I noticed his color was bad. White as a ghost. They lifted him out of his wheelchair. They placed him in the chair next to me. I stopped looking. I could hear him talking. They had trouble getting his needles in. Ten minutes later his machine alarmed. The technician yelled for the nurse. Looking at him, then looking at his machine numbers, she yelled for the head nurse. That’s when I looked again. He looked dead. They tried to revive him for fifteen minutes. Then the rescue crew tried for another fifteen minutes. You can die that fast. Enjoy life.
The weight loss instructor looked straight at me in the group of about nine big fat women. “Stephen do you love yourself?”
They were all waiting for a goofy reply. I looked up with sadness in my eyes and said I did love myself, sometimes late at night. Then I rolled my eyes and looked guilty. This got a good laugh. We lost no weight Easter week.
The needles are turning my once perfect arm into a freakish, deformed, bumpy scar. The constant increased blood flow to that part of my body is hurting blood flow to my brain and other important organs. After a treatment my thinking is fuzzy. Then a puff of the medicinal and I don’t care anymore until morning.
She is Irish, a beauty with red hair. I say, “You are the prettiest flower in this garden,” as I look around the clinic with 20 more women milling about.
“Thank you, that was nice.”
Last week she told me that she was going through a nasty separation. I think she might be rich. I have a girlfriend, but I always keep my options open. I am not the man I once was, but I am as good once as I ever was.
In April I will turn 60. Hell, I am still waiting for puberty to wrap up. I have loved–it was mostly for animals–humans and dogs. When I was younger I smelled fresher, but now PU.
If my health insurance gets canceled that’s it. I am going to take 40 Ambien, sixteen shots of Tequila, eat 1 lb of bad sushi, then eat two whole Dominos large pizzas with extra cheese and four toppings. If that doesn’t kill me nothing will. I just hope I don’t wake up from that.
Doctor, sometimes I just want to go ahead and kick the bucket. I have no purpose. I don’t even feel like making whoopee anymore, not with my girlfriend anyway.
Stephen, you are too much. You are eating too much. And not exercising too much. Your purpose in life for at least the next two years is to get in shape for your kidney transplant. Sure, the last two years have been tough, and you have to be tougher. Get in shape. Take your meds. Fight for your life.
Thank you, Doctor, how much do I owe you? Somebody call 911– I’m having a heart attack.
“Do you feel OK?” The nurse was staring at me. I had barely finished my stress test. I stumbled off the treadmill. I was apparently white as a ghost. I had a pain in my chest. I started burping. The nurse went for the doctor. She had seen something in the data she was watching. The doctor came in the room. “Are you experiencing any chest pain?” she asked. I wanted to lie. I told them I had indigestion and burped. The doctor looked at the data. Her expression was one of concern. Another heart catheterization is ordered. Another set back on the road to recovery. I must be the warrior again. One day at a time.