03-01-03 - 8:50 p.m.
i was speeding down to santa babs yesterday and talked my way out of a ticket.
my daughter's having gallbladder surgery! i wailed when he came to my window. she needs me!
it was the truth, dramatically enchanced somewhat, and he let me go.
heasley's hospital room had a four-star view of the santa barbara foothills and the mission. everyone, doctors and nurses and patients and visitors, was talking on cell phones. i called patrick, just because i could.
donnie's asleep in heasley's bed, i told him. it's so fucking cute.
there's an extra bed in her room? he exclaimed.
no, he's asleep in bed WITH her, all cuddled up around her iv's.
my god, he said, take pictures!
i did, with their digital camera. in lieu of flowers, i bought heasley new jammies and coloring books and playdough. donnie and i tried awkwardly to bond during the surgery, and when heasley returned, high on morphine, she bore an eerie resemblance to anna nicole smith. boobs included.
where's my compact? she whined. my eye hurts. i'm hungry. i fucking hate morphine!
she lifted her gown and showed me her wounds. four little bandaids!
my own surgery, back in the stone age, resulted in a huge pink frankenstein scar i used to hate and hide, but don't anymore, because patrick calls it my zipper.