Loose Ends

I know that a lot of people who write, write about their illnesses. You can get away with it if you are a really great writer. But if you are just an okay writer, like me, you know what happens? You whine. And, man, oh man, the only thing I hate worse than whining in general, is me, whining.

So here is the short version: I am a hardhead who didn't:

1. Stop smoking until three years ago (after 40 years as a serious smoker.)
2. Listen to my wife who had been telling me since December that there was more going on than just a cold, and that I needed to get to the Doctor.
3. Listen to my Doctor, who had been trying for a month to get me to go into the hospital.

Because of this, I:

1. Ended up in the hospital for two weeks.
2. Am taking a raft of meds.
3. Will be convalescing for a while longer.
4. Learned that no matter what you try to do with it, a hospital gown is ugly.

That is about it except for a couple of loose ends:

• What got me into the hospital was, in essence, an Intervention. My Doctor and my wife, Connie, forced the issue, and I went into the hospital that night. So remember, what "being a hardhead" actually means is "being really good at denial." 
• Patients are called patients because that is about 99% of the healing process, learning to be patient. (Learning to be a patient patient, actually.)
• Nurses and techs make the world go around.
• The world goes on quite nicely without my active participation.

Now, of course, I could go on and on, what I learned and what illness teaches us and my own personal awareness that I have developed and, as they used to say on Seinfeld, ya-dee-yadda-ya.

From Ann LaMott to William Styron to John Berryman there are a thousand writers who have done it better, with far more intelligence and wit than I ever could. And with a lot less whining!

Next time, back to the business at hand.