Losing my words

I'm not sure I can think anymore.  I'm not 100% sure my mind works anymore.  I think for the longest time, I was afraid that I wasn't going to be the same person on the other side of this thing and now my greatest fear is that I am.

Take it easy, Tiger

So, I've been wondering for a really long time as to why I know longer derive as much  joy as I used to when I was younger. And I think I just found out why.

I'm sitting on a train headed towards Newark to watch the Devils play the Blues and to pass the time, I was reading an ebook I had gotten for my wife. It is the Mindy Kaling book and after reading a few pages, I finally realized my problem. I have been taking myself way too fucking seriously. Holy shit! Ever since I got sick, I've been so lost in my own head and trying to make every word count, I forgot that not everything has to be some huge revelation or some catharsis for some crime committed against me from 20 years ago. I can't believe I've been so stuck up that I don't think mundane topics are worth blogging about. Who the hell am I? No one cares that I write here and my only audience really is my wife and a couple of friends. Take it easy, Paulash. You are not and have never been this serious.

Invisible Borders: The Birth of Paulash

Not too many people that have met me in the last 10 years know this, but from the time I was born until the time I was about 20, I went by the name "Paul."  In fact, my name is supposed to be spelled Palash but my father decided to add that extra letter to make it easier for me to go by the name Paul and assimilate.  In a way, that name became a way for me to hide who I was.  When questioned about my ethnicity or culture, I would run behind it and hide.  I would proudly declare that I'm an "American" (Read: white) and that I happily rejected all that Indian stuff because ew they smell, they only eat curry, and they all have thick accents and don't speak English well enough.  I was prejudiced against my own people because I was afraid to be one of them.

When I was younger, I wasn't really accepted into the Indian cliques.  I grew up in a town that had an absolutely booming Indian population and because of that, most of the kids my age we all immigrants and all Gujurati.  For one reasons beyond my control, most of them didn't like me.  They used to say something to me in the halls at school and then giggle condescendingly  to themselves and whisper in a language that I didn't understand.  I never felt wanted by that group.  Growing up, I ignored this part of me and threw myself into trying to fit in with whatever group I could latch onto.  This took longer than you would think it did.  I had to wear many masks to try and only show the parts of me that I thought people would accept.  I used humor to deflect.  A few people saw through it (and are still my friends), but for the most part, people saw what I let them.

Paul had almost become a character.  A role I was playing in order be the person I thought they wanted me to be.  To be the person I thought I wanted to be.  I was almost 20 years old before I was comfortable enough to start peeling back the onion.  Funny enough, as I got more comfortable with this newest cast of characters, the people that ultimately would become my closest friends, something happened that would lead me to where I needed to be.  Something happened by chance that led me to me.  For the first time, I discovered the complete person and was happy, comfortable, and strong enough to embrace it.

So unbeknownst to me, one of my good friends referred to me as "Indian Paul," not to my face, but when he referred to me to others.  When I found out about I was incredibly offended.  He didn't mean any malice by it; it was just a way for him to distinguish me from any other Pauls that he might've known.  But to me, it represented everything that I had been hiding from.  It represented everything I had denied until then.  It was like a huge scar on my face.  I thought if I didn't talk about it, maybe no one would notice.  When I found out that I was being called Indian Paul, all the walls I had built up as a teenager crumbled.  In an instant, the very scar that I had been denying was my defining characteristic.

At the time, I was infuriated.  Out of some misguided spite, I asked everyone to call me by my real name.  It seemed less offensive to me than Indian Paul.  Just the word Indian was something I had grown to shun.  But of course, in retrospect, this moniker that I so abhorred became my liberation.  My friend (who today remains to be one of my best friends; my brother from another mother) had forced me to deal with my self image issues without even knowing what he had done.

After asking all my friends to use my given name, I realized my fear was my own.  Sure, they mumbled and grumbled about it at first but in the end, no one cared.  At all.  Not even one bit.  Armed with this knowledge, I started to let my inner desi out.  After about a ten year hiatus, I watched the Bollywood movie Kal Ho Naa Ho.  I cried.  Of course, I got over the usual notion that Bollywood movies are incredibly overdramatic (which they are) and I fast forwarded through most of the songs (which I eventually came to love) but in the end, I really came to love the story.  As a young boy, I used to watch these movies with my mom and I guess that romantic side of me was borne of these moments.  The transformation had officially begun.

I'm about 14 years into the experiment as Paulash and I have to say, I'm much happier than I was.  There's so much I've learned that I wish I could go back and tell to Paul.  So much about being yourself and not worrying about what other people think and that it's OK to be yourself, no matter what everyone else expects you to be.  Maybe then the internal conflict wouldn't have taken so long to quell.  Maybe my life would have involved less tumult.

