But it’s got all this red juice when I push on it…

I don’t know why I’m quoting Mommie Dearest for the title of this post. I actually had one of those heartwarming friends kind of posts planned for Monday, but I’ll save it. Instead, I have to tell you what Timothy J. Lambert is willing to do to make you all aware that this is National Respiratory Care Week.

Let’s begin with a little photo.

I can haz morphine?

If you read Tim’s LJ, you saw that he did a Sugar Monday post, which is usually done by Lindsey. Since Lindsey and Rhonda are spending far more than one night in Bangkok and Sugar’s at The Compound, and since Rex and Sugar were posing for photos, it seemed like the right thing to do. But he also mentioned that he had a knot in his back that hurt so much he couldn’t breathe.

He came over and asked me to try to work out the knot. I couldn’t find a muscle spasm though. I felt more tension on his right side than his left, where he said the pain was, so I thought maybe his left side was compensating for muscle spasms on his right. I worked his shoulders and back a bit, but it didn’t seem to help much. Later, he came over again and borrowed my heating pad. Again, he mentioned that the pain was so intense that he couldn’t breathe. It occurred to me to ask if he also was feeling pain in his chest, and he said yes. So I suggested he might want to go in and have someone take a listen to his lungs, in case he had something like pleurisy or bronchitis. (I’m not a doctor, but I play one on LiveJournal.) He said he’d just lie on the heating pad because he couldn’t afford to see a doctor and has no insurance. I reminded him that Houston does have a hospital for people in his situation. He opted for the heating pad.

About ten minutes later, he came back in excruciating pain and asked me to take him in. Fortunately, Tom was here by then to take care of Rex and Sugar as well as Margot and Guinness. (Thanks, Tom.)

I’ll spare you the details of the waiting room dramas that I got to see while Tim was taken away (though they’d make good fiction). I expected him to be back in a few minutes for a wait of many hours. After an hour and a half passed without his return, I was quite edgy. Finally a nurse came to take me to him, and on the way, he explained that Tim had a partially collapsed lung, had undergone a procedure to insert a tube into his lung from his rib area, was in severe pain, and would be admitted. When we got to him, the nurse peeked behind the curtain and asked if it was okay for me to come in, and Tim said, “Suuuurrrre!!” in a very chipper voice. I walked in and said, “Are you high?” Oh, he most definitely was, and the nurses around him seemed pretty entertained. They did look a little worried when I gasped, “What have they done to you?” After a beat, I added, “They turned your hair blue!” They laughed and one of them said that had never happened to a patient of theirs before.

I then got to accompany Tim to… I don’t know what you would call it. Some kind of holding hell. During the thirty-minute visits I was allowed every couple of hours, I got to see a guy whose face tangled with a car and lost, and a hooker who was handcuffed, bleeding, and high as a kite. (Tim said he thought the cop was asking her out, though, so maybe it’ll have a happy ending?)

Tim is on morphine, oxygen, and an IV drip. He can’t have any food or drink (though I did slip him a peppermint Lifesaver. The nurse promised not to tell.). For someone who really is in awful pain, he’s being pretty adorable and funny.

Eight miles high…

Around 3 a.m., they got him into a room. Sure, he has to share it with three other people, but as compensation, he gets to wear that snazzy hospital gown. Also, the thing his lung drains into makes a nice bubbling noise like a fountain. How serene! When I mentioned my regret at not having my camera with me and that Tom had reminded me I had one on my cell phone, Tim gave a wave of resignation, especially after I told him that it was Respiratory Care Week. HE GIVES AND GIVES AND GIVES…

Don’t try this at home, kids.

I thought about quoting Will and Grace to him (Grace: Do you need a lung? Take mine. I have two!) but instead, I opted to go with Absolutely Fabulous and imitated Edina saying, “You’ll be all right, won’t you, Pats?” In a flawless Patsy Stone accent, Tim said, “Yeah. I’ll be all right.” Then I came home to post this, get some sleep, and help Tom with dog care duty. Sugar’s crate is at Tim’s, but she has a pillow over here. She’s sleeping in the living room, though, and Rex is curled up on her pillow right now, looking awfully forlorn.

He misses his dad. So do I.