Look, I promise that the very next blog will be about something other than my damned recuperation. This is a bit morbid and frankly not so bright or bloody shiny. That being said I would be a callous dickhead if I didn't point out the people in my life that worked tirelessly while I was dreaming of hunting lodges and bright blue bathtubs. If you haven't had the misfortune to experience propafol, it is unlike any drug that this old hippie ever inhaled, ate or swallowed. The hallucinations experienced were honestly, the only things I remembered from my time completely unconscious.
This leaves a whole lotta life happening around the sedated and unconscious me. Some really important decisions had to be made to keep me "from pining the fiords" as it were. Those decisions were made by the two heroes of my life story. The beautiful girl. My rock, my best friend and my protector and my cousin, known only as "Doc". She stood next to Cindy explaining, reading reports and arranging care all the while patiently answering questions about the complexities of dying as I was. There were Doc's Mom and Dad and their other daughter(my favorite), my cousins and best friends and my little brother Joel. The cousins were working feverishly to get a signature needed to transfer me to TGH, for the life saving surgery I required. Joel dropped everything in his newly wed life and flew down here to run into the office and deliver the proxy I so desperately needed. Two days later he was back on a plane, job done, I never woke up and saw him. There was Cindy's sister, my sister, who took early duty so Cin could sleep, she made me smile and laugh She was an expert smuggler, bringing in food and drinks, with ice. Ice was the very best delicacy, cause I wasn't allowed any. My niece and nephew were smuggled into icu to make me smile and heal my aching heart. There was a nurse friend of mine that explained the dire consequences that my septic infection was having on my health. I'd use her name but she, like so many people in my story claimed anonymity for their heroic efforts. There was my tribe of close friends, each sharing a responsibility to help Cindy spend every moment by my side. This group was small and mighty. One took care of our furry daughter Bella, loving her like we would for the two and some months that we were gone. There was our "Indian Princess" who took care of Cindy, making sure she ate, drank slept and had a safety valve for her sanity. My dear departed friend Ted called Cin weekly late at night to check on me and make her laugh, which was his gift. There were our dear friends from New York, that came here to vacation with us and ended up running food up to the hospital to make sure Cindy ate. They left right after I awoke from a hallucination and asked "why are we in such a shitty hotel, and am I really sleeping in a bright blue bathtub. He, the man who shall remain nameless, returned two short weeks later to sit with me for an entire week, while Cin returned to work. How about three of my friends, who on their days off, with a truck load of wood, and in the rain, built me the most beautiful ramp you ever saw. I had dear friends that surprised me with visits all clandestinely planned by my love.
There were so many other phone calls and positive thoughts in social media. Each and every one was a cape less heroe that got me to where I am today
The Indian Princess says it takes a village. the tribe that lives in that village are each and every one of you. You loved, prayed and sent your blessing into the sky and it came down in my hospital bed and freed me from it....thanks is so ridiculously insipid, but thanks!!!
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