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.

June 26th, 2018. 8:30pm.

I’m not familiar with any news headlines from this day. I don’t know who the World Cup match winners were or what version of chicken I was served for dinner. But it was our wedding anniversary and Jen had surprised me with dessert. I was ecstatic.

You see, some of the medications caused my natural blood sugar to rise, which meant an additional insulin shot in my daily regimen. I’ve never had a fear of needles, but it becomes a bit much after a few days. Still, I was prepared for my sweet tooth to warrant that extra shot. I wanted it to be so delightfully bad, it would hurt a little.

Yet my excitement peaked as Jen pulled out a cinnamon roll from the paper bag.

Yes. Me. The 28 year-old in an unwashed hospital gown. The 28 year old with 52 crusty staples across the head. The guy who couldn’t move about freely.  

I still had the audacity. The fucking nerve.

An existential crisis: one of those episodes where you decide that life is inherently against you. Where a million made-up tragedies play out in your mind and there’s no substance to cling on to. You don’t know how to feel or how to act or what to do or what to think. You’re at a loss. It’s all useless anyway. 

Though an eternity to myself, the thought only lasted a second in the real world. This time, just like the rest, I managed to move on. I’m not entirely sure Jen noticed, which is a relief. It really was one of the best desserts I’ve had in my life.

June 20th, 2018. Unknown.

Perhaps others were around in the morning, but I only remember my mom and wife. I have no recollection of my parting words. I’m sure they weren’t enough. How could anyone expect to encompass so much meaning and time into a few sentences?

“At least I have the chance” I thought.

“And if this is it, oh well. I hope everyone else gets along ok.”

For a split second, I noticed that never in my life have I ever been so selfless. I laughed at myself.

“I just want to be comfortable.”

And with that, my mind went blank.

—

I woke up strapped to a gurney, hazy vision, unable to move, and with a pounding headache. I don’t know what I said, but it got a chuckle from one of the nurses who was wheeling me around.

“He just came out of surgery?” One nurse asked.

“Yeah, brain mass” the other answered and turned towards me.

“You’re out of surgery now. The MRI machine is loud, so I’m going to put ear plugs on you. Keep sleeping.”

I remember being inside the machine. I remember the incessant beeping and screeching and scratching echoing throughout the inside of the tube. It was like trying to connect to the internet 15 years ago. I hated that modem noise.

“Well I guess I’m alive, it’s too dull for it to be paradise” I thought.

“I can’t wait to be home.”

Thankfully, I fell asleep. I really dislike that sound.

—

I was still very much present during the surgery. But I have no memory of the time in between.

But I know that the Los Angeles Dodgers lost to the Chicago Cubs. Portugal, Uruguay, and Spain where all match winners in the FIFA World Cup, and some group in Texas put up a funny billboard urging Liberals to leave the state. You know, a slow news day.

I only know this because I went back and read updates during my stay in purgatory.

You can do that sort of stuff now, see what you missed out on. Still though, I missed the biggest event of my life. Funny how it works, isn’t it?

June 18th, 2018. 4pm.

 “We found something. Your doctor will give you more details, but the hospital can’t release you in your condition. They’re prepping to receive you at the emergency room. We’re going to walk you over.”

How do you receive those news? More importantly, how was I supposed to explain it to my loved ones? How would I tell everyone that a brain mass had been found and that I needed multiple surgeries? Does an appropriate reaction even exist?

But at least I had some sort of proof that this time, I wasn’t overreacting. There was something seriously wrong and the resolution went beyond my knowledge, beyond my skills, beyond my abilities.

Though time stood still for me, the clock kept running, life kept moving. The situation set off a series of events that wouldn’t have materialized otherwise.

At least for now. I think.

Epilogue/Prologue

On May 30th, 2019; We lost a dear friend in our scene. We weren’t close. But aside from friends, we had so much in common. And as inevitable as death is, it’s not something we’re ever prepared for. It hurts all the same.

On May 31st, 2019; My friends welcomed a baby girl into this world. We’re not close. Aside from friends, we‘re going to have very little in common. And as interesting as life is, it’s not something we’re ever prepared for.

But it doesn’t have to hurt all the same.