The kids are already in on it. And now they're asking questions. And I can't answer anything. They want to know about aneurysms, strokes and cancer. Sometimes, it's hard to come up with a good answer for a six-year-old. It was easier to answer the questions about how they got into this world.

Sniffles Didn't Work
Hiding a stroke and cancer with "sniffles" does not work. Most of the nephews and nieces didn't fall for landing in a hospital for months due to sniffles. The kids didn't go for the stories about sniffles that kill people. The jig was up.
They're saying, "I had a fever last week. Can’t Grandpa take Tylenol?!" "If it's nothing serious, why can’t we visit?" "Why did Grandpa have surgery?" "He had a cough." "I had a cough. They cut grandpa’s throat for a cough?!… Maybe it's the sniffles. That's the real bad stuff."
The only positive result of sniffles was one of my nephews lost days of sleep after he sneezed. He's now extremely conscious of his sniffles. And that's sanitary.
​
They Started Doing Research
Antennas are up. The kids are all over the internet. And I'm not letting them on my phone. I'm not going to be an accomplice for sniffles.
They’re showing up to school, talking about intubations and how pulling out plugs isn't always a good thing. Now the one is taking the Rorschach test. My brother is getting asked questions about why his child thinks you have to cut open a throat and passively kill a family member for sniffles.

It's the Right Thing to Let Them Know
Give the kids a chance to be decent people.
In Israel, kids know. They know they're in a bomb shelter. They hear about people dying. They hear the bombs going off. And then they go out and play on the swing set. Knowing that bombs are coming into their Sderot neighborhood. Asking why their parents are fine with them heading to the jungle gym. And they're still happy. They turn into caring people.
Give the kids a chance to help. They should know life sucks. Strokes, aneurysms, cancer. You're in kindergarten, you should know that death is just around the corner. You get recess, you run around the soccer field and then there's intubation. 
Maybe the death thing is a little much. We're talking about care. About wanting to be there for people who aren't doing well. Maybe focus more on financial crisis and the collapse of the economy.
Maybe coloring books. Maybe have them color some "get well soon" cards. That's maybe the way to go. Maybe I jumped the gun with daily discussion of bombs going off at recess. 

It's About Caring
Let them know. Maybe they'll turn into decent people that care. That realize life has its hard times. Maybe they'll think twice before scoring a goal in a soccer game.
Visiting the sick and the elderly is something little kids should know about. It's part of life. If you're not privy to catheters by the time you're in first grade, you're not going to grow into a caring individual. 
My nephews and nieces heard about their Bubbie in the hospital. They want to visit. They want to make cards with pictures of illness. Cancer abstracts.
They know grandpa has deadly sniffles, they can now pray and say Tehillim for the sick people. They can visit. They learn to appreciate school without getting shot at. They want to go to nursing homes. They have a reason to draw something and give their extremely poor art to somebody. They learn to thank mom for dinner and the ability to eat food that's not pureed.
I'm suggesting tours of nursing homes and the ER for the little ones. That's how you get them to behave.

OK - Sharing Intubations with Kids is More Nuanced
Parents have to make decisions based on their children and how their state enforces child services.
Maybe not all the kids should know everything. Got to finesse that.
OK. Maybe there's an age where you start to tell them. Maybe they're not ready for all the ins and outs about cancer in preschool.
Showing up to show and tell with a trach isn't the usual thing. Now the kid is in kindergarten, showing his friends, "This is an intubation tube… My grandpa is dying. Check this out. It's called a trach. You see. It's a tube. You cut open the throat and stick it in there. My grandpa has one of these. This is a catheter. They put that..."
I can tell you, in Israel show and tall is a little different. "They blew up my house. Rockets came in from Gaza. And this is the piece of my house that's left."
Maybe some kids need a couple years to think you can play on a seesaw and not get shot at. There are a lot of weak kids nowadays. 

When I see my nephews and nieces and all these kids that deal with real stuff, it leaves an impact. And most of them want to be good people. Some like being very not helpful. But you let them see the trachs, you can at least weed out the bad ones.
Now one of them wants to be a doctor.​ I would not trust that kid with a scalpel. That kid's got to finish the fourth grade. Can't even figure out multiplication. Very excited about intubations. Too excited about incisions and cutting people open at this age. Trying to get her to focus on the prayers and the get well cards.

Conclusion
​Give kids credit. When they're children, they can still care about life. They have feelings. At least we like to think they do. Some of them have feelings. I met one that cared. There's got to be another one out there.

Not all kids are ready for the ICU information. You've got to pick what you share. When they're in nursery school, you let them know grandma has a booboo. When they’re in elementary school, you let them know grandma has it bad. She’s in the hospital. When they’re in high school, you let them know it’s their fault. 
Maybe wait till they're out of the ICU. The kids can know something is bad. But it's better they're not in the ICU. Maybe high school. Once they're in high school, the ICU is a time for them. Just make sure the idiots aren't in the waiting room playing spit. I see my high school nephews and nieces having a ball, screaming "spit." The family next to us is discussing when they should pull the plug. The post-surgical intensive care is not the right place for hide and go seek.

For those too young to be at the hospital, prayers and drawings are a beautiful way to show love. Abstracts of aneurysms is not a card somebody wants to get. Maybe leave it at "Get well soon." For teenagers too stupid to be in a hospital, send them for ice cream.

People want to help and they need that chance. Even little kids, who do nothing of use. You need to be honest with your children to give them the chance to not grow into total selfish jerks. COVID already did a number on their personality. Let them know they should think about other people, because you never know when sniffles and cancer hits. That's how good parents say good night to their children.
​
***Thoughts From a Waiting Room are thoughts revisited from 2019-2020 in 2026 form. LRefuah Sheleyma LKol HaCholim and shared laughter with their family and friends, bZchut Avi HaRav Yeshaya Ben Yechezkel HaLevi ZT"L vImi HaRabbanit Necha Bat Chayim Zeydel A"H LAliyat Nishmatam.

All this circular talk covering up stuff ends up bad.

We already know you can't use other languages to hide sickness from kids. They catch onto bad foreign grammar real fast. And you, as parents, don't even know what you're saying in French. You use some different language you can’t speak to hide the bad news, and now your ailing relative is getting the wrong medication.
I say don't try to hide the sickness. It's their grandparent. They know. And they should know.

Kids know there’s something wrong when mom and dad walk into the den and shut the door. They know there's a bad illness somewhere. Either that, or you got their report card. Either way, something is not good. At least that was the case when I was a kid. My report card came and I couldn't tell if mom and dad were mad they raised an idiot, or if somebody died. Whatever it was, I failed my family.

The Cover Ups - Don't Try
I'm hearing these parents describe extreme ailment, and it makes no sense. "Sniffles. Grandpa has the sniffles." "Sniffles" is now the technical term for "can't walk because he had a stroke and cancer." 
It’s all lies. When they talk to kids, it’s all lies.
The cover ups are rampant. Parents can't just tell the kids they're broke. They start selling ideas like a "home entertainment system." A whole scam, lying to the kids with concepts like going out in their own house, because they have a “home cinema." "Why do we need to go out to the movies and dinner. We have a home entertainment system. We have a cinema in our living room. And an oven." Then mom and dad express their thoughts on the cost of food. "You know how much the hamburger would be in a restaurant?! And coffee?! The amount they charge for coffee."
You know mom and dad are having a hard time paying the bills when the conversation is "you know how much that would cost at a restaurant." “No. We don’t eat out. Because we can’t afford it.”

Always covering up. "Your uncle isn't poor. He just likes to eat food in pita pocket form. And he likes to sleep in a tent. He's a hiker. He hikes in our neighborhood." The embarrassment of imperfection. "He's not really your uncle. When they ask you at school, you’re not related."
You cover it up and the explanations don't make sense. "Your cousin has a fever. That’s why he’s got a bullet wound."
It gets to the point where parents have to lie, even when it’s good. "We're not talking about Aunt Minnie's wedding in front of the kids. Tell them their aunt came down with the sniffles." Mom and dad will turn weddings into a sickness. You have a Simcha, you think you can tell the kids. Nope. It’s marriage sniffles. “Aunt Minnie has marriage sniffles.” And now the kids think Aunt Minnie caught a disease before her wedding.
The cover ups don't work. Your cousin got shot because he's an idiot, Uncle D is poor and can't afford to purchase food you eat with a fork, mom and dad went broke paying for your summer camp last year, and they haven't had a date night because of you, and grandpa would love to see you before he dies. Go and visit him, you selfish piece of sniffles.

Just Say It - You Can't Protect Them
Parents always want to protect their kids and hide stuff from them. I get it. But you can’t. Think back to your childhood. Did you like it? Exactly. You found out people were dying when you first went to shul and so the old guys Chuching up phlegm wads.
You can’t hide it. "Grandpa is in the hospital for twenty-five days, because he has sniffles?!!!" They know something is wrong when not one doctor can figure out to cure grandpa with a tissue. And they know things are real bad when mom and dad repeat the last word of their explanation a good three times. "It’s a cold. A cold. He has a cold!!!"
Don't try to protect the kids. Tell them, "We're going away for a couple of weeks. Grandpa is about to die. At least he's real sick. He asks about you. Enjoy." Leave your children worried. Every day of their lives they should be thinking "Grandpa could die." That will help them get through elementary school.
Maybe hold off on the dying part. A little hope doesn’t hurt the little ones. You don’t have to make their whole life into panic. You already brought them into this world, sent them to school. That’s horror enough.

We Tried Hiding It for A Bit
Trying to tell them about their Bubby not feeling well, you try to protect the kids. Why. You try the "Bubby’s in the hospital, because she has a booboo." The kid is like, "I had a booboo. You just kiss it and goes away." Then they see the trach.
Some of the family uses it to make the kids more religious. "You have to say extra Tehillim and Tefillah every day and treat people well, for Bubby's booboo to go away. You share with your friends and there's no more booboo. But only if you sit at the table and eat nicely." And now the kids are messed up and praying to Gd. Saying the Birkat Hamazon prayer. It’s amazing what people will use to manipulate their kids into behaving. “Let’s not let the aneurysm go to waste.”
That is a dead giveaway to a six-year-old. She’s thinking, "I have to share my toys. Somebody better be really sick."

Thank Gd, the most my family does is "booboo" and "sniffles." We adopted sniffles from the other family in the ICU. From my understanding, sniffles means you’re on life support.
You call illness what you call it, depending on your age. It's "booboo" through eighth grade. Then you get "sniffles" till you're around thirty. We develop very slowly in my family.
We're not using any code words for bowel movement. BM. Pups. Not poop. Pups. Dinkel. Now your kids are screaming "Dinkel" everywhere. You look like idiots. You look like people who come home with bad report cards.

I can understand hiding cake. But they see worry, they hear French, they know Hebrew, they know. If there’s cake in the house, they know. "There's Boston cream pie running around the house. Grandpa is in the hospital, or dad is out again drinking."

Conclusion
Don't hide it. Once the other language jig is up, there's no way to hide it.
The only news you should be hiding from kids is if there’s cake in the house. Or when you're planning to go to the amusement park. Because they won't shut up about it until you go.

My niece sneezed the other day, and she's having nightmares about how sniffles kills people. Maybe you should hide sniffles from the kids.

Use normal words when people are in the ICU. Don't use your family code words for "about to die." 
Random people in the waiting room are now mad that somebody's taking up a bed in the ICU with sniffles and BM. "What is this BM thing?! There are people now taking up ICU beds and getting trached up for sniffles?! Sniffles and BMs?! What happened to cancer and strokes?! Heart attacks. I want to see people here with heart attacks!!!" "You don't understand Sir. It's really bad sniffles."

Something about knowing things are not all perfect makes for better people. People know. They can now come. They can visit. They can think about the person who has cancer and multiple heart attacks. It allows them the opportunity to walk around depressed for the rest of the week. And to pay for hospital parking.
It also lets you know who the messed-up ones are. The ones who don’t visit. The ones whose Simchas and funerals you can skip. And that is quite valuable information. That will save you a bunch of weekends and money on gifts.
 
The lies started with my grandma. She lied about her age. Since my grandma was younger than my mom, all family facts had to change. Grandma was driving SUVs in the 1930s when she was alive, and yet younger than my mom who wasn’t born yet. And now we’re stuck with sniffles.

Now we're all going around the ICU talking about sniffles. We sound like idiots. Fifty-year-olds who can't even say "cold." 
I'm going to make a Sniffles teddy bear that sneezes and dies. That will make good money. 

