237. I Fall in Love - David Sutton
Textile art by Tiny Pricks Project
Whenever somebody would ask me how I was, I would answer “well” every time, conscious as never before of the depth and meaning of wellness, the grace involved in being in a position to say that.
Just now, I’ve fallen deeply in love with the man in the curtain-séparée adjacent to mine in the recovery area here at Cedars-Sinai Hospital. He’s recovering from his third brain surgery. When he arrived here in recovery, he was moaning and sighing in pain, and confused by his uncomfortable catheter. Whenever he makes a sound or speaks, I reflexively look in his direction, but I can’t see him. Instead, I see the beige curtain with a vine pattern, butterflies perched on the vines.
I’m here today recovering from anesthesia needed to perform a spinal imaging test called a myelogram. My beloved Mary Beth and I are spending a bit of extra time in recovery, because my neurosurgeon wants to admit me directly to the hospital for tomorrow’s surgery, and we must wait for a bed to be arranged. The facility is overstuffed with beautifully compassionate, highly skilled professionals. They have names like Noz, Kat, Jasper, Wouter, Tati, Rachel, and Marcel.
And now I’ve fallen in love with my neighbor’s neurology nurse, who I’ll hear but never see, and who has just given my neighbor Dilaudid. She has taken away his pain and converted his moaning into singing. He’s giving delightfully silly, improv-worthy answers to her neurological assessment questions and to her questions about his needs. He hums while she asks, then he answers in a sing-song voice.
Nurse: Do you want some ice?
Him: Is it Häagen Dazs?
Nurse: Sure. Häagen Dazs ice. (Pause.) What flavor is it?
Him: Gutter.
Nurse (later): Do you want some more gutter Häagen Dazs?
Him: Yea.
Nurse (later): How do you feel?
Him: Well, my head hurts. My hand hurts. And my pecker hurts. (With delight:) That’s all!
I am so deeply grateful. The condition I have is uncommon, to be sure, and it involves my spine and my brain. Beginning in 2007, it dogged me and made things difficult for five awful years while doctors tried to decipher my malady. At last they discovered a cerebrospinal fluid leak behind my heart and made an effective repair.
Then I was well. An amazing decade of growth and happiness sped by. Whenever somebody would ask me how I was, I would answer “well” every time, conscious as never before of the depth and meaning of wellness, the grace involved in being in a position to say that.
Recently, the condition returned. I have been anxious.
But now we’re on top of things. Mine is a simple, cleanly diagnosed condition with a clear path forward. My caregiver this time is the best there is. He has a sweet, dry, Dutch sense of humor and kind, blue eyes.
My time frame for treatment is now. The recovery time is weeks, not months or years. My prospects, unlike my neighbor’s, are for a full recovery, practically guaranteed.
There will be discomfort, to be sure, but it will be discomfort born like the beating of new wings against the walls of a holy chrysalis. Knowing this, having my love at my side, and imagining the next ten years, makes the pain much easier to bear.
- David Sutton
