Thanksgiving
Back with another update -- no holiday puns worked into the composition, so I'm sorry. But plenty to talk about. And I guess the spirit of the holiday leaves me predisposed to talking about Dan anyway. Because as far as "things to be thankful for" go -- Dan's at the top of a lot of people's list, mine especially.
Let me tell you why before I dive into another goofball description of Dan and NIH. Anyone who just wants the straight scoop can skip down a bit.
At exactly this time last year (one Thanksgiving ago, to borrow from Arlo), I was just getting out of the hospital myself and prepping for a rather maudlin Thanksgiving. My mom was about to go INto the hospital for cancer surgery (successful, as it turns out) and Dan was just starting the first chapter of his recent cross-country odyssey. Fall of 2004 was a confusing, crisis-strewn time for my family. And the country, if you catch my meaning.
So Dan was in DC with Kate Adamson to see me in "Accidental Death of an Anarchist" -- a lovely evening of theatre that was canceled because of my sudden trip to the hospital (another story). And Dan, being the generous all-around-super guy he is, decided to stick around town and have Thanksgiving with my family until things calmed down and we could more or less put ourselves back together after a stressful bout of hospital visits and holiday chaos. I'll never forget Dan visiting me everyday, cheering us up, picking on my sister when I was too tired to fulfil that brotherly duty. Around the time I got out, my mom got the news that she would have to go in. So in the middle of all this, there was Dan helping out as a sort of one-man-family-spiritual-epoxy for us. If that makes sense.
Most of you readers have spent enough time with the dude to know what I'm talking about. But I'm reminded of it every time I walk through the NIH hallways. And the narrative could not be more convenient: this holiday devoted to giving thanks always creeps up just when some wacky crisis puts my workaday frustrations into stark relief. I could elaborate, but let me finish the story by simply saying that Dan has, over the course of the eight years I've known him -- but last fall especially -- saved my life in one way or another. And for that, I will always be thankful.
Some people carry this perpetually thankful, benevolent attitude with them year-round. Like Dan. Others need reminding. Like me. But I wanted to add that to the update here because I'm sure many of you have had the same experience. And because the holiday allows for this kind of mushy testimony.
Now ... back to real story.
THURSDAY VISIT and the COMING WEEKEND
The holiday schedule at NIH has left Dan without a regular nurse for the past couple days. Oh, someone is always there ... but she's always new and has to start from scratch. This involves mispronouncing the name "Stroeh" every time she looks at his chart and then getting it right juuuuust as it's her turn to check out and hand off the morphine to the next nurse. So none of us know who his real nurse is. By my count, he's now had 47 of them. All working in little holi-dazzle shifts to cover turkey-munching time for everyone.
NURSE: Welcome, Mr. Strow!
DAN: Stray.
NURSE: I see here we're treating you for a head cold?
DAN: Neurofibromatosis.
NURSE: Head cold ... neurofibromatosis, whatever. We can cure anything!
DAN: Really?
NURSE: Do you know how powerful this place is? Have you SEEN our security system? They don't requisition nuclear blast doors and M-16s for any local clinic, you know.
DAN: Yes, it's --
NURSE: I just found out we cured Polio! In, like, a day! Isn't that cool?
DAN: Yes, could you --
NURSE: So I'll be back if you need anything. It says here you got your pain meds at four-thirty, so ... you should be good to go for now.
DAN: I'm not. And I didn't.
NURSE: Didn't what?
DAN: Get any pain meds. At four-thirty.
NURSE: It says on your chart ...
DAN: Believe me, I know when I've had pain meds.
NURSE: How's that?
DAN: Because the torqued agony of spinal surgery finally gives way to a sublime blend of euphoria and nausea.
NURSE: I see. Well, the chart says ... Oh! Wait. It says "fourteen-thirty" not "four-thirty." Wow. You're overdue for some pain meds!
DAN: That's what I've been --
NURSE: Sorry about that.