***Thoughts From a Waiting Room are thoughts revisited from 2019-2020 in 2026 form. LRefuah Sheleyma LKol HaCholim and shared laughter with their family and friends, bZchut Avi HaRav Yeshaya Ben Yechezkel HaLevi ZT"L vImi HaRabbanit Necha Bat Chayim Zeydel A"H LAliyat Nishmatam.

I see these people using sanitizer in the hospitals like they cured hepatitis. Pulling it out in awe, rubbing it like they're running their hands through the Fountain of Youth. It makes me want to hurt them. 
They pull it out like it's going to save lives. These ladies pull it out, rub their hands, and the world is a safer place.
They use a bottle on each hand. Spending five minutes, squishing it. I have to see these people rubbing their hands half the day. And they look at me. It's very uncomfortable. They rub their hands and look at me. "This right here. This is world peace." 
Why the Purell rub look. Why do I have to see that. And then they do the clap. And then rub again for another five minutes. And still looking at me.
Are you trying to get under my skin? You see what I did. "Under my skin." Kind of like a pun. This Purell thing just rubs me the wrong way. Another pun of brilliance for you.

Nursing Staff Is Also Involved in Purell
The hospital staff should not be sanitization dependent. They walk into the room and visit the sick like it's fine to touch the ill with their disgustingness. Now that they've rubbed their disgustingness deep into their hands, the dirt is fully engrained. 
Nurses Purell their hands, come into your hospital room sticking their hand down your tonsils with it. No gloves. "No need for the gloves, my hands are dryer." And now you have a parched throat. To note, Purell will parch your throat.

Hospital Sanitization
The hospital has Purell dispensers everywhere. Dispensers that everybody's touching. It's the sanitizer that's causing the sickness in the hospital. They come to the hospital healthy, then they get sanitizer on them and they catch illness.
And I can't stand the PPEs either. I don't need to see you coming into the hospital room with a chemical grade hazmat suit. Nurses coming in fully masked, looking like they're part of rat control, does not help the family morale. 
Now they're saving the world by sanitizing their hands, then coming into the room with clothes they're going to throw out. 
How are the hand germs getting through the chemical grade hand gloves. 

Dirt Needs Water
There's no way that rubbing the dirt into their skin cleans the dirt. There is no way that not cleaning your hands makes them clean. 
Hand sanitizers don't work. Guy rubs his hands through his hair, picks his ear, shakes the hand of the guy who just put on his shoes, there is no way it works. You might kill the germs. But the grease, wax, mud and whatever else Frank does are still there.
Purell doesn't clean. It dries. And I don't care if I offend people. How about this? Maybe there's no dirt in deserts, because deserts are dry. Think about that. Before you think about it, you should know it's not a pun.

Cooties
Due to this sanitizer dependency, Americans are more afraid of germs than disgustingness. That's why people are afraid to kiss nowadays. Cooties. They're afraid they will get germs, and get sick, because they don’t have mouth Purell yet. The only way to get some action nowadays is to Purell your lips. This is the only time Purell makes sense. Clean your mouth with Colgate and then Purell it.

What Sanitizing Does
I looked it up. Just did the research. It works by killing bacteria, but doesn’t remove it. Exactly. You cleaned it, but it's still there. The bacteria is still there. You have murdered bacteria all over your hands. Science.
Now, all of these people visiting our loved ones in the hospital are rubbing their bacteria on them. Forget about germs. Bacteria. Does anybody care about bacteria anymore?!!! And the nursing staff right now is in the ICU, saving lives with dead bacteria all over their hazmats. The hazmat has hazmat all over it.
It turns out, I don’t care about germs. I care about being clean. I don’t want to infect sick people with dirt. 

And this is why everybody has chapped hands.
And then I have to see them rubbing their hands in lotion, giving me that moisturizer look like they've cured Purell. 
Please rub your hands in private. Don't make me have to look at you rubbing your hands. It makes me very uncomfortable and violent.

Conclusion
I am staying away from anybody with chapped lips. I know who they've been kissing.
I'm going to start wearing gloves to not get touched by sanitized people. Might end up having to shake a sanitized hand. Don't know. It's disgusting.
The classy women pulling hand sanitizer out of their purses all day are disgustingly dirty people. 

You have clean and you have sanitized. You have normal people who use soap, and you have left-wing crazy people.
Use gloves. That's all I'm saying. Stop expressing your hatred of Donald Trump with sanitization.

I am going to use up your natural resources, run water, unroll paper towel, and keep this world clean and not sanitary, so the next generation is immune enough to eat nuts and talk politics. 

COVID killed society.

And I just saw Purell soap. That's just confusing. I'm assuming the soap dries before you wash it off. So now there's a soap that doesn't clean.

***Thoughts From a Waiting Room are thoughts revisited from 2019-2020 in 2026 form. LRefuah Sheleyma LKol HaCholim and shared laughter with their family and friends, bZchut Avi HaRav Yeshaya Ben Yechezkel HaLevi ZT"L vImi HaRabbanit Necha Bat Chayim Zeydel A"H LAliyat Nishmatam.

My Tuchis just got clean. I feel like a million dollars. Now, it would be nice to have people visit. Somebody to turn on the TV. Can you imagine TV with a clean Tuchis. Heaven.

Thank Gd. Family finally visited again. I guess you have to wait till Sunday to get guests. They come on Sundays. And if I don't have guests, other people get them. Which is sometimes better. You see new faces, different people, and you don't have to deal with them. They disturb other people's sleep. But family is here and it's great and they better turn on the TV.
The rest of the week I'm on my own. Trying to flip the channels through telekinesis.

And they put on the TV. Thank Gd.
And like idiots they put on Fox News. You don't put on Fox News when there's nursing staff. They hate Trump.
I heard my nursing assistant say something about privilege and having to eat baked ziti the other day. She said that she doesn't have the privilege of families bringing her doughnuts like the other aides. She hates Trump. And with Fox News and no doughnuts, I will never have a clean Tuchis again.

I know there's a war going on. I hear it when they put on CNN. That's how I know they hate Trump. One staff member said, "I hope the Americans die." And there you go. You put on Fox News, you're taking a chance with my life. It's like a military field hospital here. We're all in beds. They see Fox News, they get the feeling we're at war. They see I'm the enemy.

Wait!!! This nurse is a MAGA person. I know because she never says anything. She wants to keep her job. Put on Fox News now. Switch it!!!
Today, you can put on Fox. I'm blinking. It's a Fox News day. Does anybody notice I'm blinking?

I still can't get over the trach. They trached me a few days ago. That got the doctors excited. Doctors get very excited when they get to cut holes in people. Dr. Feigenbloom was so happy, yelling, "I'm making an orifice!"
My doctor thinks it’s a lab. They think I'm an experiment. He took a scalpel. Thought I was a frog.
They only thing more exciting to my doctor than cutting a hole in me was him popping in the tube. Doctors love putting tubes in people. It gives them something to do. The doctor re-trached me today. The excitement showed when he yelled, "I'm popping in another tube. I'm making another orifice!"
If the aides would only get this excited to clean a Tuchis.

People don't take you as seriously when you have a trach. The conversation changes. Not as many questions. They seem to talk a lot more. 
Now every visitor looks at me differently. I'm not a person anymore. They don't see me. They see the tube. It's like I'm a machine now. A machine with a prosthetic throat.
It's the tube. That's why people are looking at me differently. The stroke and not being able to move or talk might also have something to do with it. But it's definitely the tube.

Great to see you all!!! I guess they can't hear that. Well. They left.

Shoot. They left Fox on. I hope they blame that right-wing Trump loving nurse for this. I want somebody to clean my Tuchis before next Sunday. Politics should not influence Tuchis cleaning.
I hope they at least clean that new orifice my doctor threw in. I don't even know if he had a reason. He had his scalpel and figured "this guy won't say anything."

Why I'm abandoned? I'm not annoying. I don't cough. I don't talk. I don't slick back my hair. I seem to be a pretty decent guy to hang around right now. But I will not see them till next Sunday.
I hope Fox does a news exclusive on how important it is to bathe.
Do these people here think I'm supposed to do it myself. Are the aides and the medical staff walking around, talking about how unhygienic I am?!

The new shift just came. They changed it to CNN. I have feeling they're trying to indoctrinate me. That's what they do. They see a trach and they work with the nursing homes to indoctrinate you. And then they vote for you.
I hope I can talk again. I have so much I want to share about the war. If my family finds out I've been watching CNN, they will kill me. But as I learned from the nursing staff, never listen to your family. Your family is evil.

And here we bring the end of the crying quadrilogy. A lot of crying. There is about four times the amount of crying in the ICU.
There is stuff, other than listening to James Taylor, that will make you cry in the waiting room.

Anything at the SICU Can Cause a Breaks Down
Everybody at SICU has a moment where they cry. A real cry. A loud one. A cry that says, "I don't care if other people see this. Let them all think I'm an emotional wreck. This is life here." And then they lose their job.
It just hits you over here. Anything can set you off. You feel bad about not being there, you heard the surgery might not work, you heard the price of gas went down. Emotions hit, especially when parking is twenty dollars.
Anything can set you off, and you don’t know the times it will hit. There is always something new. The doctors like to surprise you every day with a new way your loved one might die.
One guy came back to life. I cried. Call me weak. You can’t tell me you’re not crying when somebody’s cousin comes back to life. That is on par with a romantic comedy. If his wife kissed him when he woke up, that is even more of a tear jerker than When Harry met Sally. All these new families here should merit the same cry I let out when Harry and Sally got back together at the end, in a well paper-toweled cry spot.
Reincarnation will make you cry, even when redemption is not happening. 

​There Are Times Where I Cry So Much
It hits you, and it's not even a rom-com. You start crying and it feels like the right thing to do. And then you notice other people watching.
Almost anything will get you going those first days. After the first days, you don't cry as much anymore. It becomes routine. Doctor comes in, says, "There's a good chance their going today." You're saying, "OK. Sounds good. And an excellent day to you."

Tefillah
Prayers will get you going. You hear a hymnal and you just start bawling. Somebody says, "We are praying…" I start crying. 
They say, "We are praying for you," I break down. That extra "you" adds a level of emotion. That personalization of the prayer. Bawling. And they add in the "we." now they're talking for everybody. Is that a whole community involved in that. Now we're all united in this hymnal. Everybody is now saying Tehillim. A communal connection to my loved one. Are these prayers invoked to make me cry.
A "we're praying for your loved one." Oh no. Now there's a connection. "I'm also praying for my loved one." Profuseness. Can't help but to weep.
Even if they're not praying, they say it and I cry. They said the right thing. That's enough to make me cry. They're not really in this. As long as they said they are, that's all I need to start Shpritzing water out of my eyes again. 
Any prayer sung out loud, that's it. A prayer book opened and singing, that's next level tears. They pull out a Siddur and start praying, that's just manipulative. That’s why rabbis carry around that Rabbi prayer book. They open it up and you start crying. The action of flipping the page exudes emotion.
And readings. Don’t even get me started. I hear a reading done slowly, I’m crying uncontrollably. Dr. Seuss. You open the Cat in the Hat and start reading that to the correct hymnal pace, I’m crying.

Questions
Never take a question. That will make your cry.
Any show of care will make you cry. You couple that with a question, you're multiplying the cry.
Any show of care gets me going. "How's everybody doing?" "Oh no. You just got David going. You asked a question... We request nobody ask questions or David will cry. Questions trigger him."
Anytime somebody asks me how I’m doing, I suddenly realize I’m not doing good. I was doing great before the question. I can be doing fine, they ask the question, now I’m asking if you're OK. "How are you?" "Oh. No. I was doing well before you asked. I guess I'm not doing that well. Now that you mention it, I haven't showered in four days and my loved one might die. The doctor found a new way for them to go to Heaven this morning. I didn't think much about it then."
And they always ask how I’m doing with that tone of sincere care, like I lost a loved one.
You need the cry spot in case of questions.

Saying Anything
Talking. You open your mouth. For some reason, that causes tears. If I can get out a "me too, I'm also praying," now I'm choking on the tears. Just my voice makes me cry.
Don't talk or you'll start crying more. Definitely don't sing. Hospitals don't provide enough PPEs for that. And do not sing the words, "I care too." ​​

They Touch You
I thought the cry was over. I had the cry spot. It was a hard one. I came back to the waiting room, I was over the big cry, somebody put their hand on my shoulder. That was wrong. I just started crying. I let out a huge one to my words, "Is there a bathroom around."
Never let anybody touch you in prayer. Whatever religion that is, it will make your cry. They touch your shoulder in prayer, that's some kind of devious evangelical religion. Watch out of those people. And never take somebody's hand in prayer. That kind of unison will bring out a community of tears.
"Take my hand and let us pray." That's tear manipulation.

