Company

Books have people remembering
tedious things like the season. I couldn't tell 
you. I have some recollection 
it was summer but that is from deduction.

I could stay up with her.
The surgery happened on her birthday.
We ran out of Chrono Crusades
which I had gotten for Christmas.

I can't remember if I cried.
I think we both would 
have if we weren't statues.

It was just the two of us
and it was all I could do;
distract her from the pain.

I couldn't tell you the name of what we
ended up watching; the show had
this big white deer-like protector
who stole away some Queen.

It was serious enough to avoid laughter
but a bad show, poor plot and horrible voice actors.
We never finished it.

I turned it on out of desperation
morphed depression, fear, and 
determination
or maybe it was just dumb stupidity.

It wasn't good.
We sat in suspended disbelief
as the show assaulted our stiff forms.
Me, ready to pounce;
grab water
pills
blankets
pillows
Tylanol 3
heating pads
remotes
anything at the slightest shift
or sound for months.
I'm still on edge whenever I see her wilt.

Her, trying to avoid pain
Don't cough.
Don't laugh.
Don't sneeze.
Don't hiccup,
god don't hiccup;
Stop the hiccups, whatever you do;
hug the pillow.

Heart surgery is done different now;
it's less intrusive.
A thymectomy still require surgeons to
break the chest plate.
Myasthenia Gravis makes healing
slow in some patients.

Three years
don't cough, or laugh,
don't sneeze, or hiccup
We thought in optimistic suspended disbelief

that it might just be a month
three months?

six?

It was less after six months, or
she started getting used to it.
She might have 'recovered' if that's applicable
to a person who couldn't laugh without pain.
That took years.

Year one and she could breathe, but not hard.
Year two, she could laugh, but not hard.
Year three, and maybe it's better?
Maybe by then the pain was a phantom limb.

There's no way to know.
Our house was bubble wrapped for comedy
long after we left that late night couch
but we did it together, right?

I remember the night I figured out my purpose.
I wasn't a cure-man like my sister.
I couldn't pick out exactly what meds to give.
I could only find the bottle with the proper name, recognize them.
I wasn't able-bodied enough to help her sit,
though I tried, and did my best to counter her weight.
All I was good for was distraction.

That night 
she'd turned slightly and groaned in pain
I couldn't do anything for her but
try to save her by grabbing things I
could think of
but she had to focus on getting air,
she could hardly breathe.

She told me (she couldn't yell) 
to turn on the next show.
She needed something to distract her.
I sat down numb,
that was the loudest I heard her in months.
Someone had taken off my rose glasses
and smashed them beneath their heel.

She was in pain, but she couldn't
write
or read
speak
breathe
laugh
cry
sigh

She could just hurt
and stare, so we watched the show
until we couldn't find the next one;
I don't remember how we escaped.