16% of that conversation actually happened. I wasn't around to see it, so I'll let you guess which part. I realize my depictions of the NIH staff haven't been all that kind. It's just easy to mock the staff when your buddy's in pain, I guess. To be fair, they're really taking good care of them. They just can't seem to get on even footing with this pain-relief schedule. Hopefully that'll change after the holiday.
I went over this afternoon to see if Dan was up for conversation or, failing that, more of your e-mails read in celebrity voices. Kristen, his sister, is in town now. Mark just got here and is crashing at my place tonight and we're going to try and synch up with Tom&Mindi, LLC tomorrow for brunch NIH-style. Everyone got to rotate out for thanksgiving dinner at The Lodge and just when we were all back in the same room ... it was time for another magical morphine nap!
This has been a tricky cycle. Dan calls me from the hospital and sounds great. More lucid and grounded every day. So I rush over to hang out. By the time I get to Bethesda and through security, he's on his next dose of pain meds and fades back to sleep. So the goal is to hang around tomorrow long enough to catch both sides of the wake-sleep-wake-meds-sleep wave.
I was cleaning my house for Mark's visit and dozed off doing laundry (turkey coma). Around 11pm, Dan called -- and between the disorienting wake-snap of post-poultry napping and the general rhythm of Dan's voice, I almost forgot he was in the hospital! He sounded like Dan. And it looked like he was going to be awake long enough for a late-night hangout. You know ... clubbing or something. So I dashed over to Bethesda, hoping to rendezvous with Mark as he got into town and ... another magical morphine nap. I didn't get over there or meet up with Mark before he went back to sleep. But we're going to get this right tomorrow.
Dan has asked me to annotate these entries so you can piece apart my embellishment from the real story. So. To clear the air: Dan would like to state that he doesn't really have deep crushes on the aforementioned Hollywood ladies (Rachel McAdams, Natalie Portman, Scarlet Johannsen, et al), but that he wouldn't be disappointed if any of them wanted to date casually. He would like to add that the stuff about Johhny Weissmuller is absolutely true, however. From now on, I'll put a little "*" after details I've made up.
Let me tell you why before I dive into another goofball description of Dan and NIH. Anyone who just wants the straight scoop can skip down a bit.
At exactly this time last year (one Thanksgiving ago, to borrow from Arlo), I was just getting out of the hospital myself and prepping for a rather maudlin Thanksgiving. My mom was about to go INto the hospital for cancer surgery (successful, as it turns out) and Dan was just starting the first chapter of his recent cross-country odyssey. Fall of 2004 was a confusing, crisis-strewn time for my family. And the country, if you catch my meaning.
So Dan was in DC with Kate Adamson to see me in "Accidental Death of an Anarchist" -- a lovely evening of theatre that was canceled because of my sudden trip to the hospital (another story). And Dan, being the generous all-around-super guy he is, decided to stick around town and have Thanksgiving with my family until things calmed down and we could more or less put ourselves back together after a stressful bout of hospital visits and holiday chaos. I'll never forget Dan visiting me everyday, cheering us up, picking on my sister when I was too tired to fulfil that brotherly duty. Around the time I got out, my mom got the news that she would have to go in. So in the middle of all this, there was Dan helping out as a sort of one-man-family-spiritual-epoxy for us. If that makes sense.
Most of you readers have spent enough time with the dude to know what I'm talking about. But I'm reminded of it every time I walk through the NIH hallways. And the narrative could not be more convenient: this holiday devoted to giving thanks always creeps up just when some wacky crisis puts my workaday frustrations into stark relief. I could elaborate, but let me finish the story by simply saying that Dan has, over the course of the eight years I've known him -- but last fall especially -- saved my life in one way or another. And for that, I will always be thankful.
Some people carry this perpetually thankful, benevolent attitude with them year-round. Like Dan. Others need reminding. Like me. But I wanted to add that to the update here because I'm sure many of you have had the same experience. And because the holiday allows for this kind of mushy testimony.
