I was released from the hospital yesterday. They wanted to do it this morning, but I have friends in town and I had a concert ticket for last night, so they helped to get me out. It reminded me of last year, when my mom was in town and I had a blood infection, and the hospital worked really hard to get me out for her final night in town so I could have Mother’s Day dinner with her.
So I was released just in time to meet up with my friends in town from Boston and Ohio to see the Peter Murphy show. I was wheeled out holding the cheerful vase of sunflowers a friend delivered that morning.
I’m out! But I still have a lot of things to do to keep me out of the hospital.
One of the things that could keep me out of the hospital is a potassium drink that is the worst thing I’ve ever tasted. The instructions said 15 ml three times a day, but then the doctor called to tell me it’s 60 ml a day. I sit here sadly slumped at a table, drinking them like sad shots, with Los Lobos’ “Estoy Sentando Aquí” as my soundtrack.
It tastes like all the salt from all the tears shed in sorrows throughout the world. It’s vile, like the bitterness of every defeat you’ve ever experienced. It’s as if you’re forced to fill your mouth with the names of everyone who has ever wronged you and then swallow their cursed names whole.
This is the worst thing in the world.
I also have to do daily IVs, something I vowed I’d never do again. But in the interest of keeping me out of the hospital, I have to do it. Last time, a few months turned into five months, and that haunts me.
Right now, I’m heading to my community garden to hang out with some of my favorite people.