I needed to let out the rest of the tears. I didn’t realize I had a reservoir of tears that got opened with a shoulder touch. Shoulder touch tears are from somewhere in the upper-stomach area.
I found myself pulling the athlete fist over mouth cry. That’s where you cover your mouth with the part of the fist you spit pits into. You clench your hand every three seconds and suck in your breath. It’s what tough guys do to hide the tears coming out of the mouth.

And watch out for group hugs. A group hug will make you cry.
If in a group, huddle hug it. The huddle hug will stop others from seeing you cry. It will make you cry. Even so, it creates a barrier, thus not necessitating a bathroom.

Conclusion
Don't talk when crying. Your voice will make you cry more.
Anybody touches the shoulder, you will cry. Be ready for that. Maybe wear some shoulder pads. Get an old double-breasted suit. Maybe come in with an '80s style sweater, so they can't induce shoulder touch tears.
 
Romantic comedies bring tears to my eyes. I can share those tears in public. Those tears are understandable. Tears for your loved one. People will judge you for that.

When somebody is sick, they're called your "loved one." You never want to be anybody's loved one. 

Touch, prayer and gas prices will make you cry. Anybody listening, you will cry. Never watch a romantic comedy. You'll start crying even more. Dramas will have you crying more than your loved one getting hit by a car.

You need the cry spot close, just in case somebody talks to you, or touches you. Always converse near a bathroom.

***Thoughts From a Waiting Room are thoughts revisited from 2019-2020 in 2026 form. So don't worry that you weren't there when David needed you. LRefuah Sheleyma LKol HaCholim and shared laughter with their family and friends, bZchut Avi HaRav Yeshaya Ben Yechezkel HaLevi ZT"L vImi HaRabbanit Necha Bat Chayim Zeydel A"H LAliyat Nishmatam.

You can't cry in the waiting room. You need a spot. You need a private spot, especially if you're crying and changing your outfit. 
You can’t get out the real tears in public. You can bring the end cry to the people, but the climax cry is a private thing.

Location of the Cry Spot
You need your cry spot to be within crying distance. That is the distance needed for a tissue when getting out a sneeze. Once you get that feeling in your nose, it could be a cry or a sternutation. At that point you don't know. Either way, it will end up as sinusitis. 
You need spots. Every twenty feet, you have to know where your nearest cry spot is. Exits and cry spots. You don't want to be choking on your cries because your closest cry spot is thirty feet in the other direction. And you don't want to get caught in a cry when there's a fire.

Bathrooms Are Useful
Know where your bathrooms are. There is no better place to cry.
You can start your cry in the waiting room, but you can’t get out the real one in front of everybody. The general big cry starts in the waiting room, goes to the hallway, ends in the bathroom. The bathroom is where the real cry comes out.
Make sure it’s not a multiple stall bathroom. You can't get out a full on cry when a guy in the stall next to you is peeing. 
Only thing that can make crying with a guy in the stall next to you comfortable is a guy crying in the stall next to you. That kind of shared cry could last hours. You hear their cry, they hear you cry, tears are built. You feed off each other.
Bathrooms also provide paper towels. They're full of paper towels there because they know that tissues do not suffice for SICU tears. That first week in the ICU, those are the kind of tears that need paper towel. Industrial. Brown. Not rippable paper towels. The kind of towels that leave a mark when you dry your face, and a papercut.

Never Take the Stairs
Some people have their cry spot in the stairwell. Rookie mistake. Too many people there.
After a couple of weeks of being at the hospital, people start working out at the hospital. They stop taking the elevator. Something happens where they see sick people and they start thinking, "I have to work out." They pass the cardiac unit and they're thinking, "We need to do more cardio." Next think you know, they're walking. They're taking the stairs.This is why you never see the medical staff on the elevators. They see too many sick people.
People are trying to keep in shape, now there's one less place to cry. You just can't cry in the stairwell anymore. Too many walking groups there. People going up a couple of flights talking about their kids.
And the nursing staff is taking two stairs at a time, screaming "LEFT." You can't cry when people are yelling "LEFT." You start to get the feeling you're swimming laps, and nobody has ever cried in a pool.

Have Spots Near the Room
The emotion in the room is a different level. You need a spot within ten feet. 
Mom’s room is where the real emotion is at. That's where the real cries come, in the room. You think bawling and snot phlegming is a big cry. You don't know what a cry is until you've seen your loved one come back to this world. That's a loud cry. Tears coming out of the soul. Christians have been crying for two thousand years.
Any tiny movement is huge. That first show of life on the vent. You cry. You see your loved one after surgery open their eyes, you start thinking "eyes work?!" Can't explain it. You just cry.
That's why family loves going to the hospital for surgeries. They want to get out a good cry. That cry you can't get out when the toaster stops working. An appliance breaks, you show to the hospital. "They winked with her eyes closed!!! They understand!!!" You can get out that cry for having to eat a thawed room temperature bagel.
And each time it's a different cry. Can't explain it. This is why you need spots within ten feet. This is why many rooms in the ICU have their own bathroom. You think the guy that just got out of open heart surgery yesterday needs a bathroom?! It's for family to cry.
Your mom's room doesn't have a bathroom. Jump into one of the other rooms. They're on vents, they just got out of surgery, they can't say anything.

Avoid Contact Upon Return
When returning from your cry spot, anything can set you off. Avoid all people. A touch will set off a post cry. A passing shoulder rub will have you on the floor bawling. Anything anybody says can set you off. Avoid all questions. Answering any questions about how you are will set off cry puddles.
Get out your cry. Come back. Pretend like nobody notices, with your bloodshot eyes. "I got it. All is good." And don't say "all good." Not even to yourself. You say "all is good," tears are pouring again. "All good" is a cry trigger. The words of self-console bring them back even stronger.
Upon return, go to a corner. The walls are a cry buffer.

More Good Cry Spots
Corner rooms. They're out of the way. Even if there's a patient in there, they're probably on morphine. 
Nursing stations. Most of them are on their phones anyways. They won't notice.
​Your car. Issue with the car is you can't drive that into the hospital, unless if you really hate the medical staff.
Elevators. If you can time your cry for eight seconds, the elevator can give you the necessary privacy.
In some hospitals, nobody can find elevators. With all the different colors and letters that don't match up, nobody can find them. In those hospitals, elevator corridors can be a good couple minutes of cry. 
Thinking of it, that's probably why so many people take the stairs. They can't find the elevators.
You have to know your hospital's culture. If you're in a very out of shape hospital, take the stairs. You have to judge your population before picking your spots.
The emergency room. The ER has a lot of curtains, and nobody keeps track of what is going on in that place. Take a curtain, pull it shut, and cry until a nurse thinks you're another crackhead and kicks you out.
The ER is also good, as nobody cares what's happening in there. People are screaming, blood flying out of their torso, nobody cares. You cry, nobody will notice.
Corners. If you can't find a corner room, corners work. You bring the cry to the corner, you have now triangulated your cry, blocking it with two walls and your back. It's also symbolic, like Gd has brought you to the ICU and put you in timeout. 

The Huddle Hug
In lieu of a spot, you can huddle hug in the waiting room. Get the family huddled together, making for a private family crying spot in public. Call the kids. "Everybody in. We need a cry."
The huddle hug takes family understanding and coordination. I don't believe most of these new families in the waiting room have any chance at coordinating a huddle hug. Half of them can't figure out hospital parking.
Only problem with the huddle hug is it looks too much like a family prayer circle. And the huddle hug touch of others will make you cry more. It’s a catch twenty-two. The huddle hug obstructs the tear view of the spectator, yet forces all within the group huddle to profuse their sob.
To note: Group crying is acceptable.​

Conclusion
You need private cry spots. Not a public cry spot. It's not a cry meeting.

Bathrooms are the best cry spots. Locate all bathrooms in the hospital. That includes rooms of patients. You may come off as a bit of a peeper, but at least you will know where the private bathrooms are.
Bathrooms have paper towels, privacy, and they give you a mirror to remind you how you look when you're beaten up by tragedy. Without the bathroom mirror, you wouldn't be able to see what you look like when you have no hope.

Don't think you're better than the cry spot. Anything can set you off. Somebody saying, "We care." It will get you going.
If I can't find a cry spot, I'm listening to Billy Joel. You can't cry when listening to Billy Joel.

Reconnoiter the hospital. First thing, when you show up to the hospital and find out your loved one on a vent, you scout the hospital. You study the unit color schemes and how those can lead you to private bathrooms and elevators. And ask the nurse for crushed ice. Crushed ice is amazing. Truly brings joy to the ICU experience.​

Yes. I cry.  Call me weak. I tend to cry when somebody I love is on a ventilator. I can't tell you when I'm going to cry. But it will happen. And people judge.

You Can't Cry in Front of People
You can cry in front of people. You just can't really cry in front of people. You can't cry and shriek in front of people. There is crying etiquette that is paramount when you're in the SICU worrying about pending death. When your loved one got hit by a car, your focus should be on decorum.
In public, you have to keep your cry at low volume. Low volume with no "Oh L-rd!!!" You can't add a prayer to your tears. And you can't get out a yowl. They'll think a dog got run over and checked itself into the ICU.

It's Not Acceptable in the Hospital
You can’t get out the full cry in the waiting room. You can’t get out the disgusting looking monster full on breakdown cry in front of others. For some reason, other people stay away from loud cries. And cries with excretion. The sinus cry is not acceptable. Snot mucus streams are still not publicly acceptable. 
For some reason, it's not acceptable to bawl in the hallway of a hospital. People are dying. You would think the one spot people wouldn't judge you for crying is the SICU. Everybody in those rooms looks like they're dying or dead. You look at those machines with the squiggly lines and numbers, and you're thinking, "I have to say Tehillim. A few Psalms." And mucus extends from your orifices. 
Psalms is the immediate response to, "I really don't think the doctors have any idea."

In private, you can scream, pray and snot all over. 
The only acceptable cry in front of other people is a When Harry Met Sally reunite cry. That's acceptable. A family member on a vent who you're hoping isn't dead, you can't let that out in front of other people. That cry is not acceptable.
Point is you need your spot. ​

The Big Cry is Going to Hit That First Week
The new group just came in this weekend. They're crying and they weren't prepared. Now I have to see this.
You've got to prepare for the cry. New people don't know this. They think they're going to show up to the hospital, see their four-year-old nephew missing a limb, on a ventilator, and they're going to head out to a dance party.
There is not one person who has a heart and doesn’t have their big cry. Your loved one is in life threat and you are crying. It happens in SICU, surgery, emergency, the car on the way home. It is going to hit you somewhere. The bigger you are, the more you cry. Those extra pounds on the waist, tears are coming out of that.

The biggest cries are the first week. You are broken. After that, you accept that life sucks. You settle into strokes, heart attacks, aids, cancer, aneurisms, pneumonia, car wrecks, no blood. Loved ones on vents becomes a regular thing. You crack jokes, watch the game, try to figure out your next trip to Disney, start petitioning the congregation about wheelchair access. You become an activist all the sudden. You develop an internal cry in your soul that lasts fifteen years. 
It's almost as bad as breaking up.

New Families are Intruding on Our Space
A lot of new people. It was a dangerous weekend on the streets of Hackensack, New Jersey. I don’t need the news to know what is going on. I see the families funneling in. I know who got hit by a car, and I can verify the shooting.
The new families are here and the new flow of crying is on. It's amazing how the waiting room culture just changed, due to five motorcycle accidents. Nobody tells these people about waiting room etiquette. Stuff they should know. Like the three couches in the room belong to the Kilimnick family.

The Cry Spot Must Be Close
Just had a cry. I wasn't prepared. Rookie mistake. I had a deep inhale cry with a "fufufufufufu." No idea how my exhale came out as a "fufufufufufu." Like somebody turned down the thermostat as emotions hit. And orifice phlegm made it into the "fufufufufufu."
You don't know when the cry will hit. That's why you need many spots. It's not like you have time to get home. It hits you fast. It's not like you can hold it in till you have your own bathroom. 
Carrying a commode with you, so you have a clean place to poo in hospitals, something else you should prepare for. We shall deal with that another time.

No Spot Makes It Weird
It's awkward when you don't have a spot. These new guys don't have their cry spot yet. I feel bad. But what I am going to do? Say "good luck"?
I just saw somebody bawling. Something to do with his daughter falling off her bike and not being able to breath. Just awkward. I don't know if he expected me to hug him. 
I felt bad. It was a painful sight. I had to be the one to tell him, "Get a spot. We all have dying people here. None of us know what to do." I wanted to help. I said, "I can see you're holding in your cry. You've got more in there. There's not one snot ball coming out of your nose. You need a real cry right now. You love your daughter. And we want to love her too. But we don't. You can't get in a good 'Oh L-rd' in front of us. You need to find a spot."
​I have a heart. I care. I want to be here for you. But you cry in the waiting room, you get nothing. You need a spot. Unless if the doctor comes. Anytime a doctor comes out to the waiting room, you have a right to cry. We all get that. No doctor has ever walked into a waiting room to let everybody know how happy they are that they got a hole in one.

