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.”

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.

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.

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.