While I Was Away III: Gathered Angels

I don't think I could have looked any worse. Four days after surgery, in a hospital, hooked up to 3 IVs, a realtime EKG and tubes coming out of God knows where. I think that even for the happiest guy on Earth I had reached a low I hadn't expected. For the first time in my life I felt old and not only sick, but infirm. It was really the first day that I really started coming back from the anesthesia. All I could think about as the tv droned on aimlessly was that what I was feeling at that time, was the rest of my life was going to look pretty much like this. except I'd be at home. I don't know what put the idea in my head, but it seemed as though life as I had known it was over.

There was a sadness that comes in the serenety of realizing your job is done. Long ago when I first brought my guitar to the Staten Island Ferry, someone complimented me by saying that I had made their day and to be able to do such a thing is a great gift. In a purely off hand reply, I smiled and said, "Then I won't stop 'till the whole world smiles."

From that moment on I sang and played as if every heart that heard me was like a tiny pebble cast into the middle of a still pond all its own, sending just a few quiet ripples all the way to it's outer banks. Millions of ripples later (Oh if ripples were dollars!) reality said that I was hanging up my guitar and going home just to try not to be a burden to my wife for the remainder of my time here.

Somewhere in me grew a slow and steady panic at the thought of becoming dependent on one who, less than a week earlier, was far more disabled then I'd ever thought of being. The thought of going home began to frighten me, as each thought made me feel more hopeless. Sitting in my chair I felt I should just give up right then and there.

As fate would have it, at about that moment three smiling women entered the room. Part of me thought I was dreaming. Part of me thought I was delusional from being awake under sedation for at least 18 hours. It was Puddle, Agatha and Thankful, (Who, by the way has a great deal of healing energy in her hands!) and it was clear to me that they had brought the affection of the entire community with them, Their hugs were those of cherished friends.

All at once, my Hospital room was transformed into a Deaniac Convention Hall. I remember joking to myself " When two or more are gathered in Dean's name the whole community is there. I told them that ConSec let me know that Renee put up an internet Get Well card and a bunch of people sent their regards. We talked about Francine Busby's loss in court over what should have been a slamdunk recount ruling. We talked about Ned Lamont, and I told them that I wanted to get involved in unseating Vito Fossella, another Goper rubber stamp running as an "Independent Fighter." Within 10 minutes I felt like I had come alive again, and I was itching to get back in the fight.

These three "Dean's Angels" were only permitted to stay for half an hour, but ended up stealing an additional 30 minutes. Near the end of the visit, Thankful came around to rub my shoulders and I let my entire being drift into her fingers all the while. When she stopped and they gathered up to leave, I was ready to go with them. But then I remembered all the tubes and wires I was connected to and realized I wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon. As it turned out it was September 24 before I was able to leave, only to return 5 days later to the ICU because of abnormalities in my blood work. My final release was on Oct 4.

Have no doubt, my dear friends that the Compassion of the Community was carried on the wings of these three Angels, and it gave me the strength and encouragment I needed to get through quite an ordeal and get home. I'm even beginning to hear my guitar call to me from its little corner of my room. Thank you one and all! (Click the title)

Deaniacs Rock The Nation!