I had visitors during my hospital stay.
My parents told me they were impressed that so many friends visited me. I just remember my bandmates visiting me. Maybe there were others.
I remember my bandmates most clearly because: 1.) One of them cried, briefly, and there are not words to describe how this made me feel. Softened. Touched. Kind. Sad in a kind of Virgin Mary way as I beheld his suffering. 2.) Another bandmate looked so serious. I tried to cheer him up. I think he visited more than once. 3.) The third bandmate and I made outrageous jokes about my situation.
I looked like h/ll and felt like h/ll. I dropped a lot of weight. No wonder I shared serious looks, tears, and jokes with friends. I was attached to monitors. I was in bed in a gown. I was not slinging my guitar, not screaming into a mic, not chewing on French fries. I was making photographs though, and I have photographs of some of my visitors.
The experience was otherworldly. I felt disembodied. I felt out of my body. Maybe that’s why my friend’s tears were so memorable, we were all crying for this lost person. It is certainly why I made photographs. I was trying to stay me.