Tim’s still at the mercy of the public healthcare system. After the CT scan, his lung showed that it wasn’t inflated properly, so they can’t discharge him. I don’t know what happens next. He got more chest x-rays this morning. I’ll post when I know more.
I wish I had answers to all of your questions. Why would you trust me, anyway? I’m the one who incorrectly diagnosed pleurisy or bronchitis. There’s an article right here that probably explains it as concisely as anything I’ve found. If you’re staring at the monitor crying I want to know whyyyyy in a Sally Field voice (or maybe I’m the only one who does that), since I haven’t shot or stabbed him recently, he more likely falls into the category of tall, thin men between the ages of 20 and 40 who smoke. (Word to anyone who may not understand Tim: I know you’re motivated by love and concern, but it’s counterproductive to suggest that he stop smoking, so save your breath. He’s a big boy who can read the side of a cigarette pack.)
This part of an article on collapsed lungs amused me:
Try not to cough, sing, talk loudly, or laugh for several days. This causes increased pressure in your lungs and may result in another collapse during this healing period.
Tim never talks loudly, but he sings all the time. I’ll have to tell Rex not to make him laugh.
Since every day we’ve hoped he was coming home, I hadn’t taken much to him. Last night, I finally took fresh clothes so he could get himself cleaned up a little and change into something a little more conducive to lying around eavesdropping on the conversations of Roommate No. 2’s dozen visitors and waiting for the chickens to cluck (that’s an obscure allusion to Kate Christensen’s novel Jeremy Thrane). I also took him a portable DVD player, along with four-DVDs-for-twenty-bucks that I picked up at Blockbuster. Last night after Survivor (which we strained to hear over Roommate No. 1’s TV and Roommate No. 2’s extended family, forgetting that we had dual earbuds we could have plugged in to the TV), we watched Because I Said So, not brilliant, pretty mindless in fact, but harmless and mostly lacking medical disasters beyond laryngitis and a hyperactive child, so it fit the bill.
Also lacking medical disasters but hopefully not mindless are the Answers to Question No. 9 of Mark G. Harris’s 12 Questions for Writers.
crying I want to know whyyyyy in a Sally Field voice
OMG, I almost snarfled my coffee just now!
His sleep-schedule must be so fucked, right now.
I was talking to Lisa about hospitals’ Internet accesses… guess there’s no chance for him to surf, is there?
I doubt there are any public computers in this particular hospital, although I know there are in other hospitals. I wouldn’t trust his laptop there for those times he has to leave the room for tests, and I doubt there’s Internet access anyway. I remember a time when it wasn’t a given that there were even phones or TVs in those rooms.
This hospital has a great trauma center, because it serves as the ER for a lot of people (in a city of millions, you can imagine how many uninsured there are), but there are no frills. Hell, there aren’t even a lot of what many of us would consider basics.
However, my opinion is biased. My friend John died in this hospital and even eleven years later, just walking down the hall is familiar in an unpleasant way. Which sounds way more dramatic than I mean for it to. It’s just part of my history, but not one of the better parts.
I’ve heard that a lung collapsing is not very pleasant. I hate to hear that Tim is going through this.
I know some people that know some people, one word Becks, and he’ll be busted out! Please let him know I have the picture you guys sent me at the computer, and occasionally I shake my fist at it and say “Get better, damn you!”
Pass on the doggie sugar from Dash, and give some to yourself too … you deserve it!
This morning, we’re going to a spirit house and lighting incense to wish for Tim’s speedy recovery and return home.
Continue giving him our love and gentle hugs. Tell him RubinSmo brownies are in his future.
Having your own stuff makes a lot of difference. One
of the worst things about being in the hospital is
being cut off from the familiar and being forced into
THEIR routine.
And to add — “Jeremy Thrane”!!! I guess I’m obscure,
too…
Oh my god! I get back from my retreat to find that one of my heroes is wounded.
Give Tim my love and give yourself a hug from me. I know how hard those “hospital memories” can be.
Thank you so very much for the updates on Tim. You all are in my positive thoughts and vibes.
Totally Fondue
But, I just wanted you to know, Bob and I went to the farmer’s market today and bought raw peanuts, so I can make boiled peanuts. Those are some of my most favorite things ever to eat.
We also bought pumpkins so I can bake the seeds and carve the pumpkins…
Fondue anyone?