The waiting is the hardest part

ICU West.

His nurse is expecting me. She calls to me and leads me around the corner to bed five.

He’s moving like a bug trapped on its back; not thrashing; he’s too weak for that and too sedated but he’s moving; legs kicking in slow motion; arms rising and falling. His head rolls back and forth. His eyes are very slightly open. Tubes are wired into his puffy wrists and into his mouth and down his throat. There are bandages on his legs. I have no idea why, unless they extracted something there for use in the bypass surgery. Gadgets and displays surround him in a great arc. There’s enough computing power hooked into him to launch a mission to Mars.

I wasn’t ready for this. He’d been motionless when I’d seen him previously; in essence, comatose.

“He’s very fidgety right now,” says the nurse. “I’ve just upped the dose of [whateverdrug – Trazipan or some damn thing] to try to get him to sleep. He didn’t sleep well last night.”

I wouldn’t either with a goddam pipe down my throat. “When can he come off the breathing machine?”

She explains their difficult position. It might just be the tube that’s making him so ornery but if they take it out and it turns out not to be the cause – the situation could be dangerous.

“Is this a bad time for me to visit?”

“No. It’s probably a good time. You might be able to calm him down. Try to convince him to sleep.” She moves away from us.

“Hey Dad.” I step closer and lean down. “Hey Dad.”

His legs slow. His head turns in my direction. His eyes open wider for a moment. His lips and throat are moving.

“Are you trying to talk? Don’t try to talk. You got that tube down your throat.”

“Is it driving you crazy, that tube? Listen, you need to be as calm as you can. You got to try to live with it for now, you know? They can’t take it out until you’ve been calm for a while. You need to cooperate with these guys. The nurse says it’s best if you can sleep for a while.”

“You’re lucky, you know. This is a great hospital. These doctors and nurses – they’re the best. I trust them. I think they know what’s best for you, you know? And I know Judy thinks so too.”

Three different wavy lines undulate across a monitor. One of them is his heart, I assume, beating, blessedly, again.

“I’m really glad you got this operation. I’m looking forward to – I’m looking forward to seeing you recover, and how much better your health will be after.”

“I love you, Dad. No, don’t try to talk.”

“It’s a little strange; this one-way conversation. I’m used to being more of a listener, you know?”

I’m touching his shoulder. His arm rises, whether to hold my hand or to punch a hole in the ceiling, who knows. I hold his big puffy hand.

“I’ve been talking to Judy a lot. I know we hardly ever talk, you and me, and when we do, you always say it’s great to see me and I should call more often, but you never call me. So I’ve just always thought it’s a bit of a game, you know? That you’re just trying to be kind to me; to make me feel wanted. But I’ve been talking to Judy and she says, no, it’s not like that. So I guess I had it wrong. But I want you to know that I gave Mosaic my notice. And I want to move back to Hamilton for a while. And I’d like to see you as much as you want. Every day if you want. I mean that.”

A tear runs down his cheek. Maybe it was there before. Maybe I didn’t notice until now.

I look around and search for things to say; to pass some time.

“I’m really excited about the future. My life has really changed, you know? And I think it’s gonna be the same for you. I think there are a lot of possibilities coming out of this. Healthier lives for both of us. I really look forward to talking to you about these things when you can talk again. Hopefully soon if you can just find a way to put up with all this shit; to be calm, you know? To do what the doctors ask you to.”

His eyes are fully closed now. He’s barely moving.

I tell him hockey season is coming and his beloved Montreal Canadiens are looking like a strong team. Some predict them to lead the conference.

“I don’t know if you can hear me anymore, Dad. I don’t know if you’re sleeping or not.”

“He is,” says the nurse, coming up behind me. “Thank you. You’re timing was excellent. You helped him to sleep. He needed that.”

“Thank you for everything,” I say. I tell her when I’ll be back again for another visit.

I make my way out to the big double doors and push the yellow button to open them. The intensive care unit does not smell nice. I would very much like to never smell it again.

My...

Mr. Avitable has created his own meme. Link back to him if you decide to do it yourself:

My favorite age: 29.

My best friend: Porn King. But Doc Lock, Proffesor Plonk, Cap'n Vino, Rockin' Roddie, Jiggs, Matman and the I.S. are all too wildly special to go without mention.

My celebrity crush: None. Well - Mark Wahlberg if I had to choose.

My defining characteristic: I was once known as the Cigar-n-Guinness Guy according to certain bartenders.

My most evil moment: A letter in reply to an ex's letter when I was 18. Thought I was being clever but in hindsight was just cruel. Been hoping for a chance to apologize for years now.

My favorite food: Jerk pork from Mister Jerk, DQ peanut butter cup blizzard, trout paste, steak, saucy ribs, butter chicken, Tai spring rolls, The Keg's calamari, blue cheese, maple syrup with french toast, warm fresh bread. Excuse me, I need to go purge.