Actually, you know what?  As much as I pine to go back and change things, I think maybe those battles were necessary to bring mere where I am right now.  Maybe I needed to go through that in order to really find out who I am and what I want to strive towards.  I guess I won't ever really know the answers to these questions, but what I do know is that right now, this place is where I want to and should be.  Not every day is puppy dogs and rainbows, but you know what?  Most of them are.  I may have not won every battle, but I've definitely won the war.

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.

Welcome to the Shit Show

It's amazing how one thing going wrong in your life can so easily turn into a titanic sized clusterfuck.  When someone turns on the light, everything that you've been hiding in the dark starts casting a shadow.  Sometime, shadows make it just as difficult to see as the dark.  This whole thing started because I was sick.  I was sick beyond what I could handle.  Beyond what anyone could handle.  Beyond comprehension.  Every time I mention to someone that I've had a stem cell transplant, their eyes bug out of their heads.  "But you're so young," is the universally accepted response followed by other useless platitudes.  It's true.  I was young.  This final process started when I was just 27.  27.  I can't even imagine it anymore.  When they figured out what was wrong, I was given almost a year to process the fact that a transplant might be in order.

But really, nothing could prepared me.  Nothing could prepared us.  After I came home, I remember my friend came over and as soon as she saw me, she threw her arms around me and hugged me as hard as I've ever been hugged.  I have to admit, I didn't really know how to react to it.  Sometimes, even to this day, it escapes me that it's not just me that's affected by my illness.  That the people in my life all have some sort of stake in my survival.  Of course I knew that my family (for the most part) put my needs first to the best of their abilities and of course there was Anita.  To this day I don't know how she did it.  The nights sleeping on that hospital bed.  Giving up entire summers in the years she should be out dancing and drinking until the entire night is a blur.  Those are the nights she spent sitting in my hospital room, holding my hand, and watching Sportscenter.  Looking forward to sleeping on an unforgiving convertable chair/bed/torture rack, I still don't know how she held on.  The only thing I'm sure of is that I would not have had the strength in her place.  I've always been the weak one.

I'm also amazed by how much my friends have been looking out for me.  Of course, maybe they're all in it for the services of a permanent designated driver, but I guess I can give them the benefit of the doubt.  I have had friends drive me around, rearrange their schedules, I've had friends travel from Florida just to visit me. Encouraging text messages, helping me up stairs, understanding last minute cancellations, hospital visit after hospital visit, these people have truly proved their worth.  Don't the deserve a break?  Doesn't everyone deserve a break from all this?  Don't I fucking deserve a break from all this?  Doesn't my wife deserve to live her life like any one of her peers?

Now that I'm almost 3 years removed from the actual transplant, I can't believe how far I've come and at the same time, how distant the goal seems.  I sat today with my neighbor recalling all the times that I was rushed to the hospital because my blood counts were so low that I needed an immediate transfusion.  I mused at how difficult it was to find matching blood for me after 2 years because of all the antibodies.  I sat and thought about and recited that my current condition is bad, but what I was going through before was much worse.  Granted, I'm not going to the ER every 3 weeks, but how much better is my standard of life right now?  I keep trying to tell myself that I'd do it all again, but honestly, 2 weeks before my 3rd "rebirthday," I'm just not sure I would.
Of course, the physical issues that have been a result of the GVHD have been awful, but I think just the sheer amount of time that I've been in this almost state of limbo has taken an immense toll on me mentally.

I've been in therapy for over a year and it seems that as my body is recovering that my mind is just purging all the darkness it held inside.  All these absolute gems have surfaced from times that I've so long forgotten that I just didn't think I would be dealing with.  How am I supposed to cope with my shitty childhood and my recovery simultaneously?  Is that fair?  To have to deal with the evil I experienced in the years I couldn't protect myself and the illness I developed through no fault of my own?  How can I my mind hope to resolve when my body is taking so long?  I'm just not sure this is going to turn out like we all wanted.

Lately, I've been listening to a lot of sad songs and having a lot of questionable thoughts.  I'm plagued with thoughts of ways to stop the pictures from flashing through my mind.  One of the side effects of all the medication I'm on has been that I tend to have an averse reaction to alcohol.  If I go out with my friends, I am now normally the designated driver because I just can't drink anymore.  Over the last week or so, while I'm laying in bed all alone, the only thing I can think about besides absolutely awful memories are the thoughts of going to the kitchen and drinking myself into a stupor and falling asleep.  I think of taking more morphine that I'm supposed to in order to help clear my mind.  To just make it go away, ALL of it.  If only for the next hour.  Lucky for me, I hear my wife breathing as she sleeps and I couldn't do that to her.  I've seen what addiction did to my parents' marriage.  I've seen what it turned my father and my mother into.  No one survives addiction, so right now my better angels have been prevailing, but I'm not sure how long I will hear them.

