There are just some things you never want in life.
You never want to see a needle enter your skin. As if in slow motion. And you never want to see it happen again, and again, and then have the nurse move to the other arm, and remark about how nice your veins are.
You never want to wear a gown that's intentionally open in back. You especially don't want to wear this gown while walking down linoleum hallways past moaning accident victims to the bathroom for the umpteenth time while tethered to a plastic bag that's creeping liquid into your veins because your stomach won't even let a little water in.
You never, never ever, want to run for the bathroom as fast as you can because you're about to blow a burrito out of your face. You do not want to clench the sink, or the toilet, or the trash can, as hard as you can as every muscle in your body locks up and piles of awfulness come out of you with a velocity that is too much, too fast, for it to escape out of just one orifice, and into just one drain.
You do not ever want that smell in your bathroom, your hair, or your socks.
If you could live a million years without experiencing any of these things, you would, and you'd miss nothing. Because, friends, these things are the things that no one should have in their life. Ever.
When the evil nasties come calling, and there's nothing you can do about it, it's amazing what the human body, my human body, can endure. It can stare into the toilet bowl in those moments in between and construct elaborate fantasies about how good it will feel when this is all over. It can sit in the hospital as the moaning people go rolling by and think about how awful this is, but how much worse that woman who's missing an apple-sized piece of her leg must feel. It can tolerate the constant beep-beep-beeping of the goddamned machine in the room if it means just one anti-nausea shot. And it can even suffer through two days of Saltines and Jell-O if it means that on the third day, the glorious third day, it might be able to tolerate toast.
Friends, I've been sick.
I've been sicker this week than I've ever been in my life. It was a blindingly horrible, comin-outta-both-ends, God-take-me-now kinda sick that landed me in the hospital for an evening and then in bed for two days. I have a purple blob on my arm from the IV to prove it.
So it's funny that today, the first day I feel better in almost a week, is the last day of this fucking death march of a year. Friends, I've been sick. I've been sick and I've been poor and I've been lost this year. But all that ends tonight. Because tomorrow is the future. Tomorrow is 2003. And we can make it whatever we want it to be.
My resolutions for 2003? To be as happy as possible and as creative as I can. To stay employed, engaged, and alive. And most of all, to not have to go anywhere near another goddamn hospital.
And: Hurry home, baby.
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