Prepare Your Spot
​The problem is they don't have a cry spot yet. They didn't prepare. They didn't scout out the hospital before the accident to figure out where the best place to get out the big cry is.
This is why I suggest scoping out the hospital before family ends up in the ICU. Do it when people are healthy. I'm not suggesting you pray for your family to end up in the SICU, so you can cry together. I'm suggesting you visit a sick friend. Somebody who you don't care that much about. A community member. Visit them. Take notes of the different areas. Find out where the corner rooms are. Corner rooms are potential cry spots. Your family ends up in the ICU, Chas vShalom, you need to cry, you go in there and cry. It's a spot. Don't worry about the recovering guy on a vent who just had their heart sliced open. It's fine. He won't disturb you. He's probably asleep.

There are right ways to handle your cry. Crying etiquette, and Kilimnick couch etiquette. I can't reiterate that enough. They need signs, "Please don't disturb others with your love for somebody who might die. And the couches in the waiting room have been claimed by the Kilimnick family."

Conclusion
You need a cry spot for the real cries. The heartfelt tears. If you have no heart, and your cry is a single tear, you don't need a spot.
We have one uncle who doesn't cry. He says he has to be strong for the family. He has no heart.

I don't like the new group. They don't know which couches are ours yet. They're ruining the waiting room dynamic. We are having a sign made for our couches.

I will fight until the snot mucus monster cry is publicly acceptable. We will not have an emotionally sound society until snot mucus is accepted by all.
"fufufufufufu." Until then, I will try to find more cry spots for everybody.

***Thoughts From a Waiting Room are thoughts revisited from 2019-20 in 2026 form. LRefuah Sheleyma LKol HaCholim and shared laughter with their family and friends, bZchut Avi HaRav Yeshaya Ben Yechezkel HaLevi ZT"L vImi HaRabbanit Necha Bat Chayim Zeydel A"H LAliyat Nishmatam.

Music came on. I forgot about that stuff. The TV has been on news. I've been focusing on hearing about how people end up in the ICU.
I heard some music on the way over to the hospital. I started crying, and that was it. I knew it was the right thing for the waiting room. I'm now playing music on my phone. That's the music medium in the ICU. You get to listen to a song, until you get a call from your aunt.
​I've been tasked with setting the crying mood. The sentimental song mood. Let's be honest. Nobody tasked me with it. I tasked myself. I need to feel like I'm doing something in the ICU. Doctors are coming around, ensuring people's limbs are still attached. Nurses are checking to make sure the blood is still there. I'm DJing. We all have our tasks. We all give back in our own way.

Got to Pick the Right Music
I take my jobs seriously.
I'm not DJing a dance party. I realized real quick, the Bee Gees is not proper mood music for the waiting room. Even if it's catchy. Some of those songs aren't meant for people with family on a ventilator.
"Stayin' Alive" is a catchy tune. Not a good waiting room pick. Doesn't set the right background vibe for an invasive procedure. It shouldn't have been in the mix. Youtube did it. It wasn't the uplifter I would've thought it to be.

Songs Make Me Cry
Songs, especially Dveykus songs from Tehillim, will make you cry. King David's Psalm about looking up to a mountain for help to guitar and harmony. It hits the heart. King David didn't have doctors. He had mountains.
A James Taylor song, that will set me off. "You've Got a Friend." I need one now and I’m crying. Anything that is meant to be sung in a circle, I’m crying. It’s the spherical unity.
I've cried to Chicago. Peter Cetera touches the heart. Excellent for the ICU. If somebody got hit by a car while breaking up, that would truly bring the tears. "You're the Inspiration" is in the mix. Thought you should know that. It's in every one of my mixes. Mood, happy, dance, ICU. Break up. I listen to the break up mix a lot. A lot of breaking up.
Billy Joel still doesn't make me cry. Wu-Tang's "Never Again," I'm crying in a strong way. A man cry. Fist to my mouth, athlete cry, to cover up my mouth tears. That rap about the Holocaust hits you.

Billy Joel Doesn't Make Me Cry
I took Billy Joel out of the sentimental medley.
I listen to Billy Joel, I can’t cry. His saddest song is "Uptown Girl."
"We Didn’t Start the Fire," I’m rocking to it. He makes death and murder sound happy. "Only the Good Die You’ung. Only the good die you'ung." It's the “u” continuation. Something about extending "young" makes me want to bop. I hear him and I'm bopping to the good dying. When Billy Joel sings it, I'm kind of fine with people passing before their time. Though, it's very relevant to the parents with the young boy on a vent, it's too upbeat for the ICU. 
And other families are sleeping in the ICU. You've got to keep the music soft.

Jewish Songs
Uncle Moishy singing "Ain't Going to Work on Saturday" is not going to get the tears rolling. Nonetheless, it's a strong message. And sometimes you want to spread the message of Shabbat to the people in the waiting room.
Avraham Fried's "No Jew Will Be Left Behind." That will get you crying. Might have the other people in the waiting room wondering what kind of lyrics these are. And why they haven't heard that song on the Top Forty charts.
Any Jewish song that has Tehillim in it, I'm crying. I say Psalms all the time now. Signing them. That's a new level of wetness. That next level of Dveykus singalong, you start singing, you're swaying, pulling out a candle, sharing stories about family weekends and crying. And the other people in the waiting room are trying to figure out why you pulled out a guitar while their family is trying to have a conversation. Wondering if you have anybody in the hospital, and why you're not singing in English.
Basically, any Frum Hebrew song, I am crying. Unless if Billy Joel is singing it. I'm not crying if Billy Joel is singing about looking up at the mountains to find a girl. Somewhere on Eighty-Sixth Street.

It Takes a Lot to DJ the Room Right
We’re constantly figuring out what to play in mom's room. There's the waiting room, where you want to claim the space with your music and chase other families away from the couch. And then there's mom's room.
Post surgery can be a tough time to listen to music. So, you want to keep it soft. Soft rock 101.3 is generally good. The problem is you wake up, Delilah starts talking, and you're questioning if your spouse left you.
You want the cry songs in the room. It's just picking the right ones. 
We figured a few out for the room. Basically, anything you can play in the waiting room without offsetting somebody hearing about a family member dying, is fine.
We've taken to the Jewish music, especially Dveykus. Their songs were made for tragedy. It's the gift of tragedy in harmony form. Note: Do not play the Bee Gee's "Tragedy." Make sure that's not in the mix.
We also have Jeff Braverman in there. Something about his voice is very soothing. It's not an Israeli accent, but it kind of is. It's like a soft Israeli accent if an Israeli was from Montreal and never lived in Israel.
The Carpenters. Great. "Close to You." Has there ever been a better song to elicit recovery? The answer is NO. You hear that song and you heal. And then you think about birds. 
Creed. Another amazing Christian rock band for Jews. They truly make death spiritual.

Not Every Song Works
You've got to keep control. Not everybody's music is ICU friendly. My brother-in-law wants to play Metallica and Papa Roach. "Last Resort." Again. Not a good song. Not proper. "Cut my life into pieces. This is my last resort. Suffocation. No breathing." Again. Not proper. Even if it is relatable. 
This is why I've taken control of the DJing. 
You need a vast music library for different medical situations. I will say this one last time, "Death metal is not proper in the surgical intensive care unit." 
And I have made the decision to leave out the rap about the Holocaust. Thought that might be a bit of an intense mood song while on morphine.
And Snoop Dogg singing about sipping his gin and juice is not the proper mood music of choice. The ICU in Hackensack doesn't support smokin in the waiting room.

​Conclusion
Any song that reminds you of camp is good for the ICU. Thank Gd I didn’t have to sleep on a bunkbed in the waiting room. I played my music, chased out the other families, put two couches together and got some good sleep.
 
Billy Joel is too happy for the waiting room. I have taken him out of my intensive care mix. And that's what I call it. And I've given the mix to some friends that I don't like.

Picking the right songs is not easy. You would think Clapton's "Tears in Heaven" would work. That's not the right song for the ICU waiting room. You want to stay away from songs about death, even if they touch the heart. "Dust in The Wind" isn't a waiting room song. It's more of a euthanasia mood song. And there's no ward for that. 
Reminder: Hold off on "Only the Good Die Young." It’s a waiting room mood killer.
If I was writing a Jewish musical, a boy looking for a girl from a good well to do family would be singing "Uptown Girl."

Though the right music is important, I don't bring my phone around to random families in the intensive care, letting them know I have songs that might help. You have to DJ your own tragedy. You can't DJ other people's pain, as enjoyable as it might be to be sitting there, staring at them, playing the song that you feels fits their tears. 
I thought The Carpenters was a perfect pick, when they first got into the waiting room. I looked up at them to provoke some reassurance. A little support. All they gave me was a “why are you looking at us like that.”

It seems that not everybody in the waiting room has my taste in music. Once you go over the river from Teaneck to Hackensack you run into some nonJews who don’t connect with Dveykus and Safam. They didn’t get a good Hebrew school education.
I'm going to invest is some waiting room earbuds. Some people get real mad about James Taylor. They don't like his music, and that is where evil people come from. 

***Thoughts From a Waiting Room are thoughts revisited from 2019-20 in 2026 form. LRefuah Sheleyma LKol HaCholim and shared laughter with their family and friends, bZchut Avi HaRav Yeshaya Ben Yechezkel HaLevi ZT"L vImi HaRabbanit Necha Bat Chayim Zeydel A"H LAliyat Nishmatam.

What just happened. Are these people in my room? Did the Schwartzs just pop in uninvited?  Very rude. They were always very rude like that.
 
Does it look like I can pick up a phone and call? I didn’t invite you. I can’t move. This is what Bikur Cholim looks like. Visiting the sick looks like a bunch of people pushing their way into my room.
Did the shul announce this? It’s like the rabbi to put it out there. “Visit Phillip. He won’t kick you out. He can’t talk or move. Visit him and do what you want.” I’m in the shul bulletin now. They better not be advertising this. I hope I don’t get one of those pictures of me in my bed with this gown thing they threw on me. It’s a shroud. It’s a sick shroud. I’m in the hospital and they throw this on me. I woke up this morning. I thought I was dead. In a shroud.
 
They visit uninvited. I have to watch out for these people. I didn't invite them. I'm half naked. I just peed in the bag. This isn't the time for a visit.
Since when do people just show up, uninvited?
Now they’re talking. Asking me questions. I can’t move. I can’t talk. And they’re asking my questions. Are these people idiots? Do they not see the IVs?! I have fifteen IVs flying out of me, and they think it’s time for a conversation. Just talk. Don’t expect me to answer. I’m sorry I’m not a good host.
They expect me to host them now. They’re going to go back to the congregation and tell them how rude I was. I didn’t get up and offer them coffee.

It's nice to see them. I truly like the Schwartzs. Good people. Nosy. But good people. Caring people. Yet, they do talk a lot about their new cottage. They don’t care enough to stop talking about that.
At this point, pride is not of importance. It's real now. People visiting from the community is real. I need it. I appreciate it. I’m going to write a thank you, if I can ever move again. Where is my hand? Thank Gd it’s there. Forgot I had that.
My kids’ friends do this. They pop over uninvited. I can’t play Minecraft now.
 
Stay. Why are they leaving? Just because I can’t talk?!
You guys can at least turn on the TV!!!
Nope. They just left without turning on the TV. They broke into my room. Uninvited. The nurse aided and abetted in this whole act. The nurses aided and abetted. They stole some crushed ice and saltines from my tray.
The aide probably did nothing. Didn’t even abet. That guy has changed me in two days. Can you at least tell him to clean my butt.
 
Wait. They’re back. They got coffee. Now they can’t complain about me. They stole coffee. These people came for afternoon tea. I didn’t know the Schwartzs are British.
The least you all can do is turn on my TV. You see I can’t move. And tell them to stop bringing me trays. How am I going to eat when I got a trach for an esophagus. Even applesauce doesn’t pass through this thing.
I’m not complaining. I just need my butt cleaned. They come uninvited. I would let them clean my butt. At this point, I’m chafing. Baby Wipes!!!
I’m peeing again. These people give no privacy. Is this what they’re doing now? Following people into the bathroom?! Is that part of Bikur Cholim? Did the rabbi announce that? “Talk to Phil while he’s peeing. When you see the bag fill up, you’ll know it was a good conversation.”
 