Everyone has a sad story. It doesn't excuse anything.

I've always been able to brush things off.  Everything.  At least, I've always been able to push things to the back of my mind and brood on it when I'm alone listening to the angry music I thought I gave up on long ago.    I've had my share of problems.  I've made my share of mistakes.  I've seen my share of curve balls.  Every single situation, I've dealt with and moved on in one way or another.  From bad breakups that cost me friendships to problems growing up without a real father figure to looking for attention in all the wrong ways.

I'm fucking 2+ years out from this stupid bone marrow transplant and it still defines almost EVERYTHING I do.  I just spent a weekend with 2 of my absolute best friends in the world and I had to sleep for the equivalent of an ENTIRE DAY just to regain my strength.  What did we do that was so taxing on my body?  Oh, just walked around a museum.  Went out to eat.  Argued baseball with strangers. In bed around midnight.  Crazy, right?  When is this going to end?  People tell me to revel in the small victories I have here or there but what?! How?  How can I do this when I expected so much more? How can I do this when I want so much more?

Everyone tells me to compartmentalize, great advice.  Now try it.  Seriously.  Try and separate yourself from something that rules your life.  Imagine having a shitty job with an absolutely shitty commute that pays a great salary.  Is money going to fix the fact that at least 5 days a week you're in hell? If you were looking for another job, wouldn't those factors come into play?  The difference with me is that I don't have another choice.  This is all I got. My entire existence is ruled by this thing.  This decision everyone and I made a long time ago.  We all thought it would be over now.  We all thought I'd be back to me.  I'm told to "just realize I'm living a different impermanent existence".  To blame the disease and not myself.  You know what?  It's not that easy.  How long is impermanent impermanent?  This is going on TWO YEARS of issues.  TWO YEARS? If you stick a needle in someone's arm, at some point no matter what they're going to become an addict.

You know what's funny?  During this recent Presidential election season, we were bombarded with slogans demonizing so-called "takers" and societal "moothers".  When do I fall into this category?  What does the clock start ticking?  When do the whispers start among my family friends that I'm somehow milking this?  When does public opinion sour, if it hasn't already.  How fast do I have to run to get away from that?  How many pills much I swallow every day to avoid the jagged little pill of the inevitable backlash.  I see everyone's lives progressing without me and I hate it.  I hate it to the point where I decided I need a little break from social media.  Seeing everyone else be so happy without me can't be good for my psyche.  I don't know.  This is so difficult.

Maybe I'm just over exaggerating.  It's just so hard to live each day without feeling helpless and shame.  Unfortunately, I'm afraid this might never end and I'm not entirely sure how to deal with it.

Feeble

I feel stuck.  I feel caught.  I feel stagnant.  A few months ago, I'd have several weeks surrounding a few days where I "crash".  My body gets so worn out that I basically can't move to even get out of bed.  Normally, they would last a day, maybe 2 at most.  Well, the latest crash that I've been trying to get over has lasted more than a week.  We're almost ten days into it.

Talk about an effing setback.  For the last 10 days, I've LITERALLY slept 10+ hours each night except for one night that I was was awake almost THE ENTIRE night just writhing in pain.  February 11, 2013 will officially mark the 2nd anniversary of my transplant.  If someone had told me I'd still be this deep in shit, I think I might have reconsidered it at the outset.

I was nervous a few months ago when I met the lady that said she was 3 years deep and still experiencing some complications.  Is this what's in store for me?  Every time I think I'm healthy for anything, I feel like I'm yanked back to square one or even pulled back BEYOND the starting line.  The worst part is, I don't, NO ONE knows how to make this any better.  Everyone just keeps dropping obligatory words of encouragement while muttering under their breath that they think I am somehow milking this.  I wish I could trade places with those people for just ONE WEEK.  Just so they might know an inch of the hell I have to go through.

No, that's not fair.  I wouldn't wish this on anyone.

My Cock is Cleaner Than Your Bum

I had to take the day off from work today.  I wasn’t feeling very well and wasn’t really able to sleep last night and just needed a day to get my shit together. 

Of course, that afforded me the time to watch TV (after doing my laundry).  So,  I watched With Honors again today.  My god, I love that movie.  Right now, I’m willing to go as far as to say that it’s my second favorite movie of all time (behind "Contact”… Don’t ask.. I’m a weirdo).  Of course, being the enormous sap I am, I cried like a baby at the end when Monty reads Simon’s obituary.

