You Can See The Sun Shining if You Really Want to

Any that's spent 5 minutes reading my blog knows that over the last several years, me living out that year wasn't always as certain as it should be relative to someone my age.  I've only had close encounters with the possibly of not seeing the sun rise the next day maybe about 4 times, but other than that, my basic survival was in question for the last 3 years because of my failing health.  What have all these brushes with death taught me?  They've taught me the importance of regret.  They've taught me the importance of love.  Most importantly, I've learned that there are only a certain number of things in life that I can actively control.  Sometimes a shitty situation is a shitty situation and you've gotta take it for what it's worth.  Sometimes, you've gotta concede defeat in order to continue the war.
Lately, I'm having difficulty telling who the good guys are.  I guess war is a bad analogy when trying to describe your life, but if nothing else, I've been battling, trying to get up the hill, and back to myself.  Of course, I would have absolutely zero chance if not for my incredible (perceived) support system.  For the past few days, I think my neuroses when it comes to the people around me has been getting the best of me.  I think it might be a product of the fact that in one way or another, I don't remember really being alone for any extended period of time for the last 5 years.  I've always had someone around or at least close by because of the seriousness of my health. Unfortunately , it seems as my physical health improves, I might be exposing my frayed mental health.
This all started when Anita left a week ago to visit her about-to-pop pregnant sister.  In the weeks leading up to her flight, I joked around with her that she's clearly making a terrible decision and who knows if I could survive by myself.  I'm beginning to think those jokes were really some sort of panic attack by my subconscious.  What's troubling of that I haven't even been ALONE for any extended period of time, yet.  Really, since she left a week ago, I think I've maybe spent about 30 hours or so by myself.  Thanks to a few of my better friends and my nephew's birthday, I've been spending most of my hours with other people occupying my mind.  Tonight marks the first night that I will be in a stretch of a week by myself and if tonight is any indication....  Uh oh.
I don't really know what's wrong with my head.  I don't recall ever being this neurotic.  I'm actually complaining about the sincerity of the people in my life while also writing (typing?!) that in the 2 weeks that my wife is scheduled to be away, I've had or have scheduled things to do with other people on every day but 4.  You would think a 33 year old man could survive 4 days alone, right?  Only 2 of those days are consecutive!  Pull it together, man!
So what I'm trying to say I know I'm crazy, but am I?  I've always been adept at reading people and assessing the situation, so either what's going on here is that my recovery has somehow caused a short-circuit in that ability OR there is an actual issue with the people that I count on.  The people that I REALLY need.
I know that some of the signals I've been receiving in my head are simply just the crazy going out for a walk.  The other day, I friend was tagged in a photo embracing another friend and it triggered a pang of jealousy.  I couldn't understand why I wasn't privy to such embraces.  From that moment on, I basically lost control of my sense of confidence.  Even after I came to my senses and remembered the COUNTLESS times said friend and I have really had no issue with tactile affection and there are numerous pictures of us doing so.  Displayed.  In my apartment.  All the time.  Still, to continue the metaphor, you can't call back the dogs of war. 
I started to see it everywhere.  My family.  I spent time at my sister's house both for my nephew's birthday and for the party for his birthday.  I don't know why, and it was nothing that anyone did, but something didn't feel right.  Somewhere around the time I started dating Anita, my relationship with my sister changed for the better.  Before we had a cordial relationship, but not really as loving as you would think a brother and sister would be.  I keep linking it to me dating Anita, and I'm sure that played a part in it, but really my illness as difficult as it was, had the happy side effect of really bringing my sister and I together.  Since that change occurred I've always felt at home whenever I've been in her house.  For some reason, when I visited them for my nephew's birthday on the 8th (I actually came the night before because I wanted to bake some things for him on his birthday - he loves that) I had this uneasy feeling.  At this point, I can only attribute it to my own ridiculousness, but that doesn't mean it wasn't there.  In fact, last night I had to get some prescriptions filled and I found out the CVS by her house wouldn't tell me if they carried the meds I needed.  I should've gone to the CVS and inquired in person, since the drugs I take are pretty powerful and subject to abuse by pill poppers, I think the pharmacist was just being cautious.  Much to my dismay, my first reaction was relief.  Relief that I would have to go home and be back in my "safe zone."  About an hour after I told my sister that I needed to go home and refill my meds at my local pharmacy, I realized that I had enough medication to last the night and the next morning.  In order to follow the prescription, I would need to be home by noon-ish .  I wrestled with it.  Part of me still wanted to go home.  Luckily, my better angels prevailed and I told her that I could stay the night.  My decision to stay was even protested by my mother who said that I need to stop jostling (I don't know how I jostled, any uncertainty all played out in my head) and that she had already moved her bags to the door and for some reason, that meant the decision to return home was final (I brought my mother).  My initial instinct was to give in and go home, but I fought it off.
I've been fending off similar feelings with people that are less attached to me by blood.  I think I've been perceiving really minor happenings into signs of problems left and right.  I find myself being more polite, as I would with a lesser friend, with some people.  I find myself challenging friends over nothing.  Over things that we've been chiding each other with for years and years.  For more than a decade.  I find myself feeling as though I'm imposing when I have invited myself to events with my friends numerous times.  It's almost expected at this point.  If someone is doing something, usually, anyone can jump aboard.  Why am I feeling so secluded?  I've spent the last week SURROUNDED by loved ones and I can't shake this feeling.
Am I afraid that as I get closer to the other end of this journey that I am so changed that the people in my life won't recognize me anymore?  Not value me anymore?  So much about me has been forever altered by this experience.  There are so many things that I wish could go back to the way they were (like my weight!) but I'm realizing more every day that they can't.  This thing that affected me has left its imprint.  In exchange for these unchangeable alterations, I get to live much longer than I would have without them.  Was it worth it?  What's worth feeling so alone?  I know that I'm crazy, but have I really gone THIS crazy?  Am I questioning my self worth?  As I get better, am I still me?  I'm not sure I want to answer that question.

Anonymous Letters

I guess it's time that I let out a little passive-aggression.  Before I start, I just want to say that this is the first post that I'm using my new Bluetooth keyboard and tablet with and that ain't bad!

1.  Every day I worry that we are going to drift apart.  You've been such a huge part of my life that I don't know what I'd do without you.  I know that my fears are essentially baseless and that every time we see each other, I'm reassured of our mutual affection, but I don't get to see you.  There's power in that.  Your face is is something that is etched in my heart and the less I get to see it, the more my heart yearns for it.  I know that emoting isn't exactly your favorite thing in the world, but it's true.  As life slows down for both of us, I hope we don't leave each other behind.

2.  You know, this is my second time writing these anonymous letters and both times, it's really just to say things to you.  You are the reason I'm doing this nonsense in the first place.  The last draft, which I threw away, the words I wrote to you were very angry and visceral.  I think for a little bit I hated you.  Of course I've come to my senses.  I would never be able to hold a grudge against you.  Why?  Because I love you.  I have loved you for a long time.  I've loved you almost since we met.  I don't know why you have singled me out for this punishment, but I promise you that you've won.  I give up and please stop.  If you're treating me this way intentionally, you should know that you are leaving a scar on my very soul because you cut right through me and that's how much I love you.  All I asked of you is to be my friend.  That's all I wanted.  I would walk through a fire for you and you can't tell me happy birthday.  Please stop, please tell me what I did wrong, please let me explain.  I miss you.

3.  And you.  Oh you.  I don't know.  I just never thought I'd get this opportunity.  I never thought I'd get a chance to prove myself to you.  Of course, I would prefer not to be in this specific situation, but since we're in the shit right now, I hope you know that I'm behind you 100%.  Whether I think you're right, wrong, up, or down, I'll follow you into the dark.  I know you're not exactly used to it, but I promise you that you can lean on me as much as you need to and I will prop you up to the best of my ability.  When I was going through my shit almost a decade ago, it was YOU that called that meeting at the diner and asked how you could help and it took ten years, but here I am at your disposal.  I hope that you understand that and maybe let me in a little bit. It doesn't always seem like it, but be assured that our circle is tighter and stronger than it's ever been and if you have trouble or are burdened, trust me and us to help in any way we can.  We're not here just for the good times, we're here for bad and the ugly.  It's not our prerogative, it's our duty and we're happy to do it.

4.  Just fuck you, OK?  Seriously.  I'm so so glad that you are where you are just so we can transition you out of our lives.  You got your position so close and you just wasted it being so selfish.  Contrary to popular belief, the universe does NOT revolve around you and sometimes, you've gotta give a little in a friendship.  But what would you know of that?  I don't know what in this world made you so damn selfish and so inconsiderate to people that are so so SO loyal to you, but it's disgusting.  The sooner we phase you out, the better we are.  We've already got a candidate to fill your shoes and that person has been doing fantastic and actually deserves our loyalty.  The less we get to see of you, the better.  I'm hoping one day you're nothing but a holiday card.

5.  You're my sanity right now.  I don't talk to you enough.  I don't see you enough.  I don't get enough one on one time.  Nothing.  But the time we do spend talking or spending time with each other is rejuvenating.  I'm glad that we have a relationship that allows us to sit down and really talk.  Yeah, when the lights are shining bright, we're the performers, but I'm glad that we can do it when the stage is closed as well.  When you were here last and we were able to sit and talk, I swear it felt like I took a brick off my shoulder.  I know that we're both dealing with some unpleasant situations right now and I'm glad that we can cut through the fog, sit down, and really discuss things with each other.  You are as close to Tom Hagan as anyone in my life.

