Tuesday, January 02, 2007

let's put it this way: Erin decided to have pneumonia. typical teenager. I hope it isn't careerist to mention this, because I hate careerism. careerism is when you talk about what you're doing. ugh. Erin's mighty fever has refused to depart, plus that wracking cough, and, ugh again, today, he just happened to mench a shortness of breath. we went to the doctor, who ordered an x-ray taken. which required a goodly hour or more waiting for the chance. and it would take more than that before the xray could be read, so we were told to go home. where the call came thru, as dinner inched toward serving, that Erin must be admitted to the hospital (by admitted I mean submitted to). the doctor greased it so that Erin could go directly to his room. but that didn't mean that the iv for fluids and antibiotics wouldn't be started till 3 hours later. the phenomenon of hospital time is very disconcerting. the staff was attentive, I don't wish to demean. you just wonder where does time go when it gets to the hospital. 6 years ago we had a 9 day stay at Children's Hospital when Erin's femur broke (I slept on the floor, couches, even a gurney). jeez, the nurses were wonderful, the surgeons were wonderful. okay, the on call doctor wanted Erin out toute de suite. Erin had external pins in his thigh to hold the bones together. one got infected in the hospital and had to be replaced. afterwards, the on call doctor removed the packing from the infected wound. he said to Erin, this is going to feel funny. odd definition of funny. he proceeded to pull a yard or 2 of packing from Erin's leg, with Erin screaming and Beth and I holding him as best we could. holy shit. I presume Erin rests well now, he acquiesced to lights out when we left. I guess I don't care what the phony poets are doing, Jim. I don't care about which poetry careerists need spanking. one has to make an effort to care about that stuff, whereas Erin's illness is part of life, part of my life. the only cure for bad poetry in the world is good poetry, humph, not radial yakking. the poetry of waiting at the doctor's is just a different animal. one, I daresay, that really breathes. the issue of poetry power couples is corny, obviously. that I got to spend 6 hours in a hospital today isn't a valid measure of anything but patience. that I felt the need to stay up later than I had ought, to quickly transcribe the conditions in my head as I return from that hospital is interesting, perhaps you could try to figure why.
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