I absolutely love stories of redemption.  Redemption is what makes humanity so great.  Redemption is what makes being human worthwhile.  In 99% of cases on Earth, no matter what ill-advised decision you’ve made, there’s always a chance of at least SOME redemption.

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.

VOIgle???

I really want to know if there are any plans for a Google based “home” phone that runs on voip that runs in conjunction with Google Voice.  I want this to happen before Anita and I move in together SO BAD!  I’ve wanted to utilized my Google Voice number for like A YEAR, now!  Someone make this happen!  SNAP!

 

I wouldn’t mind paying a monthly fee, either.  Just like Vonage; I just want it to be able to run with Google Voice so I can use all the cool features that I get with my own Google Voice number.

 

Man, I’m a loser.  }o-)

 

 

But a healthier one.  }o-)

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.

But I Promise You This – I Will Always Look Out For You – That’s what I’ll Do

So, remember my life being a complete crapfest except for the people around me?  My health, finances, and basically life all going down the shitter?  Well, I got a little bit of a jolt in the right direction on my birthday courtesy of my hematologist and the new meds I’ve been taking.

First, let me tell you, the days leading up to my birthday were absolutely marked by failure.  The walls were falling down around me.  Even the day before my birthday, out of the blue, my (sort of) new camera that I bought less than a year ago…  Just stops working.  I mean…  That’s how deep it went.  How the Hell does a camera just randomly stop working the day before someone’s birthday?  I can’t lie, when it happened, I just broke down.  I really did.  I went to the basement and I balled for about 20 minutes.  I just couldn’t believe how badly things were going. 

Even the next day.  My birthday, the only day my doctor could squeeze me in to see him.  And it’s not like a trip to your local doctor; in and out in 45 minutes.  This is a whole trip to Philadelphia and promised to eat up at least 3 hours.  Of course.  So how did it end up?  Well, we left for the hospital around 2:30.  We drove down to my sister’s house and picked her up.  She drove into Philedelphia to the Hospital at UPENN.  Seemed normal enough.  We got there around 4:45.  I signed in, she scheduled me for the lab work.  After about 15 minutes, I was called in to have my blood drawn.  Still no problem, right?  I get called into the doctor’s office at about 5:15.  Still not bad.  We sit in the room and wait for him.  WE DID NOT SEE THE DOCTOR UNTIL 8:00-ish.  I’m not kidding.  Dr. Stadtmauer spends a lot of time with his patients and doesn’t rush anyone and he really is a very attentive and personal doctor.  Of course, the price you pay is that his appointments run late and you have to wait.  On top of that, we were squeezed in and overbooked in the first place.  Lots of fun.  I was so sad.  Our original plan was to have Craig meet us in Philadelphia with my niece and nephew and we were all supposed to have dinner together.  That was all blown up.  We were waiting so long that my mom (a diabetic) had to be given food and juice to keep her blood sugar in check!  I mean, it was unbelievable how long we had to wait.  This broke (by a long shot) ANY previous wait that we’d had there.

So anyway, he comes in around 8:00 with a big smile on his face.  I was the subject of a minor medical miracle and the first sign of hope I’d had since this whole mess started back up in July.  A few weeks earlier when I’d seen Dr. Stadtmauer, my platelet count was an astronomical 1.2M.  It was the main reason why the blood thinner wasn’t working and I ended up with the bloodclot/blood in my lung.  Well, just a few short weeks later on a new medication called Myleran, it had been reduced by almost 400K.  I had also had a blood transfusion of red blood cells the week prior and my hemoglobin count was holding strong at 9.6, the highest it has been in 3 months.  So basically, for the first time since July, ALL of my blood counts moved in the right direction.  I’d definitely say it was worth crying like a little girl the night before because everything was going wrong.  For the first time in as long as I can remember, I feel a glimmer of hope that everything will be all right. 

Dr. Stadtmauer’s prediction is that I will be able to come off the Myleran in about 8 weeks with a normal platelet count and I could be off the new (awful) blood thinner in as little as six months.  Yep.  I could be up and running and “normal” in 6 months.  Wow.  Typing it out and reading it makes it seem even more fantastic.  Let’s hope everything goes as predicted.

Here goes nothing!

When You Love Someone but it goes to waste – Could it be Worse?

I watched Rachel Getting Married today with my mom.  I’ve already seen the movie months ago with Anita and it’s an amazing movie, but that’s not the point of this.  All the drama in the movie aside, it made me feel so awful.  I mean, isn’t that what I’m supposed to be doing?  I’ve been engaged for like 6 months and we are nowhere with planning our wedding because apparently, I’d rather spend time in the ER than planning the rest of my life with the woman I love.  How can this be?  When did it get to this?