6.  You're the battery that recharges my soul.  I can't begin to tell you how thankful I am that you've been allotting so much of your free time to spend with me.  I know that you have very adult responsibilities and I understand that your free time is so precious but that's what makes me as grateful as I am.  When you and I are together doing what we do, I'm telling you, it feels like I'm living my dream.  I wish we could do more of it and have it be more serious, but even still, what we accomplish together is absolute ambrosia for my soul and I thank you.  I know that you don't always get the loudest kudos, but you and everything you bring is an absolute pillar of my life.  I hope that as my health improves, I can travel more and we can maybe take our project to the next level, maybe.  Then I would really be able to say that you helped make my dreams come true. 

7.  I feel like sometimes you get lost in my life.  Most people's lives have a pyramid of friendship where their lesser acquaintances are in great number and their closer friends are less numerous with it ultimately culminating at the top with one best friend.  By virtue of some odd stroke of luck, my life seems to be the reciprocal.  The space at the top of the pyramid is crowded with people that I would walk through a fire for because I know they'd do the same for me.  I don't know if I make it as abundantly clear as I should as to your position on this upside down pyramid.  I assure you, you occupy the absolute top tier.  I just feel like because I have so many people I hold so dear, you might not get your time in the sun.  The truth of the matter is, out of all the people in my life, I find you to be the most inspiring.  When I feel as though the walls are caving in around me, I'm always reminded of the strength and humanity you have in dealing with your own difficult situations.  You are the kind of person that books should be written about.  You're not just a great friend, you're kind of my hero.  And not just because we mix our pudding together.

8.  I really don't know how you sleep at night.  Honestly.  Most of all, I feel betrayed.  I feel betrayed of all the things that were instilled in me as a child.  All the things I thought you shared with me.  You have revealed yourself to be little more than a charlatan.  It's all an act that you put on.  I knew that you pretended to be a better person in the presence of others, but I didn't think you practiced such deception with me.  With everyone.  We were supposed to stick together no matter what.  Put our heads together in times of crisis.  That's not you, anymore.  You are always looking at the clock.  Always looking for when you've put in what you think is a days work and when you can check out and get back to what you want to do.  Sometimes, the situation requires more of you.  Sometimes the shit hits the fan and you need to put in overtime.  That's what love is.  And that's what I thought you taught me.  Of everything, I think the worst thing you did was pit me against someone who should have been close to me my whole life.  For as long as I can remember, you played us against each other so that you could always be the shining star.  The hero.  Well guess what?  We both got a peek behind the curtain and we know that you're not the real wizard.  If you feel powerless now with us, it's because we are united.  We have the relationship that we should have had right from the start, despite you trying to insure otherwise.  I struggle every day with the fact that the less I see you, the better off we are.  That's not because we don't want you around, but it's because we can't live in your world anymore.  Your world isn't real and it never was.  When you recognize reality, then you are welcome to join us.  Until then, get used to arm's length.

9.   Uhm.  Wow.  Talk about a roller coaster.  I've been called dramatic and over emotional, but you take the cake.  I get that you have your own issues, but much of your problems are really just you looking for attention.  Not only that, but you're setting records for selfishness.  I have yet to meet someone your age that has so little regard for anyone.  I don't think I've EVER met someone so concerned with controlling the story.  I hope you get it soon.  I hope you learn that everyone around you can't constantly be the pawns in your delusion.  We have to contend with the real world and don't always have the time to fight your fantasies.

I'm the Only Bandyopadhyay of my Lineage Left in this Country

So,  I know it's been a while since I've written anything, but let me explain....  It's been a weird couple of months.

My father died last month.  Yeah.  Exactly.  It was such a strange thing to hear.  It was the middle of the day, I was just sitting at home and reading (read: watching TV), and my sister calls me.  This is not abnormal.  Since the time that my sister and I got closer we talk a few times a week about nothing.  I really thought nothing of it.  When I answered the phone, there was no chit chat.  She just dropped it on me.  As soon as the words came through the earpiece, "Dad died yesterday, " I could feel my pupils enlarge.  I stared around for a moment in silence.  I didn't (and still don't) fully know how to react to the news.  The man has been absent from my life for the past 25 years.  The last time I spoke to him in 2004, he was busy saying terrible things about my family to which I responded that if he continued, I would take no part in the rest of his life and would not perform my duties as his only son upon his death.  That conversation is the first thing that came to me after my pause, but more on that later.

I was so conflicted.  The man was basically a stranger to me.  I know the evils he had done.  I have some vague happy childhood memories of spending time with him.  I remember his voice.  I remember the specific way he pronounced my name.  I remember that he used to call McDonald's McDougal's for no real reason.  But those memories are so distant.  What I really remember?  What I remember about the man that is my father is the pain he caused my family.  The pain he caused my mother.  I have such vivid memories of my mother and father SCREAMING at the top of their lungs when I was young.  I would be so afraid (I was <5) that I would hide in my father's closet until my sister saved me when it was over.  I remember how much he revered having a son and how much he basically ignored having a daughter.  I remember that he desperately wanted us to call him "Bapi" or "Baba" but I'm careful not to even refer to him as "Dad." I remember that my sister, my mother, and I would walk into my room (which was now his permanent dwelling) and more than once was screamed out of there.  I could only get a gimpse of his state.  I was too young to understand why there were milk jugs of (what I thought was) lemonade surrounding his bed.  Why was he always naked?  And why did the room ALWAYS smell so bad.  For a four year old, this is all too much to process.  Only NOW reflecting back am i able to decipher this scene brought forth from my memory.  I remember that when he used to visit me, I would always get a trinket or toy.  Even at that age, I felt like I was being bought and knew better.  Strangely, I remember his enormous white Chevy Caprice with the Cookie Monster sticker on the back bumper. 

That is really all I have.  Sure, I have a few positive memories here and there.  I remember right after The Karate Kid came out, him and I would hold karate tournaments in our living room.  Ha.  Maybe that explains my obsession with that movie series.  Or maybe it's just one of the greatest movie franchises in the history of movies.  Either way.  I remember our MacDougal trips in which I basically had free reign over what  I ate and how much tim time I spent using the amenities they had available.  I even vaguely remember him helping me with some math homework (boy would he be disappointed in the awful mathematician I've become).  For the most part, these tattered memories are all I have of my father.  An ocean of negativity dotted with small buoys of kindness and an inkling that on the inside, he may as well have been a good person.  If only THAT person one the conversation in his head every day.

Unfortunately it didn't and by the time I was 6, he was basically gone from my life.

I'm going to skip ahead in my life as to skip the more important questions that arose because of my father.

I made a lot of mistakes when I was trying to grow up.  A lot.  Probably more than my share.  Every time something would go wrong, someone would always murmur between their breath, "he's just like his father".  Sometimes if my behavior was bad enough, someone made sure I head the comparison to my father.  I don't know what they were trying to accomplish.  Maybe trying to get me to stand up and 'prove them wrong', but that's not what happened.  Every comparison to my father sunk me further.  That combined with OTHER external forces acting against me that at the age of about 18 when a family member climbed over a second story balcony to break into the house and instead of unlocking the front door to let my mom in, he spent the next approximately 4 minutes kicking down my locked door, finding me sound asleep (I had been quite ill that week and took some Nyquil to help alleviate some symptoms and was SOUND asleep), analyzed the situation and decided that the best course of action was to kick me so hard in my sleep that I wake up in a panic and immediate urinate on myself because I didn't know what was happening.  The funny thing is,  when my wits returned to me but before I recognized my assailant, my first thought was "What did I do?" instead of "Are we being robbed?" or "Has an insane person broken into our house"  I'd become so accustomed to this sort of treatment, I assumed it was my fault.  Anyway, I digress..  After the night that I got the shit kicked out of me for basically being sick, half asleep, and accidentally locking the door leading to the garage with the lesson of the night becoming "Paulash needs to be more aware of his actions", I guess I decided that the murmurs and backtalk must be true.  I always worried that I would not amount to anything because of the unique combination of biological AND environmental barricades and at this point, after that night, I confirmed it in my own head.

This was the legacy of my father.  Or at least, it could have been.  I spent years trying to reconciling this with people trying to tell me how smart I am and blah blah blah, but nope.  I was destined to leave this world in a blaze of unglory.  Couple that with my mysterious illness and I figured I woudn't make it beyond 35.  I told people this.  I lived my life like this.  Indulging in pointless 'now' pleasures, not preparing for tomorrow.  At age 31, I am approaching my old doom's day line authored by my father and the genes he past on to me that guaranteed my failure.

Of course, that's not my life now.  In fact if you ask my wife, she'd probably tell you that how far I plan into the future and how much I concern myself with  our happiness in terms of years creeps her out a little (we are only recently married and I already negotiated the names of our potential children).  What made for the dramatic turn around?

A friend of mine saved me and she probably doesn't even know it.  I'm not sure I ever thanked her for it.  While on a downward spiral, wallowing in my own self pity and wondering why I was subjecting myself to all these testing if I'm destined to just be a fuck up..  Why?  She answered me very calmly that what I become is essentially my choice.  But I'm too much of my father.  She then inspired me, internally.  She likened the traits of my parents into basic baking ingredients and said that adding as much of each part of my father and mother to create me in the way I want to be.  Sure I understand that was oversimplification and that it does nothing to explain heredity and whatnot, but for the first time in my memory, someone told me that I could actually take aspects of my father and STILL BE WHO I WANTED TO BE.  This was the first time I had ever heard that.  It was absolutely liberating.

