You’re going home. At least nod so I know you understand. Ok? Good. You got this tube inside you that runs up your arm, across your chest here, to your central artery. That’s your heart. Don’t think hard on that.
This plug at the end of the tube. It’s called a lumen. Keep it clean. Always. Wash your hands all the time. Someone looks at you funny? Wash them again. Medicine goes up the tube into your heart. This freaks you out. Don’t worry. It’s not like you’re gonna put Coca Cola in here.
Seriously, don’t get clever. Messed up though, right? All the poetry in the world and here you are with a line straight from the outside world to your heart. But I digress. Antibiotics, that’s all that goes in here. Got it? Good. Decimates your gut. Try not to get C. diff. How? You religious?
Over here, these two bags. Flush twice a day with ten ounces of saline. Empty them into your toilet, wherever. It’s not hazardous. One drain goes to your kidney. The other one, I don’t know, lower, not important.
You’re not saying anything. Talk. It won’t be so bad as you’re thinking. It’s usually fine. Sometimes worse.
Your daughter, she’s what? Two or something? Here’s what you tell her. Daddy’s a little sick. Easy peasy. She knows sick. She gets colds. Tell her you’ll be better soon. Look in her the eyes when you say it. Hold her hand, but don’t squeeze it. You have to believe it. She’ll know the difference.
It’ll be hard enough on her, that you can’t pick her up for some months.
