June 23, 1998

Posted June 23, 1998

Sometimes I think the paperwork can be worse than the disease itself.

Wally isn't having too bad of a day today. Comparitively minor discomfort, compromised mobility, low (but increasing) appetite. At the moment, though, the big concern is paperwork; the home care nurse got here about 15 minutes ago. Even though she doesn't work for the insurance company and I'm sure would prefer to just help him out right away, insurance questions, one after the other, about what the HMO will and won't cover are the unfortunate first order of business. Again, the silver lining Wally's been blessed with all along continues -- she's very patient, friendly, and human. The distasteful necessaries are being handled in an atmosphere that facillitates recovery; I hear conversation punctuated by laughter, which says a lot for both of them as far as I'm concerned. It seems like the HMO might actually be more of a help than a hindrance at this point.

This nurse is in for some entertainment. Wally's never been a fan of big parties, but he enjoys one-on-one situations and has always had a tendency to joke around with doctors, nurses, waitresses, store clerks, whoever; I'm not sure she was prepared to answer questions about whether or not this was the right time to take up ballroom dancing.

When the last tube was disconnected Sunday evening, we were pretty sure that Monday would be Escape From the Hospital day, so Wally's friend Brian and I packed up the boom box and decorations in his room and schlepped it all back home. When it was time to go home (at around noon on Monday), no extra packing time was necessary -- we were outta there!

The first few hours away from the hospital were a little disorienting. Leaving a tightly controlled hospital situation and moving back out into the world is best experienced gradually, so driving home through the lunchtime street hustle was more than enough initial stimulation. He felt a lot better after sinking into a comfy chair in quiet, familiar surroundings.

The days leading up to Wally's discharge from the hospital were a bewildering muddle, as steady physical progress was coupled with a parade of well-intentioned doctors, nurses and technicians coming by to assess his condition and advise him of what's going to happen in the near future. Although he physically felt better as the days wore on, the gravity of his situation loomed ever larger as the haze of anesthesia and morphine wore off; there was no time to reflect or even just relax because every time he turned around there was something new to contend with.

One of the most striking effects of this process has been the contrast of ups and downs. Yes, Wally is getting better. He's also still sick and it's nowhere near being over. During the past month, he's experienced some of the highest highs (the tour) and some of lowest lows (the surgery) of his life -- almost simultaneously. The agony of his illness sits alongside the joy of loving support from friends and family contained in flowers and cards, and in a massive stack of e-mail from around the globe. That's a lot for anybody to process, and the potential for emotional overload is huge.

On Saturday night, a nurse removed the tube that siphoned the acid from his stomach. It took all of one second. It was painless. He immediately burst into tears. Life is so precious to him, he's got so much left to give. At the same time, the climb is so steep ... and this guy means so much to so many people ... for me, well, he's just my best pal. Sometimes I don't think I can bear to watch him go through this, but I just scrape myself back together and pick up the slack when I can -- I know he'd do the same for me if our situations were reversed. I find it difficult to imagine what the tempestuous emotions he's experiencing must be like.

Wally put on a Stevie Nicks CD a while ago (he brings so much music over here I don't need to buy CDs anymore) and is now napping on the couch under an Indian print blanket I threw over him, as Stevie sings "Free Fallin'" in the background. Free Fallin', indeed.

I'm glad Wally's home (or virtually home, anyway -- he spends lots of time here when he's healthy too). Last night, invaluable Andrew (who's been propping me up through this ordeal) made some of his famous homemade comfort soup for him while I was out at a class losing my concentration; I came home to find Wally comfortable and cheerful. He looked great -- as a matter of fact, the surgery enabled him to get rid of a couple stubborn pounds he wanted to lose! He stayed up late, until almost 3 AM, just enjoying the everyday environment.

So this is how the next chapter begins. I might be posting another update as we watch the story unfold, but for some reason I kind of doubt it. Wally has already sat down at the computer a few times and I'll bet he'll be banging away at the keyboard before long; I'll happily drift into the background of the JMHP again, editing photographs and supplying Wally with the occasional adverb. We'll see what happens ... ah, he just woke up. He's telling me the Indian print blanket makes him feel like he's the inside cover of Chalk Mark in a Rainstorm. What a goofball.

Love, Jim