Yeah, I’m still here getting pumped full of every antibiotic known to man or virus. The trauma center is massive, and the nurses massively overworked, which means that everything is a fight, a waiting game, or usually both – compounded by the fact that all major decisions have to be cleared by consensus of the surgical team. What this really means is that every answer I’m given contradicts what I was told just ten minutes before by someone else, this mythical consesus is never achieved and I’m stuck lying here in pain because you wouldn’t want to give a guy with a broken spine and amputed toe sufficient pain meds even though he has a fucking prescription for them from his regular doc or have him work out with a physical therapist or anything like that which might actually, you know, help relieve some of that pain. The nursing staff are mostly wonderful, and a couple of the docs are too – the problem is the bureaucrats and the American medical system in general. Theoretically I’m going to get out of here one of these days, and either be released into the wild (without having received any physical therapy so I’ll probably just limp along until a gaggle of gophers or an angry coon takes me out) or transferred to a rehabilitation facility (who are all complaining about the expense of my antibiotics, which they don’t normally carry, and thus are refusing to accept me. Next week the hospital is going to shop my application around again with a lesser antibiotic, because sepsis is totally something you haggle over.) I’m sure everything’s gonna work out ok. I’m just getting a little frustrated by the less than ideal circumstances here. But hey, life’s not what happens to you but how you respond to it, so I’m trying to take it all in stride, keep a cheery demeanor with the nurses and learn spiritually edifying lessons when I can. (There’s a lot worse going on, but I’m gonna save it for the book because it’s too grotesque and surreal to be communicated as anything other than poetry. Seriously. You want an example? My neighbor’s a chronic masturbator under constant supervision. Every 10 minutes or so a robot voice will come on telling him to “stop it” and “put it down” or something to that effect. When he refuses, one of the nurses comes rushing in, at which point he regales them with increasingly obscene and blasphemous stories. And the cycle begins again. This has been happening for days now – Jesus, just let the guy rub one out already; so what if his heart explodes or whatever bullshit reason they have for refusing him – yet is not even close to the worst thing that has happened while I’ve been here.)