My coffee intake in the last two months has been severely limited. There are simple pleasures in a cup of fresh brewed, whole bean coffee. It would alter my perspective on life and bring me up out of any doldrum. I had my first cup this morning, a left-over day-old bargain basement brand. I ain't complaining.
My second day out of the hospital, third if you include a one night stint at our local hospital where I went on an observational status to combat dehydration, I can report that I'm better. At the Mayo clinic in Rochester, they put a stent in my throat to aid in swallowing. After a week of not being able to eat or drink. I am slowly bringing myself back.
Those Hollywood moments where a starving person wolfs down a mountain of food are pure bunk. Shrunk to the size of a pea, the ol' gizzard can't handle much. Last night, it was two tablespoons of mashed potatoes and two chicken wing drummies. This morning it was a scrambled egg and two Wal-Mart pork sausage patties. Mr. Natural is on a low residue diet. No fiber, no seeds, nothing that would make swallowing difficult. Eating, anything, is a goal. For fun I eat hummus and a few saltines.
|I really need a long hot shower.|
Maudlin is what I will avoid. It's earliest derivation is associated with the tears of Magdalene.
Each prayer, good word, thoughtful insight, each and every wonderful comment from friends-which includes my blog friends, is like a supportive hand under my arm guiding me me through a morass of krank that is being ill. I didn't know how many good people are out there. Or didn't look hard enough. You fool Gavrillo.
My writing skills are suffering. There is one last image I'd like to convey before I head into the kitchen for sustenance and then a short nap.
A few minutes after I got home from Rochester, I sat on the back stoop and put my left arm around Mandy's neck. She put her paws on my lap to snuggle closer. Occasionally she would look over at me and slurp my face-dog kiss. Gee, Dad I'm so glad you're home. Whoa, the power of unconditional love.You can't put a price on it.
Number one son drove from our place in SW Wisconsin 2 1/2 hours to the Mayo clinic to pick me up, drove me back home and then did the journey over again to get himself back to Minneapolis. What a kid. What a hero. No small feat.
|Dawn's painting of number one son.|