Sigfried Survives

(Cue Gloria Gaynor song) First I was afraid, I was petrified. Actually, I really wasn't: by now, many of you know I had surgery and the prospect of being cut open didn't bother me as much as the recovery. And that recovery ...I was a mess, and not a hot one at that. Between puking up stomach bile which looked and smelled like beef blood (how do I know what that looks/smells like? I've been to the Asian market with Roy's grandmother), being hopped up on drugs and confused as to where I was, and being poked and prodded (not in a good way), I can definitely say that hospitals are places for healing, but certainly, not rest. It's hard enough trying to get better on your own, but, when you're sharing a room with "Homeless Tom" who's peeing on himself instead of getting out of bed, and asking the nurses for ice cream in the middle of the night ...it's not easy.

I have to say, LaRoy was an absolute saint. I know, the only sainthood one might associate with LaRoy usually involves praying to the porcelain after a night of heavy partying. However, LaRoy was comforting, supportive and walked me up and down the hallways when I didn't have the strength to move. I told him that this was going to be our future: the old Jewish man (me) and the younger Filipino caretaker (him).

Thankfully, I'm finally home and getting stronger every day. At this time last week, I didn't have the strength to type, let alone be snarky, so I must be feeling better. Thanks to all of you for your thoughts and prayers during this time, and of course, to LaRoy ...for being so special (and I'm not referring to the short bus).