A Coke and a Smile

I was recently readmitted to the hospital for a week or so. My counts were down and I had developed multiple infections. I hadn't been back there in a while, and I have to admit this time I sort of liked it.
I could just lay there and people would come and take care of me -- remind me about my medication, connect me to my pumps, change the bags when they need changing, patches, vital signs, blood labs,  doctors checking in on me daily, and so on. I felt pretty ill, so it was no vacation, but I liked the feeling of being able to let go a little. Then I question myself. Does that mean the fight in me is lessening, getting worn away by pain and suffering? Am I more comfortable with the idea of giving up the fight? I don't think so, but I'm not as certain as much anymore.

After I left the hospital, I spent the next few weeks in bed. I hardly remember any of it. I did go for chemo and did things, but my mind can't sequence or hold much of it. It really is forgotten time.

I'm a little more lucid now. Not quite that mobile, but not comatose either. Anyway, one thing I realized, having not really eaten or had anything to drink in two years is one of the things I miss most is Coke. Coca-Cola. I sip a little time to time just to get the taste, but who knew? It's really quite amazing all the things we take for granted.