I feel so lost.  After this last stint in the hospital and having to spend day after day drugged up on pain killers just to breathe like a normal person; spending my nights injecting myself with other drugs just to keep me alive, I just don’t feel like myself anymore.  I don’t have the desire to do anything.  Nothing.  My friend Mike was nice enough to come over on Monday with his daughter so that we could exchange our Christmas gifts and even that felt forced.  He gave me an AMAZING signed (and authenticated) Dan Marino picture.  It’s absolutely incredible.  And when I saw it, I knew the reaction I was supposed to have, so well, I don’t want to say I faked it because I didn’t.  I genuinely love that picture and it makes me miss my house because I have no place to put it up right now, but I wasn’t as excited as I should’ve been.  I’ve become a zombie.

But I digress.  This wedding thing.  I know that the standard man’s line to wedding planning is “just tell me the date an I’ll be there” but come on!  I’m so much more sappy than that and I’ve been looking forward to all this wedding planning since I decided I wanted to get married!  This past Sunday, I missed going to a bridal show with Anita because I just don’t have the constitution to stay upright for that long.  So what did I do instead?  My mom and sister thought I could do with a change of scenery so we went down to Mou’s house to spend time with her family, specifically the kids.  What did I do?  I fell asleep on her couch.  With the kids running around me, screaming, and everyone having a good time.  I don’t even know why I fell asleep.  I hadn’t taken any pain killers at that point.  I just had a blood transfusion, so it wasn’t fatigue.  I just don’t think I enjoy being awake anymore.  I don’t recognize the person in the mirror, anymore.  I’m supposed to be the fun one.  What happened to all the fun?  Where did it go?  When did it turn into just waiting for the next disaster to strike?

Anita called me after going to the bridal show with her mother and expressed how much fun she had and I just felt awful.  I’m missing out on the best part of my life.  And for what?  For what I ask?

This entire experience is so disheartening.  It’s no wonder I feel so alone; I’m not even me anymore.

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…

Have I become too connected?

I've always fancied myself a pretty technologically progressive individual, but with my recent purchase of the Blackberry Storm as an engagement present to myself, have I crossed a line? Is it possible to be TOO connected? I've found myself caught between two lives; my e-life and my real life. You would think that it would be my e-life interrupting my actual life, but recently, it kind of seems the opposite is true. Is it OK when your socializing happens more on the internet than it does in real life?
For the past few days, I've been basically confined to a bed in a hospital with some ailments. What have I been doing to keep entertained? I've been plastering my life on Twitter which has been cross posting my life on facebook and the madness has followed. I've been sending text message updates to my closest friends and BlackBerry messengering my friends lucky enough to have BlackBerries.
I started questioning a possibly oversaturated e-life when one of my closest friends called me because he read about my problems through facebook. I thought to myself, "Isn't this wrong? I've been like brothers with the guy for more than 10 years and he has to learn about my hospitalization through facebook? Isn't there something wrong there? Shouldn't he have at least learned through word of mouth from another friend from our circle?" I felt bad enough that I called another very good friend of mine and made sure he heard what was happening from me.
I also find myself at times absolutely disconnected from my real life and aggravating. Anita will be talking to me and probably feels ignored because I'm not paying full attention to what she's saying because I'm in the middle of checking my friend feed or tweeting something really clever. Isn't this wrong? This girl is the love of my life and she's playing second seat to my presented life on the internet? Isn't that just a LITTLE bit insane?
While incarcerated here in my hotel room of tubes, wires, and injections, I've had TONS of people come and visit me. What have most of them had to deal with? Me, explaining to people what's going through various mediums available on my phone. Is this not awful? I feel awful. They took time out of their lives to haul themselves over here and had to deal with me typing away on my phone? It feels rude.
The question is... Now that I've entered into this uber-techno-savvy life... How do I turn around? How do I increase the level of my life in... Well... My life. When my phone gives off one of its familiar alerts, I find myself excited to see who has interacted with me and what they have to say and how I'm going to respond. How do I bring that sensation back to my real life? Should I have people make strange sounds before interacting with me? Will that catch my attention? I feel like asking these questions makes me sound absolutely insane. Am I really debating the need to disconnect? Am I whining because I'm addicted to my new toy???
This is ridiculous. I'm not too connected. I've just been a little extra e-ish with my life because I've been reporting the latest medical disaster in my life. Once this whole ordeal is over, I should be fine. I'm just bored and needed a reason to fill the time.



