Bag of Bones- Day Eleven
It's important that I skedaddle out of Oklahoma City as fast as I can. Not for any sense of urgency to arrive anywhere else, I just want to get the hell out of here. I'm sure parts of OKC are fine and dandy, but sometimes you just don't jive with a town. Clashing energies and whatnot.
That's OKC and me, and that's OK with me.
One morning task before I leave: heading to the airport to swap out rental vehicles. The trusty Nissan Rogue needed service after dutifully taking me across over half the country, but I didn't want to sit around at a Jiffy Lube and deal with getting reimbursed for the expense.
Also, I'm hoping for a local license plate instead of California plates to blend into the South and not have the fuzz pull me over for driving while Californian. Maybe I'll even wrangle myself an upgrade to something a smidge bigger. I'd overpacked for this trip, and a lot of gear sat in the back seats. When camping, it was no big deal, but worrying about a break-in on city streets when I'd park somewhere was an unnecessary stress.
Luckily enough, I get a lumbering tank of a Ford Explorer. Unfortunately, it has New York plates. All my gear fits in the back, and I'm on my way out of town.
I'm trying to make good time to Hot Springs, Arkansas. I reserve a tent site at Charlton Recreation Area, twenty minutes outside of Hot Springs. It looks to be a fine, affordable campground with a large creek nearby. I'm looking forward to a dip in cool waters when I get there. This humidity sticks to a body out here.
Beforehand, I stop at Sequoyah National Wildlife Refuge. The refuge serves as a migratory sanctuary habitat for wildlife, most of them passing through the winter and summer months. "Just like me," I think to myself. I feel migratory. I feel wild. My home: a tent and a car and whatever habitat I can park either of them for the night.
I drive the loop, stopping every now and then to take photos. I try to snap photos of the animals dashing across the road and sky, but they're all too sly for my cell phone to capture.
A pair of Great Blue Herons soar over the wetlands past a large, clear lake. A family of beavers lumber across the gravel road a few yards ahead. A kaleidoscope of butterflies flitter about. Various songbirds dash around the car or perch on nearby branches chirping soft melodies.
I say my thanks and migrate on toward the next leg of my journey.
It's Sunday and time for church. I mentioned previously that I'm not a religious person, but the sweet, syrupy gospel calls to me today, having never visited this particular cathedral before. I've only heard about its hallowed grounds in legends and tales…
Waffle House.
The elation I feel towards my first ever visit to the House has me almost bounding across the parking lot. "Be cool, Martin, don't be weird."
The waitstaff is friendly, welcoming, and easygoing. They're all manner of shapes and sizes. I order waffles and eggs, and a lot of coffee. I didn't sleep well in that dodgy motel, and I have a lot of road to cover today.
The cook, a nice enough fella with a soft face and thick glasses chats me up about ordering Waffle House merchandise online as if I've never heard of the internet. His southern drawl as thick as the syrup I pour on my waffles. “What yer gonna wanna do is git to the inuhnet and go to dubluh, dubluh, dubluh doht waffahouse doht cohm and click the button right thur thit says Shop.” I thank him for the information.
The drive through Oklahoma is quite beautiful. Lakefront roads surrounded by lush forests make up the western edge of the Ozarks. I loosely follow the Arkansas River, passing through Cherokee, Choctaw, Chickasaw, and Creek Nations. The route somewhat follows the Trail of Tears. The historical significance of it all is profound, and I recognize a similar injustice with what's going on with the country today.
I'm welcomed into Arkansas through the Ouachita Mountains, covered in dense swaths of pine, hickory, and oak forests. Stunning vistas surround me as I climb the range and descend into the valleys.
I arrive at camp and set up the tent, only to notice I've pitched into a large patch of poison ivy. Ooof. Not a great idea. I lift the assembled tent overhead to move sites.
I head back into town to grab firewood and ice. A sign on the door proudly proclaims that this is a holstered weapon friendly shop and to practice responsible and reasonable gun safety while shopping. The nerves in my scarred face twitch a little, a brief reminder of my recent past.
When I get back, I finally get that dip in the cool waters of Walnut Creek by camp. A group of kids are jumping off a short dock onto their floaties- hooting, hollering, and having a blast. Someone should bottle that energy. You could run a small city with how they're jumping into the lake, climbing out and jumping back in over and over.
I soak a bit and dry off. The humidity has me sweating immediately afterward.
Dinner. Writing. Sleep.
It all comes easy that night.
My first day in the ICU ended with saying goodbye to what was the first round of many wonderful and caring friends that would visit me every day that I stayed there. I swallowed my pureed food through my broken jaw. Determined to not have my jaw wired shut, I kept my movements to a minimum to allow the bones to heal at their pace.
There was no telling how long I'd be in the hospital- months maybe. While I was miraculously saved after the shooting, I was still at risk for infections, lung collapse, and shrapnel movements. I wasn't out of the woods just yet, and what my recovery would end up looking like wasn't clear whatsoever.
After being administered my nightly doses of antibiotics, pain medications, and who knows what else, I was alone again. The second night was worse than the first. The shock and adrenaline had worn off. The profound magnitude of everything that had happened the day before was feeling all too real now. There was no hiding in the illusion that this was all a bad dream. This was my here and now. The reality of my recovery was painful and the long term consequences of the shooting unknown.
The pain was different, less acute. Constant, dull aches coupled with electric bolts zapped throughout my body with frightening regularity. My nerves were on fire. PTSD was settling in. I was paranoid, anxious, unsure of my future.
I tried to sleep. But I couldn't. My mind raced with anxiety. That one bothersome EKG lead kept falling off, causing that annoying beep. A vampire nurse floated into my room twice, late at night, to draw my blood for tomorrow's lab results.
I had nightmares and woke up crying, deeply sobbing. Alone and terrified, there was no one I could pretend to be brave with around me.
A nurse came in to check on me. She reassured me that I was safe and being well taken care of. She said that the doctor would have to prescribe me something for my night terrors. It was a common symptom after experiencing significant trauma.
Sleep didn't come easy that night.
It wouldn't for a long time.