Don’t worry, this’ll all be interesting when I’m dead.

This is very difficult for me, because I have no idea what I’m going to write.  I usually have a few points; a few ideas or moments I want to convey before I sit down for something like this.  But I’ve not a single moment that stands out among the rest.  This is kind of the reason I am doing this; to connect back to it, to embrace it, to understand what made a difference and where I detached.  My therapist tells me this is important.  I agree.  I wasn’t going to do this.  I never seem to write about the big, huge events in my life.  Not because I intentionally try to avoid them, but because by the time I realize I should write about it, it’s not affecting me and seems boring and self-gratifying.

It’s also not usual for me to preface something prior to writing it.  My prefaces usually are written afterwords.  Maybe I’ll add something here before giving it to you.

So, as I attempt to even think of where to start I’m realizing there wasn’t a single moment where I had any heightened emotion and to try and document this thing one step at a time would be the absolute most boring thing I’ve ever written and you’ve ever read.  So this may go a little differently than we expected.

I acknowledged what was about to happen.  The week leading up to the surgery was pretty hellish.  It began with a dental examination and pulmonary (lung) exam on Thursday which was made in an attempt to figure out why I cough up blood all the time.  Without much warning I would just begin to feel my lungs fill up with blood and I’d have to cough it all up while I wait for it to stop.  It went on for 2 and half years and no one could figure out why.  I was giving these doctors a week to figure it out.  They told me to have the surgery and see if it still happens.  So I wasted 4 days worth of hotel costs.  Hotel costs that, by the way, were up in the 3 star price range but 1 star quality.  Thanks for that, doc.

The wind chill outside was -22.  Temperature was -1.

The dental examination led me to an emergency endodontist’s office the next day, Friday, where this other guy could give me 3 root canals, back-to-back-to-back in one sitting.  This resulted in a missing tooth just left-of-center in my smile.  Except for dealing with the missing tooth, there wasn’t much pain involved and it didn’t affect me too much.   They needed to do this in order to ensure I’d have no infections in my mouth which could travel down to my heart while it was vulnerable during post-op.  A fairly common precaution, actually, and could be fatal.

The sprinkler system malfunctioned in the hotel on Saturday.  The alarms were going off everywhere.  I rushed out of the room and attempted to find a stairwell. No one else was out of their rooms.  No one was in the stairs.  Wh… ummm…what?  The stairwell I found led to an alarm-sounding door to the outside.  This didn’t seem right.  The fire alarm stopped. I went back upstairs.  Still no one was around, so I went to the elevators and took them to the lobby where there I saw the glass vestibule walls were cascading with a constant flow of water.  I had no idea what was going on until I asked the girls at the front desk.  Seems to me this would have been a good time to utilize their P.A. system and announce there was no fire, everything’s OK.  But apparently those types of thoughts don’t occur to these girls.  I developed a severe migraine and the Eagles ended their playoff run that night.

Sunday night began a fasting.  I had a bunch of tests the next day and wouldn’t eat again until Monday afternoon.  I also met with my cardiologist who promptly ordered a neurological exam and colonoscopy because of some passing comments I made about two recent, odd events: a Transient Ischemic Attack and a little blood in my stool one day.  Nooooooo.

After the testing I’d fast again because I had a heart catheterization the next morning, which turned out to be a bigger procedure than I expected.  That’s where they shave your groin area, cut a hole and shove a tube into your femeral artery.  They guide the tube all the way up your torso and into your heart.  Then they inject dye while they take x-rays to see how the blood flows.  I was in the waiting room for this procedure while Barack Obama was being sworn in.  First I stood with another 20 or so people as we all gathered around a TV hanging on the wall.  Then was guided to another area where I was sitting with another 10 or so people, some of which were foreign.  The swearing in occured and there was some silence for a moment until one lady decided to start clapping.  I would have started it myself, but really, when you don’t know other people’s feelings on the subject, I didn’t want to get into any arguments.  But most everyone joined in the lady’s clapping for a few seconds and we continued to watch the ceremonies until I was led into the cath lab, which was pretty much an operating room.

I awoke to the inaugural parade and enjoyed it from my recovery bed.  This was not exactly how I wanted to enjoy these historical events, but whatever.

