This picture is below the line, since it’s my trache (outside of me). Looking at it now, it’s hard to believe the thing was inside of me. This was the smaller size of the two I’d had in. I could talk, eat and swallow with this one and sort of breathe around it when it was taped. It’s amazing how fast I was able to get used to these things, though it’s also amazing how uncomfortable it looks just sitting there. I guess there’s something in that about the resiliency of the human body, or our ability to adjust.
The Room
The view from the lounge
Walking up and down the hall
This was the space I travelled — frequently — at this time last year. Tonight, Carrie and I dine with a friend at Chez Panisse (the cheap part) and tomorrow we fly to Los Angeles for the Experience Music Project Pop Conference at UCLA. I remember that I kept asking the doctors whether I’d be able to make it to California, and they kept saying yes.
The psychedelic floors
This is the floor of the bathroom in my hospital room. While I was on dilaudid, it sometimes shimmered in interesting ways. One night I stumbled in obscenely thirsty. After several sponges worth of water in my mouth, I discovered it was physically possible to drink and swallow. And the water was cold. I wasn’t supposed to do it, but I did it anyway.
Put there to relieve the boredom, no doubt
I was surprised at how little TV I watched while here. It was mostly music for me. And some reading.
The Wall
I stared at that wall for days. Quickly Carrie and my mom got sick of it, so there’s a poster of a sculpture I like at the Minneapolis Institute of Arts, and a poster for a talk by Cornelius Borck, with whom I was co-teaching a class that term. Judging by the tape marks, we weren’t the first ones to decorate.
I confess to having some trouble processing the fact that I was effectively unconscious from the 12th through sometime on the 16th or 17th. But now that we’re past all those dates, I mostly feel grateful to be here in California and not in that room.