Morning Open Thread is a daily, copyrighted post from a host of editors and guest writers. We support our community, invite and share ideas, and encourage thoughtful, respectful dialogue in an open forum.
I’ve come to think of this post as one where you come for the music and stay for the conversation—so feel free to drop a note. The diarist gets to sleep in if she so desires and can show up long after the post is published. So you know, it's a feature, not a bug.
Join us, please.
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A breath. Finally.
What led to this —
- May 14th — Stroke and THWUNK! Whacked my head on the coffee table.
- May 14th thru 18th — Black.
- May 19th — Awoke at Emory DeKalb Medical with seven people in my single room, all speaking at me (“You’re in the hospital.” “You’ve had a stroke.” “You’ve tested negative for COVID-19.”) and firing questions (“Are you in pain? Can you hear me?”). I just stared, trying to make sense of the words coming outta their mouths and wondering where the hell my glasses were. All I could see was fur and a whomping sound permeated my skull.
“Can you sit up?” and arms pulling me forward, whereupon I proceeded to launch black and red goo outta my nose and mouth. “That’s okay, that’s okay. We can change your gown. Do you have to go to the bathroom?” I mumbled “yeah” and the hands pulled me to my feet, holding me until my legs felt like they could hold my body up. The bathroom was two steps away, so I made my way there. I looked in the mirror.
”Holy fuck.” These were my first words. The left side of my face was unrecognizable — a mixture of black, red and purple from my hairline down to my chin and back across my ear — but only on the left side. The white of my left eye was blood red. I immediately thought of Harvey Dent and Two-Face.
I pissed, made my way back to bed, and passed out (probably from the oxycodone they had injected my IV with...)
- May 20th — Awoke three times, all for pain meds.
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May 21st — Dreamed the Dresden Dolls were playing in 1922 Berlin in some huge nightclub.
The CFGB (Clark Fucking Gable Brigade) burst in and attacked. Some background here — the CFGB were a little-known right-wing paramilitary group in Germany at the time, dedicated to the principle that Clark Gable was the quintessential American figure. Their distinguishing features included a pencil-thin mustache, a white tuxedo coat and incredibly poor bodily hygiene.
Amanda and Brian took them down one by one.
- May 22nd — Amanda sat on my bed and sang “Delilah” to me a capella. Well, this is to be confirmed.
UPDATE: Amanda was in New Zealand at the time. This explains the laughter of my nurse, Olivia, when I asked if Amanda owned the house I was staying in. Still… a good dream nonetheless, with my parting word to her being “I’ve never met a more impossible girl...”
- May 23rd — Released to a new life of physical and occupational therapy, usually accompanied by long, painful strolls with my walker.
Bottom line: Don’t have a stroke.
As somebody once said (well, Willy Vlautin, and below)... “It’s a rust and greed-driven state”.
It’s been noted before (and copied by many in my absence, which I give my heartfelt thanks)…
Be good humans.
You just never know when you can’t.
(I won’t be around tomorrow morning when this posts; I haven’t gone back to work — they’re understandable and continue to graciously place me on their payroll — but I’ll check in later… Play well...)