A couple hours later I began the preparation for a colonoscopy which was scheduled for the next day.  But I hadn’t eaten!  So I ate something and then waited a certain amount of time before drinking the god awful “medication” to clean me out.  Talk about binge and purge.  This was literally like drinking water straight from the ocean.  It’s not that bad if you get one or two mouthfulls. But a gallon?  In like, an hour?  Can’t be done.  Not by me, at least.  I drank about 75% of it and went to bed.

Woke up Wednesday morning and went to the neuro exam.  He orders a CT scan on my head and declares the TIA I had was probably not TIA and just random numbness.  Then the waiting began as I was unable to get to my next appointment on time to meet with the surgeon and had to wait until he got through with a surgery.  When he finally showed up, it was brief but friendly.  I also got to meet with his scheduler who’d been more of a help to me throughout this whole process than anyone else.  I had every intention to send her a thank you card, but still haven’t yet.  Dammit.

Well, I ran from his meeting downstairs to where my colonoscopy was schedule and to which I was late for.  I gained some sympathy from the attractive, young nurse — which reminds me… holy crap, the nurses throughout this complex were all so pretty.  Many could easily have a side career as models.  My completely deshevled appearance made for a much easier time interacting with them because I knew I had no chance in hell.  And yet, I was conflicted because I was still embarrassed by my situation and even still OK with gaining their sympathy, like it would somehow lead to some fleeting romance while I limped from the hole in my crotch, smiled awkwardly due to the hole in my smile, and tried to contain the air buildup from the probe that was just inside my ass.  Yes, yes… please love me.  Aren’t I adorable and helpless??? 

*pause for sarcastic effect*

So it was all done.  All the testing, at least.  I could finally eat again, too, but not for long because tomorrow was the big surgery; the reason I was really there, 400 miles away from home and 400 miles from anyone I knew.  To repair a damaged heart, in the most literal of ways.

You can see all the photos from this period in my life here:
http://picasaweb.google.com/auxzealot/Myectomy2009#

This is a true account written just after Christmas 1999 about an event which happened a few days earlier.
Being the shut-in that I was at the time, please put yourself in the shoes of someone who really tries to avoid contact with most everyone for unexplainable reasons.

Thursday Night, December 23rd.

I go to my psychologist’s office for my weekly session. I’m a little early so I sit in my car for 15 minutes or so puffing away on a cigarette. In that time I spot a girl who looks to be in her early 20’s inside the lobby’s big glass doors. She’s sitting on the steps with long brown hair, as she ties her shoe. She grabs hold of the railing and lifts herself up. Her legs are wobbly as she grabs onto her wheeled walker and slowly pushes over to the door. She has a tough time getting out of the heavy door, as I watch her — unable to get the courage to help her.  She walks over to the payphone not 30 feet from my car to make a phone call. She struggles to get her hand inside of her pocket for some change. She goes to put the quarter in the phone and it falls to the wet concrete below her. She strains to get to the ground safely to try to find where the quarter had dropped, all the while holding on for dear life with one hand to her walker. Yet still I cannot get the courage up to go and help her as I try to look away from this sad sight. She picks herself up and walks back into the building.

A few minutes later, I finish my cigarette and go into the building. I walk up the stairs and down the long hallway to the door of my doctor’s waiting room. I open the door, and who’s sitting there talking with the doctor? It was that girl. I felt ashamed that maybe she saw me in the car and hates me for watching her struggle. I fear she will give me a dirty look. Though, I receive a small smile from the girl as she goes back to talking with the doctor about her lack of transportation.

They make a few calls together, as she probably has trouble dialing the phone. “Let me try my roommate to see if he’s home.” She says, and they do so. There was no answer. The doctor calls me in as she sits down in a chair and sets her walker next to her. He explains her situation briefly with me, and tells me that her “cab service” hadn’t shown up, so they tried calling them again. I continue with my hour-long session and walk out only to find the 20-something girl still sitting there.

I look at her for a second and ask if she needs a ride. She agrees with a quick glance for reassurance from the doctor.

The community service bus comes around as I am folding up her walker into my car. I send him on his way and explain that I will save her some money and apologized for this inconvenience to him, but subtly remind him that it had been quite an inconvenience for her to wait for what I found out later to be 2 hours for them.

