It must be strange to wake up and find yourself in a hospital bed with a tube down your throat. That’s why, I think, they sedate people who are in that condition. I would certainly freak the fuck out. Seeing my Sweet Lady next to me, telling me that things are ok (even if they clearly were not ok) would be of immense help.
Assuming, of course, that she is not visably freaking the fuck out, as I would want to do should the roles be reversed. That’s a pretty rational reaction actually, because I think our minds protect us from some truths that would tear apart our souls. It’s possible to function with a fractured mind, but it’s damn near impossible with a broken soul. So we protect that for all we are worth by not even hearing the things that are being plainly spoken.
Which makes life as a participant in crisis confusing as hell. I consciously want to make sense of what is happening at the very moment when my mind fails me. It helps having backup. It helps having peanut M&Ms. It helps to know that sometimes what I am given to do is just be there. The deal involves a lot of hurry up and wait. But if I were flat on my back in a drug induced haze with a tube down my throat, I’d be glad you waited.
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