One week ago I had emergency surgery where I was separated from eight inches of my colon.
Now it’s seven days later…
It’s only 10:00 am and I’ve already taken two nice leisurely walks around the sixth floor, it’s like a healthcare runway as I wear the lovely, well ventilated, green gown and wave at unsuspecting innocent patients.
I haven’t eaten or drunk anything in seven days.
I get my nourishment from a brown plastic bag.
I’ve had a plastic “NG” tube for seven days, I think “NG” stands for “nostril grossness”.
After the last week, I can definitely confirm my long held suspicions that having a plastic tube down your nose can complicate every thing.
Seven days of examinations and X-rays it looks like things are moving around the way they are supposed to. My days on the sixth floor may be limited.
On one of my walks I ran into a sweet young family of about seven people, I started to wave, but then I realized they weren’t in need of a howdy.
They needed a hallelujah.
There was tangible loss.
they were clinging on to each other and silently carrying each other through a unimaginable story I can only imagine.
I just looked them in the eyes and tried hard to convey the silent utterance…
I know pain.
I get the same look as I look into the eyes of God.
He knows what I feel on the weak days.
carbonated joy 