We talk a lot during the ride, though it seems like a small battle to get every word out at the same volume for her. Her name is Kristen, though I’m not sure if she spells it that way. She is a patient of the same doctor I see and it was her second visit to him. We talk about smoking, we talk about Fiona Apple, and we talk about the winter solstice and the moon. She tells me she’s not looking forward to this Christmas. “It hasn’t been a good year at all.” I ask her if her handicap is due to a disease, or….

As it turns out, Kristen has Multiple Sclerosis.  She developed it in ‘93, but that’s not why she was seeing the psychologist. She added, “I don’t want to talk about bad things.” So I dropped it. We also talked about her “cab service” and that it is not reliable at all. I ask if she always has to rely on this service and if she has any friends that take her around. “No,” she says, “not really.” We get to her house as she thanks me immensely for about the 4th time.

As I pull into the driveway to a fairly nice sized house, I ask if she has anyone waiting for her. She replies with another “No”.

I help her out of the car and set up her walker for her. I walk her into the garage through the automatic doors and to the door leading into the house. We shake hands and exchange best wishes for the approaching holidays, though it seems mine will do no good.

And that was that.

I got back in my car and I said to myself (and whoever else was listening) “See? I did it. I missed it the first time, but I got it.”

It was an experience I don’t think I’ll ever forget. I felt good. I felt spirited, and alive, and real. I want to do more for Kristen. I’d like to take her out but I’m afraid she’ll get too attached. Or perhaps I’m afraid I will get too attached. It just doesn’t feel right that that would be the only time I see her. I didn’t get the feeling she’d be around for much longer.

Carpe Diem, folks. You can do more for someone than you think you can. And for yourself, too. Looking back at all the gifts I got this year, I couldn’t have asked for a better one than the opportunity I had to help out a girl like Kristen.

For the record, I never did see her again. But I do contribute to The MS Society from time to time.

I made a LOLcat with Keenan, my new kitteh. It’s the first of many to come, I’m sure.
I thought I’d share it as well as other random photos that I captioned. Keenan’s the first one.

Enjoy.

moar funny pictures

moar funny pictures

moar funny pictures

moar funny pictures

moar funny pictures

moar funny pictures

moar funny pictures

And even though I didn’t make the following ones, they make me crack up every time I see them. Definite favorites:

moar funny pictures

moar funny pictures

I do plan on writing a mini-memoir about my surgery, post-op complications this week, and whatever else… but so far I’ve only felt like soaking in rest and relaxation, so I’ve not been inclined to do it yet. In the meantime, I would like to share a story I wrote a number of years ago and just found again. Unlike some re-postings, I have no other purpose for posting this again other than I thought it was pretty good.

Originally published elsewhere on January 17th, 2004

“Bottoms up.” she says as she told me she just found her ex-fiancé asleep in bed with her roommate. Also sleeping. Also topless. A shot of Captain Morgan’s Spiced Rum runs down her throat as she goes to sit back on the couch she just left from, when she decided she should get to bed.

I put down the shot glass she handed me. I had already had too much. I sat down again, still dizzy and disoriented from the alcohol I have had. I offer my condolences and try to help her look at things from a different perspective.
She smiles and calls me “sweetheart.”

It’s the decision he made. He had two bedrooms to choose from. He’s been picking Holly’s for the past 3 years since the marriage was called off. This time, he didn’t.

“Such a stupid little boy,” she says as she fixes herself to rest her head on my lap. I cradle her and take the hair from her eyes.

“You touch very well.” She says.

Time goes by as we talked. Eventually, I kiss her forehead to seal the connection we have discovered. We are two lovelorn souls with so much love to give but no one to give it to. The cat meows and we smile.
I kiss her lips. Dry and chapped they were, but soft and predictable. Her tiny tongue so sweet and I only tasted the tip. We smile. This is nice.
She nestles up under my chin and around my neck, lightly clawing at my sweater as she positions herself in a fetal-like position on my lap. We kiss some more. Like a kitten, she rubs her cheek against my chin and then shows me her tattoo. It’s the word “kitten” in Chinese and in so many ways this is a perfect tattoo for her. I am amused at her cuddling and fall in love with her familiar body, as I begin to explore it. I’ve touched this body before… it just had someone else’s face and name attached to it. She begins to get a little aggressive – she gently bites my lip — as the cat meows again. We laugh silently but are muted by the sound of an opening bedroom door.

He walks out. He sits on the adjacent couch and lights up a cigarette.
“I think I’m going to have that other shot, now.” she says, and he gets up to ask what’s wrong. They whisper for a minute or two. They sit back down.

