Six Months Later

Next week will mark six months since I went on A Four Day Hospital Adventure but sometimes in the quiet of the night it feels like last week.

Sometimes I answer the call of nature and walk from the bed to the bathroom in the dead of night and a flash of memory brings it all back.

I see myself lying on the floor and feel the blood pouring out of me and remember seeing my father’s face behind the door.

Sometimes I feel myself strapped on the gurney in the back of the ambulance thinking about how it drives just like a truck and how the bumps can’t be helpful.

Sometimes I hear the voice of the paramedic telling me he is going to give me TXA to stop the bleeding and I wonder how much I pushed down or away cuz I didn’t want to deal with it.

I go back and forth about it because I have fought to look it in the eye and make sure it doesn’t creep up on me when I am unprepared.

If I Died Life Wouldn’t Stop

Told my children a while back to remember that if I died life wouldn’t stop. Told them they could miss me but I expected them to keep going and to not let my absence stop them.

Reminded me of conversations I had my own father throughout the years and the ones we had that last year when we knew pancreatic cancer would eventually find a way to beat his will to live.

Thought about that moment on the floor where I tried to walk through the door to get to him and my grandfathers. If I could have opened it I would have crossed the threshold.

Some of the people I have shared that with have said that means I was ready to die and that my father stopped me from crossing over.

It make sense to me because if such a thing is possible there is no doubt Dad would protect all of us from the other side.

It makes sense because he would have known that preventing me from opening the door would infuriate me. Hell, I was enraged and I will never forget the surge of energy I got. It was instant adrenaline and that was what enabled me to fight my way off of the floor and into a sitting position.

If you have read the posts in which I write about that night you know that death didn’t seem scary or painful to me. There was nothing frightening about it.

But the moment that rage hit me it was like someone flipped a light switch and there was no question I was going to live.

The boy who used to say “I take this potch and throw it away” stood alongside the man and we climbed back into the world.

Simple.

A Rough Six Months

There is a picture of my parents on the mantle and sometimes when I walk by it I point at my father and tell him that we’re even now.

That’s cuz he used to tell me I could never make up for all of the lost sleep I cost him and mom.

Sometimes I add a few bits about what is going on and this time I said ‘it has been a rough six months.’

This time around I said he already knew about the hospital adventure and reminded him about how I tore the distal tendon in my bicep.

“Finally got the brace off, and now I have to wait six to eight weeks before I can start lifting the way I want to.’

I added the surgeon says that by the end of the year my left arm will be as strong as it was before the injury. “Might even be stronger, got to aim high right old man.’

Walked back to grab my wallet so that I could head off to the gym and thought some more about how crazy it has all been.

I have ample reasons to complain because it hasn’t been easy but I have a long list of things that I am grateful for.

A long list of really good things that remind me about the hero’s journey I have written about here before.

It is strange to think of how much has happened and that some people who were key parts of my life are gone now.

That is not a reference to my father or anyone else that has died. It is people who once were very important parts of my life and now are like strangers with shared memories.

And people who once seemed to have been lost to the twists and turns of life have returned. People who knew me when now know me again.

The dead were right when they talked about what a long strange trip it has been.

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It’s strange to think I am more than twice as old as my father was in the picture above. Strange to think about how much more life experience I have now than he had then.

From a facial standpoint people rarely said that my dad and I shared facial features. I usually heard I looked like mom, but dad and have the same hands and feet.

That right hand on my belly is identical to the one I am typing with now. It is funny to see it in the picture and remember a time when I thought it had to be one of the biggest hands in the world.

Six months after the near death experience and the assorted other events of this time finds me more determined than before.

More focused on certain goals and less tolerant of stupidity. Mr. Toad may have taken control of the wheel for the moment but I am adept at dancing in the fire and walking through the storms of life.

This time won’t be any different, might not physically be who I was at 25 but the work in the gym means I am not 125 either.

Most of the time I am enjoying the ride.

If you are interested in reading past posts click here.