Pop Pop still struggled in the ICU of Saint Rafael's. For two months he fought off hallucinations, pain, and confusion. From there he was transferred to the Hospital of Special Care in New Britain, where he was able to breathe without the vent. His breathing, though improved, could not be sustained by his body. Doctors cut a trake in his neck, and another machine, a segue between the vent and breathing on your own, allowed him to eat normally and talk.
Talking and eating didn't come back with ease. Like riding a bike, you never forget, but sometimes have to remember the most important parts after not riding for a while: balance, concentration, and maneuverability. The rush of familiarity after the wind rushed through your hair again, your legs flossing with hot blood, fueling them for action.
After another two months of learning, rehabilitating, and struggling, Pop Pop regained his energy enough to go back home. The nurses where surprised at how well he recovered, especially someone of his age. Shortly after arriving home, he was back to his old self again--only better, with more energy and motivation. Back to crossword puzzles, reading the daily newspaper, watching his shows and setting up his breakfasts the night before. He waited for his National Geographic and Star Magazines, which he called his 'rag magazine' for some reason, though I never knew why.
"He fell in his old routine," my mom said. "He was happy."
When Pop Pop settled, he reflected on his four months in the hospital, May to September. He was depressed that he missed the summer. When he was alone in the hospital, time moved only in his head capriciously, fast on good days, slow on bad days. Escpecially in the ICU, where no windows or natural light hinted at time of day. Outside, the world kept revolving around the sun, seasons changed and the barren trees blossomed and from far away looked like thick broccoli. While Pop Pop sat in his hospital bed, gardens grew and moles tunneled under lawns, bees lived and died, and birds crafted nests and raised their hatchlings. He was sad that he missed his tomatoes, planting and fertilizing the roses, sitting on the swing watching the backyard world go by. Now nights were cold, and the first autumn frost was close, due to stunt every living thing into the browns, reds, and yellows of the harvest season.
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