From then on, I was on a mission to better myself but then was derailed once again when I fell majorly ill about 5 years ago.  I'm just NOW climbing out of that hole.  As difficult as it has been, I'm optimistic.  I have all the tools in my possession to bring my life to where I think it should be.  I gave up some time to illness and some more to idiocy, but I plan on regrouping now.

I declare that in ten years, I will be where I want to be in every aspect of life.  Sure I'm farther ahead in some aspects and not others, but in 10 years, I will have taken our family name to heights that I want to see it.  Our family name in this country will garner respect, love, and compassion.  People will count on us because we are worthy of their commitment.  Ten years.  That's not a lot of time so I better get started.  You should stick around, though.  It's going to be one hell of a show.

Late Night Ramblings

“When everyone else goes home, you’re stuck with yourself” – Layne Staley

 

You know, I’m not as big into the grunge/depressed music scene (though I still appreciate it), but Alice in Chains will have always played a deep roll in who I am, for better or for worse.

The doctor is encouraged by my progress after my bone marrow transplant, but the after effects are absolutely horrifying.  On Thursday, it was decided that I need a week off from work just to regain my strength.  I’m hoping that I get the rest that I need, but this insomnia thing isn’t exactly helping.

For some reason, Cinemax keeps showing Robocop and I’m totally OK with that.

One of the shortcomings that I have now is extreme fatigue.  It’s costing my footing at my job and time with the ones that I love.  Recently, I missed the Christening of one of BEST FRIEND’S son.  The day of the Christening, I woke up at 3:00 in the afternoon.  It wasn’t fair and I’ll never get that back.  She and her husband (also a great friend now) will be in my life for the rest of my life and I feel like it will always be a stain on our relationship.

Have you SEEN the pictures from my wedding?  Can you imagine a more beautiful bride?  People that know me (and know what I look/act like) see a picture of my wife for the first time and their first reaction is always something to the tone of, “How the eff did you pull that off?”  My response is and always will be, “I have no idea and I don’t deserve her.”

Is anyone else rooting for Newt as much as I am?  I mean, it’s not everyday you get a family values candidate on his 3rd wife.  I’m a little concerned that if he should win the presidency, with the economy ailing the way it is, he’d be inclined to leave it for a younger, more healthy economy.

So, after about 5 consecutive years of just absolute mismanagement by the Dolphins culminating in them courting a head coach while still actually having a head coach of their own,two of the biggest Giants fans I know encouraged me to return to the team of my youth, the NY Giants.  I’ve been a Giants fan all season and let me tell you, this is by far the best football season of me life.  THANK YOU!

There are times when I miss some of the other livejournal/internet friends that I had back in the heyday of blogging and whatnot, but I would not be willing to trade any of them for the ones that made the leap to ACTUAL friends.

Seriously, Robocop is amazing.  DEAD OR ALIVE, YOU’RE COMING WITH ME!

One of my better friends had laser eye therapy treatment surgery so now he doesn’t need glasses.  Is it wrong for me to buy him a pair of fakes glasses so I’m more comfortable looking at a familiar face that I’ve seen on and off since I was in 2nd grade?

My best friend as a child was just on Jeopardy.  He won something like 8 games in a row and 200K+ thousand dollars.  His mom taught me how to dive in his pool when I was a boy.  This story has been told 29803984230984 times over the 2 weeks Jason Keller was on Jeopardy.  To the same 4 or 5 people.  There are about 4 or 5 more people that hate me now.

I’m getting a little sick of the storylines on Glee, but I will always love what it represents.  Inclusion.  For everyone.  Oh, and I loooove the songs.

I try to pretend that I’m some sort of moderate progressive, but if you look at my twitter feed, it’s fairly apparent that I’m a huge liberal douche.  And a huge sports fans.  I guess both are true.

I’m serious, you need to go to my Picasa page and look at 9/17/2011 and the pictures of my wife.  I’ll wait…. …. …. ….  WHAT IS THAT BEAUTIFUL WOMAN DOING WITH ME?!?!  My face is like 8 different colors since my BMT!  I’ve even grown a beard to hide some of the disgusting.

Robocop is now over.  Sadness begins.

Some Ben Stiller movie is on.  If I knew where the remote was, I’d change the channel to SportsCenter and watch more highlights of the NFC Championship game!

One of my friends from work is leaving and moving to Texas.  Huge blow.  It took me by surprise.  I thought my core group of friends at work would be together for years to come.

One of the main selling points of us moving into this apartment was that we thought we would be only 20 minutes away from two of my best friends.  Turns out, we’re only about 12 minutes away.  They’ve already saved my life once.

As liberal a douche I am and as obvious as my vote is going to be in November, I’m not super pleased with our President.  He’s watered down many of the promises he made 3 years ago and a good number of the people in ranking positions in the administration had A LOT to do with everything wrong with the financial system.  Maybe Tim Geitner and Larry Summers aren’t the right people to reign in the banks?  That would be my first thought.

I haven’t actively been involved in fantasy sports for a few years due to illness/marriage.  I’m really hoping to dive back in and make a difference.  Obviously, that’s not going to happen.

Too early for flapjacks?

I think Coming to America is my favorite comedy of all time, but my favorite actor in comedies is and always will be Bill Murray.  Your favorite actor should be Bill Murray, too. 

I’m about 2 weeks away from the 1 year anniversary (my Onocologist refers to it as my new birthday) of my bone marrow transplant.  I wonder if we’re going to do anything to acknowledge it.  I can’t believe it’s been an entire year since this process starts but at the same time, it’s been one hell of a year.

I’ve never been closer to my sister in any period of my life than I am now. I think much of that can be attributed to my illness and the fact that everyone loves my wife and that always gives me a bump.  Either way, I’ll take it.  Nothing is more important than family.

People who take karaoke very seriously and don’t embrace it for the glorious public self-ass-making that it is are just full of themselves and need to lighten.

With the meds I’m taking combined with my general lack of motion, I’m the heaviest I’ve ever been.  By far.  I’m hoping that I fix that this year.

My brain is ceasing to function, I better wrap this up.  Good night.

There’s always some reason to feel not good enough

So, Anita and I don't have television right now.  About a year ago, I convinced my mother to switch to Directv (she had previously had Dish) to get their Bengali channels (and finally open me up to some freaking sports channels).  She didn't realize what she was doing and that I was basically manipulating her because I can't  live without sports.  Turns out, she fell in love with the Bengali channel, I got my sports fix (minus my boy Scott Hanson  & NFL Red Zone) and everything worked out well.  Anita and I had a DVR and we watched all our cooking shows and we lived a regular TV life just like everyone else.

Then a few weeks ago, absolute disaster strikes.  DirecTV sends my mom a cordial letter saying that they will be canceling her beloved Bengali channels and basically forcing her to go back to The Dish Network aka the Sports Dearth Network (though they do have the ever coveted Red Zone).  My mom made the switch and didn't even bother getting us a receiver because we're going to be out of here (and into our own place!!!) in just a few weeks.

How have we been getting our TV fix?  Well, I listen to Yankees games on the radio or on my phone whenever possible and we are basically Netflix addicts right now.   We're watching both Mad Men and Lost at the same time.  I have to say, Lost is kind of losing me with this "Others" story, but Mad Men is ridiculous.  Don Draper is what a man should be. 

Why did I tell you all this?  For really no reason than to recall a scene from lost where Jack Shephard has a tatto on his arm translated.  It says, "He walks among us, but he is not one of us".  That is basically how I feel right now.  Somewhere in the midst of my recovery, I've become stagnant.  I'm not really getting any worse, but I'm not really getting any better.  And it's frustrating.  It's frustrating to feel *THIS* tired ALL the time.  It's frustrating to want to do something, ANYTHING, but not have the willpower to do it.  It's frustrating to have my friends and family all progressing with their lives while I feel I'm stuck. 

Even when I get to see them, it feels so hollow.  I basically cannot exert any normal amount of energy without serious repercussions.  I was at a good friend of mine's 30th birthday party this past weekend and did ONE line dance and my heart rate skyrocketed to the point where I thought my heart was going to beat out of my chest.  What's worse is that I pulled attention away from the party and a few people (thankfully) huddled around me and just stayed with me to make sure I was alright.  Of course, Anita the stalwart is there to bring me back to me.

This wasn't even the most egregious of my errors.  Not even close.  That was but momentary.  One of me best friends in the world and her husband had a beautiful baby boy a few weeks ago.  I've been looking forward to this kid since I heard about him back in January.  I wanted to be there the second he showed his wrinkled face (and huge feet!) to the world and I completely fumbled the ball.  I didn't get to see him for an entire week.  I had been feeling so sick that week and I kept seeing Facebook posts of her family and the baby and I just didn't want to bring them down with my womp womp wooooomp.  It took a text message from my friend to remind me how long we've been friends and that I'd better get my ass over there (thank you, by the way) and see this kid.  I cried when I got that text message.  When I read it, it kind of snapped me back to myself for the briefest of moments and I felt good again.  For the briefest of seconds I was Paulash... The good friend.  Paulash, the guy who is there for his loved ones.

The list goes on.  My friend had a 30th birthday blowout at a club in DC and I had to con and scheme to make sure Anita went and had a good time because I didn't have the energy to go out that night and I didn't want to ruin her night.

It's absolutely ridiculous and it makes me so angry with myself.  I'm can't gain any sort of traction at work because I can't keep up anymore because I'm tired ALL the time can am having REALLY serious trouble focusing.  Sometimes, I'm amazed I can recall the things that  I do there.