Silence.

I light a cigarette. He gets up and walks down the short hallway and enters Holly’s bedroom.

Holly lets out a large sigh.

“Sweet dreams, sweetheart” she says as she gets up and follows the same path he took.

”Good luck to you” I say to no reply other than the flipping of the light switch.

And here I sit. It’s dark and I’m drunk.
I guess I’m going to bed now.

‘Twas the night before surgery and all through the hotel, not a creature was stirring, not even a micro-bacterial virus in my nasal passages.
I’m sitting here at 11:30pm due to wake up at 4am and I’ve got some sort of ointment up my nose to prevent and viral infections overnight. These guys don’t take chances. I’m also very sore in my groin region due to the heart cath the other day. My arms are bruised up and down from a dozen needles going in me over the last week. This is not how I pictured my “night before” I feel awful. I’m glad I have no responsibilities for the next few days.

So I’m not so sure I have much to share here. I am trying not to think about it. The more I do, the more nervous I get. Today I lost my patience and stopped being so friendly with everyone. Just very quiet and short with them. I had such a hellish day today. It wouldn’t surprise me if I oversleep tomorrow. I sure hope not but what can I do?

I’m inclined to write out all my feelings as if I was preparing to die. Well luckily I don’t hide my feelings and those whom I love and are on my mind know who they are. I hope they remember it forever.

Take care. Ill probably be out of the OR by noon if you want to call my mom. I don’t suspect ill be able to make/take calls or send any tweets until late afternoon at least.

Thanks to all those who’ve sent well wishes. I do appreciate it.

Final reminder:
I’m at the Cleveland Clinic for open heart surgery called a septal myectomy to improve my hypertrophic obstructive cardiomyopathy. If all goes well I should be on a plane home on Jan 30th. Ill be recovering for at least 4 weeks.

Talk to ya soon!

The Missing Piece Meets The Big O by Shel Silverstein.
I don’t know how this evaded me during my childhood, but I don’t recall ever reading it. Regardless, it’s a story that all too many of us can learn from at any age.

Yeah. This is so me.

Last week it was sprung on me that I needed dental clearance before surgery. WTF?! My mouth is in bad shape right now. So… last night I went to the dentist’s. He denied signing off on me. I’m too much of a risk. But I should have the Cleveland docs call him to discuss it and they can get a better idea of what they’ll be dealing with.

Fuuuuhhhhhhk.

So this morning I called the surgeon’s office. They didn’t cancel anything and they didn’t see a need to speak with the dentist. Instead, I have a dental appointment first thing in the morning once I arrive in Cleveland… before the pulmonary appointment. I will be seen by a dentist who only deals with cardiac patients and he will know exactly what’s acceptable and what’s not. If necessary, there will be a little time to do some emergency work to try and get me “infection free” and ready for the surgery. No guarantees, though.

I was also told that I will still be able to get the pulmonologist to look at me and that alone may hopefully result in the trip being worth it.

So I can relax a little for now. Cross your fingers for me.
This has made for quite a stressful birthday morning for me.

In the mood to write, I am not. But I haven’t done so in awhile, during a very hectic time in my life, so I figure I should.
(side note: I do “tweet” a lot, so you can at least be paying attention to that…)

So, what’s going on. New Years just happened. Dan called me a couple nights before and invited me to something quite special. A private party in Brooklyn with Amanda Palmer from The Dresden Dolls, along with 60 or so other people, followed by a concert of hers at The Bowery Ballroom.

Admittedly, I’ve never been able to get into her music but I could appreciate it and the conviction she puts into it. So, I agreed to go with him because I thought it would be a crazy adventure to go into Brooklyn for only the 2nd time ever. It ended up not being a crazy adventure, but more of a pleasant, dream-like evening which was a real good distraction from the typical New Years celebrations.

There was no focus on the glittery ball, Times Square, the time, or anything else but ourselves; a room full of strangers, each with our respective vices, shames, habits, and obsessions to give up.

You see, we all were given a piece of paper to write down one thing we want to let go of. After midnight, we all sat around the perimeter of the place and the room went silent. We were lit mainly by candles around the room. We put all our papers into a tin bucket and then we were all given tea candles. The hosts came around with candlesticks and lit all our tea candles, bringing me back to the annual Christmas Eve Mass when I used to go with my grandmom. They came around with the bucket again and we all placed our candles inside, burning all our papers into smoke and ash.

