Memories from there are sketchy. I felt pain, but more often at first was discomfort from the hospital gear attached to me. I’d gone from the kitchen to a beautiful white box to a hospital that seemed to have no concern for my well being. They were, by far, the worst stop on the journey. Or, maybe I just wasn’t seeing things properly.
I’m sure there were many things I wasn’t quite “seeing” properly at first. I could hear more than I could see. Voices came into my ears, but assimilating faces was a completely different animal. Even Grant’s face was fuzzy and I knew him by the way he walked or what he was wearing. I saw nothing clearly, but the news of the seizure that had placed me here.
I know now many people came to visit, but I was not aware of them. I was in a world of drugs and plastic. Numb to my own needs, I relied upon those around me to do their best. Stating my opinion did not then lie within my ability.
Reaching a point where talking became attractive, I’m told I was quite funny. I remember being quite charming. Everything seemed tubular and I saw only what was directly in front of me. My eyes didn’t seem to have a grasp yet on the complete room view, but I could hear laughter and my heart soared at its presence.
Tubes were soon disconnected, but my memory of this time is voices. I remember best those few who boldly approached my bed and spoke close to my head. I may not have seen their faces, but I heard their words. I pray if the tables were turned I would do the same.