Tuesday night, around 11:30, after a beautiful evening at home with Sxip and Jim Shirey, Nan stood up and her sari billowed towards the table and the hem caught the flame of a candle on the coffee table and the dress burst into flames like tissue paper. She dropped and rolled, smartly, and Jim was the cool head, batting her out, but the dress kept burning. We got her into the cold shower and the EMTs arrived and the ambulance ride and all the rest of it and now she's up at New York Presbyterian with second-degree burns on her upper left torso.
They'll decide when or whether to graft in the next few days. She's getting morphine whenever she wants it and, as most of you know, she's stronger than most of us, but it hurts just like you think it does. It's your skin and it's burning, like paper, like when you light a match wrong and it burns your finger. Only times about seven hundred.
She's all right and she's going to be all right. She's in the Burn Unit where they send New York City firefighters when they burn, so they are the absolute best.You can feel their confidence and expertise just walking around up there.
Anyway, we'll know more about what's next in the next few days. Right now I'm up at the hospital all day sitting next to her. She's in pain, but smiling and joking and all of the nurses are already in love with her, so she's Herself.
Here's where you come in.
If you believe in Anything Powerful, pray to that Thing and ask It to send Good Stuff to Nancy, especially around the inside of her left arm, down to the elbow. Her left ribcage could also use some Love. If you don't believe in a goddamned thing, think about her tonight and tomorrow as well. Both work.
I'll let you know more when I know more. Everything's on hold for awhile now.
Take care of yourself and fucking well watch those open flames.
And ladies, ditch the saris. A nurse told me last night you'd be amazed how many Indian women they deal with up there. Peasant skirts, too.