This is just the lead up to this:  I am scared shitless for my wedding.  Will I have the stamina for it?  Am I going to be the one to ruin my own wedding by having to leave early to sleep?  I think about this all the time. I also have a bachelor party to go to in Canada for Labor Day Weekend.  How am I going to get through all this and survive?  The last time I had a moderately busy weekend, I was immobile for one day and I could barely move the next.  The last thing I want to do is ruin Anita's day.  If anyone on this planet has earned the most perfect wedding, it's her.  I just don't know if I'm going to be able to deliver.

I keep thinking to myself, alright.. There's 2 months left to the wedding, that's plenty of time for me to get back to me.  Nope.  Alright, 1 month until the wedding.  Plenty of time for me to get back to me.  Nope.  We're now at the 4 week mark and I can't sleep because I took my medication too late and it's keeping me up.  What does that mean?  I'm shot for the ENTIRE weekend (not that the hurricane is going to allow for any movement, anyway).  I won't have the energy to do ANYTHING.  But at least I will have put all my thoughts into words, right?

Here’s to hoping I find the strength to do the things I need to do to make the next few weeks as easy and as wonderful and as joyous as Anita has been hoping for them to be.

Yeah, I'm going to give it another go.

So, I think me forcing myself to try and write in certain time intervals has caused much of the writer's block that has plagued me over the last few months. Yes, I'm arrogant enough to say that I have writer's block. Do you people not know me at all?  I think in the future, I'm going to write just whenever I feel like it and not try and confine myself to a timeline.  It's my blog anyway, right?  Like three people read it besides me and that's only because I email it to them whenever I post.

Anyway, I'm here. I'm alive. I've survived a bone marrow transplant from this past February. I should rephrase that.  I'm in the process of The recovery has been so difficult, there are times that I LITERALLY cannot force myself out of bed. My hands are so unsteady and shake like a drunk's (and i can't even drink!) from all the immunosuppressive drugs. Right now, the graft vs. host disease is manifesting itself basically all over my forehead and has moved over my eyelids. I basically CONSTANTLY have a burning sensation on my face. This morning, I couldn't open my right eye until I tore the dry skin from my face. I'm so tired I can't spend time with my loved ones at times. But you know what? I'm alive. When I think about what it was like BEFORE I had this transplant, being admitted for this or that every two weeks or so, I'm thankful that I'm going through THIS instead of that. While it makes it easier to mentally deal with it, the physical ramifications are still absurdly difficult.

So where am I in the world?  I'm still living with my mom.  Yep.  It's true.  I can actually hear you snickering through the internet.  But you know what?  Without everything that my mom did, I don't think I'd be here right now.  Same goes for my sister and of course, I'm still confused as to how my wonderful  pre wife Anita puts up with all this nonsense.  My mother and sister are certainly bound by blood and love, but Anita is solely bound by the latter, and I can honestly say that it makes her the most wonderful person in my world.  I'm not sure if the situation were reversed, I'd be able to go through what she has had to endure and that makes her a much better person than me.  All of them.  My mom, from having us basically squatting in her house so that I can have better access to my doctors for next to no cost, I mean, I know she's my mother, but even that pushes the boundaries of what parents should do for their children.  And I think the best part in all of this is how much it has rekindled...  Hell, KINDLED the relationship between my sister and myself.  We were never very good friends and going through all of this REALLY pulled us ALL together.  I've never really felt close to my sister since I was an infant and I think I've been searching for that connection since.  Sometimes in other people.  I have so many female friends that I treat like my sister because I missed *this*.  I'm glad that in the end, it actually ended being my sister that I love like my sister.  Of course, the relationships I've forged over the years with the women (and the men, too) that continue to be in my life are absolutely irreplaceable to me, but that's a story for another time.  

What about love?  It's of course, Anita. It's all about Anita. I honestly don't know how she does it.  She's lived her life with such health and vigor, how does she deal with me?  Right now, I'm basically allergic to the sun.  Heat is my kryptonite.  I would say that one out of every three times her and I make plans to do something, my health becomes an obstacle.  Just this past weekend we drove down to DC to celebrate our friend Sharon's 30th birthday.  The first night I was OK.  We went out to eat at a swanky Indian restaurant and then to a wine bar.  By the time we got to the wine bar, I could barely keep my eyes open (I had been up since 5:45am).  The next morning, I was shot.  The plan was to go out to the VIP room in a club and dance the night away.  I never even made it out to the club.  Anita and Sharon went out to get their hair done and do whatever girls do when they're together (I'm assuming this is strip down to their underwear and have pillow fights) while Rob and I sat back, watched a little baseball and went out to eat at Ray's Hellburger.  I didn't say anything to anyone at the time, but I was fighting with myself to get things done.  My legs were kind of achy and my chest felt tired.  Well, by the time we got back from the burger joint (which was AWESOME BTW), I fell asleep.  Rob had to wake me up TWICE because I had dozed off as many times.  I didn't even make it to the club.  I got dressed, looked at myself at the mirror trying to conjure up some last bit of strength for one night of normalcy and I got nothing.  I sat down on the couch, again trying to sum up some untapped reserve of energy and found nothing.  I told Rob that I didn't want to go because I didn't want there to be a health related incident and I didn't want to ruin anyone's evening.  It absolutely SUCKS that I have to think in these terms, now.  I did have a bit of a hero moment, though.  Rob wanted to know what to do about Anita, who knew nothing of this.  I told him that I didn't want her to know until he got out there to her and it was too late for her to do anything but go out with everyone.  I just wanted her to have a night out to enjoy herself and not have to tether herself and play nursemaid to me.  Trust me, if anyone's earned a night in the VIP room, it's Anita.  I just don't know how she does it.  Sometimes I feel like I'm stifling her youth and ruining her life by holding her back and I don't know how to get beyond it.  It's mentally paralyzing.  I can't say it enough, Anita is an absolutely wonderful person and a much MUCH better person than me. 

What am I up to?  I've rejoined my job.  Yep.  Well, sort of I guess.  Right now, I'm working part time in the office and part time from home.  It kind of sucks, but I don't have the endurance to be able to make the drive to work every day.  And speaking of job, my word have they been accommodating.  I'm not sure if it's solely because I'm protected under the Americans with Disabilities Act, but almost EVERYONE has been super understanding with what I can and can't accomplish and has been basically bending over backwards.  From my immediate boss all the way to the top (and includes other departments).  They even got me gifts!  People from my job!  Mike came to visit me one day at the house and he brought with him MLB '11 The Show as well as a gift card provided by many of my colleagues and coworkers FROM OTHER DEPARTMENTS.  When he handed me the gifts, I had to struggle for a bit to fight back the tears (which was greeting by Mike scolding me for crying and declaring, "Really?  You're gonna cry?  Really?...  It's just his way).  And while we're on the subject of Mike, has there ever been a person that has shot up the ranks of people in my life so quickly?  I've never forged such a great friendship in such a short amount of time, especially when I have to deal with work stuff with them.  It's absolutely incredible.  Let me say it this way:  The number one non-family related hospital memory for me will always be when Tom drove down to see me last minute when Chrissy was afraid that she was too sick to see me.  Tom came drove down BY HIMSELF basically on a whim.  I was rude enough to fall asleep on him a couple of times and he has YET to complain.  But my number two memory?  Mike drove down to Philadelphia WITH HIS ENTIRE FAMILY.  It was absolutely incredible.  His wife, his father, his sister, and his wonderful mother ALL came down to visit me. THERE ARE PICTURES! I mean, who does that for their coworker?  Mike's an incredible friend with an incredible family and I'm glad to know him.  Anyway, I digress.  I have been trying to get my footing back at work and it's been a bit difficult.  It's funny, I've been at this company for 4 years... The first three and a half, almost NOTHING changed.  I'm out for six months fighting for my life and EVERY department decides to up and change EVERY aspect of their tasks.  While I struggled to catch up the learning curve, I think (especially with what I'm going through) I've gotten to a place where I'm at least comfortable with my amount of knowledge.  Now if I can just regain my credibility (or gain it in the first place) and show up with some sort of consistency (I've already had to call out twice with GVHD related complications).  I'm hoping that with their continued support and as I continue to heal, I can get back to being my former productive self.  Hopefully.

and finally and most importantly, what am I looking forward to?  It's simple; EVERYTHING.  Before I had my stem cell transplant, I couldn't plan ANY part of my life.  I was living ER trip to ER trip.  Any time my life gained any head of steam, it would abruptly be derailed by some medical disaster that could and has set me back in terms of years.  This always loomed over me in everything that I did.  There were periods of my life in which I became obsessed with whether or not I would make it beyond 35.  All of that is behind me now.  While the recovery feels difficult, I'm full of  hope.  Maybe for the first time in a decade.  In the short term, I"m really REALLY looking forward to OUR WEDDING!  I can't believe it's less than two months away!!  It feels as though we were just going around looking for a place to have the damn thing!  And now... I just can't wait!  What an amazing celebration it will be to wed the one I love in the company of the people I love to begin a life that I didn't know I could have.  I know you might think I've had a bad break, but I've got an awful lot to look forward to.

The Infinite Support of Sumana Stephenson

You, know my sister and her family have been incredibly helpful throughout the four years of this nonsense.  They’ve spent countless hours and more money than I deserve on trying to keep me sane.  Hell, my sister bought be my PS3 for AND she bought me the PS3 Move a year later and neither of those are even related to my disease.  They've been with me at doctor’s appointments (even some that Craig really didn’t want to attend) and have held my hand through the most difficult times of my life.

