Daron's Guitar Chronicles Volume 12

1036 Burden in my Hand

And that's where we would have been right then if I hadn't been here in Tennessee for Claire. So. Was I here out of an oversized sense of obligation? Or because, whether I admitted it or not, I loved her?

And wasn't even thinking about it basically the same thing as admitting it, since love was a thing that only existed in our minds/hearts? I felt almost like I wanted to cry, except I didn't want to cry in front of everyone there, plus we were just sitting there listening to the machines beep and there didn't seem to be a reason for it... whatever. It was kind of like when you feel a little sick to your stomach but you really aren't ready to puke yet. I wasn't ready to cry yet.

Then I got thinking about Jordan. Yeah, we were sitting there for a really long time.

Eventually she woke up again, though, and a couple of nurses checked on her for various things, taking her temperature, changing her IV, and so on. Remo asked them when we'd be able to talk to her doctor and they told him they'd check.

I don't really remember much about the few days that followed that. There was so much sitting around just waiting to find out about this or that. I learned some curious things, like the fact they didn't want to give her opioids because they tend to make you constipated and the point now was to get her digestion working properly again. It was going to be a slow progression, from IV fluids only, to sips of clear fluids through her mouth, to eventually a "liquid diet" (not a euphemism), and then if that all went without hangups, on to small amounts of very soft foods, etc. Another curious fact: a fart was a reason to rejoice.

I know. Medical stuff is weird.

Anyway, at some point in those first couple of days after I got back to Tennessee, Flip and I had a conversation. This was in the RV, back at the house. Or maybe in the hospital parking lot. I'm not sure.

"You know," I said, "I'm still a little fucked up about everything in South America. But I'm starting to feel better about it. I mean, I'm starting to understand it a little more."

And Flip said, "Yeah, so you said."

"I did?"

"Yeah, we talked about this already. But go on."

"Okay, now I'm curious if I think the same thing as I thought before."

"I'll let you know," he assured me.

"I guess I've come to the conclusion that it wasn't anyone's fault but mine. I mean, I'm the one who convinced you it would be fine to keep edging the dosage upward and all that."

"So you're chalking it up as a learning experience."

"Yeah."

"I still feel kinda guilty that I didn't see the red flags and do something sooner," he said, and I realized he had said it before, so I guess we really did talk about it previously. But it takes a while and multiple tries to get some stuff to sink in, I guess. "Is it weird seeing your mom so drugged up, then?"

"Well, I mean, she's got a good reason for it."

"You also had a good reason for it," Flip reminded me. "How's it doing, by the way? Your hand, I mean, not your–" He made circular motions in the air around his ears with his fingers.

I flexed my hand. "Everything basically works. They said I was super lucky. The knife basically got me right here–"

He looked away quickly, holding up his hands to block the view, as well. "Toooo much information. I know. You thought I'd never say that. I'm not squeamish about people puking up blood, but, ugh. Not that."

"Okay. Anyway, the upshot is I'm physically intact and don't seem to have any damaged nerves or tendons or what have you. I'm rubbing a cream into it now to break up the scar tissue and there you go."

"Badda-bing, badda-boom. You going on the road again soon?"

"I don't know about that." I tried to drag to subject back to the psychological and emotional stuff, which is what I was actually talking about. "I want you to know I don't blame you for what happened in South America and I really appreciate you jumping in to help my mom like this."

"Aw, D. That's what friends are for."

"Okay, I just felt that procuring drugs for a friend's mother while she suffers from cancer, as well as babysitting her 24-7, is above and beyond a typical friend thing, and I really, really appreciate that."

Flip patted me on the shoulder and told me the following: "You are far from typical, my friend. And you are far from a typical friend."

I told him likewise. I think we hugged. I still didn't cry.