Admittedly, there’s still a lot I don’t remember after my 27-day stay in the hospital.  Probably good I lost my recall.  What began as a perforated colon and a temporary ostomy resulted in seizures, intubation, pneumonia, and being tied to a bed in ICU for two weeks.

One ICU nurse did ask if I knew what happened.  Given the tube I just shook my head, and she explained: “You are very sick; you almost died.  Your kids are so worried.”

I knew about COVID-19, so I figured that was the source of my health problems.  I knew I couldn’t have visitors, and I knew every doc and nurse wore uber protective clothing in my room, which they changed the moment they exited.  Ok, I’m dying.  Thankfully, my girls are well-educated and well-established.  They are healthy and happy; they’ll be fine.  Hopefully, arrangements will be made to secure good homes for all of my dogs.  I’ll give myself two more days.

Miraculously, day 1, I improved, and day 2, the tube was removed from my throat. I could talk, eat, and drink again.  (I’m sure some of my docs wanted to shove the tube back in, as they weren’t prepared for my edgy sense of humor.)

My kids seized control and limited direct access to me in an effort to speed my recovery.  I had no idea of the vast number of folk who were praying and rooting for me.  Folk, whom I hadn’t heard from for fifty years were cheering me on, while I learned to hold a pencil and write my name, while I learned to walk again.

Admittedly, there’s still a lot I don’t remember, but I survived due to the vast love and support of others.  Thank you.