Sorry for the lack of any posts. I've been extremely busy with my real life.
I got a job that has been kicking my ass.
I'm a security guard now and let me tell you.....so many stupid people.
First day on the job I got pepper sprayed. Mind you, it wasn't directly in my face but it was damn close. You see, some people were arguing in the Food court of the local mall(No, I'm not a mall cop. My company was just contracted out to them for the holidays) and I tried to break it up. One girl pulled another girl by the hair and the girl whose hair got pulled whipped out a thing of pepper spray. I was almost in between them so I could break it up and prevent a fight. So when the girl sprayed the other girl in the face, my face was roughly 2 foot away. I ended up getting a big blast of it in my face.
That was awesome...
May I recommend that no one ever get sprayed with that shit. It's not fun.
My second day of work I ended up dealing with an extremely racist Cashier. I was patrolling the mall and going into every store so people could see that I'm there.
Remember, a big rule of being a security guard is that our very presence detours crime.
Anyways, the cashier at this store starts talking to me. I figured why not, my legs are killing me, I could use an excuse to rest for a minute.
So he starts out small, weather and what not. Then he goes into how he doesn't like the local black people coming in his store and demanding better prices. He'd continuously say use "quotes" such as "Yo dawg, why you not be giving me anything cheaper? I can get this crap for 50 bucks at another store" and various other ones.
The best part was he even used a few racial slurs. This went on for 30 whole minutes too so he had ample time to get things off his chest. I didn't want to stay the entire time but my legs were in so much pain.
He finishes and I go back to work. I ended up having the next day off but then I worked the day after that. I return to his store and he's working again. He waves me over and chats me up again. He started out the same way he did 2 days before. First he talks about the weather, ect, ect then he goes into how ever since he told me about the local black people problem that he hasn't had any come back in his store and he thanked me for it.
I was stunned and speechless. All I could say was "No problem..." and I walked off.
Lucky for me I never ended up seeing him again. I think he went home after that.
I didn't work again till Boxing day and that was an experience all on it's own.
The mall was packed. I mean full, overloaded, crowed, and whatever other words there are for way too many fucking people.
I was originally going to be patrolling the first floor of the mall. That would have been a blast. Nice walking, get to chat with people, can sit down from time to time. Nice easy work. Sadly, the fates hated me that day and I got put somewhere else.
I got put atop of the broken down escalator and was incharge of telling people that it wasn't working and that they had to watch their step. It doesn't sound too bad but people are idiots. Complete idiots.
Traffic to this escalator can come from two directions. The left and the right. The right has plenty of room so people can build up and there wouldn't be a problem with the flow of traffic. The left however has a small pathway that can block traffic to a lot of stores so I had to stop people from the right going down the newly formed stairs to let the people on the left go down so I could alleviate the traffic jams.
Not too bad of a job except for stupid people who ever in a hurry to get nowhere.
I wasn't 10 minutes in and I had to stop the right. At first everything is going fine. People are moving, all is well. Then some asshole from the right starts pushing people out of his way saying how he's had enough of this "Fucking bullshit waiting" and preceded to push CHILDREN. He got up to me and pushed me out of the way while spouting some bullshit about how he's been waiting for 10 minutes to use the stairs.
First off, bullshit. The longest anyone had to wait was a minute tops. Why? Because of the wait was any longer than that they'd go use the 3 means of getting to the first floor.
This asshole get passed me and actually starts pushing people ON THE ESCALATOR out of his way aswell. This was just shocking to me. I couldn't believe someone had that little regard for safety.
After that everything calms down for a few hours. Though, I did have a lot of people say things like "No shit it's not working, dumbass" and various other things ending in dumbass. But believe it or not, I also had a lot of people ignore me and precede to the tip of the top stair and almost fall down because they were expecting it to move.
After about 3 hours of this some kid comes up to me and says
"Hey man, I'm just gonna jump on the side and slide down. I'm in a hurry, okay"
I looked at him like he was retarded and flat out said
"No, you're not"
He replies
"Come on man, I'm in a while. It'll be fine. I'll be quick"
I responded with
"No, you won't. You do it and you'll be banned from this mall"
He looked at me like he was about to do it anyways. Infact, he actually had one of his legs up on the rail and was ready to hope over. So, I looked straight in his eyes and said in a deep voice so damn near anyone around me could hear me.
"NO"
He brought his leg back down and walked properly down the stairs.
I felt rather cool after that to be honest. My authority was respected.
It then got boring...again. The only thing that kept me moderately sane was these extremely cute girls at the shop across from me kept flirting with me and bringing me out chocolate and water and even chatted with me.
So ya, that's the exciting first ever week of work for the mighty Randy. Life is pretty awesome right now to be honest. I'm finally working, I'm getting ready to go back to school. I'm getting results from my doctors about my back issues, and chicks really dig the security uniform.
I may take some time to update this but I will always have one up every 2 weeks at the latest. The soonest of course would be 1 week.
Till next time my loyal readers.
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Friday, December 16, 2011
Twisted messages
Remember my first post in this blog? I sure do. It was about me ripping my balls on a fence. Fun times.
Wait, it gets better.
You see, when I was 15 or so I lived in Salem, Mass. You know, that witch town that's in the movies. Nice place(Not really). Well, one morning during I think spring break something interesting happened.
I had awoke to take a piss at like 10am. Was a very nice pee. I flush, I pull up my pants, and I head back to bed for a couple more hours of sleep.
As I get back into my bed and try to get comfortable, I start to hurt in my balls. Was a small pain at first so I tried to ignore it and go back to sleep but after about 2 minutes it got a lot worse. I tried to wake up my little brother to talk to him about the pain but he was sound asleep.
I walked out to the Living room where my older brother was sleeping and tried him instead. I managed to get him up and told him that I had a lot of pain....down there. He told me to shut up, man up, and go back to bed.
I paced around the living for a minute or two debating on whether or not I should do what I was thinking of doing.
Finally, the pain got so bad that I had to.
I went into my Mother's Room and she was on the phone for a business call. I tried standing there waiting till she got off the phone but it seemed like she'd never get off the phone. I tried whispering to her that I needed to talk to her but she just did that angry look of "Don't you see I'm on the phone?".
So, finally......I flashed my mother and in her eyes was extreme horror because my right Testicle was massive. I'm talking like putting a grape beside a golf ball in some tinfoil. It was fucking noticeable.
I'm not even sure if she told the person she was talking to that she had to go, she just hung up the phone fast. I tell her what happened and we rush to the hospital.
Now, this is where this part of the story sucks for me. You'll see as I go on.
We arrive at the Hospital and my mom starts yelling at the Nurse in the triage. I get seen right away and given a lot of Morphine as soon as I lie down on the bed. The pain was so bad that even through all that Morphine I still felt a large majority of the pain. The only upside was that things go so cloudy it didn't bother me as much. Like, I could feel it but my mind didn't care whatsoever.
Doctor walks in next. My mom and I tell him what happened and he tells me that luckily he dealt with something like this the week before I came in on a much older gentleman. He goes on to tell me that I had twisted a testicle. Somehow in my sleep the little guy did a 360 and the vein had strangled off all circulation to the testicle and that it was a good thing I got there when I did. He might be able to save it. He waves for a few Nurses to wheel me somewhere. I think it was an X-ray. I'm not entirely sure. My mind at that point was focusing on two things.
1: Fuck it, I don't care about the pain anymore. I'm not here right now.
2: Oh god, so many hot nurses around me....are...are they touching my balls? Oh god, they are. Why are so many hot Nurses touching my balls? Don't get an erection......
And then I blacked out. Turns out they were prepping me for surgery.
I woke up some time later to 2 Doctors and Nurse sitting around my bed. They tell me that they managed to save my testicle but walking will be extremely difficult for the next little while and that my heart had stopped on the operating table. They informed me that the anesthesiologist hadn't taken into account that I had a lowered breathing capacity because of my disease.
They gave me too much and my heart and lungs had stopped for approximately 45 seconds.
In my mind, I was thinking "Whoah...I didn't even see a white light or anything. I had just closed and opened my eyes...crappy". One of the Doctors ask if I was okay with being told that and I tell them that ya, I'm fine.
Next they tell me that I'll have to where a weird cup like thing to keep my balls from falling out when I try to walk again. I nod and tell them I'll wear it. I tried it once but it was tight and amazingly uncomfortable so I never wore it again. Nothing ever happened to fall out. I still have both my balls, thankfully.
So, there is that story. Sorry for the wait. Things have been hectic as hell in my life. I even got a job.
Till next time.
Wait, it gets better.
You see, when I was 15 or so I lived in Salem, Mass. You know, that witch town that's in the movies. Nice place(Not really). Well, one morning during I think spring break something interesting happened.
I had awoke to take a piss at like 10am. Was a very nice pee. I flush, I pull up my pants, and I head back to bed for a couple more hours of sleep.
As I get back into my bed and try to get comfortable, I start to hurt in my balls. Was a small pain at first so I tried to ignore it and go back to sleep but after about 2 minutes it got a lot worse. I tried to wake up my little brother to talk to him about the pain but he was sound asleep.
I walked out to the Living room where my older brother was sleeping and tried him instead. I managed to get him up and told him that I had a lot of pain....down there. He told me to shut up, man up, and go back to bed.
I paced around the living for a minute or two debating on whether or not I should do what I was thinking of doing.
Finally, the pain got so bad that I had to.
I went into my Mother's Room and she was on the phone for a business call. I tried standing there waiting till she got off the phone but it seemed like she'd never get off the phone. I tried whispering to her that I needed to talk to her but she just did that angry look of "Don't you see I'm on the phone?".
So, finally......I flashed my mother and in her eyes was extreme horror because my right Testicle was massive. I'm talking like putting a grape beside a golf ball in some tinfoil. It was fucking noticeable.
I'm not even sure if she told the person she was talking to that she had to go, she just hung up the phone fast. I tell her what happened and we rush to the hospital.
Now, this is where this part of the story sucks for me. You'll see as I go on.
We arrive at the Hospital and my mom starts yelling at the Nurse in the triage. I get seen right away and given a lot of Morphine as soon as I lie down on the bed. The pain was so bad that even through all that Morphine I still felt a large majority of the pain. The only upside was that things go so cloudy it didn't bother me as much. Like, I could feel it but my mind didn't care whatsoever.
Doctor walks in next. My mom and I tell him what happened and he tells me that luckily he dealt with something like this the week before I came in on a much older gentleman. He goes on to tell me that I had twisted a testicle. Somehow in my sleep the little guy did a 360 and the vein had strangled off all circulation to the testicle and that it was a good thing I got there when I did. He might be able to save it. He waves for a few Nurses to wheel me somewhere. I think it was an X-ray. I'm not entirely sure. My mind at that point was focusing on two things.
1: Fuck it, I don't care about the pain anymore. I'm not here right now.
2: Oh god, so many hot nurses around me....are...are they touching my balls? Oh god, they are. Why are so many hot Nurses touching my balls? Don't get an erection......
And then I blacked out. Turns out they were prepping me for surgery.
I woke up some time later to 2 Doctors and Nurse sitting around my bed. They tell me that they managed to save my testicle but walking will be extremely difficult for the next little while and that my heart had stopped on the operating table. They informed me that the anesthesiologist hadn't taken into account that I had a lowered breathing capacity because of my disease.
They gave me too much and my heart and lungs had stopped for approximately 45 seconds.
In my mind, I was thinking "Whoah...I didn't even see a white light or anything. I had just closed and opened my eyes...crappy". One of the Doctors ask if I was okay with being told that and I tell them that ya, I'm fine.
Next they tell me that I'll have to where a weird cup like thing to keep my balls from falling out when I try to walk again. I nod and tell them I'll wear it. I tried it once but it was tight and amazingly uncomfortable so I never wore it again. Nothing ever happened to fall out. I still have both my balls, thankfully.
