Guts: The Endless Follies and Tiny Triumphs of a Giant Disaster by Kristen Johnston

Author:Kristen Johnston
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Drug Addicts - United States, Actors - United States, Entertainment & Performing Arts, General, Personal Memoirs, Biography & Autobiography, Johnston, Kristen
ISBN: 9781451635058
Publisher: Gallery Books
Published: 2012-03-13T04:00:00+00:00

seven

BLINK

. . . and I was someplace else now, in a hallway full of beeping machines and someone saying my name. I wanted to tell my surgeon something but I couldn’t see him.

Blink. I was immediately somewhere else, a curtain drawn around me, and I looked to my left and saw my English friend Joanna. How the hell did she get here? I didn’t call her. She appeared upset. I tried to say, What’s wrong?—but some object was in my throat.

Blink. Joanna was gone.

Blink. This time Malcolm, my stage manager from the play, was there. Hey, Malcolm! But he was busy arguing with a harried-looking Asian man in scrubs. This should be fun. Nothing better than a good Malcolm scrap.

“At least three weeks,” the man said.

“Oh, dear God,” Malcolm said as he slumped into a chair. Well, that wasn’t entertaining one bit. I was tempted to blink again, but my mouth was drier than it had ever been before and I was suddenly overwhelmed with a desperate need for water.

I tried to talk, but that weird thing was still in my throat.

“Wat. . .,” I croaked, and that tiny syllable was all it took for Malcolm to turn into Shirley MacLaine from Terms of Endearment.

“My God, man, hurry! Can’t you see she needs water?”

The Asian man said, “I’m sorry, sir, I’m not allowed.”

If I could’ve moved my diaphragm, I would’ve gasped in amazement. Oh, no you di’int! You don’t ever tell Malcolm no. Malcolm is a tall, elegant, imposing man with a wonderful laugh who would be as comfortable on a yacht as he would in the merchant marine. He’s the kind of gentleman who could run six blocks to catch a purse snatcher without losing the ash on his cigarette.

He drew himself up to his almost-seven-foot glory, and with an icy voice that could scare the crap out of the queen mum’s corgis, he said, “Young man, either you get her a cup of water, imm-edjate-ley, or I shall.”

“Well. . . I’m not supposed to, but. . .” Do it! Do it, man, if you want to live! “I suppose she could have a few ice chips.”

At the word ice I perked up. Ice turns into water, doesn’t it?

“Well?” Malcolm said imperiously. The man scurried off, dignity destroyed but balls intact.

Malcolm winked at me and sat back down. “There there, dear,” he said as he awkwardly petted my foot. I’m not sure he’d ever actually touched anyone before. “The ice will be here before you know it.”

Thank you, you don’t have to touch me anymore—

Blink. Malcolm was gone. The very relieved Asian man was offering me a cup of ice chips.

“Hello there, miss. Have a nice nap? I’m Eddie. You’re in the ICU, and I’m keeping watch over you tonight.”

He held out a Styrofoam cup full of little scrapings of ice, and I almost didn’t recognize the trembling hand that slowly reached out to take it from him. My skin was greenish, as if I’d been in prison for

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