My grossest injury: I don't get hurt much but I was almost struck by a stream of squirting blood when an opponent's shot drove an errant helmet screw into my lacrosse teammate's head (the goalie). He recovered okay, by the way, no more brain-damaged than he was previously.

My biggest hatred: Been a long while since I experienced hate but my deepest mistrust - I'd have to say, my own ego.

My most illegal activity: Speeding, tax evasion, defecting from the Matrix.

My need for justice: I interact with natural justice. It regulates my capacity to experience joy. I think this applies to everybody but very few claim to be aware of it.

My most knowledgeable field: Human nature.

My life's goal: Harmony.

My mother's influence: Love. Unconditional.

My nerdiest point: God, where to start... Devoted half my energy in my youth to being a dungeon master (the other half to street hockey; I was awesome at both!)

My oldest memory: Waking up early the mornings after my mom's parties and drinking the dreggs of cold coffees left behind. Thank god she couldn't afford alcohol.

My perfect date: No comment. I'm committed to keeping this blog somewhat clean.

My unanswered question: How do I get there from here? And: Why don't I just get out the door and figure it out?

My random fact: I don't know how to whistle.

My stupidest decision: "Fuck it, I can jump from here."

My favorite television show: M*A*S*H

My style of underwear: Tighty whities.

My favorite vegetable: Barley. In liquid form only.

My weakest trait: Inherently lazy.

My X-men power: I'm a walking lie detector.

My strongest yearning: The I.S.

My moment of Zen: Gazing at the moon, stars or the empty page.

FWG: Dear Father

Though you believe you plainly see,
In fact you do not know me.
For I have purged all I thought I knew
And began this living all anew.

But my covertness for your comfort,
I can no longer maintain.
For a rightful task calls me to my feet
And now your blindness might soon retreat.

Your deeds were apt for self destruction;
A low straight line marked the end
Of your heart's fragile beating
But your death they are now cheating;
They, dressed in loose blues and greens
And all of their fine machines.

And now you too are reborn
If you should wish it and will it so;
If you will now learn to let go
And begin to purge the ways you knew
So to begin this living all anew.

Release those demons from your embrace!
And turn to the sky, instead, your face
And be stunned by the unfamiliar sun,
So brilliant is the new day.

FWG: Code Blue

Better another and another cigarette
With every breath borrowed against terminal debt.
These charcoal lungs haven’t failed just yet.

Better another and another stiff drink
Then a lucid mind with which to think.
Wellness be damned! Let mortality shrink!

Shortness of breath is a portent of death,
Still the method of suicide be sold
By the pint, by the bottle, the pack or the carton.
A nice long drag it is, getting old.

Ignoring the signs; the future declined.
Such apathy in the glare of his danger,
But when skin’s pallor ices with alarm bell devices,

My, how they fly to the aid of a stranger.

.

Aequitas: Nightingales

Dread not the coming dark of night

The whispering winds

And hidden frights.

A pallid light washes over all,

The leaves, once green, begin their fall.

A silvery moon, thin and wan

A nightingale sings it's waking song

The glimmer of stars

Though something's wrong.

Here it will be, ere long.

Then a blackened sky

Storm clouds brew from on high.

Churning with the wind,

And I rescind into my nest

And hope and pray for the best.

A flash of light

Illumes the night

Caught me unawares.

For to my left, and to my right

A twin pair of stares.

Hollow stares, cold as death,

And I need rest,

For I'll be tested yet again.

And as the nightingales grow silent

The storm unleashes violence,

The night that never ends.

.

.

Read more poetry by Aequitas on Authspot

Film: Wascally Wabbit Meets the Big Hill

CREDITS

Wascally Wabbit: Stella

Man on stairs: Cap'n Vino

Director: FWG

Producer: FWG

Camera Technician: FWG

Grip: FWG

Chief Bartender: FWG

Assistant to Miss Stella: Cap'n Vino

Dispatches from the Want-n-While lodge

I'm not even going to bother fixing the awkward random spacing that will inevitably fuck up the layout of this post nor will I bother to find out who at Blogger.com is responsible for this fuck-uppedness that happens every time you try to post more than five photos nor will I knee said person in the crotch. We'll just live with it 'cause there are worse problems in the world...

This is the best pic I have of the cottage itself. It's kind of buried behind the trees. Use your x-ray vision:



Professor Plonk salutes the wolves upon trading authentic wolf howls with them. We think he said, "If you're coming over to visit I recommend you eat the others and not me. They're much tastier."



Foggy morning:


More 'foggy morning':





Still more 'foggy morning':

Enough 'foggy morning' to choke a small horse:

Not so foggy:

Who 'dat!

