Hello Fellow Travelers!
In the continued interest of remaining connected to all things healthy and hilarious I have to recount the dramatic "beginning" of this journey, the part where I was the least involved (I was in a chemically induced coma) but I still managed to scare the hell out of everybody in the Intensive Care Unit! My Patient Spouse (PS) and Best Friend (BF) were sitting on vigil with a member of the surgical team at the hospital who was hooking me up to the portable breathing machine, which they were especially proud of because one of their doctors invented it! So the way PS tells it, after I'm hooked up for transport just my PS and BF and me (on a ventilator keeping my own counsel) are left in the room. Soon, my giant, tumor would be removed and all kinds of real estate in my brain would become available, just then though, The Reaper was really close to me and, as near as I could tell, he meant business. And apparently, at exactly the same time I noticed "The Reaper" the nifty port-o-ventilator stopped cold. PS looked at BF and BF looked at PS.
Without too many seconds going by, PS flagged a medical professional and breathing was restored! The old fashioned way, manually!
I haven't "heard" the story from my girlfriend but whenever PS relates any part of my intubation-malfunction he doesn't seem nearly as amused as I am! Portable breathing machines are only "medical miracles" when they work! When they skip a beat or stop? Not so miraculous! Though I am like the tearose, the SF Giants and infestations in general - I just keep coming back.
Bill Murray (back in "Stripes" days) would have called me "a mutant" and he'd have been right! I'm mutant and proud of it! I'm alive! Because that's all that's important! Nothing else matters or will. I believe I lived for the express purpose of chronicling this adventure through "Tumor Town".
Why I'm "the patient of the future"? I am in great physical condition. I am, believe it or not, young for a typical patient, I'm pretty healthy and live like a monk. I have bent pain and paralysis to my will. I am supposed to go forward. Give me a cookie (or 10) and I'll be on my way!
PS - In the "This Crap Just Writes Itself" column; did you see/hear the news about the Carnival Cruise that has an E Bola patient? Belize and Mexico wouldn't allow the ship to dock. Belize and Mexico! Wake up cruisers! It doesn't matter how many times they disinfect those staterooms! Those "ships" (Germ Infested Barges, GIBs) are floating around the Gulf like cigarette butts floating around a toilet bowl! At $1,000+ a throw! I'd need a HazMat suit to get a waffle! They're floating petrie dishes! It's like saving 15% on insurance: everybody knows that! Everybody should!
In the continued interest of remaining connected to all things healthy and hilarious I have to recount the dramatic "beginning" of this journey, the part where I was the least involved (I was in a chemically induced coma) but I still managed to scare the hell out of everybody in the Intensive Care Unit! My Patient Spouse (PS) and Best Friend (BF) were sitting on vigil with a member of the surgical team at the hospital who was hooking me up to the portable breathing machine, which they were especially proud of because one of their doctors invented it! So the way PS tells it, after I'm hooked up for transport just my PS and BF and me (on a ventilator keeping my own counsel) are left in the room. Soon, my giant, tumor would be removed and all kinds of real estate in my brain would become available, just then though, The Reaper was really close to me and, as near as I could tell, he meant business. And apparently, at exactly the same time I noticed "The Reaper" the nifty port-o-ventilator stopped cold. PS looked at BF and BF looked at PS.
Without too many seconds going by, PS flagged a medical professional and breathing was restored! The old fashioned way, manually!
I haven't "heard" the story from my girlfriend but whenever PS relates any part of my intubation-malfunction he doesn't seem nearly as amused as I am! Portable breathing machines are only "medical miracles" when they work! When they skip a beat or stop? Not so miraculous! Though I am like the tearose, the SF Giants and infestations in general - I just keep coming back.
Bill Murray (back in "Stripes" days) would have called me "a mutant" and he'd have been right! I'm mutant and proud of it! I'm alive! Because that's all that's important! Nothing else matters or will. I believe I lived for the express purpose of chronicling this adventure through "Tumor Town".
Why I'm "the patient of the future"? I am in great physical condition. I am, believe it or not, young for a typical patient, I'm pretty healthy and live like a monk. I have bent pain and paralysis to my will. I am supposed to go forward. Give me a cookie (or 10) and I'll be on my way!
PS - In the "This Crap Just Writes Itself" column; did you see/hear the news about the Carnival Cruise that has an E Bola patient? Belize and Mexico wouldn't allow the ship to dock. Belize and Mexico! Wake up cruisers! It doesn't matter how many times they disinfect those staterooms! Those "ships" (Germ Infested Barges, GIBs) are floating around the Gulf like cigarette butts floating around a toilet bowl! At $1,000+ a throw! I'd need a HazMat suit to get a waffle! They're floating petrie dishes! It's like saving 15% on insurance: everybody knows that! Everybody should!
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