33 1/3

Have you ever seen a radiation mask? They look like old hockey masks, like the one Jason Vorhees wears, except these are custom molded and have latches on the side that lock into the bed of a radiation machine. I suppose its important to restrict your mobility when the room is turned into a life-sized microwave.  

The rays in there weren’t physically visible or painful, but I could still feel and hear them. I swear I could. If I closed my eyes at just the right moment, I could even see little flashes of light escaping my eyelids. But this was the extent to which I felt the therapy. 15 minutes later, the Megatron had finished its daily orbit around my skull and delivered its dose of radiation.

I could lie and say that I made use of the time. That the flashes of light under my eyelids were inspirational. That I used the Megatron’s time in orbit to meditate and ponder life. 

Its not that I didn’t try. I tried insanely hard. It just didn’t happen. 

All I really wanted was to be somewhere else. That’s where all my thoughts went to: somewhere else. And before I knew it, the session was over, saved by the clock once again. 

Every now and then, I close my eyes and wake up inside the microwave. A masked reflection laid out across the Megatron. Locked, motionless, thoughtless. 

Admittedly, I tense up a bit. I clench and freak out about not making the best use of my time. Painfully ironic.

Cluster Fuck

Disclaimer: This piece was written over the multiple hospital stays in the past weeks. It purposely remains unedited and largely pointless. But it came from somewhere. I’d be doing a disservice to myself if I didn’t share it.

My head is killing me. For the second time in 2 years, it has literally been split in two. It is being held together by a few staples, the steroids help with the swelling and inflammation, and the antibiotics help with all the gunk thats been introduced to my body. Plus the painkillers are a necessary evil, I don’t think there’s a way I could support the inherent tension inside my head otherwise. I’m a bit unclear on size, but I know there’s a void in there, I can feel it. 

I’m a medical marvel, really. It’s all rather confusing and overwhelming. I don’t know what to think or what to feel. Except that for now, for this moment, this nightmare has passed. It’s over. 

Really, what more thought should there be than that ? At one point, you have to consider the scope becomes too large for ambition, too large to manage, and back in the circle we go. Just another cogs in the machine, if you will. At a time like this, I refuse to consider that possibility. I refuse to fall back into that cycle. 

To everyone that has reached out. Thank you. Your kind wishes and words do not go unnoticed. Believe me when I say that this experience has taught me to try and be the bigger person. Not for your sake, but for mine. I have very little say in how you should manage. If there is a piece of advice I could offer is that very little matters when you’re buckling down in an emergency room bed, begging for your next shot of morphine to help ease the pain, however little it may actually do to help

I guess that’s the ultimate point. Being wise enough to choose your battles. In a perfect world, we would always have this special ability, this magical foresight that allows us to meticulously choose and derive how we feel, before coming to a decision. But we both know this world is far from perfect. We’re far for perfect.

More importantly, it’s not to be made an excuse. Rather taken as an opportunity. You want to cope with yourself. You want to cope with others and I say this within reason. You’re ultimately the one in charge of your decisions and your feelings.

We all have, have had, and will continue to have our faults. They’re facts of life. But it doesn’t have to remain that way. Of course, this is where the hard part comes in. You have to be willing, you have to be succumbing to some change.  So try not to be a crappy person. It doesn’t help anyone. Not even you. 

I look forward to getting some much deserved rest and showing myself what a great person can be, even when I don’t fit the mold of a model citizen. That stuff is overrated and outdated anyway.  

F, XIII

There’s nothing really special about this day.

It doesn’t always land on the same month. It doesn’t even land on the same week. There’s days of similar significance around the world, but no real correlation between them (except for the whole misfortune thing).

Some people are scared of the day. Others embrace it. Some don’t care and most forget.

I love it. Even when I don’t care or when I do forget.

June 30th, 2018. 7:45am.

I hadn’t dreamt that night, and when I woke, I was confused. It had been months since I slept comfortably in my bed. Of course this time, I had slept at a small incline and with a neck brace. The irony.

First, I questioned reality. I wondered if this had all been a dream. Not a bad dream, just a very interesting one. A very detailed one too.

That wasn’t true. I had the scars to show for my ordeal. 

Then I thought:

What if I had brain surgery to receive an implant? What if i’ve been wiped clean and I’m one of the bad guys? Or what if I’m one of the human batteries from The Matrix and this really is a dream constructed by our robot overlords?

And the memories, were the memories real?

But in seconds, I snapped out of it. 

See, this experience has helped me accept that time is a relative thing. Save for a few distinct memories, everything else from my stay is a collection of screenshots.

Oddly, this holds true for much of my life.

June 29th, 2018. 1:30pm.

The nurses had teased me with an early discharge. They said my cranial pressure was back to normal and if my latest MRI came back looking good, I’d be released. The news were exciting as there’s little freedom in a hospital. Very little time to rest.

Outside, it was a bright and sunny day. Far too bright for my eyes to adjust. Actually, it was too much of everything: real hot, real loud, real uncomfortable, real...real. 

Jen and I had arranged for one of my closest and oldest friends to pick me up. It was important to avoid asking family for a ride back. As much as I love those people, I didn’t have the energy or mind space to entertain, I wanted to be alone.

My friend exited the car to help me get off my wheelchair. As he carefully made sure I didn’t topple over, he uttered:

“You look like shit dude.”

I can’t communicate the relief I felt. There’s no place like the real world.