PS - Tweet #wilbur We're trying to make it a trending topic. It's what we've named my enlarged spleen!

One Ring to Rule Them All

Yep. I’ve done it. Taken the plunge. Dropped the hammer. Went for the dive. Drank the kool-aid. Gave up the ghost. Whatever other clichés there are to describe what I’ve done.
I’ve been lucky enough to be dating the most incredible girl over the last two years of my life and a few weeks ago, I grew the stones enough to ask her to marry me. Actually, this process started about six months ago. I was laying in bed and just thinking about Anita; I realized how much I've changed and how different and wonderful my life is. I also realized how much I want Anita and I to live and experience life together.
I never previously really understood what it meant to want to be married before. To want to spend the rest of your life waking up next to the same person. Falling asleep together. Eating together. Talking. Watching television. Living life together. Sure, I thought I did, but I was dumb. What they say is true. You really never know until it actually happens to you.
But I digress. Six months ago, I decided I would ask Anita to marry me and took the appropriate steps. I started saving money for a ring, asked her best friend to help me pick it out. Told everyone that needed telling and 6 months later, here we are.
The days leading up to the actual proposal were wrought with discourse. Just an absolute nauseating few days of trying to avoid spilling the beans to Anita that involved way more deception than I’m used to with her.
Of course… In the end it was all worth it because it led to a day that I (and hopefully she) will never forget for the rest of my life.
The scene: I have decided to send Anita through a scavenger hunt that will eventually lead to a candlelit dinner by the waterfall at Resica Falls. She has NO idea what’s about to happen.

From Engagement

The following events take place between 5:00am and 12:00am on May 22nd, 2009.
5:00am: BEEP BEEP BEEP! My alarm screams at me. Normally, I would hit the snooze button a few times, but not today. I’m filled with nervousness, excitement, fear, happiness, and everything in between. I spring out of bed and into the shower to start getting ready.
5:30am: Off to work. Hop in the car, put on The Fan and start my journey. While I’m pretending to listen to the overnight guy on the fan, I’m actually going over in my head everything that needs to be done today to make this spectacular.
6:30am: At work. I can’t even think about working. Not even close. I can only get in there and just be nervous and think.
7:00am: Coworkers Christian and Mike start heckling me telling me that she’s going to say no. Gotta love those guys.
9:00am: Coworker Philth comes to work and joins the brigade. At this point, I’m pacing around the office. Mike tells me that I’m a douche. That doesn’t really distinguish this from any other day.. I just figured I’d throw that in there.
10:00am: I reveal that I’m not really scared that she’ll say no, I’m more afraid that my elaborate scheme isn’t going to work. It took 2 weeks and 4 people to plan this thing properly (also with an assist from my friend Rita).
10:30am: I’m still pacing. Mike reminds me (again) that I’m a douche. It’s nice to know on such a big day that there’s at least SOME consistency.
11:00am: Mike has gotten to the part of the day where he just whispers “she’s going to say no” under his breath while he sits behind me. Christian wants to know if I have a plan in case she does say no. Philth is just dirty. Gotta love my job.
12:00pm: Mike reassures me that everything will be alright and that everything is going to be ok. The universe collapses. He also reminds me that I’m a douche.  Good thing, I almost forgot.
1:00pm: Time to leave. For once in a long time, Mike and I are leaving at the same time. Obviously, we wait for each other. We walk out together and Mike wishes me luck.
1:03pm: While we’re driving out, I block Mike’s exit route just to be a dick. I feel a little better.
1:04pm: While Mike and I are both at the exit to Suburban, Mike starts screaming “BONZAI!” a la Karate Kid to encourage/assuage my concerns. Sure, it was a little corny.. Ok.. it was really corny… But it was really nice and for some strange reason, it really DID make me feel better. It just goes to show you… Nothing calms you down like good old Mr. Miyagi.
1:15pm: WHAT.THE.EFF?!?! I hit traffic on route 80. Traffic?!! I left at one o’clock SPECIFICALLY to AVOID this crap. Lucky for me it’s not THAT bad. We’re moving slow, but at least we’re moving. 80 can at times be a parking lot.
2:15pm: Stop at Mr. Zs to buy 3 dozen flowers. 2 dozen rozens and 1 dozen purple daisies. I intend to combine the petals from 1 dozen red roses and the purple daisies to make a trail that Anita will have to follow. Ambitious? A little. But it would really make everything over the top.

