June 20th, 2018. Unknown.

Perhaps others were around in the morning, but I only remember my mom and wife. I have no recollection of my parting words. I’m sure they weren’t enough. How could anyone expect to encompass so much meaning and time into a few sentences?

“At least I have the chance” I thought.

“And if this is it, oh well. I hope everyone else gets along ok.”

For a split second, I noticed that never in my life have I ever been so selfless. I laughed at myself.

“I just want to be comfortable.”

And with that, my mind went blank.

—

I woke up strapped to a gurney, hazy vision, unable to move, and with a pounding headache. I don’t know what I said, but it got a chuckle from one of the nurses who was wheeling me around.

“He just came out of surgery?” One nurse asked.

“Yeah, brain mass” the other answered and turned towards me.

“You’re out of surgery now. The MRI machine is loud, so I’m going to put ear plugs on you. Keep sleeping.”

I remember being inside the machine. I remember the incessant beeping and screeching and scratching echoing throughout the inside of the tube. It was like trying to connect to the internet 15 years ago. I hated that modem noise.

“Well I guess I’m alive, it’s too dull for it to be paradise” I thought.

“I can’t wait to be home.”

Thankfully, I fell asleep. I really dislike that sound.

—

I was still very much present during the surgery. But I have no memory of the time in between.

But I know that the Los Angeles Dodgers lost to the Chicago Cubs. Portugal, Uruguay, and Spain where all match winners in the FIFA World Cup, and some group in Texas put up a funny billboard urging Liberals to leave the state. You know, a slow news day.

I only know this because I went back and read updates during my stay in purgatory.

You can do that sort of stuff now, see what you missed out on. Still though, I missed the biggest event of my life. Funny how it works, isn’t it?

June 18th, 2018. 4pm.

 “We found something. Your doctor will give you more details, but the hospital can’t release you in your condition. They’re prepping to receive you at the emergency room. We’re going to walk you over.”

How do you receive those news? More importantly, how was I supposed to explain it to my loved ones? How would I tell everyone that a brain mass had been found and that I needed multiple surgeries? Does an appropriate reaction even exist?

But at least I had some sort of proof that this time, I wasn’t overreacting. There was something seriously wrong and the resolution went beyond my knowledge, beyond my skills, beyond my abilities.

Though time stood still for me, the clock kept running, life kept moving. The situation set off a series of events that wouldn’t have materialized otherwise.

At least for now. I think.

Epilogue/Prologue

On May 30th, 2019; We lost a dear friend in our scene. We weren’t close. But aside from friends, we had so much in common. And as inevitable as death is, it’s not something we’re ever prepared for. It hurts all the same.

On May 31st, 2019; My friends welcomed a baby girl into this world. We’re not close. Aside from friends, we‘re going to have very little in common. And as interesting as life is, it’s not something we’re ever prepared for.

But it doesn’t have to hurt all the same.

Memorial Dayze

It’s Vegas. It’s Punk Rock Bowling weekend and you’re having yourself a time. Except, you want to beat the insane amount of traffic and delays on Memorial Day. Besides, you have a 5am departure.

You’re surprised to find train tickets back home on such a short notice. And perfect, the terminal is a quick walk from The Golden Nugget. Getting to the train is the only challenge. Once inside, you can sleep all the way to LA.

But by early Monday morning, you start realizing that Vegas on a Memorial Day weekend is a whole different monster. You lack nutrients, you lack hydration. You’ve had nothing but junk food. You’ve abused yourself for the past 80 hours (more than usual). This kind of... hurts. So you decide to close your eyes for a bit, but just a bit because it’s 3am.

Of course, you sleep more than intended. But you’re still on time. So you wake your friends and dart over to the station. As if things weren’t hectic enough, you realize the tickets you bought are not digital. You were supposed to have printed them days ago.

You rush over to the lobby and ask. But the front desk isn’t too keen on printing things out. Don’t fear. There’s a computer on the other side of the casino where you can print out whatever you need. It’s only 1.50 per page. A small price to pay to avoid missing your train. A terrible price otherwise.

