I don’t know how many of you have ever brushed up against death, or that feeling that you cheated it and got away with something just long enough to survive. I know the feeling, quite well, having nearly died last summer during treatment for a severe brain infection that followed a surgical event.
I was really happy to eventually get out of the hospital, so I suspect I have some sympathy for President Trump. But it was remarkably stupid to go climb into one of his big fat SUV’s so he could ride in front of what, 100 people waving flags and signs in front of his hospital.
Of course the man has been tempting fate for weeks, going maskless into rallies and meetings and such, long after everyone told him that to be safe for himself, and for everyone else, he should wear one. So now he has Covid, a disease that has killed more than 200,000 of his countrymen, and he is pretending he’s just fine.
He is NOT.
Pretty clearly he has no idea how to be a patient. I didn’t either. It’s something you have to learn when you are in there for serious reasons, the kinds of things that can kill you. Obey and cherish your nurses. Eat when you are supposed to. Don’t go rambling around. Learn how to look out the window (I counted the fat spiders that seemed to enjoy building their webs over the hospital windows.) Things like that become important. Be patient. Don’t look for anything even distantly interesting on hospital TV. And so on.
And don’t try to rush the process. It took infectious disease specialists weeks to figure out which goddamned bacteria had slipped into my head, and then they had to figure out what to do about it. Was I impatient? Yes, but too sick to do much of anything about it. I am happy as a clam that I am alive, away from there and one of the hospital’s happy survivors of infection, not a victim.
Trump should be hoping for as much.
But a man who is already a tribute to the forces of irony simply can’t leave a hospital while he is under about six pounds of medication so he can wave to the crowds and appear brave. This is the hospital version of that ghastly thing in front of the White House where the forces of law and order, with their flash bangs and gases and clubs, were unleashed so that fat old man could go pose in front of a church holding a bible I am sure he has never read. (That’s okay, I haven’t read much of it either.)
Now we have the hospital variant on that theme, a little jaunt to wave to the fans. Meanwhile, everyone who came into contact with him, all those agents and aides and what not, must go into quarantine because he simply had to create a news event. The media should have refused to even take pictures of it, it was that stupid.
Now the word is he is going “home” to the White House, perhaps early as Monday, to continue his treatments and rest. I suspect he will be tweeting up a storm, too, about how this just isn’t much of a problem and anything else he can think of to draw attention to himself. I hope he makes it through this, but if he doesn’t, no one has to look far for someone to blame.