About a bastard…

So, I guess this is where I go into what the fucking point of all this is.  This is not my first blog, but it feels like I’m starting so far behind the start line, I’m practically in another county.

Basically, if you come here and manage to stomach my bullshit for any length of time you’ll be exposed to my opinions.  My God!  A self-important millennial with opinions he wants to express into the void of the internet?  Surely you jest, Tony-sama…  Nope, I am quite serious. 

About five and some change years ago, I started sweating profusely.  Now, yes, we all sweat, of course…  However, I was in a bit of a different pickle.  I could not stop sweating.  I’d get ready for work in the morning and sweat through my clothes between the end of my morning shower and getting in the car.  I would have to take multiple sets of clothing with me to work to change into in the course of a morning.  Not a day, a morning.  This went on for roughly a week before I informed my boss, who happens to be my mother, and she took me to see our GP.  His remedy?  “Take him home and give him an Ativan, and let him sleep it off…”  Not to bag on my doctor here, he had no way of knowing what was going on in my body.

So, my mother took me home, gave me pills and I tried to sleep…  Guess how successful I was.  I could not get to sleep if you put a gun to my head and threatened my father with new skull ventilation.  So, she asks me if I want to go to the hospital, and forgetting the concept of Irony exists, I said “sure, at least they’ll let me sleep.”

I walked into the hospital but never walked out.  Obviously, my dumbass is still alive, otherwise, how could I be sitting here wring this little screed.  Now, that is when the irony came back to bite me on the ass.  They gave me a sip of Propophol and were only intending to put me out for a few hours.  ALMOST TWO FUCKING WEEKS LATER, I woke up paralyzed, my family and friends having resigned themselves to attending my God damn funeral eventually.  My buddy John said he mourned for me.  My kidneys completely shut down at one point, I’d had most of my vital fluids drained for tests, and got a lovely spinal tap.  Never thought I’d thank God for being in a coma, but there we were.  One of my doctors was recommending yanking my plug, as I would not want to live that way.

Luckily for me, my mother knew I was a massive fucking coward bout the subject of dying, and said hell no.

So, began her vigil, and subsequent campaign to annoy me out of a coma.  It worked believe it or not.  The doctors were saying the responses they would coax out of me were shit like reflexes and the like but she would not hear of it.  My mother was not going to put my father through having to disconnect another child (we lost my sister to a car accident several years earlier.)

Eventually, I did wake up completely.  Sorry, forgot the spoiler warning there…

I could not have written the scene better…  It was hilarious.  I’m lying there unconscious, then she starts telling me if I wake up she’s going to take me out for a steak dinner, to which I reply “that sounds pretty good to me.”  Boom, Oscar-level comedy…

It’s taken a while, but eventually, I got use of my body back.  I’m stuck in a wheelchair and need assistance to walk, but I’m still kicking.  I needed a ten-hour surgery to fix a problem with my throat that I never knew I had, but I came out of that too.  I’ll tell that story later, trust me.  I intend to embarrass the fuck out of myself for your amusement.

This blog is me fulfilling a promise to myself that I’ve been procrastinating on for five or so years.  I’ll be posting my thoughts here, some of my fiction writing, and various other geeky pastimes of mine.  So, come along and let me bore your pants off to prove I’m still alive.  I can’t promise that it will always be fun, but I will try and likely hilariously fail to entertain you.






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