Mets Day 24 - what is real?

Shortly after I finished my last blog post, Jennifer observed how I seems to be out of gas and said that they would leave to find some dinner, then go to sleep. After 15 or so minutes, I roused myself sufficiently to resond, but they were already gone. It was the beginning of a strange 12 hour period. It is 6:15 am Sunday morning as I type this. The hour, plus the morphine, may make this a surreal read. Bear with me.

After Jennifer and Chelsea left, I shut off the lights, adjusted the bed to the least uncomfortable position, and tried to sleep. Looking back on it, I realized that I had entered a strange zone of drug-induced exhaustion. I remember at some point a nurse entering to change all of my dressings, including converting all of my dressings around my SPT tube to a type of colostomy bag. At around 2 am, a nurse's aide entered to empty mt various bags and grenades, and it did not register on me to wonder why my Hospital gown was pulled up to my chest. I guess I was hot? Looking back on it now, I am still surprised that this was in no way abnormal. I remember having the blindingly clear insight that I was in a state of consciousness that perhaps could only be replicated by being made to watch many hours of daytime television - it was either soap operas or Regis and Kathy Lee. I remember being glad that the Geneva Convention prohibited such state action, but then I realized that the University of Chicago was a private school, and probably immune from the Geneva Convention.

Working through that little conundrum took at least an hour. At about 3:30 am, I decided that it would be a good thing to walk around and pass some gas. I stood up and felt a rush of urine running down my legs. It took me some time to realize that this was neither normal, nor good. I called for the nurse to change my dressings, and proceeded to take off my hospital robe and shuffle over to the toilet, where the nurse found me some time later. Apparently I had left an impressive trail from the bed to the bathroom. In my altered state of consciousness, I was not sure if my nurse actually was a prison guard - a perception enhanced by my trying the explain that I intended to go for a walk, and the nurses's aide shaking her head as if to say, "you're not going anywhere without my permission, bub." Add to the background mix the occasional moaning of a nearby patient with serious dementia, and I was increasingly less certain of where or when I was at. I can see how easy it could be to use sleep deprivation and drugs like morphine to create an utterly convincing alternate state of reality.

Eventually I was sufficiently cleaned up so I could go on my stroll. I have succeeded in passing gas several times, to my great delight and relief. I've been told that the doctors on their morning rounds likely will authorize an unrestricted diet. Assuming I'm really not in a altered state being compelled to watch bad daytime tv (redundant, I know it), then I can look forward to some real food.