Uninvited. I hope they didn't go to my house. I didn't invite them there. And I haven't had a chance to vacuum. Shoot. The grass is probably out of control. The neighbors are probably mad.
They’re probably going to break into my house now. Next week’s announcements will read, “Phillip doesn’t take care of his house.”
 
Why is family not here. The only people who have unbarred entrance are not here.
 
They just left. Now I’m going to miss The $100,000 Pyramid.
 
Will somebody tell the rabbi to put some of this stuff in the announcements. “When you visit Phillip, please turn on the TV. Watch TV with him. He doesn’t want to hear you going off on your kids. He doesn’t care if they’re in college. Your Nachis is annoying. He likes the Game Show Network, as he likes overly excited people. And leave the TV on when you leave. As you can see, he can’t pick up a remote control if he can’t move. And please face his bed towards the TV. He doesn’t enjoy looking at walls and ceilings. When you break into his house, please make sure all the bills are paid. Tell his daughter to brush her teeth. And tell his ex he now hates her. She’s a witch. Do some prayers. Phillip likes Davening. But don’t sing. The one positive about his stroke is he doesn’t have to hear your messed up harmonies in shul. Tell his family to visit, as it kind of sucks when you can’t take care of yourself, and people decide that that’s a good time to not be there for you. Also, please tell them to clean his butt. And he apologizes if you show up and he’s mooning you. He can’t flip his sheets.” And add, “He won’t write Thank Yous. He hates writing those. He appreciates the visits. Just the thought of having to write Thank Yous is too painful. Might cause a heart attack. He’s still getting over having to write the Thank Yous to the people who showed up to his Bar Mitzvah. It was a traumatic experience. And when you visit, he might be naked. Maybe. Don't be like the Schwartzs. Ask the aide to make sure he’s decent. And ask them, to clean his butt before you go in his room. Their eldest didn’t have to see that. Probably not as traumatic as writing Thank Yous. But he asks for Mechilah.”

Somebody just came and yelled at my mom. I ran into the room to make sure nothing happened. Nothing happened. They were yelling at her because she's in a hospital.
People yell at old people and sick people. They're already not doing well, and now they're getting reprimanded.

She's in the Hospital and She Can Hear
She's in the hospital. Even so, you don’t have to scream at her. She didn't do anything wrong.
Everybody thinks that when somebody is in a hospital bed, they age forty years, and they lose their hearing.
I had a friend visit me after a hernia operation. The guy was yelling, "Can you still hear?!" I wasn't even in a hospital bed. He thought that since I was in a recliner, I had lost my ability to hear. It might just be that position. Something to do with the forty-five-degree incline of the back. The natural instinct is to yell at them. The natural angle of earshot. 
Maybe they're thinking "she's in a coma, she is hard of hearing." Those are different problems. And if she's in a coma, are you trying to give her nightmares? "Why are they yelling it's good to see me?! Am I in hell?! Is that how they greet you in hell?!"

Always Yelling 
I see it every time people visit a hospital. They always yell. You just got out of surgery, and the first guest is mad at you. You're dizzy as anything, and somehow, you're getting blamed for the new seats they put in at the shul. You're saying, "It's not the time," but you can't talk. They're going off on how beautiful the chairs are. And they sound so mad about it.
People should have a basic medical understanding when screaming at someone who's recovering. Understand the diagnosis. Know if they're on morphine. Then maybe yell, "I'm taking out the catheter." That's something that might need a yell.

Screaming at Old People
People scream at sick people and old people. Let's deal with this yelling at old people epidemic.
​Old people don't need angry people screaming nice things at them.
"It’s good to see you." That is the line. That's the discussion. It is always, "It’s good to see you." They don’t add anything to that. It's just concerned people coming in and screaming nice things at them. It's scary as anything.
I understand it can be hard coming up with something to talk about. You can’t say, "It’s good to see you like this." You can’t say, "I am happy you broke your arm. And you won't be walking again." You can't say, "Your kids are waiting for you to die so they can get the inheritance."
What else are you going to say to old folk? "You look good."?
And then you wonder why you get no response. The reason is because old people don’t like getting yelled at. "It would be good to see you, if you weren’t always screaming at me!" Half the time, they're in shock. They think they're being attacked. You get startled with a "it's good to see you," you become mute. You go into defense mode. You're on guard, thinking, "This person wants to know how I am."
I am trying to get you to stop yelling at old people, and sick people. Sick people can hear too. "I had a cough and lost my voice. Stop shouting."

Have a Real Conversation at Nursing Homes
Conversations have to be more than, "It’s good to see you." Old people have a lot to offer. They know a lot of stuff. They have a lot of experiences to share. And they will repeat it. You can have a full-on two-hour conversation with Max telling you the story of the family trip to the Poconos. He could repeat that sixty-eight times. Beautiful conversation. Max is happy and all you had to do was say, "It's good to see you." No yelling. Just a kind statement.
Old people don’t need your pandering, petting them and yelling at them. They are not dogs. Nonetheless, some can use grooming and hair removal.
I can promise you this. Residents at the nursing homes hate when you talk to them like they're a newborn. Right up in their face, with the high pitch, "How are you? deedee deedee." They don't want you pinching their cheeks. Though, they do enjoy when you bring the kids to the nursing home to dance. Everybody loves that.
Respect old people. They have a lot to share. Young sick people, you can tell them it's good to see them. No need to yell. Leave it at "good to see you." They have nothing to offer. No reason to pry for some enlightenment with six-year-old Sari, because she got her tonsils taken out. Getting ice cream from a doctor after surgery doesn't make a scholar. It also doesn't hinder a child's ability to hear.

Calm Down
You all have to calm down. It's a beautiful thing to visit.
People get intense around old people. You have to calm down. I understand you're thinking, "They might go in a few minutes, I've got to get it all in now. We should've worked out the will earlier." But calm down. If you miss out on a few ancestors and the vacation house to your sister-in-law, so be it. You can't rush things.
Everybody is so loud at these nursing homes. Guests are loud. Even the nurses and CNAs are screaming at the people. I get scared. I got home from visiting a community member and had nightmares of people yelling "applesauce" at me.
There is no way to get sleep with these crazy people.
You yell at old people for no reason, when they're right next to you. You're sitting right by their bed. If it was something important, I would understand. I can understand if you're crossing the street with them, and they're moving at the old person pace, and you're yelling, "There's a car coming. It's good to see you." I understand urgency. And I understand the need to tell old people it's good to see them.
Not every moment at the nursing home is an emergency. Not every time you're sitting next to my mom at the hospital is an emergency. There is never a need to yell, "APPLESAUCE!!!"

Conclusion
"IT’S GOOD TO SEE YOU!!!" is what you yell at old people you see on the other side of the street when a car is coming. Not in a room, right after somebody just drilled their torso.
Not all people in hospitals are old. You don't age because a bed can adjust to recliner position. Stop screaming at people who are trying to recover. They will appreciate your calmness as they try to heal from you. Though, you should always get louder when somebody doesn’t understand the language you are speaking in. You can help them understand by repeating what you said in more of a yell. You should be screaming at those people for not knowing English.
Getting older is not a hearing condition. Some of them can still hear you. People who are sick in hospitals have not all lost their ability to hear. Some of them might have broken their leg. An ACL tear doesn't affect hearing.
If they are old and not American or from the British Commonwealth, yell at them. If they are also sick and from Galicia, definitely yell at them.

Lesson For Me
If somebody ever says it's good to see me, I will know I have aged. I will know I let myself go. The kids are already calling me sir, and they're getting louder.

***Thoughts From a Waiting Room was first written in 2019-20. These are the thoughts revisited in 2025 form. LRefuah Sheleyma LKol HaCholim and shared laughter with their family and friends, bZchut Avi HaRav Yeshaya Ben Yechezkel HaLevi ZT"L vImi HaRabbanit Necha Bat Chayim Zeydel A"H LAliyat Nishmatam.

The family is here today. It must be a Sunday.
It's not a Tuesday. People do not come on Tuesdays. Law and Order is on Tuesdays. And they don't come Wednesdays or Thursdays. Law and Order is on.
Chas vShalom, Gd forbid, they should take off of work for a loved one who almost died. But I wouldn't want them to feel any guilt.
It's been three days and nobody has been here. Just the nurse. The nurse is not related to me, which is why he comes. He gave me a sponge bath. Which isn't really even a bath. He thinks he's cleaning a dish. I was like a very heavy piece of porcelain. He sponged me till he saw suds, then he shined my forehead. He even looked at my foot to see if it sparkled. He did a breath on it, then rubbed it with a towel.
I'm guessing the bath would be more enjoyable if it was not given to me by Bob. Even so, I do feel clean. Kind of like fine china.

Maybe it was the trach that got me down. Just got that put in yesterday. I hope the family was praying. I like when people pray for me. Focusing on me in their relationship to Gd. 
Maybe they didn't see me because they were sitting in the waiting room together, praying. Or doing what our family does and waiting in the waiting room. We wait. That's what we do. We like to sit there and wait, and worry. We worry while not looking at each other and focusing on our phones. As long as we're worrying in the waiting room and texting, we feel like we're doing the right thing. Family member gets out of surgery and we leave. We did our thing, we waited. We leave. That's what Engelmans do.
We are very good at leaving. We do not wait around after we've waited. My mom left my dad at a wedding with no ride. She waited five minutes and left. She looked around, noticed it wasn't a waiting room, nobody was in surgery, she asked why she was waiting, she left. Dad was stuck in the Five Towns, trying to find a way back to Hackensack.

So now, I'm kind of feeling good today. I'm still out if it, but people are here. And that makes me feel good.
They're talking about me again. It feels good to have people around focusing on me. They're not praying. When they're here, I would rather them talk. I like prayer, but it's not good for discussion. I can't hear what they're saying to Gd. It's not a good conversation when they're mumbling incoherent Hebrew sentences to me.
They're just focused on me. But not praying. Thinking about, right now I can use some prayers. There's a huge tube coming out of my neck. I need the prayers right now. When you see a tube coming out of an orifice that was not created at birth, that's a good time to pray.

It's good to have the focus on me. I don't think I've got a birthday call for over a decade. At least the stroke got people thinking about Phillip.
I feel like I'm doing a Mitzvah, taking their focus off their daily grind. I'm bringing family together. That's what my stroke is. A family unifier. Our family comes together for sickness. Nobody shows up for Bar Mitzvahs. They show up for strokes and cancer. We unite for sickness. Our family connects with illness.
We love ailment. We need invitations for this stuff. "Thelma had another heart attack. Please come. We have pizza, lox and good schmeer in the waiting room. Please come and sit with us as we worry and text as a Mishpuchi."

And they're being decent and kind. Even my brother-in-law hasn't said anything stupid yet. Wait. He just mentioned the trach. It would take this fool to get everybody thinking about the trach. I thought nobody noticed. I was trying to be discreet about it. I tried telling the doctor the tube is too big. I knew people would notice the plastic coming out of my neck.
Now they're all talking about the trach. My cousin can't stand the trach. She just left. Can somebody tell her I'm disgusted by her too. Still using gel like it's the '80s.
And they are still not praying. Can't they tell I need prayers? Tefillah? Isn't a huge tube and human dissection a sign that they should start praying? What does my family need to start Davening to H'? Do they need to see the actual blood squirting at that moment? That is the one moment they would pray and not help. They would let the blood go and ask Gd to somehow stop it with a tourniquet. The Engelmans are a useless people. I would probably also stand there and start praying that somebody useful would come and take care of it.
And they are still talking about the trach and how I look like I have another limb coming out of my throat. Looking like a mouthclops. It was cute that my nephew came up with me looking like a dinosaur that he created. How about Tehillim?!

Why is nobody talking about Pesach? When is Pesach. What are we going to do? Who is cleaning the house?!
Shoot I just pooped. I hope they didn't notice. They're leaving the room. They know.

Now I’m alone again. I was doing good till they all started focusing on the trach. They all saw the trach. The thing coming out of me. It's embarrassing. If they were saying how cool it looked, I would've been good with it.
I know they're all talking about it on their way home. How do you see a trach and not talk about it. It's not like I dyed my hair and now they can't see the greys. It's an orifice that is now closed with a digital monitor.
Is the nurse coming? If they know I pooped, why are they not getting the nurse. Nurses don't come for poops. It's not like my poop shows up on the screen next to my oxygen level.

There are rules. You don't talk religion or politics at the hospital. Unless if it's a chaplain. Thank Gd, bars don't have chaplains.
Watching Fox News can be dangerous for our loved one.