So, there is that story. Sorry for the wait. Things have been hectic as hell in my life. I even got a job.
Till next time.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
From Child to Adult
Everyone is different. Everyone takes information and processes it differently. So what I am going to say won't apply to everyone but it's how I saw/see it.
When I was 13 I was told that I wouldn't live to see 25. News like that hit me hard. I didn't turn to drugs, crime, ect but I also didn't push myself to prove those doctors wrong. I went the fuck it route and decided to not take anything in life seriously. That attitude didn't hit me too hard until I did the transition from Children's to Adults.
At the good ol' age of 16 is when they start the transition to Adult's Hospital and it's not an easy time for Cfers. When you turn 16, you're entire life is thrown on your shoulders and you're expected to handle it with ease. Sadly, that wasn't the case with me. Because of what I was told when I was 13, I wasn't mentally ready to have my life weigh me down like that. I thought I was unstoppable and that CF was a joke. I only take care of my self as a kid because it's what the Nurses and Doctors told me to do. If I didn't I'd get lectured and yelled at. When they took that away, I stopped taking care of myself.
I'm not saying their shitty system is to take all the blame. I blame myself for being so stupid that I took my health for granted but the system didn't help. I was a kid.
So, they start the process by taking you to the Adult's and showing you around the outpatient clinic, take you to the Ward where you'd spend your hospital stays, and then introduce you to the Nurses. It's a miserable process let me tell ya.
Children's is bright, caring, you can feel the love in the air, everyone is cheerful. You feel good just being there.
Adult's is like prison. The paint is faded, the ceilings have mold or water damage, the nurses all look pissed off and overworked, the TVs are these little 10 inch screens that are staticy as fuck, and they charge you for cable where Children's was free. It costs 16 dollars a day for shitty cable in the hospital and 10 dollars a day for phone.
All the time added up from my hospital stays would probably equal a year to a year and a half. Now imagine paying 16 dollars a day for 365 days. That's almost six thousand dollars.
Shaw Cable isn't even that expensive.
In Children's clinic, you get like 6-9 caring Nurses who constantly ask how you're doing and seem interested and you also get 2-3 Doctors who do the same.
In Adult's clinic, you get 1 over worked nurse who doesn't seem to give a flying fuck and 1 over worked Doctor who really doesn't give a fuck at all and seems to be in it for the paycheck at this point.
Because I was a stupid kid I weighed the importance of my health based on the nurses and doctors and how they treated me. I was stupid like that. In Children's I was constantly being asked if I was taking care of myself and I was. I needed that.
In adults, you come in, meet your over worked Nurse, she'll ask you how you're feeling, if you're sick, she'll get the doctor and tell him, he'll come in, ask the same question, then prescribe you an antibiotic, then leave. The whole process would take about 7 minutes and 3 of those minutes would be you waiting on the Doctor.
A kid doesn't need that kind of environment.
So, without the needed questions of if I was taking care of myself by 10+ different people, I stopped taking take of myself all together. I figured if the doctor doesn't show concern, then why should I?
After 2-3 years of this, my lung functions dropped rapidly. When I was 19, I started the assessment for the Lung Transplant. Mid way through the assessment I asked to switch Doctors because I wasn't happy with my current one. It took a while to find a new one but when I did. My health got better and I pushed off transplant for 4 more years. This new Doctor gave me what I needed. She actually seemed to care about me and because of that my health went up. She showed concern so I took CF seriously again.
I mean, I still did the bare minimum because I was still in that shitty attitude of "I'm dead anyways" but I was taking care of myself. That bare minimum saved my life.
I apologize for the delay in the post. I spent all week trying to word everything properly and make sure it was coherent.
When I was 13 I was told that I wouldn't live to see 25. News like that hit me hard. I didn't turn to drugs, crime, ect but I also didn't push myself to prove those doctors wrong. I went the fuck it route and decided to not take anything in life seriously. That attitude didn't hit me too hard until I did the transition from Children's to Adults.
At the good ol' age of 16 is when they start the transition to Adult's Hospital and it's not an easy time for Cfers. When you turn 16, you're entire life is thrown on your shoulders and you're expected to handle it with ease. Sadly, that wasn't the case with me. Because of what I was told when I was 13, I wasn't mentally ready to have my life weigh me down like that. I thought I was unstoppable and that CF was a joke. I only take care of my self as a kid because it's what the Nurses and Doctors told me to do. If I didn't I'd get lectured and yelled at. When they took that away, I stopped taking care of myself.
I'm not saying their shitty system is to take all the blame. I blame myself for being so stupid that I took my health for granted but the system didn't help. I was a kid.
So, they start the process by taking you to the Adult's and showing you around the outpatient clinic, take you to the Ward where you'd spend your hospital stays, and then introduce you to the Nurses. It's a miserable process let me tell ya.
Children's is bright, caring, you can feel the love in the air, everyone is cheerful. You feel good just being there.
Adult's is like prison. The paint is faded, the ceilings have mold or water damage, the nurses all look pissed off and overworked, the TVs are these little 10 inch screens that are staticy as fuck, and they charge you for cable where Children's was free. It costs 16 dollars a day for shitty cable in the hospital and 10 dollars a day for phone.
All the time added up from my hospital stays would probably equal a year to a year and a half. Now imagine paying 16 dollars a day for 365 days. That's almost six thousand dollars.
Shaw Cable isn't even that expensive.
In Children's clinic, you get like 6-9 caring Nurses who constantly ask how you're doing and seem interested and you also get 2-3 Doctors who do the same.
In Adult's clinic, you get 1 over worked nurse who doesn't seem to give a flying fuck and 1 over worked Doctor who really doesn't give a fuck at all and seems to be in it for the paycheck at this point.
Because I was a stupid kid I weighed the importance of my health based on the nurses and doctors and how they treated me. I was stupid like that. In Children's I was constantly being asked if I was taking care of myself and I was. I needed that.
In adults, you come in, meet your over worked Nurse, she'll ask you how you're feeling, if you're sick, she'll get the doctor and tell him, he'll come in, ask the same question, then prescribe you an antibiotic, then leave. The whole process would take about 7 minutes and 3 of those minutes would be you waiting on the Doctor.
A kid doesn't need that kind of environment.
So, without the needed questions of if I was taking care of myself by 10+ different people, I stopped taking take of myself all together. I figured if the doctor doesn't show concern, then why should I?
After 2-3 years of this, my lung functions dropped rapidly. When I was 19, I started the assessment for the Lung Transplant. Mid way through the assessment I asked to switch Doctors because I wasn't happy with my current one. It took a while to find a new one but when I did. My health got better and I pushed off transplant for 4 more years. This new Doctor gave me what I needed. She actually seemed to care about me and because of that my health went up. She showed concern so I took CF seriously again.
I mean, I still did the bare minimum because I was still in that shitty attitude of "I'm dead anyways" but I was taking care of myself. That bare minimum saved my life.
I apologize for the delay in the post. I spent all week trying to word everything properly and make sure it was coherent.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Sidekick Side Effects
Today I thought about going over the fun side effects of the transplant and the meds I'm on. It's something I haven't really spoken about since transplant and I thought it would be good to get people to understand the interesting effects the pills can take on a persons body.
After Transplant I was on a drug called Cyclosporine, this is the first Anti rejection drug everyone goes on. It's the staple because I believe it's the strongest and works the best. It's not always the best though for people.
When I was switched to Oral Cyclo, things got interesting. Now, before I go on, let me explain what the doctors want a normal persons drug levels to be at. A normal person should be around 300-450 if I remember correctly for Cyclo. That's normal.
Me on the other hand, I'm not normal and so that never worked for my body. My drug levels would be 66 one day and 600 the next. Not one day was even close to the same as another while I was on the drug and because of that, the side effects from it hit me like a ton of bricks. Not as bad as some people I know but still pretty bad. I got extremely emotional and would freak out over every little thing and say the most hurtful things I possibly could. I don't know why I would say shit that would hurt people because I'm not like that. I don't get emotional unless I'm pushed to an extreme edge.
But because my drug levels finally became what the doctors found "Acceptable" they sent me home on it.
So, if you remember right, I was also on T3s at this time and after a month of T3s, I got so constipated that I ended up in the hospital and wasn't allowed to eat any food but I still had to take my meds including Cyclo, which is a fucking strong ass drug that MUST be taken with food. So because of that, my levels ended up going sky high. They never told me my exact levels but I know my body well enough to know that they were extremely high up there.
That's when I got the seizures, broke my back, ect. You've read the story. After those seizures they switched me to something called Prograf. It's the number 2 Anti rejection med they try when people have complications with Cyclo.
Proper levels on Prograf are between 5 and 10, I'm told. I'm usually around those numbers but some days, those I like to call "Bad days", I am like 15+. That's high for Prograf and I start to feel the effects hardcore.
I'm very moody, I'm very irritable, I get these dumbass thoughts in my head, and I start to shake like you wouldn't believe. On most of the bad days I just get extreme shakes. Nothing to bad. Does tend to be a bit of a pain in the ass but I try to deal.
On those special days where I do become the other things though. It gets bad. Not one person in my life seems to notice the change from logical smartass, to unlogical asshole. It bothers me actually, and instead of people being understanding, they just push me further. My family is really bad for it and they never just leave me alone. They push and push and push and make me say things I'd never say when I was clear of thought. It pisses me off so much.
And then I tend to make up those stupid scenarios in my mind. Like recently. Normally, my Birthdays are always about just having my friends over and having a blast, I never cared about presents but because my levels have been really high the last two weeks, I started having these thoughts I never had. I started getting pissed off that only a small handful of people got me anything. I've been doing the same birthday for 8 years. I never expected gifts from friends but this year I ended up freaking out on my friends and doing shit I never do.
And again, instead of people noticing this unexpected change and just ignoring it or trying to talk to me about it, they pushed me further and I then got worse and worse.
I feel more level headed now because I feel my levels are evening out but the damage has already been done.
Those are just the side effects I've had to deal with though. And there are much worse side effects too that can happen. I can get skin cancer, something that has always bothered me in my mind since the first day I read the book and it said what a high chance there was of getting it.
The other side effects that thankfully I've had few and far between are, Back pain(Kind of hard to tell this one though); constipation; diarrhea; dizziness; headache; joint pain; loss of appetite(Hard to notice this one); nausea(I get this quiet often and it's such a pain in the ass); stomach pain or upset; trouble sleeping(Another hard to notice one with my back pain); vomiting(And again, another one I get often); weakness.
So ya, there is some fun side effect history for you. I apologize for rambling, I tend to do it a lot but thanks for reading.
After Transplant I was on a drug called Cyclosporine, this is the first Anti rejection drug everyone goes on. It's the staple because I believe it's the strongest and works the best. It's not always the best though for people.
When I was switched to Oral Cyclo, things got interesting. Now, before I go on, let me explain what the doctors want a normal persons drug levels to be at. A normal person should be around 300-450 if I remember correctly for Cyclo. That's normal.
Me on the other hand, I'm not normal and so that never worked for my body. My drug levels would be 66 one day and 600 the next. Not one day was even close to the same as another while I was on the drug and because of that, the side effects from it hit me like a ton of bricks. Not as bad as some people I know but still pretty bad. I got extremely emotional and would freak out over every little thing and say the most hurtful things I possibly could. I don't know why I would say shit that would hurt people because I'm not like that. I don't get emotional unless I'm pushed to an extreme edge.
But because my drug levels finally became what the doctors found "Acceptable" they sent me home on it.
So, if you remember right, I was also on T3s at this time and after a month of T3s, I got so constipated that I ended up in the hospital and wasn't allowed to eat any food but I still had to take my meds including Cyclo, which is a fucking strong ass drug that MUST be taken with food. So because of that, my levels ended up going sky high. They never told me my exact levels but I know my body well enough to know that they were extremely high up there.
That's when I got the seizures, broke my back, ect. You've read the story. After those seizures they switched me to something called Prograf. It's the number 2 Anti rejection med they try when people have complications with Cyclo.
