Michael, I suggest strongly that you get your sorry, broken-ass self well as fast as possible. I'm sick and f**king tired of worrying how you are. Hell, you've got morphine on tap--you've got it good and don't know it. Snowed under, sheets changed underneath you every day, sponge baths--sheesh.
If you want to send Michael wilted flowers or dead insects or anything thoughtful like that, he's at Tulane Medical down in New Orleans, LA, in rm. #7225. I'm told he'll be there at the hospital for surgery perhaps as soon as tomorrow, and then rehabilitation therapy for about a month.
Get better, you f**kwad.