Love, loss, and morphine

Riding in an ambulance isn't that much fun. Especially when they don't turn on the siren because you're not bleeding to death and your heart is still beating, so it takes a long time to get to the hospital and you're just strapped there, wondering if you're going to die before you get to the hospital.

I think one of the worst parts was going through all that and wanting so much for Cathy to know what was happening to me and be worried about me, but not being able to call her because she despises me so much she won't even speak to me or return my phone calls. I needed her so much, and I always thought she would be there for me if I really needed her, but here was one instance where I knew I would just call and get her voicemail. And what do you say on a voicemail: "Hi, I'm in the hospital and they're pumping water and morphine and steroids into my veins and injecting antibiotics into my hip with a giant needle, and I love you and I just want to hear your voice, so please give me a call back sometime..."? It just doesn't really work.

I have lots of wonderful friends, but I have to admit, my world is a much lonelier place without her in it.

I'm going to be okay, I think. I'm home now; I'm just exhausted, and I miss her.