LIMERICK    OYSTER

Blog # 472                               March 26, 2026

 

My oh my, what a week.  A couple of weeks ago, I made you wait for a blog because I was travelling on a cruise.   You were patient.  Then last week, I made you wait for 36 hours because I was in the hospital having my innards deconstructed (a cooking term.)  You were completely understanding and effervescent with your prayers and wishes.  Thank you so much.

 

But now, I hear you scream, get over that health thing, put on some big-boy pants and do the thing you’re supposed to be doing.  Make us laugh.  Your High School Quip was Punctuality is the Politeness of Kings.  But where are you now?  Ok, chill out!

 

It all started over the weekend with some abdominal pains (belly aches for those of you who thought Dr. Zorba was a real doctor.)  When the pains reached the level of HOOOOOOOOLY SHIT, I called 9-11.  You realize, of course, that for a man to submit to the stigma and hand-wrenching ignominy of absolute surrender to the Gods of Mortality, well, it’s humiliating and completely frightening.  Hey, at least they didn’t chop out all my big words.

 

Word of the Week:  Stigma: A mark of disgrace .

 

Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you’re feeling well, even if I’m not.  It’s a lovely spring day here in St. Louis, perfect for sitting in the ICU.

Let me start by making it clear that every hospital worker I came in contact with; from those two wonderful Ambulance drivers who chauffered me and to all the nurses in Missouri Baptist Hospital– every one was professional, warm, caring, concerned, and I am loyally indebted to them.

 

 

 

The operation started out as a routine appendectomy – a little laparoscopic slice, clip, snip, bye-bye.  The surgeon quickly discovered That Plan A was not going to work, so they opened me up like Grannie’s turkey and started looking for the gizzards.  They removed the appendix and a couple of small pieces of colon.  And here I am, recovering.  But am I just sitting around and moaning and complaining; do I demand attention and complete servitude?  No, I can do that at home.  No, what I do is observe.

 

Observation #1: They wanted to see if my stomach could hold any food and they brought me a platter of scraps.   They actually expect me to make a poop out of this?  You could throw in a pair Lizzo’s boots on top, and it still wouldn’t have made a meal.

 

Observation #2:  Being under anesthesia can whack you out!  For days after surgery, I had strange hallucinations and dreams that were pretty realistic.  One reminded me of a time we were visiting friends in Florida, and one night ten of us were sitting in a rented condo with an unfamiliar TV and two remotes.  The ensuing hour was funny enough to be its own sit-com.  We’ll call it My Friend Clicka or something.  Can you just imagine ten old people trying to figure out something that the best Japanese engineers have devoted their entire careers to making complicated?  It is their revenge for Hiroshima, you know.  What goes around comes around.  “You vaporized two of our cities, so now each year we’ll cause 50,000 of you to die of apoplexy trying to record Jeopardy and Dancing with the Stars while watching The View all at the same time.”  At one point we actually got a Saudi Arabian sit-com on the TV.  It was called Oil in the Family. 

 

Observation #3:  I have uncountable tubes in me to make sure nothing gets in or out unmeasured.  No food or liquid by mouth; that goes directly through a tube into the stomach.  Oxygen goes into my nose.  Fluid from my abdominal cavity drains out into something or other.  And then there was another tube; It looked sinister, a long slimy gray wormish thing.  I inquired.

 

                                      I see those big tubes over there

                                      They’re for food and for water and air.

                                      But that thin, snakey one

                                      Doesn’t look like much fun?

                                      You’re going to slide that thing where?

 

Message From Shakespeare, the Three-legged cat:  I miss you more than words can wield the matter (Richard III).  Where’s my Pops?  He’s been gone for days and days.  Moms takes care of me, but I miss my Pops so much.  Please come home soon.  Purr.

 

Observation #4:   As I have said, the staff is just wonderful, but there is so much activity and personnel and equipment and wires and paperwork – it’s an unwieldy monstrous, megalithic maelstrom just begging for someone to whip the whole thing into an efficient speed demon.  Enter my wife.  I can see it now, Opening Soon the new efficiency wing of Missouri Pabtist Hospitals where you can have both hips replaced while getting a manicure and be out in day; where you can have a full-term baby in six months.  Where you can buy your hospital gowns online beforehand.  And what do you think they’ll call this new wing?  The Sisters of Lickety Spit.

 

Carol has already contracted with designer hospital gown makers.  You’ll love them, Darling.

 

·       Oscar de la Tenta                 Bill Ass

·       Hugo Crack                          Christian Back Door

 

Observation #4:  I have given specific instructions to the nurses that during our short walks, we must not pass a mirror or anything that looks like one.  I’ve been nine days in the hospital.  Nine days so far in hospital.  But I’m doing well, and I cannot exaggerate my love and warmth for all of you who have reached out.   Stay well ya’ll and count your blessings.

 

Michael                                  Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com