It's been a long week, and it feels real fine to be home, ladies.
My husband had some medical tests, and that required some shifting in priority the past week. So I've been doing that hospital boogie lately and yes, I think we all know that routine. Reading and reading, and waiting and waiting and looking away sometimes too. Pulling the chairs and fetching of things, vending machines and "where is that nurse?" type of stuff.
But Kari, I'm very saddened to tell you, that a friend of ours is ill as well.
(That's right, a friend of ours.)
Remember Mr. Gibbs? (Think corn and oyster recipe... )
For the folks who don't remember, Kari once asked for a recipe for an oyster quiche-type thing. I promptly fetched my neighbor, because this woman is the cajun queen of cookery. And she did, very graciously come sit next to me here in my livingroom, at the pc, giving me step by step instructions as I typed.
She was mystified by the computer, and kept asking me, "chez, you talkin' to somebody on dat tang?"
Her husband came down with pneumonia, and since he is also well on his way with Alzheimer's, I really don't think he will make it home.
After seeing him, I really don't understand how he could.
* * *
I called him "my boyfriend" and I would go visit them, a few doors down, and we would sit in the kitchen while I watched his wife cook as I took mental notes of timings and seasonings. They would cook fine cajun meals and call us on down, and we would sit in their kitchen and laugh, eat, and chatter, listening to Patsy Cline and Hank Williams. I would sing to Mr. Gibbs sometimes, as my husband danced with his wife in front of the kitchen sink.
It really was as charming as it sounds.
He's a tough old man and he had been sawed apart and welded back together across his chest, and he never failed to show me his scars.
"Here," he would say, unbuttoning, "Let me show you what they did to me..."
* * *
I saw him on last Thursday, though he did not see me.
He was naked and small on the bed when I walked in--he was having lunch through a feeder tube in his stomach. He had two black eyes, though the side with the cut was much more pronounced.
(He had tried to leave earlier in the week--and had he not slipped in the lobby, he may have succeeded in hitting the highway, not too far from those hospital doors.)
So now he is tied down as well.
He didn't know me when I saw him and I was glad.
* * *
They used to fetch me to sing to him--he liked, so much, the way I sing.
* * *
After lunch, they took the funnel out of his stomach, and covered him again. I waited a few minutes before talking to him.
"Mr. Gibbs? It's me, Karen..." I clutched his hand feeling clumsy.
I wanted to sing to him again, but I didn't.
I was afraid I'd scare him, or startle the staff. I was afraid it would be inappropriate.
So instead I kissed his head after wiping that stray combover back in place.
I watched him curl up inside of himself and I thought, "surprise me, Mr. Gibbs..."
"Come home." I said aloud, knowing he already was...
[This message has been edited by serenity blaze (04-26-2004 08:20 AM).]