For some odd reason, I keep coming back to a random memory from my childhood when I was about 13 and my sister was 21 and in college.  I was supposed to go to a party and I wanted to take pictures there (back when cameras needed film).  You see, I wasn’t a very popular kid in high school.  Hell, I was never popular period.  I always took pictures to remind myself that I was at places and I did things.  Sure it sounds pathetic… But then again, I am a little pathetic.  But you know what else?  I’ve got amazing friends, a ridiculously hot fiancé, and a great family.  So maybe pathetic worked out pretty well.

But I digress.  So, I asked my mom to take me to the Shop Rite across the way and buy some film for my camera.  When the three of us got there, I waited in the car and specifically asked for the 24 frame film.  Anything less would be absolutely useless right?  Who takes 12 pictures?  I can take 12 pictures in ten minutes right now, right? 

Anyway, when they returned, my mom had bought the film with only 12 frames and it was tantrum time.  I was crying on the floor of the kitchen with my mom and sister trying to explain to us our financial situation and I just wouldn’t hear it.  All of my friends were so well off, I just couldn’t fathom that we had money problems.  And that wasn’t the point.  Almost everything I wanted I got.  Everyone always pulled together for me. 

At one point or another, my sister turned to me and asked, “Is there anything that you’ve asked for that I never got you?” and I straightened up on the floor and exclaimed, almost with pride, “You never bought me a pair of shoes when I stayed with you at your dorm.”  My sister exploded into tears, threw the 24 frame film that she herself had bought be because she wanted me to have it and stomped off.

I don’t know why I said it.  I already had a new pair of sneakers, I think I just wanted to win the fight, no matter the cost.  I come back to the memory time and time again and wish I could change it but I can’t.

My sister and I grew up always in some sort of quiet rivalry and she always seemed to get the better of me.  Maybe it was my way of winning a bit.  No matter what, even at that young age, I should’ve recognized how much everyone always pulled together for me.

It took another maybe 15 years for my sister to stop our tacit rivalry and really REALLY become a family.  I used to be so afraid when she would call or when she would come over because I knew it would be time to talk about what a terrible human being I am.  But now, since I guess I grew my ass up a little (even if a little later than everyone else), I’ve started to earn at least a little of the respect and love that I’ve been receiving my entire life. 

As things are now, I come and go from my sister’s house whenever I please.  I run around with her two beautiful children until I’m too tired to keep up (which is usually about 5 minutes).  Her husband and I enjoy both political and sports banter.  Things could not be better and I wouldn’t have them any other way.  But there’s always that little boy inside me that is so sorry for the thing I said that day all those years ago and hope to make it up to her some day.

You are Pulled From The Wreckage.. Of Your Silent Reverie

The last few days to what now that I think of it-over a week has been… odd for me.  From just before I went to PA to see some venues with Anita (and go to James’ house party).  I just haven’t felt right.  I thought that it was my body coming down with something.  I thought I was getting a cold.  I actually thought it was kinda funny that at the end of all this, I’d be getting a cold right before getting to work.  But now that I’ve spent the last two days REALLY thinking about (and being a little reclusive… which is a little easier when you’ve got snow snow snow snowtorious going on outside), it’s not a little cold.  It’s something so much more than that.

In my idle time sitting here on the couch I spend so much time just thinking (and playing Madden).  I think about all sorts of stuff.  My life, my job, my friends… My love.  Yesterday, I had a conversation with my mom about me possibly becoming an atheist.  It hurt her and it hurt me to see her hurt by it, but it was something that I had just been thinking about.  She told me that she couldn’t believe that those words could pass my lips after everything I had just been through.  And I could see it on her face.  She spent so much time pleading with God to spare me what could’ve been my demise (by last count) three times over.  The fact that we heard the news that the Myleran was working on her birthday was some sort of sign to her.  A rebirth of sorts.  An end to the 30 year war my body had been waging on itself.

And then, as it tends to do, my mind went on a tangent.  Why?  Why all of a sudden was I due for this miracle?  A drug that is rarely used for anything is basically saving my life?  A mild chemotherapy pill no wider than the circumference of the tip of my pinky was going to make me last?  For what?  Does it mean anything?  Does any of this mean anything?  Was it just dumb luck?  That 1 in 50 shot when the hail mary is actually CAUGHT by the wide receiver in the end zone to win the game?

And then, as I tend to do, I thought about Anita.  She’s the only one here that has no vested interest in this at all.  She’s the one that should’ve run for the hills at the first sign of blood.  She’s the one that isn’t obligated by any ties of family or long standing friendship to be by my side for any of this.  But that’s right where she was.  She couldn’t be there for me (physically) as much my sister, and she didn’t get as emotional about everything as my mother (very few people do), but in her own Anita way, she was there for me.

The last two days have been exceptionally difficult for me emotionally.  I was so confused as to what I was feeling exactly.  My eyes welled up for no reason at times, I didn’t really feel like talking to anyone, I listed to all sorts of sad songs, and missed my friends.  I attributed it to the snowmageddon going outside.  Crappy weather… Sad feelings.. It happens, right?  Well, it finally hit me tonight while Anita and I were discussing what our plans were for Valentine’s Day.  I miss her.  I mean, I miss her all the time, but right now, I really miss her.  I’ve been obsessing over her curly hair and some of the faces she makes and some of the weird things we say to each other that make us US, and I just… miss her… but I digress. 

We were talking about our plans and I started fantasizing about living together and all that stuff and how often she would need a night out with her friends to deal with the fact that… Well…  She’d be living with me…  It’s not going to be easy…  I mean… I have bad morning breath, I am messy, and I never wear pants at home… And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.  And then I thought about the future and yadda yadda yadda… sappy sappy sappy… 

And that’s when everything came together.  An epiphany.  I felt that maybe there was a God; maybe there WAS a rhyme AND a reason to all of this.  Everything that I’ve been through over the last few months.  I can’t tell you what it’s like to think that “Oh my God, there’s a chance I might die”.  It’s scarier than you can possibly imagine.  But for what?  Maybe God WANTED me to go through all this.  Maybe the fact that I fell ill IMMEDIATELY after proposing to Anita wasn’t a coincidence, but a sign.  I’ve been dealing with this blood shit since I was five damn years old.  I can’t even count how many different doctors I’ve seen to try and figure out what wrong.  I don’t even remember half the procedures I’ve had to go through to identify what exactly was the ticking time bomb behind all my ailments.  So why now, right?  Maybe I needed to get through all this to purge my body of it.  Maybe even a test for Anita; a test of her commitment and resolve and LOVE for someone that might not be there forever.  So many times I’ve come to the brink with this thing over the last 25 years and now, as I’ve found my wife, the person I want to spend the rest of my life with; maybe God found it necessary or thought it was time that this battle should end with me (and us) the victor.  To essentially end that chapter of my life so that I can officially move on to the next one without having to worry about what lurks around the corner or when the next landmine will get stepped on.

That feeling I couldn’t identify for the last two days?  I needed to cry.  That’s what it was.  I know it’s weird to have a man say that, but it’s true.  I needed to cry.  I put on a movie that I haven’t seen since I was about 17 years old and I really let it out and it felt 100% cathartic.  This thing with Anita.  I can honestly say that I’ve never felt this way before.  EVER.  And we’re SO different.  And sure, there are times that she pisses me off and probably double that (at least) for the amount of times that I’ve pissed her off, but in the end, I never want to wake up next to anyone else. 

If this is the case, and this is the endgame then it was all more than worth it.  The fear, the overwhelming and consuming fear of not knowing whether or not if the sun will set for me soon was worth it.  If this was the rain and the rest of my life with Anita is the rainbow; I would’ve gone through double what I went through (not that I’m volunteering.. yikes).  Anita, me, her family, my family, OUR family… Nothing less than a gift from God.  Living mostly happily ever after.  I couldn’t think of a better ending.

Quick note about the weekend

So, as my condition has been improving, Anita and I are renewing our search to find a venue for our wedding.  I’m so happy to be reclaiming my life slowly.  Anita and I went through a whole slew of wedding stuff (and made a TON of appointments to view venues) yesterday afternoon.  That evening, we spent a little time at my friends’ house and today, my friend Steve stopped by for a couple of hours.  That was preceded by a Friday spent at my friend’s Mike’s house for a quick lunch.

Being social and feeling comfortable in social situations feels good again.  And while I will admit to taking two of those 5 hour energy things this weekend (which are definitely labeled incorrectly in terms of flavor… The flavors “berry” and “lemon-lime” should be named “ass” and “butt” flavor), I didn’t really feel sick at all.  I’m able to avoid the pain killers all day and usually only have to take them once at night. 

I’m starting to feel like me again and that feels good.  I’m hoping to get back to work in a couple of weeks and hoping to get back to SOME semblance of “normal”.

 

All good things.

I suck at updating

Well, I suck at updating this thing, but it's really not my fault.  If you notice, the last post was sometime at the end of September.. Well.. With October comes postseason baseball and that pretty much consumes my life right now.

For a some quick updates:

I'm back to work, but it feels different there.  Being reunited with my work-spouse Mike has been great.  We have a lot of douching to catch up on.. And we're trying.

I started back playing basketball with co-workers.  When I told the hematologist, she specifically forbade it, but I'm doing it anyway.  Playing basketball (as HORRENDOUS as I am), makes me feel healthy, even if for an hour and even if the aftermath is having to be helped into the house because of the pain.  I need to exercise and doing stuff I like is REALLY the only way I'm going to do it.

I have today off from work.  I have a bunch of vacation days that I have to use before the end of the year, so I'm taking random days off.  Today, I have a fun day of romping around NYC with my love, PK all day.  YAY!  These Peek a Poop days we have are really awesome.