Proper levels on Prograf are between 5 and 10, I'm told. I'm usually around those numbers but some days, those I like to call "Bad days", I am like 15+. That's high for Prograf and I start to feel the effects hardcore.
I'm very moody, I'm very irritable, I get these dumbass thoughts in my head, and I start to shake like you wouldn't believe. On most of the bad days I just get extreme shakes. Nothing to bad. Does tend to be a bit of a pain in the ass but I try to deal.
On those special days where I do become the other things though. It gets bad. Not one person in my life seems to notice the change from logical smartass, to unlogical asshole. It bothers me actually, and instead of people being understanding, they just push me further. My family is really bad for it and they never just leave me alone. They push and push and push and make me say things I'd never say when I was clear of thought. It pisses me off so much.
And then I tend to make up those stupid scenarios in my mind. Like recently. Normally, my Birthdays are always about just having my friends over and having a blast, I never cared about presents but because my levels have been really high the last two weeks, I started having these thoughts I never had. I started getting pissed off that only a small handful of people got me anything. I've been doing the same birthday for 8 years. I never expected gifts from friends but this year I ended up freaking out on my friends and doing shit I never do.
And again, instead of people noticing this unexpected change and just ignoring it or trying to talk to me about it, they pushed me further and I then got worse and worse.
I feel more level headed now because I feel my levels are evening out but the damage has already been done.
Those are just the side effects I've had to deal with though. And there are much worse side effects too that can happen. I can get skin cancer, something that has always bothered me in my mind since the first day I read the book and it said what a high chance there was of getting it.
The other side effects that thankfully I've had few and far between are, Back pain(Kind of hard to tell this one though); constipation; diarrhea; dizziness; headache; joint pain; loss of appetite(Hard to notice this one); nausea(I get this quiet often and it's such a pain in the ass); stomach pain or upset; trouble sleeping(Another hard to notice one with my back pain); vomiting(And again, another one I get often); weakness.
So ya, there is some fun side effect history for you. I apologize for rambling, I tend to do it a lot but thanks for reading.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Happy Birthday To Me
So, yesterday was my Birthday and I'mma do something different. Instead of writing just about my past, I think I'll explain some things.
This birthday was a special birthday to me and it wasn't because of anything normally special. I didn't meet my true love on this day, I didn't turn 1/4th a Century old, nothing like that really. It's special for a special reason.
You see, when I turned 23 last year, I thought it to be my last birthday. Yesterday proved me wrong and I'm so thankful it did.
But what made me think that was a few things.
First being my Coma of Feb 2010. When I awoke from that Coma, everyone, and I mean everyone told me that I should have died and that kind of talk hit me hard. It was then that I had giving up on truly enjoy life. I gave up on expecting anything but I didn't give up on life. I may have given up on truly being happy but I would never give up on life. I may have been so sick that I couldn't see anything good but I was determined to live each and every day till I died.
And then my 23rd Birthday came last year and I was so sick I had trouble keeping up the strong face infront of my friends and family. In my mind, at the time, I knew that I wouldn't live to see 24. I couldn't laugh without coughing up black phlegm at the dinner and at the end of the dinner I was coughing up lots of blood. I couldn't even make it to the after dinner nerdy events that I usually do on my Birthday.
It was like a tradition on my Birthdays for the last 8 years. We'd go to Dinner, which was paid for by my Mother, and it was always the same place too. It's a Japanese Steak House where they cook the food infront of you. It's called Itchiban here and it's my favorite place to eat in the city. After dinner we'd go over to either my house or my friends place and do various things. Watch Anime, play video games, play Dungeons and Dragons, Magic The Gathering, ect. It's fun.
But last year I could barely make it back to my Car after the dinner. And that's why I thought I'd never live to have another Birthday.
This year though, it was amazing. Same thing as always. Only a few friends got my presents, like every year, I didn't cough once, which on it's own is enough to bring me to tears of happiness, we laughed, and again, no coughs from laughing, we told amazing stories, and the chef tried to drown my in Sake. I did a couple Sake shots where I'd tilt my head back and he'd pour the bottle of Sake into my mouth. The first shot was about 1 and a half shots of Sake. The second one though....good lord. I think that was like 5-6 shots in one go. Then the next time I drank Sake I did a Double Sake shot bomb which was awesome. He stacked a Sake Shot on a Sake Shot on a Japanese beer. I drank the whole thing in one go.
And sadly that's where the sad part of the night came in.
Before I go on there is something you need to know. I can't get drunk. I've never been drunk. I have no idea what it's like. Because of my disease I don't absorb alcohol properly. My first time ever drinking was when I turned 18. I drank 23 bottles of Alex Keiths beer and an entire bottle of Vodka. I didn't feel a thing. At first I though I was just a good heavy drinker but it turned out a little different. The next time I drank was 3 years ago in Jamaica. I went on New Years and I had a whole resort of people giving me Jamaican Rum for a solid 8 hours. I can't even begin to count how many shots I had that night but I didn't even feel a buzz. The only thing that happened to me was I started to fart a bit.
So that was the only crappy thing about that night. While all my friends have hilarious stories of the times they been drunk. I got nothing.
Other than that, the was my best Birthday ever. Not because of all that, it added to the enjoyment but it wasn't because of it.
It's because I got a Birthday that I didn't see having. If you've read enough of these, then hopefully you can understand just how sick I was so my thinking back then was understandable.
So ya, hope you enjoyed this post and I'll keep posting them.
This birthday was a special birthday to me and it wasn't because of anything normally special. I didn't meet my true love on this day, I didn't turn 1/4th a Century old, nothing like that really. It's special for a special reason.
You see, when I turned 23 last year, I thought it to be my last birthday. Yesterday proved me wrong and I'm so thankful it did.
But what made me think that was a few things.
First being my Coma of Feb 2010. When I awoke from that Coma, everyone, and I mean everyone told me that I should have died and that kind of talk hit me hard. It was then that I had giving up on truly enjoy life. I gave up on expecting anything but I didn't give up on life. I may have given up on truly being happy but I would never give up on life. I may have been so sick that I couldn't see anything good but I was determined to live each and every day till I died.
And then my 23rd Birthday came last year and I was so sick I had trouble keeping up the strong face infront of my friends and family. In my mind, at the time, I knew that I wouldn't live to see 24. I couldn't laugh without coughing up black phlegm at the dinner and at the end of the dinner I was coughing up lots of blood. I couldn't even make it to the after dinner nerdy events that I usually do on my Birthday.
It was like a tradition on my Birthdays for the last 8 years. We'd go to Dinner, which was paid for by my Mother, and it was always the same place too. It's a Japanese Steak House where they cook the food infront of you. It's called Itchiban here and it's my favorite place to eat in the city. After dinner we'd go over to either my house or my friends place and do various things. Watch Anime, play video games, play Dungeons and Dragons, Magic The Gathering, ect. It's fun.
But last year I could barely make it back to my Car after the dinner. And that's why I thought I'd never live to have another Birthday.
This year though, it was amazing. Same thing as always. Only a few friends got my presents, like every year, I didn't cough once, which on it's own is enough to bring me to tears of happiness, we laughed, and again, no coughs from laughing, we told amazing stories, and the chef tried to drown my in Sake. I did a couple Sake shots where I'd tilt my head back and he'd pour the bottle of Sake into my mouth. The first shot was about 1 and a half shots of Sake. The second one though....good lord. I think that was like 5-6 shots in one go. Then the next time I drank Sake I did a Double Sake shot bomb which was awesome. He stacked a Sake Shot on a Sake Shot on a Japanese beer. I drank the whole thing in one go.
And sadly that's where the sad part of the night came in.
Before I go on there is something you need to know. I can't get drunk. I've never been drunk. I have no idea what it's like. Because of my disease I don't absorb alcohol properly. My first time ever drinking was when I turned 18. I drank 23 bottles of Alex Keiths beer and an entire bottle of Vodka. I didn't feel a thing. At first I though I was just a good heavy drinker but it turned out a little different. The next time I drank was 3 years ago in Jamaica. I went on New Years and I had a whole resort of people giving me Jamaican Rum for a solid 8 hours. I can't even begin to count how many shots I had that night but I didn't even feel a buzz. The only thing that happened to me was I started to fart a bit.
So that was the only crappy thing about that night. While all my friends have hilarious stories of the times they been drunk. I got nothing.
Other than that, the was my best Birthday ever. Not because of all that, it added to the enjoyment but it wasn't because of it.
It's because I got a Birthday that I didn't see having. If you've read enough of these, then hopefully you can understand just how sick I was so my thinking back then was understandable.
So ya, hope you enjoyed this post and I'll keep posting them.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Back to Back
I think today I shall tell everyone the amazing tale about my fractured and permanently fucked spine...
When I was discharged on Dec 23rd cause my drug levels finally stabilized, I was on Tylenol 3s for pain. For those who don't know. T3s are just regular Tylenol with Codine in it or so I was told. Drug users/dealers use them a lot to get stoned but I never noticed any kind of high while on them.
That was my issue. I never noticed anything while on them. I wasn't high, I wasn't getting pain relief, nothing. I tell my Doctor this and instead of switching me to something else. Like say, the pain killer I was on while in hospital, or anything else, he just told me to up the dose. I believe I was taking 2 T3s every 4 hours to try and help with my chest pain.(Trust me, when you have your chest ripped open, and your lungs replaced, that wound hurts for a while.)
So, I was taking that dose of "Pain Killers" for a solid Month before things started to go wrong. My best friend was getting ready to move to the states and I was feeling a little Constipated. I didn't think much of it at the time. We've all been backed up. But well, we went for a fair well Lunch and I was unable to eat anything my stomach was hurting so bad.
See, I was so backed up that I couldn't eat a damn thing. Just moving was hurting and of course, to deal with the pain, I took some T3s. Bad idea. I leave the Lunch and head home, figure I'll sleep if off.
I awoke 2 hours later in even more pain. Finally, I said fuck up and drove to the Emerg. I tell them the pain has been growing at a consistent rate for about 2 days. They X-Ray, feel my stomach, ect, ect. They inform me that I'm so backed up that if I were to eat another meal I'd vomit shit, actually shit, poop, crap, doodoo, from my mouth. They quickly admit me to the Hospital.
The first 5 days sucked. It was a lot of no eating, lots of fingers up my ass to try and wiggle anything out, I drank lots of what I call "Liquid Draino"(I forgot the actual term of it. It was some gallon of something that I had to drink that SHOULD have flushed me out....it didn't), and a bunch of other stuff I care to not recall.
Day 5 rolls around and I finally have a shit. It wasn't much of a shit, it was greasy and barely anything in the bowl but it was my first shit in a week. I was happy cause 1 shit meant many more and that meant less doctors fingers up my ass.
I wanna stop real quick and just make something clear. Having so many god damn fingers up my ass at all hours was fucking painful and annoying. My ass was meant for nothing to go up it. That is a fucking exit and exit only. I was woken up MANY times at 5am just so doctors and student doctors could feel around up my ass. Fucking never again.
So, I poo'd. Things are going good and my stomach gets clearer and clearer. I'm doing one last hour walk around the Hospital(Remember, I still have to keep my new lungs in shape) and I was climbing some stairs back to my ward, I started to feel Dizzy. I tell my Doctors this and I express to them that I would like to stay an extra day to be safe. That was only have the reason to be honest. The other half was that if I went home, that would mean that my life would finally be in my hours full throttle and I was scared. I had spent so long living in the Doctors hands that in my mind, I wasn't ready. It also would have killed me with what happened next. I'd have been home alone.
I awake the next morning feeling great. I wake up to my breakfast of 30 pieces of Bacon at my side(I miss the Breakfast). I eat about 15 pieces before I started to feel Dizzy again. I figure I'm just a bit tired and I lied down. Figured I'd get another hour rest before I head home.