Cap'n Vino shoots a giant stool! Um - toad stool, that is:

Gateway to the land of the Tommyknockers:

Caught on the Tommyknockers' surveillance camera:

Me and Stella:

A few random quotes from the week:

"I started my vacation off properly. Had two beers and a Cuban cigar for breakfast."

"Why does this toast smell like fish? Did you grill this toast on the barbecue? By god, it tastes like fish."

"The mellow yellow policy is simply good water management."

"Go get your quadrapus!"

"Looking up at the stars I know quite well... That for all they care I can go to hell... But on earth indifference is the least We have to dread from man or beast. How should we like it were stars to burn... With a passion for us we could not return? If equal affection can not be, let the more loving one be me." (W. H. Auden)

"Apparently you get six bucks worth of free Crispy Crunches with every fourteen cent purchase of baking powder. Who knew?"

"Make way for the dock dip."

"Oh come on people. Do I have to demonstrate how to perform a demi-squat?"

"I like this tissue with lotion. I only needed one sheet instead of three and it leaves a nice taste on the lips."

"ISLANDS IN THE STREAM! THAT IS WHAT WE ARE! NO ONE IN BETWEEN!"

"OH, FUCK OFF WITH THAT SONG! YOU PRICK!"

"What the hell are these tommyknockers you keep talking about?"

It's a band? Manhattan Transfer! Three words... First word... The! The Manhattan Transfer! Second word... Um. Suspenders! Lumberjack! Paul Bunyan! Backpack! Hiking! Sinking! Melting! Stairway! Downstairs! Manhattan Transfer! Falling! Mushroom! What the? What are you doing? Oh! Flying! Airplane! Jefferson Airplane! Jefferson Starship...! Third word... Swing! Bat! Club! Buena Vista Social Club! The Breakfast Club! Oh! Oh! The Parachute Club! Oh shit. We were out of time.

The wheels... are in motion!

I had a couple meetings with my boss at Ye Olde Information Company this week.

They refused to dismiss me or give me a severance package - no surprise - but we did plan an exit strategy where the company and I will trade favors and part ways between three and four months from now. Basically I will stay on until they can get a new person on board and the successive training completed that will shift everyone involved into their new roles.

And then... look out world! I'll be free from the Matrix. And I'm coming after you!

In other news:

Item one: Completely independent of this circumstance, I was approached by two separate persons this week regarding income opportunities of writing and self-employed natures. How interesting how things fall together.

Item two: Very dear pal, Professor Plonk actually applied for a new job this week. I've only been urging him toward this end for twenty years or so. Did I mention it's interesting how things fall together?

Item three: Also in the realm of expanding my poetic adventures - Crushed By INGSOC has appointed me a guest position on his very most excellent blog. My debut article went up today. I'll be posting there once a month or so.

Item four: As of tomorrow, Friday August 22, 2008, at 3:01 PM -- I am on vacation! Going back to the Want-N-While lodge for a week with Professor Plonk, Cap'n Vino and their new wee dog, Stella who looks adorably ugly and shatteringly cute all at once, in pictures that is. And also with the excellent Doc Swallows and some chum of hers who I look forward to meeting.

I shall miss you when I'm gone! Back in a week or so.

Cheers.

Aequitas: Generation

We are the generation
Of instant gratification
And with this molestation
We're doomed to extermination
But my determination
Is opposing all the nations
And in the decimation
We face annihilation

So spend all your money
Ignore all the warnings
Eat your milk and honey
Cuz there may be no morning
And there'll be no one mourning
When you are gone
Cuz they'll all be gone too.

We are the lost children
Led by thieves and villains
And only a few are willing
To see the truth, beyond the killing
The truth that we're all just shilling
Our souls away for top billing
On a playbill that has no feeling
And all the while you're wheeling and dealing

So spend all your money
Ignore all the warnings
Eat your milk and honey
Cuz there may be no morning
And there'll be no one mourning
Cuz you're just a greedy fuck.

Read more poetry by Aequitas on Authspot

FWG: A Thousand Loves

Life, so fragile. The body, so weak.
The heart, a miracle in every beat.
While in every house on every street,
In every corner the cancers creep.

Our days are few and each one fleet.
A thousand loves are ours to seek.
Yet no one that we’ll ever meet
May we claim our own, somehow to keep.


All things must pass. All things must pass away. - George Harrison

Avitable Scramble - a second try

Tried this a couple weeks ago and missed the mark. Only got twelve items. Hoping to score perfect this time around. The Avitable Scramble is this:

You start with a blank mind - so to speak, and then try to belch out 13 separate thoughts in 13 minutes. It's blogging by the seat of your pants.

