Back on the Inside... Again.

Well shit. I’m back in the hospital.

The fevers just kept coming back, and it wasn’t a fever to fucking RAWWWWK, it was the crappy kind.

Okay, fine I suppose I can make any fever to at least partially be one to fucking RAWWWWK, it’s a gift… I guess, but this one still stunk.

Odd fact, but I love the chills that come with a fever. That’s fucking insane I know, but hey, we’re family now, so you should at least know that about me. I think I love the chills cause it reminds me of having them when sick as a kid and knowing that thanks to this shivering, a day off from school was a lock.

Sadly, now the chills means a trip to the hospital, maybe something much deadlier and maybe even something worse… some significant time off from video games.

When I got to the E.R., the doctors took a look at me, found a non-cancerous (thankfully) mass that seemed to be the culprit and admitted me.

The plan was to keep me in the hospital for a few days and to nuke the mass from orbit with antibiotics.

I was all for that, lose the fevers and be home in time to see the season two premiere of Daredevil: Born Again from home, with Andrea next to me going “More superhero bullshit? Okay fine.”

The doctors also said, “We were concerned you might need a surgery to fix this, but it’s not necessary.”

Holy shit! Bullet dodged… for about a day.

The next morning a surgeon came in and said “Yeah, the only way to treat this is with surgery. The location of the mass is close enough to your rectum that poop keeps getting on it and in that case, we can fill you with all the antibiotics in the world and it will still keep getting infected. So, we need to go in and give you a temporary ostomy. Oh, and also, because you still need oxygen pumped in you to help you breathe, you will need to be intubated for this and there’s a chance we won’t be able to extubate you.”

Motherfucker.

At least I had my iPad with me so the Daredevil premiere would not be missed.

I got scared. Fast.

What was supposed to be just a few days of antibiotics then home sweet home, became a pun intended shitstorm.

I wasn’t worried about the ostomy, this will be my second go round with one of those, I was worried about the whole breathing tube coming out of my mouth that could very well be permanent.

Andrea stayed with me overnight in the hospital a few times where we cried a lot, held each other a lot, and thankfully were scared at different times, so we could take turns pulling each other out of The Spiral.

We also finally saw Predator: Badlands which gave me some of that fever to fucking RAWWWWK, cause the movie was a darn good time, although I would have preferred if the movie had been The Predator and Cyborg just act out the Springsteen song Badlands.

The surgery was scheduled for Monday March 30^th which was fucking wild. It was like knowing a 50/50 day of your execution.

The doctors assured us they would not do the surgery if they didn’t think they could get me extubated and that helped a lot, but I still could not help myself and pictured coming out of surgery with a tube sticking out of my mouth and the doctor making an “aw shucks” gesture while then holding up a picture of the Monopoly man sad with the empty pockets then pointing at me.

Well, the surgery happened, and it was a success. I was also extubated immediately. I was extubated while I was still under anesthesia, which was fantastic.

I was mortified I was going to come to with a tube sticking out of my mouth.

All the love to the anesthesiologist who told me right before surgery “You worry about nothing, let me worry about it and let me tell you, I’m going to get you out.”

No question I got the Jordan of anesthesiologists. A killer bedside manner and the chops to back it up?!

I’m so fucking lucky.

Andrea and I held each other and cried tears of joy the second I got back to my room.

I felt great. I get to drop loads into a bag for a few months which means a few months of not having to wipe my ass. How is that still happening by the way? That should be way behind us, an anecdotal “You wanna know how bad they really had it in the 1500’s?” kind of thing.

I just got to chill in my room and find myself oddly getting into British and New Zealand mystery shows on PBS, get monitored for a few days, and then go home with a bag of poop on my chest and renewed hope that with the infections gone, I can resume treatments and get back in the fight.

Of all days I was discharged and sent home on April 1^st. It was a very long week plus change. A rollercoaster of “not much needs to be done” to “you need a surgery that you may not be able to come out of” to now I’ve gone from knowing nothing about Father Brown to having seen almost a season and a half of Father Brown. I’m the better for it.

I am grateful that the City of Hope Hospital in Irvine has almost become a home away from home, but holy shit please let me stay home now. I have healing to do, video games to play and way more fucking PBS options than the hospital had. Call the Midwife… here I am.

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