How I spent spring break 3: Ceiling tiles

I had my eyes closed more often than not that first week, or at least that's how it seems. I would go through anything I had to go through, but that didn't mean I had to watch it.

I spent the first five days in the hospital. Nobody could figure out what had happened to me for two days, then a wonderful physical therapist saw me and had the notion that my quadriceps were what was (or was not) happening. Two MRIs later, the surgeon came to my room and told me that the surgery was scheduled for early the next morning.

On the way to surgery, I watched the tiles on the ceilings while I was being wheeled in. I thought that I might need that for a song someday.

I was put under. Surgery was performed. I woke up and was wheeled back to my room. I don't need to know the details. At times, denial can be your best friend. I don't remember if I looked at the ceiling tiles or not.

I don't remember what songs went through my mind or what I had for lunch. I remember having chips of ice and really enjoying them. I remember that the Grammy awards were on TV that night and being impressed with Kendrick Lamar and the opening number from Hamilton.

I remember that it wasn't like the first night, when my mind unconsciously replayed the moment of the fuckin' accident over and over.

The surgery was over. Now it was time for the recovery to begin, like it or not.