Tickets in hand, you finally make it to the terminal. You’re drunk, sleepy, and confused. Your body is on its own. Life is extra blurry.

You take a look around and notice there are only busses. This is slightly confusing, but time is of the essence. You try asking the clerk, but she doesn’t know about any trains. Even more confused, you step outside and see a man wearing an Amtrak jacket. You ask about the train.

“Amtrak? Train? No train. This is a Greyhound bus, by Amtrak. No group seats left. We leave in 5. Fill in the gaps.”

You know you’re about to enter a present-day circle of hell. There’s no one else to blame. You did this. 

Timeout 1

My commute to work involves driving around and through parts of Griffith Park. It’s our version of Central Park, but not quite as shady or chaotic, and much more hilly. Actually, they’re very different. Except for the fact that they are both a bit of green in a sometimes gray landscape. 

I was a bit late this day and to my dismay, there was a traffic stop in the middle of the park. I wasn’t too bothered by it, I’m sure the drivers weren’t holding up traffic by choice. Nevertheless, I was eager to get out of there, eager to get on with my day. But I couldn’t. I was stuck.

Maybe I got tired of waiting. Or maybe I exhausted myself with my imaginary day, my imaginary problems, and my subsequent imaginary decisions.

”All of a sudden, I can predict the future ?”

Whatever it was; I edged to the side of the road, walked to the nearest park bench, and waited for it to decongest. It probably took all of 10 minutes.

I must’ve looked like a psychopath.

I didn't want to post about Marijuana on 4/20

But, here we are.

In high school, I was arrested for having a nickel bag on me. Had to go through court, community service, narcotics anonymous, everything. Man that sucked. Remind me to tell you that story some other time. 

I started smoking heavily when I began to experience serious head pain. By this time, I was becoming self conscious of the amount of pain-meds I was taking. Even making the switch to ‘daily’ migraine drugs didn’t make me feel too good. As we were all unaware that a cerebral / spinal fluid buildup (Hydrocephalus) was the primary cause of the pain, I started keeping a daily journal where I would write down my habits. What time I woke up, what time I ate, what I ate, how long I slept, etc. One of these facts outlined which medication I took and when. I made myself a system of notes. It wasn’t a very good system (too large) but it evolved into a simple list: time I would wake up, if I fell back asleep or “crashed'“, how much pain I felt, and how bad my Nausea was. I imagine everyone would’ve had a different system, with different symbols, and different colors. Mine was a little red journal with black ink, circles for pain, squares for nausea, check-marks inside the shape would tell me how bad it was. But, the situation wasn’t getting any better.

So I went out and bought a cheap-o battery pen and a CBD cartridge at one of the many LA Dispensaries. Almost immediately, I began to feel a positive difference. The most drastic impact for me was that my nausea subsided dramatically. Just as importantly, I stopped taking the daily painkillers. It calmed my symptoms and made day to day operation a bit more bearable. Obviously, the weed wasn’t a miracle cure or anything. We can thank modern medicine for the surgery. I’d be screwed if this was just ten years ago. I’d be really screwed if this was Game of Thrones era.

I had to be monitored by nurses  & doctors pretty frequently. That was the worst part of the hospital stay, I got very little rest. You know what made the stay easier though?  Hydrocodone. They helped me sleep uninterrupted for a few hours. But i’ve also heard some pretty horrible stories about them, especially from the suburbs, addiction sucks.

Somehow, I made the choice that I would do everything in my power to avoid taking pills once at home. I’ll admit this didn’t work out too well at the beginning. But I lessened the dose the third day and then the fourth and so on. I wrote the dosage on that same journal, I used the same pain scale. I downgraded from Norco to Tylenol. Eventually, the pain was minimal, but the discomfort was still present. I had 52 staples in my head, extremely limited mobility, a hole in my skull (which I’m super proud of), and it was a hot summer. So back to the local dispensary I went. 

Legalization is amazing.  

And now? Now it kind of just stuck around.  You know what else stuck around? My notes. Its become a habit of mine. They help me remember everything I would otherwise forget. Some of it ends up being pretty neat.