Living at my mom's house has been great in the sense that I'm literally in the middle of everything.  Being around everyone that I’ve grown up with has been absolutely refreshing.  Of course, as everyone predicted, being away from Anita has proven to be difficult.  I think that being in PA, even if we didn’t see each other during the, we knew we could… But now, we actually have to PLAN to see each other and that puts a strain on things.  Plus, Anita has become little miss busy and has SO much on her plate right now, even our phone time has been severely cut.

That’s basically it.  On the illness front, my blood clot is being well managed.  I’ve actually been promoted from seeing the doctor every few days, to once a week, to now every two weeks.  With any luck, in a few months, the clot will be dissolved and I can go on to live a semi-normal life for the first time in my life.  Wow.  Just typing that is amazing.  A normal life.

 

 

Anyway.. until next time, folks..

Mr. Spleen, Mr. Spleen AKA The Lost Summer (Part 2b)

Not all Doctors are created equal, in fact some doctors should have never been created…

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So, where were we?  Ahh yes.. Pocono Medical Center.  So, I’ve been getting platelets all night to stabilize my condition; I remain in the ICU in case something catastrophic happens.  Poor Anita is stuck having to be with me.  Strangely, what I am worried about most is losing my job.  I had missed so many days this year due to this illness, I feared any more sick days and my boss would have it.  Him and I already had a little bit of a “sit down” due to the amount of sick time I was taking from the company and while he understood I was dealing with something completely off the wall, he also made clear his need to have someone he can rely on to put their butt in the seat when he needed them.  What made the situation worse in my head was that I was actually on call that weekend.  The last thing I needed was to be sick that weekend in case something huge had happened.

 

And all the while I was worrying about this… I was actually ill, too… Or so they told me.  The orange juice flowed, eventually my mom came up from NJ, and the barrage of specialists came in; all wanting a piece of the mystery disease that was so far above their capabilities, they must’ve been dizzy in their research.  I don’t remember any of their names, but I don’t remember liking most of them save for two.  The worst part?  The doctor in charge of my condition was a hematologist that wanted no part of my situation from the second he saw my chart.   I don’t remember what he looks like, really.  White man, lab coat, indifferent look on his face.  While having my first conversation with this man, I already know that his main goal is not to find anything out, but to get my platelet count above 50K so he can ship me off.  Now, while the prospect of being stabilized is wonderful, I (and everyone else) was more concerned with the fact that no one knew what was going on inside me and the fact that every time they’d infuse me with platelets, every time they drew blood and checked it thereafter, the count would drop.  When I bring this up to the hematologist, his response was an indifferent phrase to the likes of “don’t worry, we’ll getcha outta here.”  At first I was afraid that I was going to be stuck there forever, now I feared that I’d be given the proverbial band aid and left to fend for myself. 

That first day in the ICU was difficult to deal with.  I was so afraid and so confused and so worried about so many things that I just felt awful.  My mom came in and has no idea as to what is happening which naturally throws her into panic mode.  Anita is her usual calm self, nut her concern is as visible on her face as her smile.  Even more wonderful is dutiful James who basically sacrificed his Saturday night to spend it with me there in the ICU.  Sitting there in my little half room, watching TV with me until he fell asleep.  Having those people around feels reassuring.

What is not reassuring is the massive confusion between the doctors.  They are sending in infectious disease specialists, the douche hematologist, endocrinologists, and various other unidentifiable doctors that all come in, ask the same questions that I am forced to answer again and again; they all poke and prod and press and do whatever other uncomfortable procedure they deem necessary.  Of course, after all the prodding and answers I give them, they all walk out of the room just as baffled as they entered.  Of course, I would expect nothing less from doctors that have had absolutely no experience with my illness that has had no diagnosis for 20+ years.

After what seems like an unending line of idiots, my knight in shining armor (white lab coat??) appeared.  He is the attending physician and while he understands that this may be above his head, his interest is not in setting me free, but in getting to the bottom of whatever was causing the issue.  I remember him very distinctly because he was the only one in that place that made any sense to me.  He was the only one who spoke with any sense of urgency.  I believe his name is Dr. Kemed.  Aside from his doctor clothes, he really didn’t look like a doctor.  Short, pasty-white, intentionally shaved head, even an earring in his ear.  He kind of looks like Chris Daughtry if he had decided to become a doctor instead of a rock star (did I just admit to listening to Daughtry?); just shorter and with less eyeliner.

Instead of trying to discharge me and was the hospital’s hands of this problem child, he insisted that I remain in the hospital for my own safety and that he would try to have me transferred to UPENN ASAP to see Dr. Stadtmauer (the hematologist that had been studying my issues for 3 years).  Great, right?  My prayers have been answered!  Wrong.  UPENN does not accept hematology transfers on the weekend save for acute leukemia patients.  Dr. Kemed and one of his associates said they would see if they can pull some strings and make some phone calls and get me transferred and have this if not taken care of, at least looked at.  All I had to do was sit tight (as if I had another choice).

While these two fine doctors try to call in favors or promise favors or whatever doctors do when they push their problems onto their friends, the douchatologist comes in revealing what we already knew.  With every transfusion, the platelet count increased, but with every hour that passed, the number would diminish.  Great deduction, jack ass.  Tell us something we don’t know.  Please.  Anything.  Have it be the weather, the color of your eyes, your birthday.  Anything to justify the bill your office is going to send my insurance company for this bedside visit here.  Anyway..  Another bag of orange juice was in order and he went on his merry way.  Wonderful.

After a few hours (which was passed wonderfully with more visitors.  Anita’s family was wonderful enough to come in and visit… And bring KFC.  My God, do I love KFC), I learn the results of the doctors’ attempts to parcel me off to UPENN.  Nothing.  There would be no way for UPENN to break with policy and free up a bed for someone not having complications from Leukemia.  Isn’t that just selfish?  I mean, come on people!  I WAS BLEEDING FROM MY GUMS!  Haha.  I’m just kidding.  Totally understandable.  They need to keep beds open in the hematology ward for people that really deserve them.  I would have to wait until Monday to be transferred.  It is Sunday at this point, so one more day without some sort of medical disaster and at least I would be someplace with people that were familiar with my condition.

Monday comes.  More orange juice, terrible hospital food (seriously…  Thank God for Anita’s parents bringing me KFC.  I can’t say that I wouldn’t have survived without it… But I also can’t say that I would have survived without it… You decide), and one final blow to the jugular.  The douchatalogist walks in with a smugness about him as if he had just accomplished some great feat.  Guess what?  The hospital is sending me home.  Yep.  They had brought my platelet count above 50,000 and they could now legally release me.  Doesn’t that sound great?  After an entire weekend of doctors telling me how dangerous my situation is and that any number of normal every day activities can lead to my death, now I get to go home and partake in those normal every day activities!  Hooray!

Needless to say (but I will), I am completely horrified by this news.  What kind of practice is this?  Scare the pants off the patient into believing anything beyond the hospital walls can kill him and then…  Release him beyond those hospital walls?!?  I am horrified while everyone else involved on my side is furious.  We don’t even get a say in the matter.  One of the doctors tries one last plea to UPENN to no avail.  With a platelet count above 50,000, no one even thinks my insurance would pay to have me transferred to UPENN because.. Well.. They legally don’t have to.  Ain’t our health system grand?  Of course, in hind sight nothing happened and everything worked out fine, but at the time, it was just absolutely infuriating. 

So, I am released.  A weekend sojourn to the Pocono Medical Center was concluded only to be followed by what I fear to be endless out patient testing at UPENN.  I toy with the idea of writing an email to Dr. Stadtmauer at UPENN asking (read:begging) him to admit me so that I (and whoever else.. or rather EVERYONE else involved) would not have to travel between either The Poconos and Philadelphia and/or my mother’s house in Somerset, NJ and Philadelphia.  Also, if I was going to be an outpatient, I would have to return to work and that would just have been a scheduling nightmare.  And for what it’s worth, I just wanted this whole thing to be over.  Spending another who-knows-how-many days driving back and forth to UPENN to get whatever tests they wanted me to take would drive me crazy.  I just wanted to stay there, let them poke and prod me for however many days they deemed fit and have this be done with once and for all.  Through the grace of my job and my boss, I would be eligible for short term disability for up to six months (granted I didn’t think I’d need anywhere near that long) and not have to worry about my salary or losing my job.  It just seemed to make sense.  Let’s just hope Dr. Stadtmauer sees it the same way.

I write the email first thing when I get home.  If nothing else, with all the thoughts of danger swirling around my head, it feels good to be home.  It feels good to sleep in my own bed.  It feels good to be surrounded by my stuff and not tubes, dinging monitors, nurse call bells, and strangers in white lab coats.  Much to my amazement, the next day Dr. Stadtmauer replies to my email.  I wrote him a long plea trying to tug at his heart strings in explaining my situation and my frustration with my condition seemingly deteriorating.  The email must’ve translated to two and a half pages of whiny drivel.  Maybe even more.  I’m actually surprised he read it.  I wonder if he made it all the way through.  Thankfully, his reply was short and much more succinct.

He simply wrote that he remembered me and to bring my bag to my appointment as he was going to have me admitted to the hospital and we were going to get to the bottom of this starting that following Wednesday (7/15/09) at 12:00pm.  Success.

 

To be continued…

Mr. Spleen, Mr. Spleen AKA The Lost Summer (Part 2a)

Not all doctors are created equal.  In fact some doctors should have never been created

 

So here I am, driving to the ER against my will.  Almost as soon as I turn they key, I change the radio station to WCBS to hear the Yankees game.  Before I hear one solitary word from John Sterling’s mystical voice, Anita’s protests are met immediately by me explaining to her that I was obviously deathly ill and the only thing that had a chance at keeping me going was hearing a John Sterling homerun call.  She lets me listen to the game.  She loses some respect for me too, but she lets me listen to the game.

