Hypothetical Eulogy

The walls are supposed to be white. They come across to the fastidious person inside me to be cream. I'm lying prone and I can't decide whether I'm hot or cold: the blanket is up but I'm only half under it. There is no doubt in my mind that I look far more ill than I actually am, especially since they put that horrendous tube up my nose and down my throat. Yuk! I won't be in a hurry to do that again. At least I'm not as sick as Bill. Poor old bastard. What could he possibly have left? I feel guilty that I get annoyed by his snoring, that's how sick he is. Remind me never to get diabetes; I had no idea it could get that bad. One mintue you're getting dared to win a donut eat-off and the next you're telling some twenty year old ward mate that you're going to losing your leg. I saw his foot this morning and it didn't look so flash. He lost three of his toes, just like that, gone! My first reaction was to wiggle all of mine to make sure they were still there. Is this the height of sadism? That I was a little jealous of Bill because he got to try and eat lunch and I'm still stuck on freaking "free fluids".

I'm glad I met Bill Ademms. (I made sure to spell that right since the hospital got it wrong for two days.) Not normally would I expect to enjoy the company of an eighty year old man but you make do with what you can.

The hospital is the place for sick people, not well people. As simple as that sounds it makes much more sense when you're on the mend and want to go home. All of a sudden the place where "they take care of you" seems to be a house of decreptitude. You think to yourself, "How much better can I be getting if they still deem it appropriate that I stay in hospital?"

When Sash visited (everytime she visited) I was overcome with something very much resembling joy, but without the same energetic rush. It was more of a wholesome contentment that seemed to say, "O.K, the world has been going on without you but it remains essentially the same and everything you are afraid you might lose will still be there when you come out." If I ever come out. Hospital seems to be a popular place for melodrama: I can see why they set so many television shows in them.

Whenever people visit I feel the need to talk. I figure: 1. people hate hospitals so it's a big effort for them to come in at all and 2. people hate having to start conversations (think of the passenger seat of a car.) With this in mind, I feel bad if they come in and I'm too sick to talk and we just sit there awkwardly so I said to Sash:

"See Bill over there, he reminds me of my grandma."
"Your grandma?"
"Yeah, he's very sprightly for an 80 year old."
"Sprightly? Who talks like that? I swear you are the old man."
"I think you're missing the point. Poor guy has diabetes: they chopped of his toes and now he thinks they're gonna take his leg."
"That's awful," she said. "From diabetes? I had no idea it could get that bad."
"That's what I said!" (Soulmates?)
"That's only because you want to be me." She stuck out her tongue.
"I clearly thought it first. Maybe you want to be me."

I'm sorry for these petty details but you must understand: this is what I think love is. At this point we lapsed into a form of silence not altogether comfortable - still, one you could only have with someone you love. After a minute or two I was compelled to apologise.

"Sorry I'm not much fun today."
"You're sick! And it's fine. I like being with you. If we say nothing I'll still have a nice time."
"I like when you visit too, but I understand if it's not very exciting, seeing your boyfriend or sick and tired."
"Just concentrate on getting better."

Then I asked a strange question, but one I wanted to know her answer to.

"Hey Sash, if I was dying, would you stay overnight in the hospital with me?"
"Of course I would. But don't say that."

That was nice.

"You should see Bill's wife," I said. "She comes in every morning, soon as visiting hours open, stays a few hours, they don't say anything but she brings him things. Every morning, brings him a popper that he never drinks. Then she goes home and comes back around 2:30, 3 o'clock and stays a few more hours. Why don't you do that?"
"Aww, that's cute."
"Yeah, I guess so. Feel kind of bad for them though, I mean, they never say anything. It's like they are just waiting for the inevitable."
"Maybe they don't need to. Not everyone talks as much as you, you know."
"Maybe. But they are so old, they have nothing to look forward to. You should've seen her. For ages she was trying to put the cap back on his razor upside down and of course it wouldn't go on so she tried to force it but she dropped it and couldn't pick it up. I couldn't help but laugh, but it was so sad."
"It's so cute. Seems like she just wants to be with him, no matter what. Like me."
"Hey, what time is it? You're not late are you?"
"It's about quarter past, thanks for reminding me. I guess I better go but I'll be back tomorrow."
"O.K, thanks for coming in. Bill's wife will be here soon. That should keep me entertained."
"Don't be mean."
"I'm not. Good luck pup."
"Thank you. See you tomorrow. Get better and I love you."
"Love you too."

Sash left for the day and Bill's wife returned. She did it again, the razor cap thing, but it wasn't so funny this time. Gradually the antibiotics took hold and I fell asleep. I woke up at 4:30 in the morning: Bill's wife was still there, holding his hand. That was sad.