Jokes on me, that didn't happen.
You see, for me, I re-awoke 36 hours in ICU with tubes in my throat. Confused and pissed off. I don't remember anything that follows.
What had actually happened was I was out walking and talking to the Nurses by their desk. I had fallen to the ground and had my first seizure. Wasn't a big on I'm told. I had my second one in my Bed. I don't know how much time had gone between the first and second. They wheel me down to the MRI or CT(Again, I don't remember. So much of that is extreme hazy for me). About 10 minutes into the test I started having my third and final seizure. This was the biggest of the 3. A Grand Mal or something.
During the Grand Mal, I had aspirated into my lungs and caused my spine to fracture into two spots.
When I awoke in the ICU, I was fucking pissed off. I was supposed to be going home. This was complete bullshit for me. It was unfair.
They moved me back to my normal ward when I was release from ICU. I get wheeled up there and I try to go to the Nurse's desk to chat them up and find out what happened with the seizures but my back hurts like I couldn't believe so I spent a lot of my recovery time in my bed. I tried to tell my Nurses that my back was killing me but no one believed me. Not a single nurse or doctor believed me at the time and they would only give me hot pads for my back. It got to the point where that despite the pain, I was talking my ass to the kitchen to heat up my own pads because I needed that little bit of relief.
After a week of non-stop pain, non-stop telling the doctors of pain, no sleep, loss of appetite, and my mood changing from happy to extremely bitchy they finally ordered a test of my back. Well, few days later the results come in and guess what they see?
THAT MY FUCKING BACK IS FUCKED UP. I had and have two compound fractures in my T6 and T7. That's roughly between the bottom of my shoulder blades. They basically say to me "Our bad, here's some shitty pain meds" and kicked me out the door.
And that's the story of my back. It hasn't healed. I'm told it won't heal, and they still refuse to give me anything decent for pain. I don't sleep at night. I have days where I vomit from pain. I can't do as much exercise as I want to and I am extremely bitchy because even my own family forgets I'm in pain and makes me do shit I shouldn't be doing.
Wanna know the icing to the cake though? I meant with Pain Clinic about my back and pain meds and they have flat out accused me of being a drug addict DESPITE there being proof that my back is messed up and AND they refuse to give me any proper pain meds to help with the pain.
So ya, that's that and if I ever come off as a bitchy asshole. Assume it's a horrible pain day.
Thanks for reading. till next time~
When I was discharged on Dec 23rd cause my drug levels finally stabilized, I was on Tylenol 3s for pain. For those who don't know. T3s are just regular Tylenol with Codine in it or so I was told. Drug users/dealers use them a lot to get stoned but I never noticed any kind of high while on them.
That was my issue. I never noticed anything while on them. I wasn't high, I wasn't getting pain relief, nothing. I tell my Doctor this and instead of switching me to something else. Like say, the pain killer I was on while in hospital, or anything else, he just told me to up the dose. I believe I was taking 2 T3s every 4 hours to try and help with my chest pain.(Trust me, when you have your chest ripped open, and your lungs replaced, that wound hurts for a while.)
So, I was taking that dose of "Pain Killers" for a solid Month before things started to go wrong. My best friend was getting ready to move to the states and I was feeling a little Constipated. I didn't think much of it at the time. We've all been backed up. But well, we went for a fair well Lunch and I was unable to eat anything my stomach was hurting so bad.
See, I was so backed up that I couldn't eat a damn thing. Just moving was hurting and of course, to deal with the pain, I took some T3s. Bad idea. I leave the Lunch and head home, figure I'll sleep if off.
I awoke 2 hours later in even more pain. Finally, I said fuck up and drove to the Emerg. I tell them the pain has been growing at a consistent rate for about 2 days. They X-Ray, feel my stomach, ect, ect. They inform me that I'm so backed up that if I were to eat another meal I'd vomit shit, actually shit, poop, crap, doodoo, from my mouth. They quickly admit me to the Hospital.
The first 5 days sucked. It was a lot of no eating, lots of fingers up my ass to try and wiggle anything out, I drank lots of what I call "Liquid Draino"(I forgot the actual term of it. It was some gallon of something that I had to drink that SHOULD have flushed me out....it didn't), and a bunch of other stuff I care to not recall.
Day 5 rolls around and I finally have a shit. It wasn't much of a shit, it was greasy and barely anything in the bowl but it was my first shit in a week. I was happy cause 1 shit meant many more and that meant less doctors fingers up my ass.
I wanna stop real quick and just make something clear. Having so many god damn fingers up my ass at all hours was fucking painful and annoying. My ass was meant for nothing to go up it. That is a fucking exit and exit only. I was woken up MANY times at 5am just so doctors and student doctors could feel around up my ass. Fucking never again.
So, I poo'd. Things are going good and my stomach gets clearer and clearer. I'm doing one last hour walk around the Hospital(Remember, I still have to keep my new lungs in shape) and I was climbing some stairs back to my ward, I started to feel Dizzy. I tell my Doctors this and I express to them that I would like to stay an extra day to be safe. That was only have the reason to be honest. The other half was that if I went home, that would mean that my life would finally be in my hours full throttle and I was scared. I had spent so long living in the Doctors hands that in my mind, I wasn't ready. It also would have killed me with what happened next. I'd have been home alone.
I awake the next morning feeling great. I wake up to my breakfast of 30 pieces of Bacon at my side(I miss the Breakfast). I eat about 15 pieces before I started to feel Dizzy again. I figure I'm just a bit tired and I lied down. Figured I'd get another hour rest before I head home.
Jokes on me, that didn't happen.
You see, for me, I re-awoke 36 hours in ICU with tubes in my throat. Confused and pissed off. I don't remember anything that follows.
What had actually happened was I was out walking and talking to the Nurses by their desk. I had fallen to the ground and had my first seizure. Wasn't a big on I'm told. I had my second one in my Bed. I don't know how much time had gone between the first and second. They wheel me down to the MRI or CT(Again, I don't remember. So much of that is extreme hazy for me). About 10 minutes into the test I started having my third and final seizure. This was the biggest of the 3. A Grand Mal or something.
During the Grand Mal, I had aspirated into my lungs and caused my spine to fracture into two spots.
When I awoke in the ICU, I was fucking pissed off. I was supposed to be going home. This was complete bullshit for me. It was unfair.
They moved me back to my normal ward when I was release from ICU. I get wheeled up there and I try to go to the Nurse's desk to chat them up and find out what happened with the seizures but my back hurts like I couldn't believe so I spent a lot of my recovery time in my bed. I tried to tell my Nurses that my back was killing me but no one believed me. Not a single nurse or doctor believed me at the time and they would only give me hot pads for my back. It got to the point where that despite the pain, I was talking my ass to the kitchen to heat up my own pads because I needed that little bit of relief.
After a week of non-stop pain, non-stop telling the doctors of pain, no sleep, loss of appetite, and my mood changing from happy to extremely bitchy they finally ordered a test of my back. Well, few days later the results come in and guess what they see?
THAT MY FUCKING BACK IS FUCKED UP. I had and have two compound fractures in my T6 and T7. That's roughly between the bottom of my shoulder blades. They basically say to me "Our bad, here's some shitty pain meds" and kicked me out the door.
And that's the story of my back. It hasn't healed. I'm told it won't heal, and they still refuse to give me anything decent for pain. I don't sleep at night. I have days where I vomit from pain. I can't do as much exercise as I want to and I am extremely bitchy because even my own family forgets I'm in pain and makes me do shit I shouldn't be doing.
Wanna know the icing to the cake though? I meant with Pain Clinic about my back and pain meds and they have flat out accused me of being a drug addict DESPITE there being proof that my back is messed up and AND they refuse to give me any proper pain meds to help with the pain.
So ya, that's that and if I ever come off as a bitchy asshole. Assume it's a horrible pain day.
Thanks for reading. till next time~
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Back To Healing
Righto, back to my recovery. I apologize for being a little late. Having been doing too well lately due to my back. Sleep has been very little.
Where was I?....right, the recovery unit.
After that whole piss smell mishap things.....stabled out.
I'd push myself hard in my recovery. I'd do laps on the ward every few hours. I started out doing 2 laps, than 4, than 8, than I stopped counting and went for time. I ended up doing 2 hours of hard walking every couple of hours. I was in extreme pain while doing this but every step I took I reminded myself that I had to earn this gift. My body wouldn't just accept it.
I'll be honest here, I kept telling myself that only to deal with the pain, the fact is, I loved being able to walk again. After every session I'd go into my room and cry my ass off because I wasn't coughing anymore. I wasn't spitting up blood, black phlegm or coughing to the point where I vomit and then pass out. Not at all. It was the best thing I had felt in a lot time.
Between rests, some of the Nurses proved that they deserve their shitty pay checks. A few of the incidents that I can remember were as follows.
The first one, while I was still on IV was when the heat in my room broke and got hotter and hotter in my room. The nurses who were working at the time were like 80 year old Portuguese women who couldn't see 2 feet in front of them. I should also mention it's like 11am so it's bright as hell out on the ward.
Now, the nurses come in my room to see what's wrong, they look at the thermostat and mess with it a bit. They aren't sure if you had to twist it right or left to lower the heat, they tried both. Then one of the Nurses had a brilliant idea of getting a flash light. A FUCKING FLASH LIGHT AT 11AM. She thought that would help them see and the whole while I'm saying "Call Maintenance, call maintenance". They didn't listen to me for atleast an hour and the whole time the heat in my room is climbing, getting hotter and hotter.
I couldn't exactly just leave my room till they fixed it because I was fresh out of the ICU and germs were still an issue for me.
So, after an hour of them being the dumbest people I've ever seen, they finally call Maintenance. He walks in, looks at the thing, goes "Oh", walks off, does something, fixes it. The heat shoots back down to normal in minutes.
The next incident I came remember was when I was being switched from IV Anti-rejection to Oral. My first time taking my Oral pills is at night, I'm panicking myself because I'm scared as shit. My life is literally in my own hands. If I miss one pill session this early I could probably cause my body to go into rejection. That's not easy on the mind.
I'm getting more and more nervous as the night goes on and gets closer to my pill time.
When the time comes, I ask the Nurse for a drink and tell her that Water isn't enough to help swallow these massive pills.
She leaves, comes back, and I shit you not. She hands me SOMEONE ELSES FUCKING HALF DRANK drink. I ask her if she was serious and she nods like it's okay. This is like 4 days out of surgery too, mind you. This wasn't 2 weeks or something where my body had a chance to get some immune system back. This is 4 days of having high dose immune suppressants. You ever see the look on someones face that screamed "I'm a giant idiot"? This lady had that look.
After that, the only issues I had was with this bitch of a floor manager lady who hated me and said the dumbest shit. See, I hated sitting in my room and doing nothing. The TVs are from the 80s, you have to pay like 17 dollars a day for cable, and when you have fresh lungs, and the ability to do shit without all the bad stuff, you generally don't want to sit down.
So I'd always walk around the Nurses desk and chat with the nurses. I'm a very social person. I love learning more about their job and I know it helps to have a patient not be a giant pain in the ass but this floor lady told me that, and again, I shit you not.
"You can't stand around the desk all day, you'll over hear confidential information about patients, but you can sit in a chair"
Ya....those were her actual words. I remember this because when that bitch of a lady forced me back to my room I'd write everything down on my laptop. I wanted to keep track of everything that happened so I could always tell the tales correctly.
But ya, I wasn't allowed to stand as that would overhear confidential stuff where as sitting would render my ears useless and thus not overhear a damn thing.
There were some other minor incidents with that lady but they weren't anything too bad, the biggest one I can remember aside from the one I just said was when I was still barely able to walk long distances, I had asked a Nurse to come with me to the Cafe incase anything happened and to help me wheel my IV pole around. She said they were too busy to accompany me and that I would have to wait 2 hours. I said fuck that and went on my own. The walk wasn't so bad, what was bad was wheeling my heavy ass IV pole down a ramp(This was like day two on the Recovery Ward).