They're Old
The news must be playing at all times. Old People watch the news. They love watching the news. In the waiting room, they're always watching it. There's something about keeping up with everything bad in the world, thinking about the next presidency and knowing the weather, that attracts old people. There's a certain frustration and anger that the news brings which they may not get from family.
The older you get the more the news is on. You reach seventy, news is running all day. No music in the house, just news. At sixty, the news is on fourteen hours a day. Then, each year, you add on an hour till it doesn’t stop. At seventy, you sleep and the news is running. There's a comfort knowing things aren't good. You wake up, it's because a power outage turned off the news. 

Be Careful in the Room
We have to play the news in mom's room. Mommy is not young.
We just made the decision that for safety, no Fox News. We were going to play it because she loves Israel, but we will not take chances with my mother’s care.
We have made a family decision that while my mom is in the hospital, only CNN. BBC is also allowed, as they don't like Jews either. You can tell people you hate Israel for the one's safety. At least we feel that way in the ICU.
This is Pikuach Nefesh (saving a life). We have already invested a lot into doughnuts for the nursing staff. Doughnuts can help with a quick EKG check and parking. Politics will save your life and get you a cleaner room. 
Mom is hearing all this anti-Trump banter now, and she's worried her children have become left-wing self-hating Jews. But we are just trying to ensure there is no malpractice. Somehow, when Fox News is on, the nurses are on break, eating doughnuts. They should be blaming Trump for malpractice.
It's about safety. We've even started watching Jimmy Kimmel.

Side Story of Inspiration and Hope
My uncle turns on Fox News. A bold and reckless move in the waiting room. That is how you know a real activist- when they play their news station in public. It's bigger than going to a protest. At protests you can hide behind signs. And my uncle brought a sign to the waiting room. How about that for an activist. Nobody said anything as he sat there in prideful indoctrination.
He was watching the news with intent, as a Syrian woman sat down unhappy. I thought it might have been about the family member in ICU. It was Fox News now killing her day. Not the motorcycle accident her child had just got out of. My uncle says to her, "This is the honest news."
The Syrian woman was shocked that anybody would watch Fox News. How the station exists is an anomaly. Nobody had ever admitted to such a treasonous act. Yet, my uncle was retired. Emboldened, as he didn't have a job. He then proceeded to tell her to give it a chance, and she did. The waiting room is kind of a private space and none of her family was visiting at the time, so she could be naughty. 
I bonded with a Syrian woman who was forced to watch Fox News for the first time. She was shocked that the newscasters said nothing racist. And then I got her to say "Israel." She said to me that I lived in "Palestine." But I knew where I lived. I'd been watching Fox News for a while. So we had an Israel-Palestine word competition, which seems to be the norm nowadays with people who have never been to Israel, or were used to watching CNN. After ten times of me saying "Israel," she said "Israel." Hasbara!
Apparently, if you are nice and let them know about free speech, and how people don’t have to run from Israel’s dictator, they like Israel.
All because of my uncle's heroic act of Fox News in the waiting room, my mom's life is in jeopardy.
I am just happy that lady’s daughter was not in SICU, because that Fox News word about my uncle would’ve spread to the nurses. I told my uncle to never watch Fox News again around my mother's unit. All of the doughnuts in the world can't undo that kind of Hannity damage.

Always Be Careful 
When back at the house, we will have to play the news. My parents are old. Nurses know that there's no way that at my parent's age the news is not playing. If we don't have the news on, the nurses will know something is fishy.
We need somebody on the TV at all times. When visiting nurses come to the house, we will have to have a quick system of flipping on CNN.
Don't know if we can trust our uncle. We have to ensure a family member is always nearby when our uncle is visiting, just in case it's not Fox News time. A nursing visit dual control remote control kit.

We Started Vetting
We've now started a Fox News check. It's too painful watching CNN and BBC.
On shifts, we check to see what kind of jewelry the nurses and aides are wearing. If they have a religious symbol of any sort on their necklace, we put on Fox News. If their hair has funky colors in it, any kind of highlight, CNN. If they're spewing any kind of hatred towards people who care about education, Jimmy Kimmel. If they don't understand why actors are so politically involved, we can play Fox News. Fan of Nick Cannon, back to CNN.

***Thoughts From a Waiting Room was first written in 2019-20. These are the thoughts revisited in 2025 form. LRefuah Sheleyma LKol HaCholim and shared laughter with their family and friends, bZchut Avi HaRav Yeshaya Ben Yechezkel HaLevi ZT"L vImi HaRabbanit Necha Bat Chayim Zeydel A"H LAliyat Nishmatam.

What is wrong with my nephews?!
The waiting room is not the right place to play Spit. Spit generates too much excitement for those waiting to hear if their family member is alive.
If you're not nervous enough about having to be in the waiting room, hearing a loved one might die, watching a game of kids play Spit will push you over the edge. That is why kids should not be visiting the hospital and sitting around people. Kids should just not be around people.
My nephews are smacking the table, yelling "Oh no." Everybody was worried something happened. Every single person in the waiting room ran to the ICU unit crying, checking on their loved one.

Loss Can Be Devastating
Guy to my left is bawling. It’s his first day in SICU. Everybody cries the first day. After the first day, the family can care less. They've already let out their emotions. What will be will be. From that point on they leave it in Gd's hands. Prayers are less emphatic.
I can care less who stabbed your brother or who put out the hit. You are crying. I felt bad for the guy. He’s shedding tears. I look to my right, my nephew is cheering, "Spit! Got you!"
My other nephew starts crying to his dad, because he lost. That is not the right kind of crying for the waiting room; unless if it brings back flashbacks to times he lost at War. Maybe he was thinking about Uno. Loss can be devastating.

You Need Games
I think we're the only family who turned the ICU waiting area into a game room. One of my nieces asked if they had a PlayStation.
After the first week of crying, you start to need the games, to soften the intensity. Though you shouldn’t be pulling out fun ICU games that are too energetic, like hockey or Spit. You shouldn’t be playing tag in ICU.
The waiting room is more for games like Chess and Gin Rummy. Games that don’t make noise, where you look meditative, which also looks sad. Solitaire. Play solitaire.
The quiet game can also work. That's my favorite game to play with my nephews.

Just Don't Play
No. You don’t play Uno. No game with screaming. No Bingo in ICU. Yelling “Bingo” doesn't hit the right feeling of intensive care.
You play Bingo when you make it out of ICU and end up at the nursing home rehab.

Think About Who's Around
You don’t know when there will be a first dayer. I feel like I want to coach the waiting room rookies.
There's the right place for things. And it's usually Never. Dad is crying and next to him, a cousin is listening to a funny Mother’s Day video of little kids crying. It's not always the right place for Spit.
The greatest memory from sickness is when a cousin is shooting all of us their pictures from the family vacation in Hawaii. My father ZT"L responds, "I have cancer."
When the proctor croaked our regents, I asked a buddy if he wanted to play ping pong. I thought that was the right time for ping pong. When is the wrong time for ping pong? According to my buddy, "Somebody passing out and possibly dying is not the right time."
I pray the guy’s brother is going to be OK. Kind of hard to think about that though, when you're in the middle of a competitive game of Spit.
"Want to play Spit?" "My brother just got ran over and stabbed."

Meditation does look sad. Next time my nephews play Spit, I'll make sure they look meditative.

I am here. In the hospital. It's probably day 35. I'm working with day 3. Things move slower when they throw a trach in you.

I know it's Chanukah. People are celebrating Christmas.
Some lady came around with a Santa hat. That was the holiday. Nothing for Chanukah. When you're sick and you can't talk, you're Christian.
The chaplain came around. That was nice. He gave me a blessing and an ornament. He just hung the ornament on me. He figured, "The guy can't move. That's good enough." Then he started caroling.
I think it has to do with Engelman. They think it's Engelhardt and they start giving me sacraments. Right now, I'm worried whenever they bathe me. I don't know if they're trying to clean me or convert me. If I had more of a name like Goldberg, Irving Goldberg, people would know.
Maybe if my family was around and put up something in my room, other than a card from my boss, who is Christian, they might know I'm Jewish.

No Chanukah gifts. I got a Chanukah card that said "Get Well Soon." When you're in the hospital, all cards are the same.
It was a "Get Well Soon" card. The card didn't say, "We hope to see you at home soon." I don't think anybody wants to see me at home. You don't usually see the cripple at shul. They don't like seeing wheelchairs at synagogue. People see a guy in a wheelchair, with a trach and an oxygen tank, and they start to think Gd doesn't answer prayers.

Last days, people have stopped coming. They figure, they don’t want to me to
expect it. I might complain. I can’t talk!!!
They must be mad I missed the softball game. They were depending on me. Your team has got to be real bad to be hoping the guy in the wheelchair loaded on morphine can take over the game. Maybe they were hoping I would get walked. Or pushed.

Family stopped by for a minute. That was nice. They popped in to tell me they were going to a Chanukah party. They thought I would appreciate knowing they are not going to be with me.
There is this concept that you can't be happy in hospital. Then what do you expect from me. Stuck to a bed. Staring at a screen that has squiggly lines all over it, and numbers that nurses don't seem to like.
My whole family is convinced you can't celebrate in the hospital. The hospital is not the place for holidays. And it's not a place to visit your dad.
Forget about a party. They didn't even acknowledge the holiday in my room. Do I not deserve the right to get a Chanukiah. I would like the holiday candelabrum. I guess they think it’s dangerous to light when you have an oxygen machine. The priest is at least trying. He keeps asking the nurses when he'll be able to put a cracker in my mouth.

Where the hell is my family? I don't care it's a holiday. It's not like they have ever enjoyed the community parties. They complain about it all the time.
I guess it has something to do with ICU. Maybe the ICU is a downer. We'll see what happens when I'm out of here.
Wait. There's a waiting room here. My parents are loving the hospital. The waiting room is a family reunion. Everybody loves it. Friends pop over to those things. Nothing is more enjoyable for a family than surgery. Everybody gets together.
They should be celebrating a Chanukah party in the waiting room. Maybe that sounds off. Big parties in the waiting room and other families are coming in trying to figure out if the doctor is right and they should pull the plug. "You want some Chanukah Gelt? It's chocolate in silver foil."
I say celebrate it all. Every moment. I’m alive. Celebrate the stroke. And cry. People should cry a little. I want to know people are crying.
You can enjoy the holiday in the hospital. Put up streamers. That's all I want are streamers.

I've started thinking positive and appreciating the small things. That sounds cliche. But when your way of celebrating Chanukah is by seeing nurses in Santa hats, you appreciate it all. So let's count the Chanukah miracles. I coughed today and I didn't get a cramp in my stomach. That made me not want to die. The doctor didn't call me a vegetable or a Chanukiah today. The chaplain thought I was an ornament holder. Did I get any Chanukah gifts? Got a blood transfusion. I guess that was a gift. My butt got wiped today. That was appreciated. Nobody pulled a plug. Thank Gd. My TV is on. They haven't changed the channel from Weather in eight days. But at least no plugs were pulled on me. Maybe my family loves me.
People are caroling. That’s nice. I guess I’ll take those as Jewish songs.

If my kids came around, that would be a miracle.
"Can somebody hear me?! I want streamers!!!! I guess I am not saying anything. Can somebody hear my thoughts?! Steamers!!! It's a holiday. Steamers!!! I need streamers in my room. Stop looking at the machine. Put streamers on it."
We have to celebrate each moment on this earth by doing good. Even when we have it real bad, we need streamers. Maybe that's the morphine talking.
My prayers will be answered if people still appreciate me, and somebody gets streamers. Streamers!!! It's a holiday!!!!

I want my family to go to the shul Chanukah party. But I also want them to come here and tell me how messed up it was. I want them to celebrate with me too.
What I'm trying to say is holidays are about joy. Celebrating is about joy. Not Latkes that turn out to be soggy Tater Tots. That's how Mrs. Pinkowitz makes them. We all know it's Tater Tots. They're tiny round Latkes. The chaplain gets that. My family doesn't get that. And I need streamers!!! Streamers!!!

These people have already called me a vegetable. It's been two days. I think. Don't know how long I was out for. Could've been an hour, two days, a month. Could've been a year. Cindy's hair definitely looks longer. And I am a vegetable already. This means they don’t talk to me. They talk about me. And I now hate the doctor. And my kids don't have to visit.

Oh shoot. They're taking blood again. That blood guy is not fun.
I haven't been to the American Red Cross in years. I did not sign a consent for this. I am not one to donate blood. I haven't given anything since my kids started going to private school. That tuition.

I had to yell, "Sir!!! This is not the time to be taking my blood and giving it to others!!! What the hell?!!! Why are you poking me. Don't you think I should be resting now." I don't believe now is the right time to take my blood. I need it.
This guy is stabbing me. Does he not know how to find blood? He's poking me all over, pulling out hairs.
Oh shoot. He's using the tape and he doesn't even have it in the right place. He's going to have to pull off the tape again. Damn. This guy is torturing me. Please stop pulling off the tape.
Thank Gd he only took a sample.