Here we go:

1. Sitting in the throne room this morning I picked up a magazine – not from my half of the rack but from Steve-o’s, for a change. It fell open to a page with a drawing of a deer lying on its back. A man knelt before it spreading its legs. The dear was naked but the man was dressed, thank god. In hunting clothes. The headline said something like: FIELD DRESSING BASICS. Steps 2 and 3 concerned removal of the genitals and anus. I shall never open Steve-o’s magazines again. Ever. EVER.

2. Dammit I’m behind the pace already! Did you know there’s a species of lizards that are all female? They reproduce by cloning – which is inferior to sexual reproduction in most circumstances but occasionally beneficial.

3. Scientists say that the mutualistic symbiosis of leaf-cutter ants and tree-root fungus has gone on for about 50 million years! What the--? How do they know that? Hm. Spellchecker nixed ‘mutualistic’ but that’s what the scientist wrote. Personally I would have objected based on redundancy, not spelling.

4. They also suggested that 40% of mothering songbirds cheat on their husbands. I don’t have time to explain further. Moving on…!

5. I had a dream about a goose and a short-brown-haired baby hippopotamus napping together, slightly entwined, on a couch. What does that mean, you dream people? Does it mean I’m secretly some kind of pervert white-supremacist or something? If I am, I don’t know it yet.

6. Chances are - the first woman or man who will set foot on Mars is currently alive and preparing to enter high-school in a few weeks.

7. I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth when Steve-o’s suction-cup shelf – bearing a treasure trove of health products - which any legitimate metro-sexual would covet – gave way and came crashing down making the ungodliest of booming noises behind the closed shower curtain. Not knowing that it was raining male beauty products as opposed to a many-tentacled beast springing out of the bath tub at me, I bruised my hand in my instantaneous flight through the bathroom door! God, what a ninny I can be.

8. Friends recently invited me out to see the Journey to the Center of the Earth movie. Dear lord, what a waste of time and money. I had no idea it was going to be a kids movie. Do not go see it. Unless you’re a kid. Or have some of your own and are bringing them with you. The part where the heroes fall down a hole and land safely – all the way down at the centre of the earth – they should send in ushers to beat the viewers about the head during that part so they can miss that part and then assume later that there is some legitimate reason for the heroes being in this comfy place with beaches and clouds and comfy 70-degree temperatures.

9. I can never remember my 6-digit license plate number but I can always remember my 14-digit library card number any time. 29079817018758. So there.

10. I had green eggs for breakfast the other day but not with ham. I used red onion in the omelet and wherever there was a piece of red onion, the egg in that vicinity (otherwise yellow and white), turned green. And I don’t mean yellowish green or greenish yellow. I mean Christmas tree green – which freaked me out so I didn’t touch the green parts and then got turned off half way through and tossed half the damn thing in the garbage. Does that mean the eggs were bad or the onion?

11. I’M RUNNING OUT OF TIME DAMMIT. OH DAMMIT HELL!

12. I’M A LUMBERJACK AND I’M OKAY. That’s a Monty Python song.


Time’s up. Hell’s bells. I can’t believe I only got to 12 again! Boogers. Time management has never been my thing.

Short novel: Heart of Darkness

(1902) Joseph Conrad

Wow. What a tale. This story is the source attributed to the film Apocalypse Now but it is set not in Vietnam but Africa and concerns, at least on the surface, the violent and controversial colonial ivory trade.

The tense is rare - sort of second person I suppose. As in the film it is the witness who narrates the story of a man, an extremely highly regarded man, who undergoes a shocking trial of self-discovery while planted deep in a foreign jungle. From the middle of the first page to the middle of the last, the story is told as a single quotation with a very brief preamble and summation by an irrelevant listener.

This of course removes all jeopardy from the witness’s dangerous interactions as we know immediately that he ultimately survives, but that is okay. The action sequences of this tale should not compel; should not detract from the pervading internal explorations of the mind of mankind and his societies. The title and theme apply marvelously at three different levels.

I was not expecting the kind of show-not-tell subtlety I normally adore given I’ve never seen it in literature as early as this, so I was not disappointed. Initially irked by a heavy dose of romanticism, I recovered quickly and fell under the spell of Conrad’s rhythmic lyrical epic style. He writes with splendid precision. It’s hard to believe that English was not his first language!

When the narration of the climactic sequences became confusing I took confidence that this was deliberate as the witness would have been legitimately confused. In that sense, and also in the delicate sequence that information is revealed, there is subtlety of another kind.

So much of the account seemed laden with hints; with portent perhaps, that I was always wary, wondering if I was missing clues. But in the end the messages, at least those which I perceive, came together and struck heavily. There are insights here that closely tie in with my own journey of self discovery. The horror. The horror indeed!

Wonderful piece. Only my second of Joseph Conrad’s works but there shall certainly be more. After I read this one again, that is.