I’d never not watched “The Ball.”

It was beautiful.

A little while later, we all formed groups and took the train to Manhattan where the show was at. The show was fantastic, I listened to and watched every note come alive to keep us awake until 6am and beyond.

Dan and I recruited one of the girls at the party & concert to take us to a place to eat. We couldn’t find one, so we finally walked into a deli and they had a grill going. Finally at about 8am we started the 2 hour drive back. Well, Dan did. I slept for most of it as my hangover began to kick in big time. As I get older, I have more and more difficulty enjoying a night with alcohol. It’s kind of a shame in some respects, but I’m not complaining either.

Videos of her serenading us with The Cure & Radiohead while at the party are up at my YouTube. Pictures are here.

Oh, Christmas has also come and gone. It was ok.
I miss being 7.

For some reason, Lee Anne has not spoken to me since late August. Well, even that was only a friendly reply to a text I sent. It’s probably been since May since I SPOKE to her. She was able to tell me she’s ok, though… she just can’t communicate with me right now. That was via text circa late October, early November. I don’t know what’s going on there. This is highly unusual and I’d be OK with whatever her reasons are, if only I knew why.

Heart surgery. Oh, my poor, achy, breaky heart.
Less than 18 days away, now.

A lot of people are asking if I’m nervous. No, not really. I’m more nervous about the trip and preparations and making sure I don’t forget anything, etc. Once I’m there, I mean, I’ll be in the care of some of the nation’s best hands. So, no. Not nervous about the surgery.

I’ve installed my itinerary on the side, there, for everyone. You can see the schedule I’ll be going by. If I’ve got nothing going on, it means I’m at the hotel. Cleveland Clinic Guest House. But, you can probably reach me on my cell. I’ll be tweeting as much as I can throughout the process. The tweets may be just a picture. Who knows. But it should be fun. Full blog posts when I can, too. I’ll have access to all my emails but it would be more convenient for me if you wrote me at the address listed on the “TOUCH” page.

I’m also buying a new livingroom set because the one I have now takes up so much room. New couch, coffee table, and TV stand. I am having THE WORST LUCK selling on Craigslist! Everyone I talk to says they had no issues. ALL I’M HAVING IS ISSUES! First of all, 95% of the people who respond to my ads are scammers. I can tell because their text is obviously a canned reply, and/or they’re asking questions which the ad already answered, and/or they’re speaking in broken english which wouldn’t be so bad except when I first started this, I gave them the benefit of the doubt and sure enough, they were going to “send me a money order” and send out their “movers” to get my items to deliver it to them who are conveniently living in another country. So… no more broken english. No one signs their emails with a name at all. It’s very impersonal and no one’s trusting the other person, it’s so obvious. But I had two bites on my old Blackberry (which I’m also selling) and both guys disappeared the day we were supposed to meet. They stopped returning my calls and never showed up. And today, a woman was going to buy my coffee table but her husband decided at the last minute to keep their old one and I was left at home waiting for them when I could have been running errands. At least she called, though.

I need to sell this stuff within 8-10 weeks, which is when all my new stuff will be ready and delivered together. But there’s no way I’m going to just give the stuff away for ridiculous prices. That’s not cool.

So, here are the things I’m selling. A couch, a coffee table, and a Blackberry Curve. If you know anyone looking for this stuff, let them know asap. Thanks. And yes, I’m gonna have to deal with the moving of this furniture while I’m recovering. I should be OK, though.
COUCH: http://philadelphia.craigslist.org/fuo/978353805.html
COFFEE TABLE: http://philadelphia.craigslist.org/fuo/978356176.html
BLACKBERRY: http://philadelphia.craigslist.org/ele/980554202.html

Also, if you’re an expert on selling on Craigslist, tell me what the hell I’m doing wrong? I’ve put these 3 items up at least 7 times now. I think people are only looking for dirt cheap or free shit on here. Stupid.

Here I am just a short few years ago in April 2005 singing Billy Joel’s Piano Man.

Man……..
What the hell happened to me?

I’ll be adding some videos from 2004 karaoke days since I’ve been able to borrow Liz’s tapes and camera so I can transfer the footage to my computer.

Here’s me singing John Lennon’s Imagine.