And now I have a scratch again. Damn. That is painful. I think it might be worse than the tape. It would've been nice if he poked my the back of my ear. He was poking everywhere else. At least he would've helped with the itch.

My kids are good by the way. My ex-wife told them to not worry about their dad. She said nothing about prayer. Nothing about visiting and being there with their dad after he almost died. She says, "They're too young to give a ----." That's how she watches out for the kids. She lets them know that love and care are not important. She wants them to be focused on good grades, because that's what makes a great human being. Good grades and a dead dad. And not having to think about other people. She said their teachers agree. This is the American education I am paying for.

So, I don't believe these people here respect me. They just told my girlfriend and my mom I'm a vegetable. I think they're going along with it because the doctor said it. Anything the doctor says is correct in my family. So, now I'm a vegetable. Did the doctor also tell my ex that caring about your parents is not important. Did he tell her that Gd's commandments mean nothing when it comes to getting into a decent college? Did he tell her to not have a heart? Did he tell her that alimony is supposed to be my full paycheck?

I'm sorry. It's been a hard day. I am now foliage.
A vegetable?! Did they just call me a vegetable?!
I guess my life is ruined people are going to treat me like ----. Talk about me, in front of me, like I am a teenage legume.
What an a-hole. This doctor. I can care less if you resuscitated me. Who calls somebody a vegetable?!
What kind of vegetables am I? Am I broccoli? Brussels sprouts? Bell peppers? Maybe that's why my kids aren't visiting. They hate brussels sprouts. I think brussels sprouts are amazing. I would've gladly been a sprout.
I guess vegetables do have feelings.
That's it. I'm a carnivore. I am never eating vegetables again. I have a heart. I'm sure my ex is eating a huge salad right now. probably telling the kids it's healthy to eat vegetables. She has no heart.
If I was a science project, they would visit. If I was that thing where they stick toothpicks in potatoes, their mom would let them love me again.

Finally a decent nurse. I think. Thank Gd the blood guy is not the IV nurse.
She's poking me too. Does anybody in this place know how to find a vein???!
Now it makes sense. This is why the girl is poking me like a fool. She thinks I'm cabbage. And cabbage does not have veins.
This is great. The blood guy is coming back. The doctor probably told blood guy to come back and saute me.
I'm a bit worried about that alimony thing. Is she going to take me to court while I have a trach?! I think I just heard the doctor tell her that the money is rightfully hers. I hate this doctor.

And they're pulling off the tape again. Ouch!!!!! Now that hurts. That hurt more than the stroke. That is more painful than listening to John talk about his kids. Do these people have any idea what pain is?! From now on, I hope they just leave the needles in and leave the tape!!!
"Again!!! Please. Just leave the tape. Never remove tape from my body. I'm a hairy guy." I don't think they heard that.

I don't think I'll be able to make the softball game next Sunday.

We’ve been in the ICU for a week now. I want to talk about appreciation and that means food.

Appreciate Nurses Not Doctors
Forget about doctors right now. I am grateful beyond words to them and they don't like talking to me. They only talk with family members of importance. That includes family members that are doctors and pets.
We're talking nurses today. Nurses who go to school and learn how to have a heart and care for people all day long. Doctors care in spurts. Doctors care for the requisite 'hello' and then start thinking about how they're going to cut me open. They're thinking what kind of scalpel will work on me.
I want to show the nurses appreciation. The necessary emotion they bring to the job. I'm amazed at the amount of care they show. I studied acting. I can pull kindness for thirteen minutes. I'm not a method actor. I've timed my ability to care, sitting with community members at shul. I've timed it. I once made it to thirteen minutes listening to Fran talk about her grandchildren. At thirteen minutes, I ran, left my gefilte fish and Kichel on the table. I stayed away from shul for two weeks after that.

Showing Appreciation with Food
We brought them donuts. They appreciated that. Donuts and coffee. That is how you show appreciation in the hospital, if police are taking care of your mother. You bring them donuts and coffee.
The next day, we brought them baked ziti, fruit and salad. They don't like us anymore. Salad is not a way to show appreciation. Cabbage is not a gift. You don't make friends with celery sticks. You can try to wow them with peanut butter. They still won't like you. And they definitely won't like you if you bring pasta in cylinder form.
Cake, candy, ice coffee. That's how you show appreciation. Stuff that makes you fat.
Fruit might work. but only in platter form. Once they platter it, that's real expensive, and that's appreciated. And don’t ruin chocolate by putting it on a strawberry. It's not appreciated. And we're not sure if that makes the chocolate healthy or not. Quite confusing.

Why Show Appreciation
Nurses like to put on weight.
They will treat your loved ones better if you put out stuff they can't eat at home. It turns out that some nurses force the healthy stuff on their kids. They show up to work for the chocolate. And their kids think asparagus makes you fat.
If you end up bringing a tortilla salad, with soggy tortillas, they're pulling the plug without even asking the family first. I heard about that in the waiting room.

Waiting Room Advice
We learned the technicalities of nurse feeding from our buddies in the waiting room. Working nurses is a big topic in the waiting room. Working nurses and death.
A woman in the waiting room told us the rehab technique of leaving the donuts and candy in the room. She also suggested to buy them trinkets, even though you can't eat them. This way they want to help the patient. Her loved one was on life support, but she understood what was important. Candy.
The candy in room technique is quite helpful. The candy works as nurse bait. Taffy works best. It takes a while to chew, and it keeps them in the room for a few extra minutes.
To cover all bases, we put out Kinder eggs. They got those little toy trinkets inside the chocolate. I believe Kinder Co. is trying to corner the waiting room market.
I was a bit hesitant to take her advice, as she was working for her family member as well. Nonetheless, I found an excellent deal on Kinder.

Now the Nurses Expect the Food
We gave the nurses some of the food. That was a mistake. Now they expect it.
We forgot one day, they ignored us. We pressed the emergency bell to the room, nobody came.
To get the nurses to stop complaining, we gave them the ziti. They stopped asking for food after that. It turns out nobody likes ziti, or people who give it to them. To quote, 'Ziti?!!! The family couldn't even get us mac and cheese. Oxygen is dropping. Til the family brings mac and ice coffee, they're on their own. I'm not going.'
We had a family discussion about higher quality food. We can't live up to nightly shnitzel and brisket for all the nurses and aides in the ICU. We're sticking to donuts and coffee.
It turns out the nurses only come if they're getting apple fritters. The machine beeping with the heart rate monitor, showing 'oxygen low,' does not bring nurses to the room. Fritters.
To quote: 'There are no fritters and coffee. Let the machine beep.' Response of Aide: 'I think they're the ones that brought us the ziti.' Nurse Again: 'I hear you. Let somebody else cover that room.'

Things I Learned
Show proper appreciation to the nurses and give them cake. Better yet, donuts. Don't try to be fancy. Stick to donuts and coffee. Or donut cake and coffee.
If you want people to hate you, give them vegetables. And never give anybody ziti, unless if you're looking to make an enemy.
Some nurses eat healthy. They're losers. We will discuss them another time. There's no pleasing these people.
If you truly care about your loved one's well-being, bring coffee slushies. Even the healthy nurses like those. Coffee slushies are part of the health category of food. Once the sugar is served in frozen coffee form, it's healthy.
Never buy doctors anything. They make enough off the insurance. They can afford coffee and donuts.

Conclusion
Don't waste money on nurses, buying them jewelry. Stick to trinkets.
Some nurses don't like to talk to me either, even if I have donuts.
Forget about the aides. Nobody thinks about the aides or CNAs. So, don't worry about getting them anything. They don't have access to the meds.
If it wasn't for food, I would be questioning why we have community. If it wasn't for food, nurses would be questioning why they're taking care of these people.

***For an Aliyas Neshama for HaRabbetzin Necha Bat Chayim Zaydel A”H and a Refuah Sheleyma for all who need a speedy recovery, and shared laughter with their family and friends.

This sucks. Did this really happen???
Let me tell you what happened.
I thought I was gone. I was fine with that. Then somehow, I woke up and everybody was looking at me real weird. Like somebody just died. It's awkward when people are looking at you like you just died. And you did. Some were sad. I still like them. The others that had a smile on their face, it better be that they're happy I woke up.
I was fine with being gone. I was content not having to hear them complaining about pumps and augers anymore. Not having to fix stuff at the factory was not a bad reason to die. Not having to try on pants at Marshall’s, that’s a good reason to go. Between us, ice cream in general has been getting worse. Some people are even insisting frozen yogurt tastes good.

These are my thoughts. Apparently, nobody can hear me screaming. Maybe my voice is gone. I tried cracking the joke, “What's going on here? Did someone just die?” Nobody laughed. They must've not been able to hear it. Great timing too. Might have been the ambulance. Those things are loud.
They say it was a stroke. Was it a heart attack, cardiac arrest, having to raise kids? I don't know. It might have been a car accident. I don't know what happened. We'll call it a stroke. 

These are my memoirs. At least they're memories of what I can remember. I don't know. I had a serious stroke. Calm down. This is what I got. Do I have brain damage? How would I know?! All I know is that I have had to listen to a lot of people say real stupid stuff since the accident. They have definitely made me dumber.
These are the memories I have. I figured I would put this out there. I can't talk. That's what everybody is saying about me. I can't talk, I can't move, and from what I understand, some people want me dead. So, I figured I would write this with my buddy.

Day 1
I'm looking up. I have no idea what is going on.
Who are these people? I haven’t seen them before?
Did they just wake me?! I was in the middle of a good sleep. And why are they standing right by my bed?! That’s rude. Have they been watching me sleep the whole time?! Who the hell are these people?! Who the hell watches people sleep?! A little privacy would be appreciated. I think I just poohed in my bed.

Can everybody please stop staring at me?!!!
Why is everybody on top of me? And why I am in a stretcher?
Is this another doctor? Do they change my primary doctor every day?
Something is messed up here. Does anybody hear me? Please. A bit of privacy would be nice. Oh no. Some random dude is about to change me. Why do I keep on getting the guys. I would like a woman for once.
I have a lot of questions right now. And one of them is who is going to pay for all of this.
 
I guess I have a stroke. This fool in a white coat is saying, “It's a stroke.” I get it. I have a stroke. Will you shut the ---- up?! 
Why is this guy asking me questions? He knows I can't answer them. I have been yelling for the past five minutes and nothing is coming out.
How did it start? From what I remember, it was a conversation with John. Worst conversation I ever had. I have had some real bad conversations, but my head has never exploded before.

Let me take you back to when it stated.
I was hanging out with my buddy, John. Last thing I remember. John was telling me about his kids. We were in the promenade getting a cup of coffee and my brain exploded. He wouldn’t stop telling me about his kids going off to college. Yapping away about how proud he is. He just wouldn’t shut up. And boom, my brain just gave up. There is only so much hearing about John’s kids and the sports scholarships my brain can take before blowing up.
I would have to say, that the worst conversation I ever had. Even worse than the time I had to listen to Bernie's jokes at synagogue. That must be how strokes happen.

Forty-three. Who the hell gets this when they're forty-three. I am sure she's going to break up with me.

It turns out the white coat girl isn't even a doctor yet. She's still a student. She just likes saying “stroke.” Like she figured something out. I don't think now is a good time to ask her out.

Medicaid better cover this. If it was up to me, I would not be in this hole. I don't think workers comp covers conversations about how proud John is of his kids. So not talented.

I have never been in a hospital where I can find my way. When I visit people, I get lost. Sometimes, I can't even find the entrance. I can't tell you the amount of times I have been late to appointments because I was there on time.

It Must Be Poor Building Plans
Half the time, I have to go through another building that was added on fifty years ago, to get back to the building I was in.
Here is an Actual Conversation: 'How do I get to building A?' 'You go through building B, then you take the orange elevator. Come back down the green elevator then go through building A. You might make it after you find blue.' 'Am I in building A now?' 'Yes. But to get to building A, you have to take the purple stairs to building B. But there is more...'
It's harder than giving directions in Jerusalem. They may not have streets that lead into each other going the correct way from a one-way street. However, in the Holy City they at least have street names. In the hospital, I have to memorize color number codes, foreign alphabets, floral arrangements. The directions went on: 'It's 55g74d on the red spectrum. That's where you'll find the elevator... Then you find somebody who is standing near some lilies.' It's like a scavenger hunt. I have to find somebody by the tertiary colors to get back to the primary colors, where I can visit my family..

