For two weeks in March my throat went on strike. Communication was done through notebooks while I was in a hospital bed, watching the Olympics. (Was it just me or was the hockey talent amazing this year?) I didn't eat for a week and a half, two weeks.
"I'm just waiting for it to beep in probably 10 minutes or so. I'm a little hungry, but for chocolate. Unfortunately Lindor's are too creamy right now, while Milanos are too dry. Is there a vending machine with Hershys?"
"Can you hand me my robe?"
"Nothing. Just waiting for the hydrocodone to kick in so I can drink."
"No, my throat is starting to hurt again. I think it's time for more motrin, can you ask? Well Evelyn forgot earlier today & I couldn't breathe for a while."
"This stuff helps and the hydrocodone helps when it hurts too bad."
"But Longo's work has a lot of negative space too!"
"Freshman Dorms! It was Virgil."
"Chris moved in Friday! (Yesterday?) Can you call him and ask him how he's doing and if the new Ping-Pong table's any good?"
"I love your sister!"
"Your hand is very warm right now"
"Micr-evolution is one of the coolest natural processes out there."