I'll get the important stuff out of the way first: The food has gotten a little better but only because Carolyn brought me a bag of ketchup packets that she scored at a Jack-in-the-Box on her way here. Last night, I had brisket that could best be described as duct tape with a little marbling. For tonight, I ordered the chicken tenders and a dish of canned pineapple and with luck, I may be able to tell which is which.
Now then. To the less important matters…
- My system seems to be responding well to the medication. My lower right leg is no longer the color of Pepto-Bismol. It's more like Bazooka Bubble Gum that's been chewed so long that it's lost all its flavor. If what they're telling me is so, I may be home-blogging by Monday.
- Thanks to all who've written with good thoughts, including the e-mail signed "Pat Robertson" who wrote that this was God's way of punishing me for not supporting George W. Bush. My laptop is configured to read e-mail but not to answer any of it. (I was reinstalling software to take my little Toshiba to WonderCon with me when this inflammation occurred.) I will write back to all of you when I can.
- As I am lying here in bed typing this in an awkward position, lovely flowers have just arrived from the newlyweds, Paul Dini and Misty Lee. Thank you, Misty and Paul.
- Biggest laugh I got so far here: Friday night, they had me on a gurney in a corridor of the emergency room for about an hour. You can imagine how comfy that is…it's like trying to levitate on a tongue depressor. So I'm lying there as people scurry and roll past and just to get my mind off the ordeal, I'm saying silly things to most of the nurses and patients that pass. Two firemen wheel in a guy, also on a gurney, who looks like he's been through something that makes my infirmity seem like a paper cut. His clothes are torn, he's scuffed and bleeding and parts of him are taped up or in temporary splints. Most of all, he just looks deeply depressed and I find myself head-to-head with him with each of us on our respective gurneys. I look at him and he looks at me and I feel like I should say something. So I say, "Race ya to the end of the hall!" There's a beat and then the guy, who I guess at that moment didn't have much in his life to smile about, starts laughing. He thanks me for that before they wheel him off for major reconstruction. But what he doesn't know is that the moment, especially his response, did as much for me as it did for him. I haven't felt a bit depressed myself about being here since then.
I'll try and post again tomorrow. If I don't, it'll probably be because I couldn't get the wi-fi here to work, not because the news is bad. Thanks again to everyone, including the total strangers and even you, "Pat Robertson."