HE THINKS HE IS A RESURRECTION FERN.
Here in the Lowcountry of S.C., we have some wonderful subtropical plants. One of my favorites is the resurrection fern. It grows along the branches of Live Oak trees (also a favorite of mine). It is almost impossible to kill a resurrection fern. During dry spells, it turns from green to brown and shrivels up....looks dead. But if it rains or if the air gets humid...the fern greens up and comes back to life.
I just spent nearly three months in a rehab facility...as I was checking in, they wanted to know if I wanted to be resuscitated. But I told them "no, I only want to die once, so don't bring me back. But make sure I am really dead. I am a shallow breather so sometimes I just look and sound dead. Put a mirror under my nose before you send me off to the crematory." They laughed, but I was serious.
There was a younger man standing there and he started talking to me. He looked like he had just washed up on the beach...had on a Cuban wedding shirt and designer jeans. He started giving me medical talk and I asked, "Who are you? A surfer?". He tried to convince me that he was the main doctor for the
rehab but I told him he didn't look like a doctor and that I would have to see his
certificates. He said they were back in his office on the wall but I told him.
Not good enough. I need to see them."
Not good enough. I need to see them."
They took me to my room then. The guy came by later...told me to drop my pants. I said, "Drop yours first." He said, "I'm the doctor!" And I said, "So you say."
This is a wonderful but old rehab hospital. The beds looked like they were left over from the Civil War. Some of the nurses did, too. And all the patients looked
leftovers. Except for the physical therapists. They really know their stuff. My wife had warned them that I would try to weasel out from anything too strenuous, so they were on to me.. I tried to get out of therapy on Saturday by telling them I was a 7th Day Adventist and it was my Holy Day. (They gave you a banana if you attended church service on Sundays. I went once, but I wasn't that desperate for a banana.Besides, my family members brought me cheeseburgers and milkshakes when they came .... that is until the dietitian caught them and said she would have to strip search them if they didn't stop.. Actually I lost more than 50 pounds on the rehab food.)
They wanted to know what my goals were. I told them I wanted to be on Dancing with the Stars, that I wanted to find my goat and I wanted to be able
to attend my granddaughter's wedding.
Carol came almost every day...one day she brought her WD40 and was under the bed when the nurse came in. I explained that my wife was changing my oil. Carol said it was me that was squeaking and not the bed.
My daughter Laura said the dietitian had bought a new cookbook since the 50s...we had a lot of tuna noodle casserole which I tried to trade for a hot dog.
Speaking of dogs, they were allowed to come visit if they had their shots and brougjht proof...so when my friend Elwyn came to visit, Tallulah (his poodle) came in with him. She was a hit...my room was filled
with visitors, all trying to pet her.
Actually the Surfer was the doctor. He saved my life at least twice...once when I got hundreds of bloodclots in my legs. I decided to change doctors and keep this one when I got out of The Home. Carol didn't like him much because he called her "babe". I tried to explain that Cuban men think every woman is a babe but she wants to be called Mrs. Babe. When I was ready to get out of the rehab place, we made an appointment for the docotor's office. He said to bring a live chicken...preferably a white rooster and to come after dark. I have to admit that it is a little strange....it's the first time I've had to go to a doctor and bring a live chicken.
