Sunday, September 16, 2018

Awaiting Torture

This whole business of nearly dying and being resuscitated is a bit new to me. Mostly it has, as you would expect with me, brought on a lot of heavy thinking about life and the meaning of fear and love and obligation and use of time. More prosaically it means rehab. 

First it meant a mundane ambulance transfer out of Jackson South to the rehab at Health South.  A rough ride on my still torn pelvis it was too. No luxury there. 

It was done late at night so I saw nothing of the world outside.  The EMT monitoring me used to live in the Lower Keys which created an instant bond. We Are Everywhere. Moving out of the hospital meant no more trauma alerts and while it is medically supervised you are presumed to have basic health status: ie breath and not be anywhere near ready to pop off.  Gone are the IVs and monitors reduced to four checks daily of blood pressure on a rolling device.  Very nice.

A long way from ICU where I lay bleeding out one end as they poured blood in the other. I arrived around ten pm Friday and as such have not yet seen the gym known to some inmates as the torture chamber. I am a little apprehensive as they say Physical Therapy is torture.  Not exercise, but making your body do what it feels it cannot do. For my part I want to walk and shit in the toilet. I hope I am ready for what is to come. 
Thanks for demanding I keep up this page.  I shall do my best to be coherent and spell checked as I type on my phone on my back through the haze of all these experiences.