We arrive at the completely overcrowded ER and have difficulty finding parking.  What are these people doing here?  Don’t they know that I’m having a serious problem and waiting in line is NOT something that I’m into?  Whatever.  So, we walk into the ER and go to the registration desk.  I’ve been to the ER before, so it didn’t take that long.  The one HUGE mistake that I made when registering was when she asked me to gauge the amount of pain I’m in, I declared I was in no pain.  This will inevitably come back to haunt me.

Anita and I take a seat on the far side of the ER waiting for my number to come up.  I brought a bottle of Gatorade (or G, rather) with me to keep me hydrated.  Of course, Anita wants none of that and is drinkless.  She would later regret that.  One hour passes.  This is not abnormal for an ER and it does not raise any concerns in either of us.  We pass the time blabbering to each other only to be interrupted by me checking the Yankees’ score on my phone.  Finally, we are called into the triage nurse’s area.  As she was taking my vitals and asking me the reason for my visit, I ask Anita if I can have a sip of my Gatorade.  Before I can take the cap off the bottle the nurse scolds me as if I’m a little boy to not eat or drink anything until the doctor sees me.  I really REALLY plan on listening to her.  Seriously.  I do.  She issues me my pretty little hospital bracelet (an uneasy staple for the next two months) and we return to our seat.  Another hour or so passes (as does plenty of G intake) and we are not quite sure, but it seems as though some of the people that have registered after us have been going through the magic ER doors before us.  We aren't completely sure of this, so we ignore it for now.  Another obvious mistake.  A third hour passes.  Now it is plainly obvious that people that have registered before us have been admitted to the ER before us.  We realize what we did wrong.  When we were with the triage nurse, she asked me to measure my pain on a 10 point scale.  I wasn’t in any pain, so I said that my pain was a zero.  Let this be a lesson to you, kids.  Honesty does not pay off in the end.  By the time we actually went through the doors, it must’ve been 1:00am.

So anyway, we finally get into the ER and we’re both waiting for the nurse.  They immediately start me on an IV and draw blood.  We sit and blah blah blah for a while until the doctor arrives.  The doctor walks into the room, closes the door, and asks me what’s going on.  He’s not exactly intimidating, but he’s not exactly benign, either.  A middle aged man with a scruffy face with no distinguishable marks except for the military tattoo peaking out from under his doctor’s scrubs.  Sure, this wouldn’t scare other people, but I’m squeamish and tattoos are scary.  Especially on doctors.  Am I alone here?  Anyone?  Is this thing on?  Anyway, I’m not that scared because last time I was in this ER, I had the same doctor and he was great.  I explain to him that I had been bleeding from my gum for 2 days and I had noticed some petechiae on my feet and Anita noticed it over my body in general.  As soon as he sees the density of the petechiae on my feet, he looks up at me with a look of minor horror.  He looks at my mouth and sees the extent of my bleeding and tells me that there might be an issue with how many platelets are in my body and that he’d have to check the bloodwork and see if I will need any sort of transfusion or anything.

This is not completely foreign to me.  I’ve been having trouble with my blood since I was about 5 years old.  No one has been able to really figure it out (until recently) and I wasn’t completely afraid of the results.  I go through periods of low blood counts from time to time and I figure that this would not be any different.  I feel no fear at all.  Yet another mistake.

The doctor returns again after some time with another look of worry on his face, this time one more serious than the previous.  He looks up at me saying that my platelet count was around 2000 and that I would need an immediate transfusion of platelets.  A normal platelet count is between 150,000 and 400,000.  Apparently, at 2,000, a person is in danger of just bleeding out through his capillaries and stuff like that.  Real good news.  This was definitely something I was not suspecting.  I became worried now because I was on call from work this weekend and could not feasibly stay the entire weekend at the hospital.  Anita yells at me for not just worrying about my health.  Hey, when you’ve missed as many days over the last fiscal year due to this crazy illness at a job you’ve only had for 2 years, you’d be worried, too.  I convince Anita to go back to the car get my work laptop and the on call phone.  This way I can charge them and be ready the next day.

Now the waiting game, or rather another waiting game.  Apparently, the platelets had to be special ordered from another hospital because they didn’t have any there (really?!?) and I was waiting for a room to clear up in the ICU because that would be my home for the weekend.  It was not until what felt like 5:00 in the morning until they found a room for me and I was transported and started on the transfusion.  The bag, connected to me through the IV, was full of this disgusting, gritty, orange juice looking liquid that was slowly seeping into my blood stream through the hole in my hand.  Not that I could physically feel anything, but it was just…. I don’t know… Icky.  Not to mention I had to sign all these waivers absolving the hospital of any liability over contracting any number of diseases from the flu all the way up to the mighty HIV.  Doesn’t exactly instill a lot of confidence.

The worst part about this was telling my mom.  At first, I didn’t want to mention anything, but I decided on the car ride there that I would tell her in case something bigger actually did occur, it wouldn’t be as much of a shock.  In the end, I don’t think it made much of a difference.  Really, of everyone that’s been involved with this situation just over the last 2 months, she easily deserves the most credit.  And that’s saying a lot because everyone involved has done SO MUCH, but I don’t think anyone had worried, struggled, or felt the sting of everything I was going through as much as she did.  She’s a champion for having braved the storm as much as she did; I don’t know if I would’ve have been able to do it given her place.  She may not seem like a pillar of strength to look at her, but I don’t think I would’ve been able to handle the magnitude of everything I went through were it not for my mom holding my hand through everything telling me that it will be OK in the end and to trust in the doctors and in God and in the future.  She’s not a pillar of strength, she’s a mountain of it.  But I digress…

So here I am, wheeled into the ICU like some car crash victim, spleen enlarged to somewhere between 22-26CM (normal size is 8) and a platelet count so low that doctors were afraid of blood vessels bleeding out into my brain, rendering me a vegetable.  If they saw me on lazy weekends, they’d see it’s not too much of a change from my regular behavior.  I try to remain calm and strong, but inside I’m freaking out.  My condition has never put me in this much danger and I’m wondering if this is a signal of a worsening of the disease.  It would’ve been befitting my luck; A job that I like with people that I love, A woman that I want to spend the rest of my life, my own house, yeah.. My life’s almost complete.. Why not add a life or death battle with a disease no one has been able to identify for 25 years to the mix.. Just to balance things out.  Right?  Ugh.

If my recollection serves me right, I receive two bags of magic pulpy orange juice that brings my platelet count just about 10,000.  Still in the danger zone, but in any imminent danger.  Once morning hits, I begin being visited by doctors, of all shapes and sizes.  The worst of these is the hematologist.  I don’t remember his name, but it was clear to me that he was solely interested in stabilizing my condition and getting me the hell out of his hospital.  Great attitude to have, douchebag.

 

This is going to have to be continued in a 2b sort of way…  I feel absolutely exhausted…  I’m sorry.  I didn’t even proofread.  Bleh

Mr. Spleen, Mr. Spleen AKA The Lost Summer (part 1)

Who said flossing won’t kill you

So, the last few weeks of my life have been somewhat of a whirlwind.  Well, that’s not actually true.  They’ve been a whirlwind in the sense that I’ve been turned and spun out and been dealing with things that I really didn’t expect to.  They’ve been chaotic, frightening, revealing, depressing, painful, and at times, very very lonely.  I’ve learned much about my life, my illness, my family, my friends, and about how much physical pain and mental anguish I can handle at once.  I’m hoping that when this is all over, I will emerge on the other side a healthier, happier, and stronger person.  At this point, these things are far from certain.

The story begins on July 8th.  Actually, no.  The story begins the evening of July 7th.  I am at home, watching the Yankees game at night.  It gets late and being the lazy ass that I am, I decided not to floss.  I brushed my teeth, washed my mouth, and decided that flossing just wasn’t going to happen tonight.  This is not that uncommon, I go to sleep not really thinking about it.

I wake up the next day early for some reason.  What’s stranger is that I actually decided to get out of bed instead of wasting the extra time laying there.  Instead, I actually get up, shower, brush, and get dressed.  I have about 10 minutes of extra time.  Now obviously, I have absolutely NO intention of leaving and getting to work early, so I decide instead that I floss.  Why not, right?  I’m flossing and admiring the gross food particles discovered between my teeth.  Yes, I’m disgusting.  Well, while digging for treasure between my teeth, I accidentally cut my gum and it starts bleeding.  This is not completely uncommon, I’m an uncoordinated dufus and the fact that I’ve survived this long surprises almost everyone I knowl.  I thought nothing of it and continued on to work.  I figure it will stop bleeding in a few minutes.

So those few minutes, they weren’t a few minutes.  My gums bled ALL day.  I didn’t know what to think.  The bleeding wasn’t exactly gushing, but it also wasn’t a small amount of blood.  It coats my teeth, coagulates into this disgusting gooey red-snot like monstrosity, and every few hours,  I would go and spit it out and let the process start all over again.  Pretty disgusting, right?  I get home that night and I’m genuinely worried.  I figure there is something SERIOUSLY wrong with my teeth, but I have absolutely no idea how to deal with it.

