My boyfriend, Michael, took over this daily blog three weeks ago when I underwent open heart surgery.
My boyfriend, Michael, DOUBLED my readership, temporarily, with the two posts he wrote on September 21 and September 22.
My boyfriend, Michael, made me laugh so hard after I got my new heart valve at the Mayo Clinic in Minnesota on September 21, that it HURT.
My boyfriend, Michael, is already sick of telling certain stories about our trip to Minnesota, so I guess I should start telling them, here and now:
Immediately after my open heart surgery on September 21, I woke up eager to communicate, but I had a breathing tube down my throat preventing me from talking, so Michael and the ICU nurse, Gene, got me a pad and paper. Gene and Michael had trouble reading what I was writing, which frustrated me. The first thing I wrote was, “Am I okay?” Michael replied, “It went great!” I wrote back, “Would you tell me if it didn’t?” Michael said, “I don’t know how to answer that question, baby.” Then, Gene took over trying to decipher what I was writing on the pad of paper. As I laboriously wrote out “I dreamed of Michael”, Gene said to Michael, “Hey! Your name is Michael, right? I guess she dreamed of you!” I disgustedly shook my head and completed the sentence: “I dreamed of Michael BRECKER” (the jazz saxophonist whose music my cardiac surgeon played during my heart valve replacement surgery).
Because Michael is so charming and engaging, he connected and chatted with all my ICU nurses, which I enjoyed, but it also annoyed me when I wanted their attention. Also, some of the topics Michael and my ICU nurses were discussing bothered me, because I was feeling so vulnerable. For example, my third ICU nurse, named Jason, was a beekeeper, so Jason and Michael had a discussion about bees. I eventually interrupted them and said, “Hey! It’s upsetting me to hear you talk about bees. Don’t you know that the bees are DYING?” In the meantime, a doctor had come in to examine me and discuss my progress, and she concluded, in a thick Slavic accent: “Okay. We will continue monitoring her hemoglobin, give her more medication for her nausea, start Coumadin through her IV, and don’t talk about the bees.”
My boyfriend, Michael, tells those two stories much better than I do.
My boyfriend, Michael, who is an excellent cook, used his phone yesterday to communicate with my 18-year-old son, Aaron, to teach him how to make his first quesadillas at the University of Edinburgh in Scotland.
My boyfriend, Michael, was happy to get back from Minnesota, two weeks ago, to see our two cats, Oscar and Harley.
My boyfriend, Michael, really likes the group Joy Division, who never sound particularly joyful to me.
My boyfriend, Michael, isn’t going to express his gratitude to all those who helped his girlfriend create this post and to all those who are reading it, but I will!