Having a ripped open sternum being held together by a wire and staples wasn't not the best for having upper body strength.. That was probably the second most painful thing I did after transplant. The first of course was being forced to cough when I was back in the ICU.
After about 7 days on the Recovery Ward I was ready to go home but just as they take my blood for that day they find my body isn't taking the main Oral Anti-rejection med too well and my drug levels were extremely low. If I remember right, they want the level to be, I think, 300-500, my level that day was 66. It scared the shit out of me. I thought I was going to go into rejection. So they decided to keep me a little longer to make sure my body evened out.
Instead of keeping me on the recovery ward, they sent me to the Respiratory ward cause they needed the Beds. Nothing wrong with that.
But I'll leave it here for now. Don't want to make these too long so people get bored.
Till next time my thousands of readers!
Where was I?....right, the recovery unit.
After that whole piss smell mishap things.....stabled out.
I'd push myself hard in my recovery. I'd do laps on the ward every few hours. I started out doing 2 laps, than 4, than 8, than I stopped counting and went for time. I ended up doing 2 hours of hard walking every couple of hours. I was in extreme pain while doing this but every step I took I reminded myself that I had to earn this gift. My body wouldn't just accept it.
I'll be honest here, I kept telling myself that only to deal with the pain, the fact is, I loved being able to walk again. After every session I'd go into my room and cry my ass off because I wasn't coughing anymore. I wasn't spitting up blood, black phlegm or coughing to the point where I vomit and then pass out. Not at all. It was the best thing I had felt in a lot time.
Between rests, some of the Nurses proved that they deserve their shitty pay checks. A few of the incidents that I can remember were as follows.
The first one, while I was still on IV was when the heat in my room broke and got hotter and hotter in my room. The nurses who were working at the time were like 80 year old Portuguese women who couldn't see 2 feet in front of them. I should also mention it's like 11am so it's bright as hell out on the ward.
Now, the nurses come in my room to see what's wrong, they look at the thermostat and mess with it a bit. They aren't sure if you had to twist it right or left to lower the heat, they tried both. Then one of the Nurses had a brilliant idea of getting a flash light. A FUCKING FLASH LIGHT AT 11AM. She thought that would help them see and the whole while I'm saying "Call Maintenance, call maintenance". They didn't listen to me for atleast an hour and the whole time the heat in my room is climbing, getting hotter and hotter.
I couldn't exactly just leave my room till they fixed it because I was fresh out of the ICU and germs were still an issue for me.
So, after an hour of them being the dumbest people I've ever seen, they finally call Maintenance. He walks in, looks at the thing, goes "Oh", walks off, does something, fixes it. The heat shoots back down to normal in minutes.
The next incident I came remember was when I was being switched from IV Anti-rejection to Oral. My first time taking my Oral pills is at night, I'm panicking myself because I'm scared as shit. My life is literally in my own hands. If I miss one pill session this early I could probably cause my body to go into rejection. That's not easy on the mind.
I'm getting more and more nervous as the night goes on and gets closer to my pill time.
When the time comes, I ask the Nurse for a drink and tell her that Water isn't enough to help swallow these massive pills.
She leaves, comes back, and I shit you not. She hands me SOMEONE ELSES FUCKING HALF DRANK drink. I ask her if she was serious and she nods like it's okay. This is like 4 days out of surgery too, mind you. This wasn't 2 weeks or something where my body had a chance to get some immune system back. This is 4 days of having high dose immune suppressants. You ever see the look on someones face that screamed "I'm a giant idiot"? This lady had that look.
After that, the only issues I had was with this bitch of a floor manager lady who hated me and said the dumbest shit. See, I hated sitting in my room and doing nothing. The TVs are from the 80s, you have to pay like 17 dollars a day for cable, and when you have fresh lungs, and the ability to do shit without all the bad stuff, you generally don't want to sit down.
So I'd always walk around the Nurses desk and chat with the nurses. I'm a very social person. I love learning more about their job and I know it helps to have a patient not be a giant pain in the ass but this floor lady told me that, and again, I shit you not.
"You can't stand around the desk all day, you'll over hear confidential information about patients, but you can sit in a chair"
Ya....those were her actual words. I remember this because when that bitch of a lady forced me back to my room I'd write everything down on my laptop. I wanted to keep track of everything that happened so I could always tell the tales correctly.
But ya, I wasn't allowed to stand as that would overhear confidential stuff where as sitting would render my ears useless and thus not overhear a damn thing.
There were some other minor incidents with that lady but they weren't anything too bad, the biggest one I can remember aside from the one I just said was when I was still barely able to walk long distances, I had asked a Nurse to come with me to the Cafe incase anything happened and to help me wheel my IV pole around. She said they were too busy to accompany me and that I would have to wait 2 hours. I said fuck that and went on my own. The walk wasn't so bad, what was bad was wheeling my heavy ass IV pole down a ramp(This was like day two on the Recovery Ward).
Having a ripped open sternum being held together by a wire and staples wasn't not the best for having upper body strength.. That was probably the second most painful thing I did after transplant. The first of course was being forced to cough when I was back in the ICU.
After about 7 days on the Recovery Ward I was ready to go home but just as they take my blood for that day they find my body isn't taking the main Oral Anti-rejection med too well and my drug levels were extremely low. If I remember right, they want the level to be, I think, 300-500, my level that day was 66. It scared the shit out of me. I thought I was going to go into rejection. So they decided to keep me a little longer to make sure my body evened out.
Instead of keeping me on the recovery ward, they sent me to the Respiratory ward cause they needed the Beds. Nothing wrong with that.
But I'll leave it here for now. Don't want to make these too long so people get bored.
Till next time my thousands of readers!
Monday, October 31, 2011
Pause
I'mma pause in my retelling of my recovery to inform people of what and who I am, exactly.
You see, I'm a nice kid, I love to joke and make people laugh. I have always wanted to be a stand up comedian when I was young and I still wish to do that one day. I like to think that my entire point in life is to make others laugh. I could die happy tomorrow if I saw my friends laughing then live forever never making anyone smile.
That's just who I am. Even when I was certain I was going to die, (Before I went into the OR)I never cried infront of my friends, I cracked a joke that made them all laugh. I went out on a high note because that's how I wanted to be remembered.
But I am also a selfish person. While, I do try to make people laugh and smile, I also try to focus on myself and I love talking about myself and the stuff I went through. I know it gets on the nerves of people who have heard my stories a thousand times but I am proud of everything I've been through. Everyone tells me I'm so strong and whatnot but I don't see it that way.
The way I see it is I was just a kid thrown into that life. I never wanted it, I never grow up in it. Up till I was 13~14 I was a normal kid. I always told people about CF but I never really had it effect me. I was never worried about my life, I was only sick once as a kid, I was like every other stupid kid out there but that changed once I get sick.
The first few times didn't really bother. Infact, the only real thing to hit me was when I was 13, one of my Doctors told me that I would not live to see 25. That hurt me a lot inside and from that day forth I wanted to do my best to be remembered. I didn't want to die and then be forgotten about in a year or two, no fucking way. I want to be remembered for as long as possible.
I realize that my flavor of personality doesn't always agree with most people. I'm hyper, I love to chat, I love to be loud, and I love to joke. A lot of people get annoyed by this and my theory on why is because I'm something most people can't be(yes, I'm a bit of a narcissist aswell). Despite every shitty thing I've been through in my life, I'm still able to greet every morning with a smile. I live in a horrid family, I get depressed a lot, and I have friends that can't really understand what I've been through so me venting to them never really works.
The way I deal with my stress is I talk aloud to myself and use myself to vent. It's not the best and isn't what I want at all but it works. I'll admit there are days when even that doesn't work but those are the days when things are at their worst.
Like when my brothers both told me that they wish I never had my Transplant and wish I died. That hurt deep and I can never understand where their hatred for me comes from. They have lived amazing lives with a mother who gave them everything despite them being greedy selfish assholes.
Though, I will confess that my mother isn't a bag of peaches either. She's just as bad as my brothers. Granted, she hasn't wished me dead yet but the way she treats me at times feels like it. I'm in a family of completely healthy people who grew up watching a family member slowly die. Now, I know some others who have watched their family members slowly die and instead of resenting life and becoming a bad person. They did their best to enjoy life and make the most of it.
My family, no. My older brother, Matthew is in jail for murder because he joined a gang and shit went down. My younger brother is a selfish drug addict who told me to fuck off 2 hours before I expected to die. My mother is someone who will call you a waste of life over the tiniest of things and yell at you about said tiny thing for a solid 20 minutes. I've never really had a father growing up as he abandoned my family when I was just a baby. I have a step dad right now but he's just as bad as the rest of them. He was supportive for me when I was recovering but now he does nothing but fight with my mom and younger brother.
Anyways, back to me.
People don't really understand how hard it is to smile like I do and take everything with a smile. I have "friends" who constantly insult me(sometimes jokingly but sometimes not) and I just play along into it. A lot of the time those insults hurt but they never know that. I don't really want to say anything because it makes them smile. And I'm Okay with that.
I will admit I do cry a lot. It just builds up so much. A lot of the time stuff hits me in waves and it makes me question everything.
Like recently, my best friend past away, his name was Carl, he had a double lung transplant approx 3 years before me and I owe my recovery to him. He was the only person in the world who actually understood what it was like to have so much shitty luck. Just before he past away, my broken back started to get really bad. I wasn't sleeping, I wasn't as happy, I was becoming a rude prick again, and then one night I'm reading Facebook and I see from a friends updated Feed that Carl had died and it hurt me so much. My best friend was there for me when I should have died last year in Feb 2010 and I couldn't even have been there for him. I loved him more than my brothers and I had to find out from a fucking Facebook feed. I'm even tearing up as I type this.
We had plans to go to Hawaii this year as a "We survived" type thing. I was looking forward to it and now I'm pretty much going on my own.
But no matter what happens to me, I still smile.
Why? Because where would being depressed get me? It'd get me nowhere. Depression would make me workout less, that in turn would affect my lungs, and that in turn would affect my mood. It would be a crazy cycle that would end up killing me. Instead, I smile, I joke, I laugh, I hide the pain. I do my best to be the best to those I care about. No matter what, I want to be remembered as the guy who always laughed.
So ya, that's who I am. I doubt that anyone reading this doesn't already know me but for the 1 or 2 people who don't know me, there you go.
I do my best to enjoy life, no matter how many times I get shit on and I'd like for anyone reading this to do the same. Remember, we're only on this planet for an extremely short amount of time. We might get shit on constantly by god, bad luck, or whatever but never let that get you stop you from laughing. Laugh and make others laugh.
I don't ask for pity, I ask for understanding. I'm not rude asshole because I'm a selfish jerk. I just pretend to be a rude asshole because, amazingly enough, it makes people laugh a lot.
That's all I got to say. I'll try to have some more recovery stories by the end of this week.
You see, I'm a nice kid, I love to joke and make people laugh. I have always wanted to be a stand up comedian when I was young and I still wish to do that one day. I like to think that my entire point in life is to make others laugh. I could die happy tomorrow if I saw my friends laughing then live forever never making anyone smile.
That's just who I am. Even when I was certain I was going to die, (Before I went into the OR)I never cried infront of my friends, I cracked a joke that made them all laugh. I went out on a high note because that's how I wanted to be remembered.
But I am also a selfish person. While, I do try to make people laugh and smile, I also try to focus on myself and I love talking about myself and the stuff I went through. I know it gets on the nerves of people who have heard my stories a thousand times but I am proud of everything I've been through. Everyone tells me I'm so strong and whatnot but I don't see it that way.
The way I see it is I was just a kid thrown into that life. I never wanted it, I never grow up in it. Up till I was 13~14 I was a normal kid. I always told people about CF but I never really had it effect me. I was never worried about my life, I was only sick once as a kid, I was like every other stupid kid out there but that changed once I get sick.