Information Had No Idea
I went to reception. For my last appointment, they had no idea. Information had to look at a map. At first they were shocked and told me I was at the wrong hospital. Then I got this, 'This is our city... Yes. Most of it is underground.' They marked it like I was a tourist, and they were amazed that they figured it out. ‘Nope. I was wrong. You go that way. Through those doors to get that way. Then, that way through purple color code 548de3 stairwell back to fluorescent green. Now I know what the neon signs are for.’
I shall repeat. Yes. It is frustrating when the information people have to look at a map. It's like going the information booth at the subway station and them going, 'I am just as lost as you are.' That's why the hospital people sit at information and don't move. They don't want to get lost.
The only person who knows how to get anywhere is the lady in the gift shop. They've found shortcuts to deliver balloons lilies.

No Hospital Plans the Additions
They do an addition and then they give it a color. They expect you to know that fluorescent yellow color code 5132d3 means 'right.'
They throw down a building, build some kind of skyway, on ground level in a color coordinate. And then they realize that there are no entrances to the building they just built.
Why they have skywalks on ground level still baffles my mind.

Doctors Get Lost
I can't imagine doctors can find their way in these places. It would take more than four years of medical school and eight years of residency to learn how to locate the operating room. That's why they call it a residency. You need to live there for many years before they can trust you to figure out the location of your office.
This is why we have to wait for doctors all the time. They have no idea where the appointment is. They can't find their way from their office to the room. And if they're colorblind, they have to quit.

They Don't Want You to Visit Family - That is My Conclusion
It’s a maze with random colors. Unless if you're a tracker, you will get lost. Once, I found a cafeteria. It must have been in an unmarked bunker. I never found it again. They do whatever they can to make it impossible to find your way and visit.
Once you've studied maze building and mastered escape rooms, you can visit your family member.
It's even harder to find ICU. ICU is tucked away behind tertiary colors in an unfinished building. Transparent tertiary is code for ICU in the hospital. I didn't know that.

Conclusion
Once I find ICU, with the help of the floral lady at the gift shop standing by the neon green opaque, I stay. I know that if I try to find the waiting room, I will never find my way back.
And don't tell me that you were at the hospital and it was easy to find your way. That was not a hospital. That was an office building. It might have been an infirmary. It was definitely not a hospital.
I've got an appointment tomorrow at the University Medical Center. I am going to study my tertiary colors. I know I am not going to find my car in the parking lot. I'm going to have to abandon it and walk home.

I Can't Go a Day Without Eating
I am going for a quick procedure and the doctor's office said I can't eat for a day. I have never been so mad in my life. Yom Kippur is painful, but I do it. I do it for the sake of Heaven. So that I can get Heaven. Now, I've got to do another day with no food???!!! And I don't even get Heaven for it!!!
If another Jewish calamity happened, I would fast. As a good Jew, that's how I mourn. I fast. That is tantamount to giving up everything, to me. I asked the doctor if a great Jewish sage died on this day. He had no answer. He also couldn't answer anything about a Jewish exile from Rochester, New York. I let him know that another Temple was not destroyed, and then I agreed to not eat for the day, and his staff went back to work. My anger apparently drew everybody's attention.
And I think about people who are ill and being fed through IVs, and I forget about them and I get very angry that I can't eat for the day.

Our Whole Life is Entertainment
TV. Internet. Eating. All we do is try to enjoy ourselves. Even learning. People learn Torah and they enjoy it. It's entertainment. Don't ask me how it's entertainment. I have seen some Chasidic Yeshivas where they learn Rashi and dance the Hora.
How can it not be our duty to bring constant enjoyment and entertainment to people who can't access it themselves? Would that not be our most important moral duty in this physical world we live in? And, do people without full strength, who express joy without all of this constant entertainment, not deserve more respect than anyone, for their strength?
Reminder. I am getting angrier, as it has been another hour without food. Even being able to drink liquids bothers me. If I'm not chewing on food, I am not happy.
Just drinking liquids is painful. I enjoy liquids when I'm eating solids. I need the food. It's like having a cup of milk and no pastry. Like drinking a glass of Coke with no brisket. Like drinking Snapple with no pizza. You need the thing to wash down. I don't wash it down with chocolate milk. I chew it down with rugelach.
Our life is activities. We need to be doing stuff. I need a division head in my house, making sure I don’t get bored.

How Do They Do Any of It
They can’t eat. And they live???
Limiting my enjoyment with anything bothers me. My whole day is about enjoyment. How do they not leave their bed, get bad sleep, get woken every three hours, never leave their room, not have their TV on, have nobody around for a day or eighty, not move at all, get stuck in a gown with their tush out all year?
I can't stay in a bed for longer than thirteen hours. I can sleep for thirteen hours. I just can't stay in bed after that.
I can't be in a room with nothing to do, just left to space out. I’ll start cleaning. When I’m cleaning, something is wrong. How people can stare at a ceiling and want to live baffles me. There must be a greater level of transformative mediation when people leave you in a room with nothing to do. I just don’t know how to meditate without eating.
I can't not watch TV (TV means something on a screen that has volume on it- TV includes watching a movie on computer- and all the Frum Jews who are hiding their TV should know I see their computer, and I am judging). If I needed somebody to turn on my TV and they weren't there, I would go crazy. If they put on the wrong channel, because they thought Hallmark was a good station, I would probably start eating solids.
I can't not have people to talk to. I even have a hard time being at home alone. I need the TV just to hear other people's voices. Preferably a drama with family yelling at each other. That makes it feel more like home. As annoying as it is to have to talk to people at Kiddish, I need it. I need shul. If I’m not at shul, I'll never be able to find my doctor.
I can't go a day without leaving the house. Even during COVID I went to the grocery store every night. It was the only place I could go. Sometimes we didn't need anything, so I picked up milk. We had freezers full of milk by the end of COVID.
I can't not go to the gym. I need to be active to know that I'm aiding myself in being less healthy and out of shape.
I can't have random people changing me, putting on messed up clothes with the tag of the women that used to be in my room. Hand-me-downs from Ethel, who none of the new staff ever met.
Reading. I can go without reading. But people enjoy it. Don't ask me.
I can’t not eat. There are people in this home that haven’t eaten for years. Not eating for one day, I can see how much more we need to give to our family and friends who are bedbound. And thank Gd for TV. If I didn't have TV for the day, I would be even angrier. And I can change the shows.
 
It's Not Spiritual
People have to stop being spiritual. Bedbound people need stuff to do.
Spirituality is great when I don’t need food. I was praying for food today. Didn't help. I couldn't eat it. I needed other activities. At least I had TV, and I could turn it on. I was able to move around and get out of my house. Those who are bedbound and/or can’t eat, their activities are limited. They can pray and connect with Gd. But they can’t reach the remote.
Whenever it comes to sick people, or people without full health, everybody gets spiritual. They start praying for them. They leave them unattended, staring at their feeding tubes, and pray for them. 'I pray that somebody is taking care of them.' ‘I pray they’re not bored.’ ‘I hope they’re enjoying the football game. I pray somebody turns it on for them. It’s a great game. I pray one day they’ll be able to eat wings again… Honey. Where's the garlic mayonnaise dip.’
I am very angry about this not eating thing. This doctor has no soul. I love garlic mayonnaise.

Conclusion
Most importantly, they deserve our respect. How do they do it? How do they go on from day to day and still find beauty in this world, and appreciate it? Strength. Spiritual strength. TV.
People who are sick, and people living in a less physically able state, deserve our admiration. They deserve our support. They deserve for us to be there, to help them with all the moments of entertainment they deserve, so they don't have to focus on not eating. They deserve for us to learn from them.
They're an inspiration. Weight Watchers should be out there praising them. Letting the world know that people are out there not eating solids.
One day and I can't do it. And I'm watching TV right now, on the internet, hitting the gym after the procedure, and I'm praying to Gd and being spiritual so I don't have to help anybody.
It's not helping people enjoy life and bad cooking that destroyed the Temple.

You know things are bad when. I like that. Start every sentence with that, and this will be an amazing comedic piece. It may take longer to read the article that way, but it will bring more laughs. 
You may not be aware that things are bad, and I am here to help make it clear. There are levels of bad, and some may not be aware of the higher levels of things not going well. Here is a list to help you remember things are bad.

The Family Comes Out to the Hospital
The more family that visits, the worse the situation is. Five people visiting you at the same time in the hospital means you're probably waking up from surgery. Community might visit. Eight family members means there was an accident. All siblings, children, parents and one grandchild means you're in some ICU. Fifteen family members in the room, you've got it bad. You start seeing your cousins showing up, it's bad. You've got to start questioning if you were resuscitated. The more family that comes the worse it is. Fifth cousin, Eitan, shows up, you're probably dead.

If You are in a Gown For More than a Day
It is just bad. It's worse than sweatpants. You know you're stuck in that room. You know you're not going out with your tuchis showing.

People Are Talking Close to You And Loud
If they're talking loud, there's a problem. And you now know that you may have lost everything but your hearing.
They talk loud because you look bad. It has nothing to do with your abilities. There are levels of sick loudness, and that comes along with distance. If they're right up at your bed, leaning into your face and yelling, you are extremely ill. You may not feel it, but you definitely look it. To them, you are very sick. They are yelling in conversation.
The sicker you are, the closer they talk to you, and the louder. If your family is staring right at you, at the distance of three inches, question if you’re still alive.

They Talk About You As If You Are Not There
Those same people are talking close to you, are now talking about you. They are speaking Lashon Hara about you, right in front of you. 'Michael has had a bad day.' 'Michael. Me. Is right here!!!' 'Michael fell and is now here.' 'Can people stop talking about me.' And if they don't hear you, that's worse.
If they can hear you, they definitely won't care what you say, as it's more fun to talk about how sick people are in front of them. It feels more like an act of Rachmanis (compassion) when you don't care what the sick person is saying.
If it's a big group talking about you. Even worse. Doctors rounding on you with students. Now, they're using you for a study. Questions about dissection is real bad. 

You Start Playing a lot of Bingo
If you're playing Bingo and you never smoked, you are in a nursing facility.

You Get A Comfortable Bed From Your Prescription
Your bed now doubles as a recliner. Actually not that bad. But you did hit a threshold of sick when your bed reclines and rises, and you didn't have to pay for it.

You're Drinking Shasta Cola
If you're drinking any cola that isn't Coke or Pepsi, there is a problem. You've been thrown into a nursing facility. Shasta is the national sign that you're in a nursing facility. Store brands also count for nursing facility realization.

Hallmark is Playing
If it's not the Golden Girls. At least that's a quality show.

Your Pills Have Days On Them
When you have to organize your pills in day form, and that is how you spend your Sundays.

​You Don't See Grandchildren
They know they're not getting any gifts from you once you're in the home, because Medicare doesn't cover chachkies from Five and Below. That's when they stop visiting. It's clear, all of your belongings are relegated to a drawer. There is no way grandma is substituting her last dress that she has for Nursing Home Barbie. Nursing Home Barbie's open back gown might scare the kids. (note for royalties: If Nursing Home Barbie goes out for public consumption, I get kickbacks).

You bend over and a fart comes out. Just bent and that was it. You didn't even realize it was coming.

You have to lick your fingers to turn pages.

You realize the pages are still not turning, so you build up a good chach and spit.

People say stuff like 'she's vibrant.' When they use words like vibrant and with it, you're older and look like you are about to die.

You decide to push a button to open the door. Pushing a door open is too much effort.

You throw your coat from a seated position. After finding a sofa or the closest thing, you throw the coat as close to the closet as possible. One thing that you will not do is get up and hang it.

Getting into your car is the activity. You finally make it into the car and you have to go back home already, and you're still at home. 

Just being in the hospital. If you don't know how you got there, that's bad. If you wake up in an MRI machine, and don't know how you got there.

Going out means you're going for a CT scan.

All of your shirts are open in the back.

You see other people's tushies all the time.

You're eight inches shorter than you were at eighteen. Note: I want to be 6’6” so I can be normal height at 85.

Playing BINGO is your exercise.

The grandkids say you have a smell. They say, 'Grandpa has a smell.' And you think you smell fine. You've gotten older and you can't even smell it.

Enjoy having it bad. The worse you have it, the more you can enjoy life. The less shopping you have to do. You're not grocery shopping with backless outfits. Tuchises scare people away from the vegetable section.
You know things are bad when people are shopping for you. Come to think of it, a good amount of the 'things are bad when' can be substituted with 'you're getting older when.' This way, you can focus on the positives of getting older and going from 5'10" to 4'3" while smelling bad.

***For a Refuah Sheleyma for חיה נחה בת ריבה לאה and all who need a speedy recovery, and shared laughter with their family and friends.