Tuesday continued

I made a request in the post below, for BCA (Brett) to comment about Tuesday. Brett was Joe's best friend, and he actually got to see Joe on Tuesday before he was put in a coma. He was kind enough to email me a post that went along with Tuesday. Thank you Brett. Your words mean a lot to me. Here it is:

I generally prefer to not think/talk about these sorts of things in life, mostly, I find it better to manage them internally…that's just me. For you B, I will make an attempt.

Though I have been reading for the past few days, and in some gross way, eagerly waiting to see how you'd capture the next day and the next, it is odd how much it's like a movie you've seen six, seven, eight times when it gets to that part where even though you know what comes next, you keep hoping there's a different turn to the story. Whatever human emotion/quality, I don't know what to call it, how can it- the thought of something different even happen, when you know the facts to be what they are. Bizarre…

For me, Tuesday was the first time I knew about any of this at all happened to Joe, and I say this, not meaning I should have been told sooner, but to show just how odd it was to have spoken with my friend Joe so recently and now to be getting a call at work from B saying you need to come today, right now, because he may not make it. Make “what”, what the hell is going on, I thought. I didn't even know what had happened, though I think I assumed it was one of his "standard" hospital trips for the GI condition he had. I immediately left work and headed to the hospital. I remember B, though clearly being shaken and nervous, seemed to be composed enough to talk with me when I arrived, but to say you also seemed distracted would be understated. Yes, I remember having to glove my hands and put a mask on, all that precautionary stuff you mentioned. He was as you described. I had to look close, deep and long to recognize it was even him. I remember being the kind of surprised/shocked when I saw him that only truly skilled people can hide, because the rest of us can only act and talk normal, while our faces tell the truth of it all. I hoped he hadn’t seen the look on my face, I remember thinking that. The nurse gave me notice that I’d need to leave the room about 3 or so minutes after I entered the room, who knows why. He wasn’t able to talk, though it was absolutely clear he knew who I was and why I was there…you don’t need words for some things in life, you only have to look into someone’s eyes to exchange a message. Then I tried to talk a bit and keep it light. For anyone who has never had the experience to talk “with” someone who can talk, but is not able to talk, it can be a draining process. Fundamentally these are the things we all take for granted, talking, walking, hearing, etc. - basic human activity type things. I’ve had some family experience with it though so I don’t feel like I miss a beat and I tried to do that here also so it was less apparent to Joe hopefully. I told him he’d beat this thing and not to worry, just get some rest. Every other time he was in the hospital he had it tough but always came out OK, this would be the same. I had just recently gone to a Sox game and I think I was listening to that day’s game on the radio during the ride into town to see him, so I told him what I thought of the Sox lineup and pitching staff, and how this-guy was doing well for early in the season and that-guy wasn’t carrying his weight. (He loved the Sox, more precisely the Park they played in. Five months later they won the World Series. It pissed me off he didn’t get to see that.) That was the extent of it, the nurse asked me to leave again, so I told him I’d come back to see him and I left. To be fair, I feel like I remember coming back that week and they wouldn’t let me in to see him, but I don’t know for sure, after that visit I’m a bit fuzzy, until I got the phone call.