Mat has been holding down the fort. He hired someone to clean the house while we were away. Clever cat.
We can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times we’ve been confined in the hospital: three. Fractured skull at age eight—a formative experience requiring primitive encephalography (See Pinhead). Typhoid fever at age ten or eleven (“natipus” with very interesting hallucinations involving talking animals). There should probably have been more hospital stays, but we thought we were invincible.
Monday afternoon we decided we were over the flu so we were going to a meeting at Rockwell at 4:30. We never made it to the meeting. When we came to we were on the floor of the shower, with the water going glub glub down the drain like a basic remake of Psycho. We staggered out of the bathroom to find one of our bookshelves flung against the refrigerator. What the hell was going on?
We threw on some clothes, picked up our bag, and left the house. But we couldn’t step off the stairs. The distance from the last step to the floor suddenly seemed insurmountable, and we sat there until we could figure out how to traverse this vast distance. The security guard must’ve notice that we were stuck on the stairs, and summoned the building administrator. She came around and asked us a series of questions. We don’t recall our answers exactly, but we were making no sense whatsoever. As far as we could tell we were speaking gibberish (Hmmm maybe after a weekend of flu meds were could understand Aramaic at last.)
The next thing we know, we’re at the ER of Makati Med and everyone we know has turned up in answer to the hospital summons. Our sister appeared in a black and gold ballgown, which is not her regular attire, but it was her wedding anniversary. Next we’re having an MRI and a cat scan, and we’re so out of it no one even has to tell us to lie vewy, vewy still.
Initial tests showed that our sodium and potassium levels were way down. Hell, we thought low sodium was good and we should eat a banana like Rafa and Andy between games.
This typing is making us very, very tired. Later.