From Engagement

2:20pm: Stop at Resica Falls to do a walk-through of the path I’m going to have Anita take to find her gifts and make sure the path keeps the dinner hidden at all times.
2:30pm: Home! Not bad. Of course, in my rush to get home, I forget to pick up the balloons. So, I guess Mike was right. I really am a douche.
2:35pm: Thank God for the all star that is James George. I sent him a text message asking him to bring me a bunch of Mylar balloons and he is happy to oblige. Nothing to worry about. James is clutch as Hell.
2:45pm: Start creating the cards for Anita’s scavenger hunt through Resica Falls. Of course, being the ass that I am, I make every possible mistake I can think of. Of the 4 cards I ended up with, I must’ve printed 8 or 9 because I made so many mistakes. Whatever though, I needed it to be PERFECT.

From Engagement

3:00pm-ish: James arrives with the balloons. I show him my progress on everything and he’s a bit indifferent. That’s not right. He’s excited but also exhausted. That’s more accurate. He tells me that he’s going to nap until the time we have to leave.

From Engagement

3:15pm: Anita starts IMing me on gchat! DRATS! I can’t be talking to her! It’ll blow everything up! I need to focus on everything I need to do. The answer? Lie my ass off. I tell Anita that I’m in a training session for the rest of the day. Sign off GChat and turn my phone off. Problem solved.
3:30pm: The prep work is basically done. Plates, cups, flowers, everything is seemingly ready to go. I bought a (wonderfully bedazzled) bottle of Moet that came with its own chill chamber and the chill chamber needed to be put in the frozen in order to chill the champagne. It should be in there for about 2 hours. Of course, James put his new little science toy in the freezer the night before. Can’t be too safe, right? I check on it to make sure it isn’t an ice cube. We’re good.

From Engagement

3:34pm: I’m done!? What do I do with myself? How could this be? I have 3 hours to kill. I certainly couldn’t talk to Anita because she thinks I’m in a training session. James is asleep. How ever will I solve this problem? Oh HELLO MLB ‘09 The Show’s Road to the Show. How are you?? I guess I can play a couple of games.
5:30pm: 1.5 SOLID hours of gaming. And to think, this day is only going to get BETTER. I walk upstairs and give James a good 1/2 an hour warning that we need to head over to Resica Falls.
6:00pm: James and I pack the truck and his brother’s car and head over to Resica. I park my truck in the front and James decides to drive down and unload at the dinner site. Nice job.
6:05pm: As we’re setting everything up, the first major mistake dawns on me. “James, this is great, isn’t it? The dinner is going to be beautiful and she’ll hopefully love it. One thing, though. Wouldn’t it be great if we had chairs??!?” Yep. James and I had forgotten to pick up the chairs. Again, it seems that Mike was right.. I am a douche.
6:15pm: As we set up, we decide on what to do. While I stayed and set the scene, James would go pick up the chinese food and chairs. Good plan.
6:20pm: I am sweating like you wouldn’t believe. I first set up the dinner with a great view of Resica. The dinner was to be composed of chinese food, grape soda, and champagne. All her favorite (the champagne is more my favorite

From Engagement

6:25pm: There’s a bridge between the view of the falls and a pond at Resica where Anita and I took our favorite picture. I set up the balloons there. This was to be clue #3 in Anita’s hunt.

From Engagement

6:27pm: I make a trail of flower petals from the balloons to where it needed to be by the bouquet of roses (which was clue #2).

From Engagement

6:30pm: I set the flowers and made the trail from where I would park the car (the scene of clue #3) and created another trail to the final clue.. #4. This is a photo album that I had created through CVS. It had pictures (with captions that I wrote in) depicting the last 2 years of our relationship.