The first few times didn't really bother. Infact, the only real thing to hit me was when I was 13, one of my Doctors told me that I would not live to see 25. That hurt me a lot inside and from that day forth I wanted to do my best to be remembered. I didn't want to die and then be forgotten about in a year or two, no fucking way. I want to be remembered for as long as possible.
I realize that my flavor of personality doesn't always agree with most people. I'm hyper, I love to chat, I love to be loud, and I love to joke. A lot of people get annoyed by this and my theory on why is because I'm something most people can't be(yes, I'm a bit of a narcissist aswell). Despite every shitty thing I've been through in my life, I'm still able to greet every morning with a smile. I live in a horrid family, I get depressed a lot, and I have friends that can't really understand what I've been through so me venting to them never really works.
The way I deal with my stress is I talk aloud to myself and use myself to vent. It's not the best and isn't what I want at all but it works. I'll admit there are days when even that doesn't work but those are the days when things are at their worst.
Like when my brothers both told me that they wish I never had my Transplant and wish I died. That hurt deep and I can never understand where their hatred for me comes from. They have lived amazing lives with a mother who gave them everything despite them being greedy selfish assholes.
Though, I will confess that my mother isn't a bag of peaches either. She's just as bad as my brothers. Granted, she hasn't wished me dead yet but the way she treats me at times feels like it. I'm in a family of completely healthy people who grew up watching a family member slowly die. Now, I know some others who have watched their family members slowly die and instead of resenting life and becoming a bad person. They did their best to enjoy life and make the most of it.
My family, no. My older brother, Matthew is in jail for murder because he joined a gang and shit went down. My younger brother is a selfish drug addict who told me to fuck off 2 hours before I expected to die. My mother is someone who will call you a waste of life over the tiniest of things and yell at you about said tiny thing for a solid 20 minutes. I've never really had a father growing up as he abandoned my family when I was just a baby. I have a step dad right now but he's just as bad as the rest of them. He was supportive for me when I was recovering but now he does nothing but fight with my mom and younger brother.
Anyways, back to me.
People don't really understand how hard it is to smile like I do and take everything with a smile. I have "friends" who constantly insult me(sometimes jokingly but sometimes not) and I just play along into it. A lot of the time those insults hurt but they never know that. I don't really want to say anything because it makes them smile. And I'm Okay with that.
I will admit I do cry a lot. It just builds up so much. A lot of the time stuff hits me in waves and it makes me question everything.
Like recently, my best friend past away, his name was Carl, he had a double lung transplant approx 3 years before me and I owe my recovery to him. He was the only person in the world who actually understood what it was like to have so much shitty luck. Just before he past away, my broken back started to get really bad. I wasn't sleeping, I wasn't as happy, I was becoming a rude prick again, and then one night I'm reading Facebook and I see from a friends updated Feed that Carl had died and it hurt me so much. My best friend was there for me when I should have died last year in Feb 2010 and I couldn't even have been there for him. I loved him more than my brothers and I had to find out from a fucking Facebook feed. I'm even tearing up as I type this.
We had plans to go to Hawaii this year as a "We survived" type thing. I was looking forward to it and now I'm pretty much going on my own.
But no matter what happens to me, I still smile.
Why? Because where would being depressed get me? It'd get me nowhere. Depression would make me workout less, that in turn would affect my lungs, and that in turn would affect my mood. It would be a crazy cycle that would end up killing me. Instead, I smile, I joke, I laugh, I hide the pain. I do my best to be the best to those I care about. No matter what, I want to be remembered as the guy who always laughed.
So ya, that's who I am. I doubt that anyone reading this doesn't already know me but for the 1 or 2 people who don't know me, there you go.
I do my best to enjoy life, no matter how many times I get shit on and I'd like for anyone reading this to do the same. Remember, we're only on this planet for an extremely short amount of time. We might get shit on constantly by god, bad luck, or whatever but never let that get you stop you from laughing. Laugh and make others laugh.
I don't ask for pity, I ask for understanding. I'm not rude asshole because I'm a selfish jerk. I just pretend to be a rude asshole because, amazingly enough, it makes people laugh a lot.
That's all I got to say. I'll try to have some more recovery stories by the end of this week.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Recovery Time
This post will focus on my recovery after transplant and how hard I pushed myself.
Right, so, where I ended off in my last post was....the cliffhanger.
Well, you guessed wrong, I didn't die on the OR, and this isn't my Ghost. I survived to annoy the hell out of many more people.
You see, I went into the OR at 5pm CST, they cut me open at 7pm CST, and I was wheeled out at 12:30am CST. The surgery itself was a total of 5 hours. I only know about 2 other transplants and mine was considerably faster. If I remember right, they were both over the 10 hour mark.
I get wheeled out of the OR and a few hours later I was being woken up so they could put a feeding tube down my throat. Now, this is where I owe my Friend Carl so much. Pre-transplant he had told me what to expect when I woke up and told me not to freak out. When I awake for them I heard his voice in my head telling me not to panic and that they just wanted to put a feeding tube in. I am 100% positive that if I didn't have his voice, I'd have freaked out and started ripping out tubes.
Just to further strengthen my point. When I was in a coma in 2010, I had to be forced awake because while asleep, I had an intubation tube in my lungs so I could breath. Well, I had forced that tube out of my lungs with my tongue.
That's right. While in a coma, I forced a tube that was in my lungs, out with my tongue.(Yes, Ladies, I'm single)
That's why I know that without my friend I would have freaked out right away and things would have gotten bad.
Back to the story at hand. They wake me up, tell me what they're going to do and that I have to relax. I do so and everything goes smoothly.
I pass out again.
I awake sometime later and I have both a breathing tube and my feeding tube in my mouth so I can't speak or drink anything. They gave me a writing pad and a pen to write with. From what I understand is that most people who write after transplant write gibberish. Not me, I wrote complete sentences and I even managed to flirt with Nurses via the notepad(I know, I'm just that good). I don't remember a whole lot of what I wrote. I think it ranged from "I'm thirsty" to "My chest hurts" to me asking "Hey cutie, can I get a sponge bath?".
A few hours later I began begging they remove the tubes that I'm so thirsty. I got a few sponges of water but that didn't help. I was so dehydrated. The Nurse at the time kept telling me that if I drank too much I'd vomit and that would be really really bad. We had a back and forth about this for roughly 10 minutes.
After they removed the tubes I demanded a Bottle of Pepsi. I told the Nurse that I wouldn't throw up. I'm not a bitch like that but she kept going on and wouldn't tell me otherwise. Luckily, I managed to guilt my Mother into getting me a Pepsi and I downed that entire bottle. I felt like I was going to vomit so badly but I held it in. I refused to prove that Nurse right. She was so adamant that I'd vomit that I just had to prove her wrong and I did. She didn't warn me about much after that. I'm still amazed that I stopped myself, to be honest.
I pass out again.
Some more time later I open my eyes to the Physio therapist and she wants to get me moving around. We do a few simple things, sitting up, turning, forcing a cough(which, I never want to recommend for anyone who has just had their chest ripped fucking open and had their lungs replaced. FUCKING OW), and some other stuff.
I was feeling cocky after all that and asked if I could try walking. Nothing huge but a nice little walk around the nurses desk. Couldn't have been more than 50 steps. It took a lot out of me to do so but I felt amazing. I wasn't even sure if it was real. To walk like that and not cough, it was like the best dream I ever had. I was so excited to walk like that far that despite the pain in my chest and the exhaustion from the small walk, I was reading to go again.
Once they managed to get me settled down, I rested for a few hours and did it again but this time I did 2 laps and with every rest I had more strength for a longer walk the next time.
I think I got up to like 6 laps over 2 days before I got kicked out of ICU and got my ass kicked into the Recovery Step Down Unit.
Once I was in recovery step down that's when things got interesting.
You see, I wasn't out of ICU for more than 30 minutes before I had my first "encounter". When I was wheeled into the my room, it reeked of piss. I mean, like, hardcore Urine. I have never in my life smelt such a strong thing of piss in my life. It was so thick I was coughing and like I said, that shit fucking hurt to do.
Now me, I would have just demanded that the cleaning staff get up here and clean this bitch but my mom....well...she's more "unique". She demanded a cloth and a bottle of Javex. She cleaned that entire room from ceiling to floor.
When she asked for new Curtains though, we got told "No, we hit our floors Curtain limit". Now, I know you're asking "But Randy, what is a curtain limit and why do they have one?". Well, the curtains apparently are so expensive that the hospital can only afford a certain amount per year, I guess and so they can't be all Willy Nilly with them. I think it's fucking retarded but what can you do. All we could do at the time was take it down and throw that thing out.
I think I'll end it here for now. I will be trying to update this at least once a week. If I'm able to I will make more.
Thanks for reading and I left you on yet another Cliff Hanger. Enjoy the wait~
Right, so, where I ended off in my last post was....the cliffhanger.
Well, you guessed wrong, I didn't die on the OR, and this isn't my Ghost. I survived to annoy the hell out of many more people.
You see, I went into the OR at 5pm CST, they cut me open at 7pm CST, and I was wheeled out at 12:30am CST. The surgery itself was a total of 5 hours. I only know about 2 other transplants and mine was considerably faster. If I remember right, they were both over the 10 hour mark.
I get wheeled out of the OR and a few hours later I was being woken up so they could put a feeding tube down my throat. Now, this is where I owe my Friend Carl so much. Pre-transplant he had told me what to expect when I woke up and told me not to freak out. When I awake for them I heard his voice in my head telling me not to panic and that they just wanted to put a feeding tube in. I am 100% positive that if I didn't have his voice, I'd have freaked out and started ripping out tubes.
Just to further strengthen my point. When I was in a coma in 2010, I had to be forced awake because while asleep, I had an intubation tube in my lungs so I could breath. Well, I had forced that tube out of my lungs with my tongue.
That's right. While in a coma, I forced a tube that was in my lungs, out with my tongue.(Yes, Ladies, I'm single)
That's why I know that without my friend I would have freaked out right away and things would have gotten bad.
Back to the story at hand. They wake me up, tell me what they're going to do and that I have to relax. I do so and everything goes smoothly.
I pass out again.
I awake sometime later and I have both a breathing tube and my feeding tube in my mouth so I can't speak or drink anything. They gave me a writing pad and a pen to write with. From what I understand is that most people who write after transplant write gibberish. Not me, I wrote complete sentences and I even managed to flirt with Nurses via the notepad(I know, I'm just that good). I don't remember a whole lot of what I wrote. I think it ranged from "I'm thirsty" to "My chest hurts" to me asking "Hey cutie, can I get a sponge bath?".
A few hours later I began begging they remove the tubes that I'm so thirsty. I got a few sponges of water but that didn't help. I was so dehydrated. The Nurse at the time kept telling me that if I drank too much I'd vomit and that would be really really bad. We had a back and forth about this for roughly 10 minutes.
After they removed the tubes I demanded a Bottle of Pepsi. I told the Nurse that I wouldn't throw up. I'm not a bitch like that but she kept going on and wouldn't tell me otherwise. Luckily, I managed to guilt my Mother into getting me a Pepsi and I downed that entire bottle. I felt like I was going to vomit so badly but I held it in. I refused to prove that Nurse right. She was so adamant that I'd vomit that I just had to prove her wrong and I did. She didn't warn me about much after that. I'm still amazed that I stopped myself, to be honest.
I pass out again.
Some more time later I open my eyes to the Physio therapist and she wants to get me moving around. We do a few simple things, sitting up, turning, forcing a cough(which, I never want to recommend for anyone who has just had their chest ripped fucking open and had their lungs replaced. FUCKING OW), and some other stuff.
I was feeling cocky after all that and asked if I could try walking. Nothing huge but a nice little walk around the nurses desk. Couldn't have been more than 50 steps. It took a lot out of me to do so but I felt amazing. I wasn't even sure if it was real. To walk like that and not cough, it was like the best dream I ever had. I was so excited to walk like that far that despite the pain in my chest and the exhaustion from the small walk, I was reading to go again.
