Guacamole Brain

I think I've mentioned in a previous post that when I started coming out of my induced coma at Columbia Presbyterian, the world was a brave new place.  I have since discussed this phenomenon with my neurologist, because I'm convinced that some of the symptoms are still present, albeit not as severe (perhaps I'll discuss that in a future post).  He's pretty sure that my brain suffered some oxygen deprivation while I was sedated, but that there will be no long-lasting ill effects.  During that twilight period when I had opened my eyes but had not yet shaken off all the effects of the sedation, I couldn't tell time, but it was more than that.  I looked at my watch as a curiosity.  I knew its function, but I couldn't quite figure it out.  There were these hands and they were pointing to numbers and I knew they all had significance but somehow I couldn't piece all the information together and know what time it was.  My cell phone was even worse.  I think I knew what it was for, but I had absolutely no inkling how it worked.  Then there was my handwriting.  I've always been proud of my handwriting.  It's big and bold and flashy and masculine, and usually it's actually quite legible.  When I woke up my beautiful handwriting had gone AWOL. It might have been a function of how incredibly weak my arms and hands were physically, but suffice it to say I could barely produce recognizable letters. 

     There were also things floating around in my head that made so much sense, that were so crystal clear to me, I was amazed that I had never realized them before.  To wit: making Aliya*.

This epiphany was with me from the moment I opened my eyes.  In fact, it might have been there even before I opened my eyes.  I knew clearly that I needed to make Aliya and knew also that as soon as I was well enough, that's exactly what I'd do.  There was no equivocation.  There was no maybe.  I was moving to Israel.  I wanted to be in Jerusalem.  I wanted to be near Nuchi.  Don't know who Nuchi is?  Sorry, that's for another time, another blog, perhaps.  My point here might be difficult to convey, but what I'm trying to say is that this thought was more than a thought: it was a revelation, an obvious truth, a foregone conclusion. 

     Then there was Carol Burnett.  Carol Burnett? Yes, Carol Burnett.  I was watching Channel 13 (public television) one night and there was a special on Carol Burnett.  They had old clips of her show interspersed with interviews of Carol and the major cast members: Vicky Lawrence, Tim Conway and Harvey Corman.  It was suddenly clear to me that Carol Burnett was the most talented person who ever lived.  Did you know that her daughter, Carrie, was a drug abuser as a teen and died of cancer at thirty-eight?  In my oxygen-deprived little brain, that made Carol more than just a performer; it promoted her to almost saintly status.  Her daughter's death added a dimension of pathos that had me absolutely convinced that Carol Burnett was a goddess.  I remembered watching her with Frenchi back in the 70's and laughing along with the rest of the country.  I silently resolved to write her the Mother of all Fan Letters when I got home. 

     Oh, and the info-mercials!  Thank G-d I didn't have my credit card; I would have ordered EVERYTHING!  There was one in particular that I remember quite vividly: it was a collection of 70's music.  It ran the gamut from Janis Joplin to Joni Mitchell, from Joe Cocker to James Taylor.  I'm sure it must have had some kind of special offer attached to it as well that I can't recall ("order in the next fifteen minutes and you'll also receive this beautiful ginsu knife!").  Anyway, I absolutely knew that I couldn't live without it!  

     Well, my cyber-friends, here I am, all these months later, and I haven't moved to Israel, I haven't written to Carol Burnett (and I no longer think she's a goddess) and I'm surviving just fine without Janis and Joni and Joe and James, thank you very much.  But I'll let you in on a little secret: I kinda miss those feelings of absolute clarity I had when I was semi-conscious.  I don't think I've ever felt that positive about anything before, and probably never will again.  And that's a little sad, isn't it?

* Making Aliya = Moving to Israel