From Engagement

6:50pm: James gets back. The chairs! SUCCESS! The food! It smelled so delicious. I was tempted to forget the whole thing and just eat there with James… Ok… Maybe not.
6:55pm: I set off to go get Anita. She had spent the day with her family at the park and they were going to meet me somewhere to get her.
7:00pm: I am lost. Would you believe it? James had driven my car onto the park to unload the chairs and I had NO idea how to get back to the road. Seriously, my douchiness is starting to surprise even ME. I search around and find the exit and set on my way. Idiot.
7:10pm: I make it to Country Kettle. I’m nervous. I call my sister for some last minute courage. She wasn’t home so I just left a message and sent a text to make sure that she doesn’t call me back. Don’t want a premature congratulations to blow the whole thing up!
7:15pm: Anita’s family brings her to me. She really has no idea. She thinks that we’re “finally” going on a picnic that she’s been whining to go on for almost a month. Little did she know that I was putting it off for JUST THIS REASON.
7:20pm: Checkpoint 1. I carefully send James the text message to know to light the candles and to leave the area.
7:23pm: DISASTER! My mom had left her pink sunglasses in the truck when she gave it to me! Why is this bad? Because Anita finds the sunglasses on the floor, decides to put them away. Where?? IN THE GLOVE BOX! THE SITE OF CLUE #1! It almost happened in slow motion. The glove box KREPT open and the envelope SLOWLY revealed from its hiding spot. I thought it was over.
7:24pm: Praying that she really didn’t notice the envelope, I remain quiet. Of course, less than a second later… She asks me what that is. I try and blow it off as nothing. My “It’s nothing… Forget it” was met with, “Fine, I’ll just open it then!” DISASTER!
7:25pm: Alright, go for broke. “FINE! You ruined it! I had a surprise planned for you for our picnic and now you found me out. I hope you are happy.”
7:26pm: She buys it. I can’t believe she buys it. She’s sitting there with this smirk on her face because she thinks she just broke up one of my plots to surprise her or something. Sucker. She deserves what she’s about to get.
7:30pm: We make it to the drop point. I tell Anita to wait in her seat for a second while I “got the food and stuff” from the trunk. I make my way to the trunk, open it, and exclaim, “OH NO!! I FORGOT THE BLANKETS AT HOME!!! I CAN’T BELIEVE IT! We’ll go back and get them.” Of course, there are no blankets. In fact, while I’m giving her this line, I’m actually setting up the champagne and clue #3 in the trunk of the car.

From Engagement

7:31pm: I convince her that I need to run over to the ground to pee and that I’d be right back. I close the trunk, go over to the passenger seat, kiss her, and run into the woods.
7:32pm: Once I reached a safe distance from the car and was confident she couldn’t see me, I sent her a text message telling her to open that envelope in the glove box. The game was on.
7:45pm: I’m getting nervous, I’ve heard nothing from her. I sent her a text message asking where she was. She responded telling me that she was getting there. I guess I would have to wait.
7:55pm: It’s almost completely dark right now. The area with clue #4 is elevated from the point of the dinner, but I couldn’t see it. I didn’t know how to prepare. I knew she was going to be coming in a minute or two, and I was SO SO nervous that she would just pop up in front of me and I would freeze.
7:58pm: Blessing in disguise. The Mylar balloons reflected what little light was left and the fact that they were floating a foot above her head allowed me to see them. I saw her making her way to clue #4 and eventually start making her way towards me.
8:00pm: She had a look of bewilderment on her face that I will never forget. It was wonderful. She exclaimed, “What is this?” because she STILL had no idea what’s going on. I guess we’ll just keep going.
8:01pm: I instructed her to open the gift. She starts thumbing through the book and I think it dawns on her all at once as she gives out a final, “WAIT! What IS this??” As she finishes the book.
8:03pm: That’s my cue. I take out the fortune cookie with the fortune, drop to one knee. In the middle of my little spiel, she starts basically balling and obviously, that means I have to start balling. I still get through it. She opens the fortune cookie…

From Engagement

8:04pm: She can’t speak. She shakes her head yes as the tears are strolling down her face, I place the ring on her finger (it fit! YES!) and she held me for what seemed like an eternity.

From Engagement

8:07pm: Of course, the eternity was probably around 3 minutes. She loosened her grasp a bit and invited her to eat the dinner. We sit down and eat. She is absolutely speechless for the next ten minutes. I think this may be the happiest moment of my life that I can remember.
8:15pm: We’ve eaten next to nothing. We’re both still kind of in shock. At this point, we’ve just been yacking and Anita just keeps repeating phrases like “OH MY GOD!” and the like. We decide to start calling people.
8:20pm: Calling my mom is a circus. What felt like EVERY ONE of her friends was there and wanted to talk to both me and Anita for absolutely ever. My douchebag cousin tries to ruin the moment as best he can by talking to Anita and saying things like, “You know how he is.. You know what you’re getting in to. You know, right?” Really? Who does that? Whatever, though, he wouldn’t ruin this for me, as much as he hard as he would try. It was douchy enough for even ANITA to bring it up, so figured I would. What an ass he is.
8:30pm: While Anita is on the phone with her family, I go back to the car and drive it onto our dinner area. We start to pack up. The scene was over and I’d have to say it was pretty much a success.

From Engagement

8:32pm: Back to the house. James is there, but mysteriously decides to go see a movie. We try to eat a little, but it doesn’t work. We fumble around for a while and call more people and just bask in the moment for a bit.
9:30pm: We watch LeBron make that RIDICULOUS last second 3 point game winner to beat the Magic. Uhm.. It was sick.
11:00pm: Exhausted! What a day, eh? Hopefully a day that neither of us will soon forget.
A real big thanks to EVERYONE that made this happen for us. Since the engagement, life has been a little crazy, but it’s also been really awesome.