Monday morning, 5JAN9, 0600

There’s a wonderful song from my youth by Gordon Lightfoot about the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald, a Great Lakes ore carrier that sunk during a Lake Superior storm on 10Nov75.  The Fitz was launched six days before I was born, and I’ve always remembered her sinking because she was as old as I when she sank.

One of the most powerful lyrics in the song reads: “Does anyone know where the love of God goes when the waves turn the minutes to hours?”  That sums up how I feel this morning.  Everything that could go wrong with me during this hospital stay has happened.  Now I am in isolation for MRSA in my nose, feeling further isolated from the world.  I have no appetite and no desire to see anyone or be seen by anyone.  I don’t want to talk to anyone.  I am sick of happy, smiling faces and I feel like a circus freak.  I want to gome home, but I cannot.  I want to smile,  but there is nothing to smile about.  I am tired and sore and feel worn out.  I am sick of being probed and poked and scanned for every little thing.  My teeth are loose, my gums are sore and I have cuts on my gums from the intubation attempts.  My phone is shut off; the thought of having to talk with anyone or deal with anyone makes me feel worse.

Now everyone who has to deal with me has to put on hospital garb…gloves and gown, and mask for close contact…it’s a hassle for everyone.  I resent being treated like this, but there is  nothing I can do about it but grin and bear it and put on a happy face for all the world to see.

That’s difficult to do when the words, “Does anyone know where the love of God goes when the waves turn the minutes to hours?” are circling your brain.  Cuz that’s how I feel…like a ship slowly sinking in a Lake Superior storm.     

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