Once they managed to get me settled down, I rested for a few hours and did it again but this time I did 2 laps and with every rest I had more strength for a longer walk the next time.
I think I got up to like 6 laps over 2 days before I got kicked out of ICU and got my ass kicked into the Recovery Step Down Unit.
Once I was in recovery step down that's when things got interesting.
You see, I wasn't out of ICU for more than 30 minutes before I had my first "encounter". When I was wheeled into the my room, it reeked of piss. I mean, like, hardcore Urine. I have never in my life smelt such a strong thing of piss in my life. It was so thick I was coughing and like I said, that shit fucking hurt to do.
Now me, I would have just demanded that the cleaning staff get up here and clean this bitch but my mom....well...she's more "unique". She demanded a cloth and a bottle of Javex. She cleaned that entire room from ceiling to floor.
When she asked for new Curtains though, we got told "No, we hit our floors Curtain limit". Now, I know you're asking "But Randy, what is a curtain limit and why do they have one?". Well, the curtains apparently are so expensive that the hospital can only afford a certain amount per year, I guess and so they can't be all Willy Nilly with them. I think it's fucking retarded but what can you do. All we could do at the time was take it down and throw that thing out.
I think I'll end it here for now. I will be trying to update this at least once a week. If I'm able to I will make more.
Thanks for reading and I left you on yet another Cliff Hanger. Enjoy the wait~
Sunday, October 16, 2011
I know you are
Now, I know that as you sit there reading this. You're thinking to yourself "My, I wonder why the URL is singmeeyeofthetiger". Well, let me tell you my thousands of readings. You see, on Dec 3rd at 10:55pm I got a phone call.
It wasn't like other phone calls. It wasn't free phone sex, it wasn't a telemarketer, it wasn't a friend asking to hang out. No, it was from a Doctor and that Doctor had some news. Both good and bad in my mind.
The night started out like any other night. I was playing some Final Fantasy XI and I was on Skype with my friends. We were chatting it up, having a blast, and just as we were about to do some stuff ingame my phone rang. Now, I'm thinking it's my mother calling me to make sure I'm okay(She used to call me like 20 times a day to make sure I wasn't dead). I pick up my phone and say to myself "God damn it, it's almost 11pm, what does she want now?". Well, I looked at the Caller ID and noticed it was the hospital. They have a super basic number so it was easy to tell it was them. In my mind I'm thinking to myself "Please let this be something else, maybe a wrong number or an appointment change".
I answer the phone and the call goes as follows.
Me> "Hello?"
Person on the other end> "Hi, Randy. It's Doctor Freed. How are you feeling today? Are you feeling sick?"
Me> "No, I'm fine. What's up?"
Doctor> "Well, we have your lungs in and were wondering if you could come down"
Me> "Uh....are you joking?"
Doctor> "I wouldn't joke about something like this"
Me> "Uh...okay...."
Doctor> "So, are you good to come in?"
Me> "Uh...ya, I guess"
Doctor> "Good, Admissions will call you in 10 minutes with the details."
Me> "Uh...bye"
Ya...that honestly was the worst and best call of my life. I know that you're that you're thinking "What do you mean worst? You're clearly fine, you have a super special awesome blog with hundreds of followers. Seems like a great call to me". Well, you see, I didn't know that I'd be okay. At that time I had only known two people to have a Double Lung Transplant before me and one of them didn't make it during his(More about that in another post). So, in my mind, I considered it my very death. It's not a bad thing to say that and I never mean to seem like I had given up on life. Far from it.
However, I am a realist and I was very very sick, I was on oxygen 24/7, I coughed so badly, with every cough came massive amounts(and I'm talking like a Cup full) of Phlegm and often with every cough came blood or vomit. I couldn't walk to the bathroom without doing this, I couldn't wake up in the morning without doing this, I couldn't even sit still without doing this. Life sucked. I knew how ill I was and how long my body. Fighting something like that is mentally and physically draining. I never gave up and let myself die, though. God, no. I may have accepted the fact that I wouldn't live long but I was determined to live out every day that I could. If Death wanted to kill me then it would have a fight.
Back to the story at hand. I hang up the phone, take a good 3 seconds to myself, and I turn back on my Mic(Remember, I was on Skype with my friends).
Me> Hey, Guys. I just got my phone call....
Them> What phone call?
Me> The one telling me my fucking pizza is ready. MY LUNGS.
Them> Oh, then why are you still on Skype?! Get going!!"
Me> Bye guys...
And with that, I shut down my computer and called my Mother. It was pretty much the same thing with telling her I got my phone call. She did an extremely illegal U-turn in traffic and came rushing to my apartment.
As my Mother drives dangerously in traffic to my place, I am crying my ass off. I realize that this is when I'm going to die. My life will now be over and I won't be able to make anyone laugh anymore. As I'm crying, I try to grab some clothes for the hospital because I know if I don't, I'll have to listen to my Mother bitch at me for like 30 mins. So, I reach into my Laundry hamper and just grab a handful of Clothes.
My phone rings again, it's Admissions giving me the details and telling me where to go. I hang up and get another call, it's my Mom telling me she's downstairs, I say to her I'll be right there hang up.
I make a post on my Facebook saying goodbye and text a few friends, I also look in the Mirror, say goodbye to myself and apologize for all the fuck ups I made and head out.
We get to the hospital and I head to Admissions, sign in, and my friends start showing up 1 by 1. Some of them got there extremely fast. Strangely enough, once all my friends arrive the lady behind the counter tells me to go up to my usual Ward and to wait.
We all head up, all the Nurses I know come and hug me and say they're happy for me. I put on a strong face for everyone and just smile. I wanted nothing more, though, then to just burst into tears for the entire time but I knew I couldn't. I had made peace with what was going to happen to me, I know that the others didn't. Not with what I've been through. I couldn't let them see or know that I knew this was the end.
I get put into a room because they tell me it'll be a small weight. After like 20 minutes of waiting a Nurse comes in and says that I should be going to the OR(Operating Room) around 4am.
I would have stayed awake for those 5 hours but there was a problem. I was seconds away from eating when I got my call. I had made myself a nice giant plate of several Chicken Breasts, my home made BBQ Sauce, and like 3 pounds of Potatos. It's the kind of dinner that I enjoy greatly. I was tired and hungry and when I get hungry, I get massively bitchy. So instead of attacking my friends with what would have been humorous but mean insults, I took a nap.
4:30am comes by quickly and I wake up. I go ask the Nurse whats going on and she tells me that it'll be just a bit longer. I head back to my room and my friends start joking around. Telling me I should ask my Doctor to sing me Eye Of The Tiger before they put me under. I wasn't sure if I was going to do that or not. While it was funny at the time, it was a serious thing going on.
I pass in and out of sleep for the next 10 or so hours. It turned out that my Donor was in such good health that his Lungs weren't the only thing that could be transplanted. If I remember right they ended up taking the Heart, the Eyes, the Liver, The Kidneys, and I'm sure much more. He helped save many lives.
3:00pm comes around and my Younger Brother came up to me. He was tired of waiting and wanted to go home and take a nap. Here's how this enjoyable conversation went.
Jason>Randy, I'm tired. I'mma go home and take a nap
Me> Jason, I could go into the OR at any moment
Jason> I'm tired
Me>Whatever, Jason
Jason> Go fuck yourself, Randy
I know you're wondering what age my brother is and if you stop asking questions, I'll tell you. He was 21 at the time.
And so, with that, my brother walks away and I think to myself that those are the last words my brother and I will have together. That hurt me deeply.
Another 2 hours pass and the Doctor comes into my room holding the chart. All my friends, my mom, and I are in the room. He walks up to me and asks
Doctor> What's your name and Birth date?
Me> Randy Kyle McIntyre, Nov 21, 1987
Doctor> Good, now, do you know why you're here?
And I shit you not, this is exactly what I did. I looked him straight in the face and said
Me> Ya, for my Sex Change
He had the greatest look of confusion on his face. He stopped and reread my chart over to make sure he had the right room and about 10-15 seconds later the entire room bursts into laughter. Was probably one of the funniest serious moments of my life. I'm glad I said that to lighten the air in the room. Everyone was way too scared and serious.
After the room calms down, he wheels me out to a stretcher and prepares to take me to the OR. I say my final good byes to my friends and Nurses on the Ward and begin my journey. It was a short ride to the OR.
The Surgeon leaves me in front of the OR with my Mom and Step Dad and goes to get ready. I say my final goodbyes to them and I tell them that when I don't come out of there to tell my brother that "I'm disappointed in him". They both start crying their asses off. Was a very touching 5 minutes
The Doctor comes back out and wheels me into the OR. Him and the Nurses are getting me an IV and my Epidural.
As they're doing this I ask my Surgeon if he could sing me Eye Of The Tiger before they put me under. I point out that this could very well be the last moments of my life and hearing that song would help me. He refuses cause he said he had a sore throat.
What a spoil sport.
And with that. I'm put under.
Till my next post!
Ah ha....Cliffhanger....will he make it out alive?!
It wasn't like other phone calls. It wasn't free phone sex, it wasn't a telemarketer, it wasn't a friend asking to hang out. No, it was from a Doctor and that Doctor had some news. Both good and bad in my mind.
The night started out like any other night. I was playing some Final Fantasy XI and I was on Skype with my friends. We were chatting it up, having a blast, and just as we were about to do some stuff ingame my phone rang. Now, I'm thinking it's my mother calling me to make sure I'm okay(She used to call me like 20 times a day to make sure I wasn't dead). I pick up my phone and say to myself "God damn it, it's almost 11pm, what does she want now?". Well, I looked at the Caller ID and noticed it was the hospital. They have a super basic number so it was easy to tell it was them. In my mind I'm thinking to myself "Please let this be something else, maybe a wrong number or an appointment change".
I answer the phone and the call goes as follows.
Me> "Hello?"
Person on the other end> "Hi, Randy. It's Doctor Freed. How are you feeling today? Are you feeling sick?"
Me> "No, I'm fine. What's up?"
Doctor> "Well, we have your lungs in and were wondering if you could come down"
Me> "Uh....are you joking?"
Doctor> "I wouldn't joke about something like this"
Me> "Uh...okay...."
Doctor> "So, are you good to come in?"
Me> "Uh...ya, I guess"
Doctor> "Good, Admissions will call you in 10 minutes with the details."
Me> "Uh...bye"
Ya...that honestly was the worst and best call of my life. I know that you're that you're thinking "What do you mean worst? You're clearly fine, you have a super special awesome blog with hundreds of followers. Seems like a great call to me". Well, you see, I didn't know that I'd be okay. At that time I had only known two people to have a Double Lung Transplant before me and one of them didn't make it during his(More about that in another post). So, in my mind, I considered it my very death. It's not a bad thing to say that and I never mean to seem like I had given up on life. Far from it.
However, I am a realist and I was very very sick, I was on oxygen 24/7, I coughed so badly, with every cough came massive amounts(and I'm talking like a Cup full) of Phlegm and often with every cough came blood or vomit. I couldn't walk to the bathroom without doing this, I couldn't wake up in the morning without doing this, I couldn't even sit still without doing this. Life sucked. I knew how ill I was and how long my body. Fighting something like that is mentally and physically draining. I never gave up and let myself die, though. God, no. I may have accepted the fact that I wouldn't live long but I was determined to live out every day that I could. If Death wanted to kill me then it would have a fight.
Back to the story at hand. I hang up the phone, take a good 3 seconds to myself, and I turn back on my Mic(Remember, I was on Skype with my friends).
Me> Hey, Guys. I just got my phone call....
Them> What phone call?
Me> The one telling me my fucking pizza is ready. MY LUNGS.
Them> Oh, then why are you still on Skype?! Get going!!"