My first line of defense is to call Anita.  She’s obviously way smarter than I am and can handle these sorts of situations much better that I’d ever be able to.  I tell her what’s going on and I guess she didn’t realize how severe the situation was as she tells me to rinse my mouth out with warm salt water and it will be fine.  I had already tried this earlier with no success, but maybe Anita telling me to do it would work out better right?  Wrong.  That night was terrible.  I bled all over my bed sheets.  The pillow, the sheets.  I woke up in the middle of the night and vomited because of all the blood I swallowed.  An absolutely miserable experience.  Terrible.  I certainly didn’t get much sleep that night.

I wake up the next morning and I’m officially in full panic mode.  My gums are still bleeding; still at the same rate.  My worst fear is that this was some sort of advanced stage of gum disease or gingivitis.  Ever since I met Anita, I have been taking very good care of my teeth, but I thought that maybe previous years of somewhat lackluster oral hygiene have caught up to me.  The worst part?  I have an appointment with the dentist just a few days away.  Do I wait?  Is there something more wrong?  At this point, I am absolutely and completely freaking out (to myself).

I muster the courage togo one more day without really doing anything about it.  I don’t want to miss any work, especially with me being on call during the weekend.  So, I go to bed with the idea that I’ll be fine and this will pass.  Or at least, that’s what I hoped.  Of course not.  Instead, I spend the night having the exact same problems.  Waking up, vomiting, bleeding on EVERYTHING.  I wake up absolutely scared and exhausted.  I get to work, and by this time, everyone knows what’s going on.  Brian (my boss) asks me if I was going to see a doctor about it.  I am absolutely convinced that my issue is caused by a severe case of gingivitis, but that’s not the kind of news I want to declare at work. I figure I’ll wait for my dentist’s appointment and see what the damage is.  I follow the same procedures as yesterday and make it through the day...  Barely. I feel a small sense of relief when I get home because Anita would be coming over in a few hours and she will make everything better, right?  Right.

So Anita came over around 8:30.  At the time, I was in the bathroom as she entered the room.  As soon as her eyes focused on the scene in front of here, she shrieked as if she had just stumbled upon a murder scene.  She screamed and shrieked absolutely flabbergasted by what she saw in front of her.  She groans at the sight of blood everywhere.  Absolutely coating the bathroom.  The part where I get in the most trouble begins when she notices very little blood on my pillow and asks me how that happened.  Scared of what may happen to me, I softly tell her to prepare herself and to flip the pillow over.  “OH MY GOD, PAULASH!  You bled all over your pillow and then just flipped it over and went back to sleep?  That’s disgusting.  You are disgusting.  I can’t believe you.”  She then just stares at me as if to say, “How the Hell did I end up falling in love with you?”  This is a question that may never have an answer.  This is probably a good thing.

She tells me that we need to go to the hospital.  I am obviously against this idea.  I hate the hospital.  I’ve always hated hospitals.  I spend too much time in them to like them.  Especially the ER.  I try to negotiate.  I want to go tomorrow morning so that we can finish watching the Yankees game.  Nope.  We settle on calling Dr. Parikh’s emergency line.  Whatever he tells me to do, I would do.  So, I call and leave a message with his answering service.  Ten minutes later, Dr. Parikh calls me; I tell him the situation and I actually think I heard him gasp in horror in the middle.  As soon as I’m done, he proceeds to scold me as if I’m a little child.  Apparently, “knowing my condition” the fact that I allowed myself to bleed for two days without seeking medical attention was beyond stupid and why even bother with all these doctors trying to figure out what’s wrong with me if I’m going to do something like this.  I just listened and stuttered like a whimpering child.

So that is it.  The decision is made.  I still tried to haggle with Anita for the Yankees game, but she was having none of it.  I reluctantly get into the car and the two of us start to make our way to the ER.  In my mind, I’m thinking that this will be an affair of a few hours and I’ll be home the next day and be ready for work on Monday.  Little did I know the journey I was in for.  Little did I know how unprepared I was for it…

 

To be continued…

I'm finally writing about my birthday.

My birthday was awesome. At work( since I was taking a half day), I got a "birthday cake" made out of donuts. I ate them. Everyone sang happy birthday to me, but it was a little awkward. For some strange reason, when it came time to say my name in the song, there was this split second pause for everyone. It wasn't a big deal, but I just can't figure out how it happened or why it happened and how was it EVERYONE that paused. Strange. Whatever, I got to leave 1/2 way through the day.

I came home to be met by Phil (who forgot it was my birthday... But would make up for it later... Keep reading) and waited for my mom. What did I do while I waited? What else but good ol' PS3. I seem to have almost given up on MLB 08 the Show because of its horrendous gameplay and have almost exclusively playing Madden (as was probably going to happen anyway). I find Madden '09 to be the most flawed version of the game I've played in a while.... But whatever, it's Madden and I'm in. My biggest complaint is that the controls and movement of players is much more awkward than it has been in Maddens past. Again... Whatever.. It's Madden... Let's play.

My mom showed up (which clued Phil in that it was my birthday... hahaha) and we watched a little TV to let her settle in and then her and I headed out. She went shopping at Target and various other stores and I tagged along. I was happy just to be hanging out with my mom.

Fast forward. James, Phil, Anita, my mother, and I watch Slumdog Millionaire. This is an absolutely fantastic movie and it deserves all the accolades it receives. After the movie, we cut the 2 cakes I got. 1 standard pillsbury box cake my mom made me which was delicious and 1 incredibly phenomonal banana cake with cream cheese frosting that Anita made me from scratch. I only have three words to describe it. Dee. Lish. Us. I wish I could eat it right now. Yum yum and then some. Anyway, I probably ate about 12 servings of that cake. Oh! I forgot the best part (and Phil's redemption)! After I cut the cake, he absolutely smeared frosting all over my face. He got me when I haven't been able to be gotten in YEARS. YEARS, I'm telling you. I just wasn't expecting it. Kudos to him. I'm usually ready for it.

We lazed around and watched some more TV before deciding to have something light to eat. We head over to the Friendly's that opened up right behind our house and eat. That was pretty much it. Much more sedate than years past, but still extremely awesometastic.

What it means to be plastic

So, I learned a new meaning for an old word last week. Plastic. Sure, it's an old faithful word with many meanings, but this new meaning in particular has resonance in my life right now. It was taught to me by an old Bengali man last week while I spent time at my mother's house being ill. He's someone I've known most of my life, but never really looked at in the light that I now see him. He's about average for a Bengali man, small in size. Salt and pepper hair and balding in the middle. He has a matching beard and mustache combo His age is showing in his face and around his eyes. They emote a sense of sadness and a life missing something essential. Something that was there before, but now has gone.
He sat in my mom's living room, on her deep burgundy couch, sipping red wine, chatting about nothing particular; completely unaware of the impact he was about to have. The conversation changed topics like the direction of the wind until it finally landed on the subject of my generation and its general apathy towards Bengali culture. This lit a fire under under our family friend. He was much more animated about this topic than he was about any other topic. His hands were much more active, he waved his head. He stated that the issue with this generation and their passe attitude towards Bengali culture was to be blamed on their parents. His generation. The incoming immigrants are too concerned with earning money, buying a house, impressing their "friends", and sending money back home to take too much on an interest in getting the younger generation excited about their own culture.
It was this passing reference to "friends" that brought on the new meaning of the word to me. When he said the word "friends" and made quotation marks in the air, I thought I might've been stuck in some Bengali version of a Norm MacDonald movie. I just chuckled to myself and was almost immediately challenged. I told him that I never saw someone of his age and stature use air quotes.
Maybe he had a little too much to drink. Maybe I spoke too fast. Maybe my Bengali is a little more broken than I would like to admit, but for SOME reason, he thought I was challenging something about his friends and he settled into a story.
He spoke of his life 15-20 years ago as if it was foreign to him. He spoke of the people he hosted and that hosted him as if they were people in a movie playing characters. He had such contempt for people, but at the same time, it made him sad. He told me that before his wife died and he used the loads of money he made, he had more friends than he could count. He felt like the center of the universe.
Then tragedy struck. His wife mysteriously died of an adverse reaction to medication on a plane. He spoke of devastation. He told me about the people coming over to console him and bring food for him and his sons to eat.
Then his voice changed. What almost sounded like rage filled the room as he spoke of what he referred to as his biggest mistake. He felt lonely. He ended getting remarried and he was completely ostracized from the Bengali community. This woman ended up being the wrong woman to cure his ails, but the damage was already done. He had disgraced himself in the eyes of the socialites, and there's no coming back from that.
He's rebuilt some relationships, but nothing like the incredible social life that he had before. He tells me that he sometimes sits in his room, alone, thinking about exactly how alone he is. He tells me he feels helpless. Helpless. A man of his stature, his education, his wealth. Helpless. How is this possible? This is when the definition is dropped on me. He describes all his current relationships as "plastic" something that resembles reality, but is not. Something that looks good on a mantle at a distance, but when you get closer... It's just... Plastic.

After hearing this, I find myself obsessed. Is this the fate I am doomed? Am I... Plastic? Am I destined for the kind of sorrow he has experienced and is experienced? I find myself secretly evaluating the people in my life. Plastic. Real. How do you tell them apart? Obviously, some relationships are easy to evaluate, in either direction. It's the ones in the middle. Are these people for real? The people that I know I'd be there for, but would they be there for me? No matter what? I question Anita's friends more than anything. Even though I spend infinitely more time with them than I do my own friends, I wonder how real my relationship is with this person. This is probably mostly paranoia with some other irrational fears thrown in, but I still can't stop myself. I just don't want to end up like him. I don't want to be surrounded by people smiling, but not smiling with me. I don't want to be caught in a room full of strangers I call my closest friends.

I guess only time will tell.