"If you don't mind, it don't matter."

Anyway, the good news is the tube comes out of my neck early next week. This is almost the most beautiful thing I've ever heard. It would be the most beautiful, except that the bandages come off the incision right below my belly button on Wednesday, which means I can take baths again.

Did you hear me? I'll say it again just to make sure: I. Can. Bathe. Again. No more sponge baths! Happy bathing dance! I hope that Krapsnart's package comes by then. She is sending me things from Lush, which makes her an excellent person, but mail between here and there tends to be slow. I was fine with the sponge baths until this weekend when I almost managed to kill myself by tripping in the sink. You didn't know that a sink could be involved in tripping, did you? I was standing on my right leg and had my left foot in the sink, because your feet just don't feel clean after being sponged off. (Try it, you'll see what I mean. Well, OK, don't try it; but imagine trying it and I think you'll understand.)

I don't know exactly what happened. My left foot was soapy, both my hands were wet, my right knee buckled a little and I grabbed for the towel bar, which is set into the tile wall. As I fought to maintain some kind of balance, as I struggled to establish a firm grip on the tile, I thought that naked and half-washed in a bathroom with your head bashed against either a tile floor or the base of a toilet would be a bad way to be found dead by your father.

I believe this thought saved my life. Not really, but you know what I mean. There was a moment when I wasn't sure I could hold onto the bar, then I said "no way am I falling."

before - after