Now ... back to real story.
THURSDAY VISIT and the COMING WEEKEND
The holiday schedule at NIH has left Dan without a regular nurse for the past couple days. Oh, someone is always there ... but she's always new and has to start from scratch. This involves mispronouncing the name "Stroeh" every time she looks at his chart and then getting it right juuuuust as it's her turn to check out and hand off the morphine to the next nurse. So none of us know who his real nurse is. By my count, he's now had 47 of them. All working in little holi-dazzle shifts to cover turkey-munching time for everyone.
NURSE: Welcome, Mr. Strow!
DAN: Stray.
NURSE: I see here we're treating you for a head cold?
DAN: Neurofibromatosis.
NURSE: Head cold ... neurofibromatosis, whatever. We can cure anything!
DAN: Really?
NURSE: Do you know how powerful this place is? Have you SEEN our security system? They don't requisition nuclear blast doors and M-16s for any local clinic, you know.
DAN: Yes, it's --
NURSE: I just found out we cured Polio! In, like, a day! Isn't that cool?
DAN: Yes, could you --
NURSE: So I'll be back if you need anything. It says here you got your pain meds at four-thirty, so ... you should be good to go for now.
DAN: I'm not. And I didn't.
NURSE: Didn't what?
DAN: Get any pain meds. At four-thirty.
NURSE: It says on your chart ...
DAN: Believe me, I know when I've had pain meds.
NURSE: How's that?
DAN: Because the torqued agony of spinal surgery finally gives way to a sublime blend of euphoria and nausea.
NURSE: I see. Well, the chart says ... Oh! Wait. It says "fourteen-thirty" not "four-thirty." Wow. You're overdue for some pain meds!
DAN: That's what I've been --
NURSE: Sorry about that.
16% of that conversation actually happened. I wasn't around to see it, so I'll let you guess which part. I realize my depictions of the NIH staff haven't been all that kind. It's just easy to mock the staff when your buddy's in pain, I guess. To be fair, they're really taking good care of them. They just can't seem to get on even footing with this pain-relief schedule. Hopefully that'll change after the holiday.
I went over this afternoon to see if Dan was up for conversation or, failing that, more of your e-mails read in celebrity voices. Kristen, his sister, is in town now. Mark just got here and is crashing at my place tonight and we're going to try and synch up with Tom&Mindi, LLC tomorrow for brunch NIH-style. Everyone got to rotate out for thanksgiving dinner at The Lodge and just when we were all back in the same room ... it was time for another magical morphine nap!
This has been a tricky cycle. Dan calls me from the hospital and sounds great. More lucid and grounded every day. So I rush over to hang out. By the time I get to Bethesda and through security, he's on his next dose of pain meds and fades back to sleep. So the goal is to hang around tomorrow long enough to catch both sides of the wake-sleep-wake-meds-sleep wave.
I was cleaning my house for Mark's visit and dozed off doing laundry (turkey coma). Around 11pm, Dan called -- and between the disorienting wake-snap of post-poultry napping and the general rhythm of Dan's voice, I almost forgot he was in the hospital! He sounded like Dan. And it looked like he was going to be awake long enough for a late-night hangout. You know ... clubbing or something. So I dashed over to Bethesda, hoping to rendezvous with Mark as he got into town and ... another magical morphine nap. I didn't get over there or meet up with Mark before he went back to sleep. But we're going to get this right tomorrow.
Dan has asked me to annotate these entries so you can piece apart my embellishment from the real story. So. To clear the air: Dan would like to state that he doesn't really have deep crushes on the aforementioned Hollywood ladies (Rachel McAdams, Natalie Portman, Scarlet Johannsen, et al), but that he wouldn't be disappointed if any of them wanted to date casually. He would like to add that the stuff about Johhny Weissmuller is absolutely true, however. From now on, I'll put a little "*" after details I've made up.
posted by Dan at 9:37 PM
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