Two Weeks

Two weeks in a bed. A hospital, then rehab, now my own. It still, after nearly six months doesn't feel like mine. It's not mine, nor is the dresser, the large flat screen that doesn't work. Not even the sheets are mine.

Two weeks without Swag. Struck from my mind, to save it. His return excites me, but scares me. He's different. More cynical. I'm hampered. My affection limited to the 90 degree bend of my body.

Two weeks until three years. Me, two friends. Beers, shots and food. I don't even eat that type of food anymore, not do I drink beer or have ingested the whiskey I did that night. Friends still, but via social media only.

Two weeks since walking was a chore because of deterioration. Now I walk gingerly. A pronounced limp from a disparity in leg length. Doctor's appointments await, this week and next. Injections into my abdomen will end in four hours. 

Two weeks since I've seen a friendly face. A face I chose to see, not put in front of me, due to need or their plans. Swallowing pride, asking for favors. It's not in my genetic makeup, yet it's become a way of life. 

I miss, Art. The 87-year old man, fighting life and fighting death. He was my roommate for one week. We exchanged pleasantries. Two differing lives, lifetimes and belief systems. I made sure to shake his hand. I feel I could have learned more, had he not been suffering. I call it suffering, but his real pain wasn't physical. He no longer wanted to be a part of a world without his wife. I know the feeling. 

I've been selfish the last two weeks. I have no regrets. I now understand what life is like for those who not only need others, but use them. Of course mine was simply to get juice or an extra piece of fruit. Shut off from reality, while others care for your needs, tell you you're better than you are and paint a rosy picture of the future. Ignorance is bliss. Two weeks of ignorance. I wish I could go back.