
back to bed.
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