Scared Shitless

Contrary to what I so boldly declared an imminent quick recovery, EFil has taken a turn for the worse. There was fluid in his lungs, and that has spurred pneumonia. He is hooked up to tubes and is immobilized in the ICU. Every time we try to visit, the nurses yell at us because we're not immediate family. Then he gets frustrated because he can't communicate with us and the aforementioned nurses won't give him a pen and paper.

Writing gets him all worked up and messes up his oxygen intake.

It is terrifying to see someone you love hooked up to so many tubes. A guy I previously enjoyed punching in the arm can't move anymore. I don't think I ever saw him run or anything, maybe walk sort of quickly for a couple steps...but the thought occurred to me that to see him on his feet would be heaven. I don't even know where to touch him when I see him. That movie Jesus Son with Billy Crudup has a whole section about how human touch saves lives...but I can't figure out where to lay hands on him. I don't know what hurts, what has a needle in it, or what is immobilized. I gave him a rub on the shin, and a pat on the shoulder, but it was done gingerly. I don't think it helped at all.

His amazingly large hands had IVs in them, and a finger was covered with one of those heart rate-monitoring, glowy E.T. things. If he could talk we would have joked about him phoning home. But he couldn't talk. And I am scared every time I think about it.

The doctors say he's better. I say better than what? A dead person? If he was going to catch fucking pneumonia in the hospital, where things are sterile and safe, then he might as well have been camped out on Bordo's couch eating chips the whole time. Those people help us when we can't help ourselves, and they save our lives. But I find myself getting mad at them. Like Eric's ex-girlfriend, I have become wary of them and have forgotten the laughs we had. I am just mad.

Being angry is a great cover for the fear. It is a great distraction to be all fired up about it and blame people. To actually feel scared and sad and sick is difficult. Understanding that pneumonia is not preventable would be taking the high road. But today, after a disconcerting visit yesterday, I want to take the easy way out. Maybe tomorrow I will grow up.

When EFil recovers and reads this blog, I want him to understand something strange that I think about from time to time: aside from your pain, I wouldn't change a thing about this event. We're getting a great opportunity to really show you how much you mean to us. If you ever thought that we only half-liked you or just humored you, you were very wrong. Actions speak louder than words, jerk, and we're putting our money where our mouth is.

So get better. Get that pneumonia out of there, friend, and come back to us. I want to spoon-feed you cereal and watch Strangers with Candy with you.

get well soon, baby. g