My brother, Bill, was mediflighted to Mark Twain St. Josephs hospital for open heart surgery. Millions of them are done every year, nothing to it, right? Omigod. Not unless it is you or someone you know who has the surgery.
He looked wretched and probably will not be happy that I posted his picture strapped to his new buddy, the machine that keeps him heavily monitored. I won't see him again until March.
His daughter, Rena and granddaughter, Amber drove up from Southern California to be with him.
Practically the only thing not hooked to cords was his feet. Rena gave him a foot massage.
Time in the ICU is limited, so we went out for brunch after our visit. The women will return later in the day before heading back to Southern California.
And, my prankster son, Doug, brought him an All Meat Pizza, a bottle of booze, and an appointment with one of those women who hang out on Wilson St. wearing net stockings, commonly called a Ho. Bill was a bit out of it to think it was very funny, not to mention it hurts to laugh. The staff thought it was a gas. We wait until the worst moments and use humor to downplay our anxiety. And, we are grateful to share what little time we can sneak in, even recording the worst.
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