Blow me a song, Horatio, let it be long and messy and cling to the corners and echos of those who listen.
So once again again and the again. Back out of the hospital on Tuesday the 8th. Went in on Saturday and as it turned out unrelated to anything I knew about. Renal failure. I went in as I could not make any sense of myself even in the corners. And hallucinations. Some of them were rather grand and enjoyable. Nonetheless I was aware that this was not to be considered at all normal. Then some grand virus decided to slam me with an upper respiratory nonsense. Be that, I’ve been returned to the place where my plants and kittens live in a lovely splendor of simplicity. And where there is decent music. And where there is a supply of food having been delivered at midnight when I got home rather than the noon order for the next day as was my plan. Surprises just continue it seems.
If I were not so shaky I’d indeed get some writing done as it does play about in the mind. Focus however is just a bridge too far. Rather then I’ll content myself with music and meanderings.
And a lovely day to you, too. We are breathing after all, are we not?
Now I’m in rehab. Not a plan I had in mind. The surgery went well (on Friday, July 14, left knee replacement). Going home went well. That was on Saturday. On Sunday on the way to the morning relief I fell. It was not a good fall as falls go. It was rather ungraceful and painful. I pulled a room screen over onto me as I reached for it to stabilize myself—for which of course it was incredibly ill-suited as a sturdy component in the dance, but sharp enough amongst the edges to take my face into account for the many bruises which would ensue. I do believe I screamed. Perhaps more than once while emitting some weak “help” noises. And so the story changed dramatically. This is the unexpected turn in the novel where the hero is wounded by the Griffin rather than slaying anything herself.
As a result I’ve been from emergency to hospital to now in rehab. This is not always a fun place to be though it has its moments. I certainly went down the rabbit hole for a while. That was an interesting place to visit. I can see why people do not want to live there. It is a matter of a great deal of pain or some fine pain pills. Neither a normal state, but the train you must take to get there. Of course you cannot know that in advance. You get a ticket but no destination.
It strikes me that that is the same with life, is it not? We really don’t know.
This was posted by Beauty of Nature. I do believe it is quite appropriate for today’s sentiment.
I went into the hospital toward the end of March. No biggie…the whole asthma/can’t breathe sort of thing. So I’m going to use that as that point forward. No significance with or to the hospital or breathing thing. Just a place to start. [As I type this I see that is untrue, indeed. The connection is obvious.]
Anyway, a benchmark. A bookmark. Going from there…
The kid went to Colorado for a surprise birthday party for Nick who turns 60. Two of the others, Randy and Peter, were also invited with their spouses. So, “Happy Easter” via thought waves. We don’t know about the other two: did they know and decline? (Nieces) Were they not invited?
I realize there was a time when I got little nudges that could have only come from a future knowledge. For example, when I sat down so that Keith would hand me the bunny, and he was so very precious and I was overwhelmed with such warmth and love. I had the thought: should you hold and pet the thing you will eat for dinner? Isn’t there an adult rule that you should not make a pet of something that is dinner?
Mother would periodically use German names as an expression of something unique. She could call someone a Dumbledorph. The foreign expression was easily understood. It was also understood that no other word would quite encompass the full meaning.
Holy Cows and such. I just saw where I put nothing up here in March. So I’m going to set this little jaunt free and work on some other things for here.
Did you know that Teilhard published nothing during his lifetime of his huge array of manuscripts? The Church would not allow it. As in the Catholic Church strikes again. For those who don’t know, Teilhard de Chardin is the priest darling of thinkers and plotters and puzzlers and such, one who combined science and philosophy. Probably in the left lane but who knows. I think Truth shouldn’t be put in a lane.
So much has been happening that it has been difficult to even attempt a sort-through to post. Indeed, where to begin.
First, I had another (twice now) trip to the hospital—pericardial effusion—wherein the people all thought it was a heart attack. It wasn’t. Either time. But apparently all of the medical paraphernalia thinks I am so they go with that rather than my insistence “I’m not having a heart attack!” *sigh* So. Now they have to find the cause of my attacks which are painful beyond belief.
In the operating room: The most exciting part of the whole thing is that I coded—yes, died!—and that’s where it got interesting rather than just painful. It was no big deal at all and there were no lights and out-of-body experiences or awareness or floating. Nothing. A great big huge black nothing.
Just before the Black in a millisecond I had an awareness something was happening and a wondrous peace wherein nothing mattered and then… Another second and I woke up, knew I had been “somewhere” and asked what happened. They said I coded twice (wrong count, only one, extended) and they had to resuscitate me. So while trying to “save my life”—in a non-heart attack—they killed me.
It is impossible to describe because the observer, and all consciousness was gone. As soon as we say nothing—we have something. It is an experience that can only be experienced. I do think that I stayed in my body because I wasn’t gone long enough. It was less than a minute. Perhaps it takes longer for the full-death experience.
It should be noted that this was Not a heart attack. It was Not heart failure. It was that my heart stopped. Those are all different things. Apparently the heart stopped due to the dye they were inserting into my veins to find the blockage (there was none) that was causing the heart attack that wasn’t.
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Meanwhile. During and after recovery I’ve been doing a rewrite of a novel I wrote a while back called “Last House.” I was always fond of it and thought it should have another look through. I also wrote a short story and entered it in a couple of contests. That’s in addition to the family history I pluck away at and photos with comments I send to the family.
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And the Snow! We’ve had a couple of snow storms that have been just glorious. The dog and I go out at all hours to play and enjoy. Especially deep into the night when no one else is around. It’s so incredibly joyous with mounds of white and blowing wind and the silence and the glory! Watching a black dog jump and run against all of this becomes a thing of the Spirit. Other worlds hover about, waver in the light that suddenly glints against the sweeping snow.
Writers Ink—Writing and Stuff 