Hey, friends!
The rumors of my demise were exaggerated ... but only slightly.
Here's the crazy story: I was walking around sick as a dog in the middle of March, I mean really f*cked up, trying to tough it out, when I got into a car accident, no doubt caused by my impaired judgment and compromised ability to operate a motor vehicle. Thought I was fine, then I woke up in the middle of that night with excruciating, blinding pain in my shoulder, which I assumed was the result of the accident. Went to the emergency room the next morning -- March 17, St. Patrick's Day -- and it turned out that the accident had nothing to do with it, the pain in my shoulder was a manifestation of the fact that my lungs were completely filled with fliud. I'd been walking around with pneumonia for probably about a week. Real smart.
So they admitted me, and upon further testing discovered that not only did I have pnemonia, I also had some nutty thing called acute respiratory distress syndrome. Which is fatal about half the time. So the next day -- my birthday, March 18 (and thanks, by the way, to all here who sent messages, gifts, etc -- my failure to respond wasn't because I'm a sh*thead, though I'm not arguing that fact) -- I was intubated, which means they stuck a million tubes down my throat and put me in a medically induced coma.
But it turns out a have a peculiar chemistry -- I'm pretty resistant to pain and, unfortunately, almost completely resistant to pain medication and sedatives -- so I kept coming out of it and pulling the tubes and sh*t out, physically assaulting the hospital workers who tried to restrain me, and making things hugely difficult for everyone, including myself.
So after three days of this, they finally figured out how to properly dose me, and I was out and on a respirator for the next couple of weeks. I was extremely lucky that I did respond to treatment, so by the time they brought me back around, I was in pretty good shape, and also really lucky that I didn't suffer any terrible side effects or lung damage. And my great fortune was brought home to me by the ten or twelve nurses and doctors who poked into my room every day and said, eyes wide, "Oh my god! You're alive!"
Several male nurses whom I'd apparently beaten up also came by to shake my hand and say, "You're a crazy man!" or "You're some fighter!" The guys, they respect that sort of thing. The women, er, not so much.
But because I was in intensive care and off my feet for so long, I actually lost my gross motor skills. I couldn't f*cking walk! How f*cking crazy is that?!? So I spent another week in the hospital before I could put any weight on my feet at all. That was really difficult, though the hardest part was being away from my son for so long.
So now I'm rehabbing at home, shlepping around with a cane for now, though I will make a full recovery. I just feel really blessed to have survived this wacky, wacky ride, and fortunate to be around to do something as mundane as writing a blog.
Missed you guys!
PS: Oh, and my wife bought a house while I was at death's door -- I was on my way back from looking at it when I got into that car accident. And, for those of you whom I hadn't had a chance to tell before I went down, we're expecting a second in September. Just found out it's a girl!
