In the Hospital

“I’m seeing things.”

It isn’t clear at first if this is from missing a dose or from the morphine.

My uncle is lying in the hospital bed, in pain, telling us the same seven things in an endless loop.

He asks me what book I’m reading. I explain and read a quote from the back, which I think he’ll get a kick out of. I say the author is apparently quite outrageous.

He says, “like an O’Connor…”

I read another quote from the author himself, only to be interrupted, told to stop. He is choking on a sip of water. His eyes get intensely focused and there is a long silence.

Two days ago, they removed a lobe from his lung. He has tubes coming out of his chest. We talk again about how they cut out a rib to get in and remove the tumorous lobe.

Like an O’Connor. Another uncle died at 42 of lung cancer. My grandfather died of lung cancer.

When I visited him in the hospital in Salisbury, we talked about Fahrenheit 451 and the advantage of Life Savers over Hall’s cough drops.

“If I fall asleep with a Life Savers and it gets stuck in my throat, the little hole will let oxygen through.”

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Digital warlock and all around mixed metaphor. Also, VP of Digital at Fifteen4.

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