When I looked down in the pan I was throwing up in and saw only blackish red blood and (bile?) and I wondered if there was room enough for how much worse my gut felt, a clear picture formed of just how stupid I had been to consider drinking, again, albeit responsibly this time.
Glad Steve wandered downstairs to see what all the noise was about, because I was going to go back yo bed and rest.
It would have ended, there.
That in itself really struck me, though I had no idea just what was coming next.
Steve ran me to the ER, they in turn ran me to the ICU at a huge hospital. Had staples put into me (bands, staples, little tiny ribbons...moxnix) and wheeled back to a room for me to contemplate my swiftly arriving death.
Well, that's what it felt like, actually. I had had a half can of soup prior to the puke exercising. I was starting to get hungry.
But, if you know me, and a few of you do, I don't really cotton to interrupting anyone else's work. Nurses were kind, techs were specific, and doctors were quick. But they had their jobs and I didn't want to bother them. I felt like I got my comeuppance for too many years of drinking prior to 1991, and they were all working on folk that needed help due to problems unavoidable.
By the next day, I was getting really hungry, and techs gave me water. They weren't authorized to order up chow in any form. By evening, I had figured to have gone about two and a half days without significant chow, and a nurse found out, and I got a menu for clear liquids.
I'll take it!
Vegetable broth, and something called Cherry Ice Gelato?
MMMMmmmmMMMMmmmMMMMMMmmmmmm!
But I found myself crying as I ate.
The teevee was on, and on the news, more troubles about immigration from the Southern border. And an odd thought came over me. Why couldn't we feed them and help those poor beggars some?
Oh, sure. Because half the country says they should stay South where they belong, but, the juxtaposition was starnge to me.
Here, half the country was trying to figure out how to keep people out, and here was littl me, trying to figure out "how can I feed them?"
The thought stuck to me like a cat on a freshly flowered catnip plant, and is with me still.
I came up with an idea, but, it may be a pipedream.
Who knows till I try, eh?
I have two ideas for books, both fairly good ideas, and so here's what I'm thinking.
Write the books, find a publisher and explain out my idea to their board...
Giving a 70% royalty payment to those charities that feed people, and specifically those new arrivals who are probably also hungry. Yeah....
Pipedream?
Couldn't tell you for sure, but, I'll be finding out soon enough.
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