Me> Bye guys...
And with that, I shut down my computer and called my Mother. It was pretty much the same thing with telling her I got my phone call. She did an extremely illegal U-turn in traffic and came rushing to my apartment.
As my Mother drives dangerously in traffic to my place, I am crying my ass off. I realize that this is when I'm going to die. My life will now be over and I won't be able to make anyone laugh anymore. As I'm crying, I try to grab some clothes for the hospital because I know if I don't, I'll have to listen to my Mother bitch at me for like 30 mins. So, I reach into my Laundry hamper and just grab a handful of Clothes.
My phone rings again, it's Admissions giving me the details and telling me where to go. I hang up and get another call, it's my Mom telling me she's downstairs, I say to her I'll be right there hang up.
I make a post on my Facebook saying goodbye and text a few friends, I also look in the Mirror, say goodbye to myself and apologize for all the fuck ups I made and head out.
We get to the hospital and I head to Admissions, sign in, and my friends start showing up 1 by 1. Some of them got there extremely fast. Strangely enough, once all my friends arrive the lady behind the counter tells me to go up to my usual Ward and to wait.
We all head up, all the Nurses I know come and hug me and say they're happy for me. I put on a strong face for everyone and just smile. I wanted nothing more, though, then to just burst into tears for the entire time but I knew I couldn't. I had made peace with what was going to happen to me, I know that the others didn't. Not with what I've been through. I couldn't let them see or know that I knew this was the end.
I get put into a room because they tell me it'll be a small weight. After like 20 minutes of waiting a Nurse comes in and says that I should be going to the OR(Operating Room) around 4am.
I would have stayed awake for those 5 hours but there was a problem. I was seconds away from eating when I got my call. I had made myself a nice giant plate of several Chicken Breasts, my home made BBQ Sauce, and like 3 pounds of Potatos. It's the kind of dinner that I enjoy greatly. I was tired and hungry and when I get hungry, I get massively bitchy. So instead of attacking my friends with what would have been humorous but mean insults, I took a nap.
4:30am comes by quickly and I wake up. I go ask the Nurse whats going on and she tells me that it'll be just a bit longer. I head back to my room and my friends start joking around. Telling me I should ask my Doctor to sing me Eye Of The Tiger before they put me under. I wasn't sure if I was going to do that or not. While it was funny at the time, it was a serious thing going on.
I pass in and out of sleep for the next 10 or so hours. It turned out that my Donor was in such good health that his Lungs weren't the only thing that could be transplanted. If I remember right they ended up taking the Heart, the Eyes, the Liver, The Kidneys, and I'm sure much more. He helped save many lives.
3:00pm comes around and my Younger Brother came up to me. He was tired of waiting and wanted to go home and take a nap. Here's how this enjoyable conversation went.
Jason>Randy, I'm tired. I'mma go home and take a nap
Me> Jason, I could go into the OR at any moment
Jason> I'm tired
Me>Whatever, Jason
Jason> Go fuck yourself, Randy
I know you're wondering what age my brother is and if you stop asking questions, I'll tell you. He was 21 at the time.
And so, with that, my brother walks away and I think to myself that those are the last words my brother and I will have together. That hurt me deeply.
Another 2 hours pass and the Doctor comes into my room holding the chart. All my friends, my mom, and I are in the room. He walks up to me and asks
Doctor> What's your name and Birth date?
Me> Randy Kyle McIntyre, Nov 21, 1987
Doctor> Good, now, do you know why you're here?
And I shit you not, this is exactly what I did. I looked him straight in the face and said
Me> Ya, for my Sex Change
He had the greatest look of confusion on his face. He stopped and reread my chart over to make sure he had the right room and about 10-15 seconds later the entire room bursts into laughter. Was probably one of the funniest serious moments of my life. I'm glad I said that to lighten the air in the room. Everyone was way too scared and serious.
After the room calms down, he wheels me out to a stretcher and prepares to take me to the OR. I say my final good byes to my friends and Nurses on the Ward and begin my journey. It was a short ride to the OR.
The Surgeon leaves me in front of the OR with my Mom and Step Dad and goes to get ready. I say my final goodbyes to them and I tell them that when I don't come out of there to tell my brother that "I'm disappointed in him". They both start crying their asses off. Was a very touching 5 minutes
The Doctor comes back out and wheels me into the OR. Him and the Nurses are getting me an IV and my Epidural.
As they're doing this I ask my Surgeon if he could sing me Eye Of The Tiger before they put me under. I point out that this could very well be the last moments of my life and hearing that song would help me. He refuses cause he said he had a sore throat.
What a spoil sport.
And with that. I'm put under.
Till my next post!
Ah ha....Cliffhanger....will he make it out alive?!
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
To Start
Hi, my name is Randy and this is my blog. I've decided to make this blog due to numerous people telling me that I should start one. I've had a blog before but that was for a video game.
Alright, so let me tel you about myself. I'm 23, I've had a double Lung transplant, and I've lead a very long and interesting life. You see, I was born with Cystic Fibrosis. It's a fun little disease.
See, CF(Cystic Fibrosis for short[And no, I'm not insulting you. I've had people who didn't know what I was talking about after I told them I had Cystic Fibrosis and then abbreviated it.]) affects many things. First and for-most it affects the lungs. The way I like to explain CF to people is it's like a row of Dominos. You start out putting up one at a time and as soon as you get your first infect, the row starts to fall over.
For me, my Dominos started falling at the rip old age of 13.
When I was a kid, I was stupid. As was any kid. I never grew up never thinking about CF as any sort of threat to my way of life. Sure, I'd constantly tell people I have it but for me, it was just something there. I never held myself back as a kid, I never missed anything school wise cause I was sick. I was basically a normal kid. But once 13 hit, it all fell apart.
At the ripe old age of 13, I had one of my doctors inform me that I wouldn't live to see 25 because CF would most likely kill me by then. While it hurt to hear it didn't really hit me like it should have. If it did, I would have taken much better care of myself. I was a very stupid kid. For me, I weighed anything health related on the outlook of my doctors. If they never worried, I never worried.
I was an active child, just like any child. I played Baseball, I roller bladed, biked, all that fun kid shit.(Yes, I do swear. I enjoy swearing). So, because I was so active CF never really hit me hard as a kid. I was sick only a few time.
The first time I remember ever being in the Hospital was when I was 5. It wasn't for a lung infection or being sick. No, that would be too simple. For you see, I was in the hospital for something much more....painful.
First, let me explain that I have a family, much like any human on this planet. I have two Brothers, and my mom. My dad wasn't ever really in the picture. I'll explain about him in a later post. Anyways, back to my family. I have an old brother, Matthew, a younger Brother, Jason, and my mother, Denine.
Both my brothers are extremely selfish and angry at the world. I don't know why they're angry but they are.
Back to the story.
Matt was having some friends over and they were playing Kickball in our Backyard. After sometime in, one of them hit the ball over our neighbors fence. Me, being the younger brother wanting to impress my older brother said "It's okay, I'll get it" and thus began my first embarrassing story.
I climbed the sharp metal wired fence, I got the ball, kicked it back over, and on my way back, I caught/cut/tore/ripped something on said fence. I didn't cut my leg, arm, or anything fun. No, that would be too simple. You see, I caught my penis on the fence.
As I begun to rip my penis on the fence, I let out a scream of extreme pain. Everyone stops and looks at me, I finish climbing over the fence and start to cry. For about 3 seconds everyone looked confused, then, the blood started to roll down my leg. Everyone had this look of worry and confusion as no one knew what I had cut. I think the starring lasted for 10 seconds before I dropped my pants.
That's right, infront of my older brother, his friends, and my younger brother, I dropped my shorts after I cut my penis on the fence. The looks of confusion then turned to looks of horror. My brother soon fainted and split his head open on the cement part of our backyard.
Now, it gets a little hazy after but that I remember I was laughing for a bit. I think the shock got to me and that's how I ended up handling it. I then remember my younger brother, Jason run inside screaming to get my mom. I vaguely remember her putting a massive towel on my dick and rushing to what I believe was a Taxi but she always said we drove.
Ya, that's my first hospital incident that I remember. After that, my whole life was.....blank in my memory till I was 10. I remember bits and pieces but I know I'm missing a lot.
So with that, I will end this first blog post and I will post many more. I wouldn't worry about running out of medical stories as they constantly continue to happen.
Till next time, and thank you for reading this.
Alright, so let me tel you about myself. I'm 23, I've had a double Lung transplant, and I've lead a very long and interesting life. You see, I was born with Cystic Fibrosis. It's a fun little disease.
See, CF(Cystic Fibrosis for short[And no, I'm not insulting you. I've had people who didn't know what I was talking about after I told them I had Cystic Fibrosis and then abbreviated it.]) affects many things. First and for-most it affects the lungs. The way I like to explain CF to people is it's like a row of Dominos. You start out putting up one at a time and as soon as you get your first infect, the row starts to fall over.
For me, my Dominos started falling at the rip old age of 13.
When I was a kid, I was stupid. As was any kid. I never grew up never thinking about CF as any sort of threat to my way of life. Sure, I'd constantly tell people I have it but for me, it was just something there. I never held myself back as a kid, I never missed anything school wise cause I was sick. I was basically a normal kid. But once 13 hit, it all fell apart.
At the ripe old age of 13, I had one of my doctors inform me that I wouldn't live to see 25 because CF would most likely kill me by then. While it hurt to hear it didn't really hit me like it should have. If it did, I would have taken much better care of myself. I was a very stupid kid. For me, I weighed anything health related on the outlook of my doctors. If they never worried, I never worried.
I was an active child, just like any child. I played Baseball, I roller bladed, biked, all that fun kid shit.(Yes, I do swear. I enjoy swearing). So, because I was so active CF never really hit me hard as a kid. I was sick only a few time.
The first time I remember ever being in the Hospital was when I was 5. It wasn't for a lung infection or being sick. No, that would be too simple. For you see, I was in the hospital for something much more....painful.
First, let me explain that I have a family, much like any human on this planet. I have two Brothers, and my mom. My dad wasn't ever really in the picture. I'll explain about him in a later post. Anyways, back to my family. I have an old brother, Matthew, a younger Brother, Jason, and my mother, Denine.
Both my brothers are extremely selfish and angry at the world. I don't know why they're angry but they are.
Back to the story.
Matt was having some friends over and they were playing Kickball in our Backyard. After sometime in, one of them hit the ball over our neighbors fence. Me, being the younger brother wanting to impress my older brother said "It's okay, I'll get it" and thus began my first embarrassing story.
I climbed the sharp metal wired fence, I got the ball, kicked it back over, and on my way back, I caught/cut/tore/ripped something on said fence. I didn't cut my leg, arm, or anything fun. No, that would be too simple. You see, I caught my penis on the fence.
As I begun to rip my penis on the fence, I let out a scream of extreme pain. Everyone stops and looks at me, I finish climbing over the fence and start to cry. For about 3 seconds everyone looked confused, then, the blood started to roll down my leg. Everyone had this look of worry and confusion as no one knew what I had cut. I think the starring lasted for 10 seconds before I dropped my pants.
That's right, infront of my older brother, his friends, and my younger brother, I dropped my shorts after I cut my penis on the fence. The looks of confusion then turned to looks of horror. My brother soon fainted and split his head open on the cement part of our backyard.
Now, it gets a little hazy after but that I remember I was laughing for a bit. I think the shock got to me and that's how I ended up handling it. I then remember my younger brother, Jason run inside screaming to get my mom. I vaguely remember her putting a massive towel on my dick and rushing to what I believe was a Taxi but she always said we drove.
Ya, that's my first hospital incident that I remember. After that, my whole life was.....blank in my memory till I was 10. I remember bits and pieces but I know I'm missing a lot.
So with that, I will end this first blog post and I will post many more. I wouldn't worry about running out of medical stories as they constantly continue to happen.
Till next time, and thank you for reading this.
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