I meant to post this 5 days ago since it’s actually been 3 years by this point, but I forgot. Guess that means it’s not as big a deal for me anymore. Progress? I guess?
September 21st is coming up fast. For most people, this day doesn’t mean anything. There was a time what the same was true for me as well. But now, it’s an anniversary. One that I’ll acknowledge this year and this year only. There won’t be any celebration (it’s not that kind of anniversary) or really any words of any kind. Except for this article, I hope the whole thing stays quiet.
Last year, on this date, I was walking home from the train station when a minivan jumped onto the sidewalk and accelerated. I reacted as fast as possible, but the bastard took me out, as well as the staircase I was standing on. I was seriously injured.
I was rushed to the hospital where I had to endure agonizing pain for two hours (ladies who claim that child birth is the most painful thing, by all means, try to stop a speeding minivan with your dick). Three blood transfusions and a surgery later and I was stabilized.
There are lots of things that can come from this situation. I could play people’s heart strings, I can give others hope, I could even be an inspiration with the right words, but these aren’t the things I want. I don’t want to waste a shit load of words describing every injury I suffered, or lamenting over what could have been. That’s not my style. Fucked up shit happens to me all the time. Since I’m still alive to talk about it, I’m going to focus on whatever I damn well please. Even though the subject of this article is serious in nature, I’m not. The depressing shit ends NOW.
You know what no one tells you about hospitals? Everyone sees your junk. It’s easy to tell yourself that they’ve probably seen a thousand more like it when your being attended by senior staff, but there’s one more thing that no one tells you about hospitals. The people running the equipment areÂ incredibly young and attractive women. As a member of the male gender, I have a certain pride about my wang, and if it’s going to make a grandÂ appearance, I want it in tip top shape. Swallowing that pride went down rough. During my whole stay at MGH, I felt like I was being passed around from supermodel to supermodel toÂ brightenÂ up their day by giving them something to giggle at.
Flash forward a little bit. I had what’s call a ‘fixator’ mounted to my pelvis, which limited my movements, but part of my rehabilitation was learning new ways to move about. I was returning from Physical Therapy and decided to stay in the wheel chair instead of getting back into bed. It was supposed to be good for me to sit there instead of lying down all the time, so I did it as often as possible.
It was Halloween and watching as many horror movies that I could was my favorite part of the day. This Halloween was going to be no exception. From where I was, I couldn’t reach my laptop. I figured that wouldn’t be a problem because I had Netflix on my phone as well…except that I left my phone next to my laptop. I rang for the CNAs, but it was during that awkward period when they were all switching shifts. I would be goddamned if I was going to waste precious movie time on my favorite day of the year.
My memory of the details is a bit fuzzy (like everything at the time,Â OxycontinÂ is a hell of a drug). Somehow, IÂ maneuveredÂ the wheelchair, my walker, and all the equipment I was lugging around next to the bed and squirmed myself onto it without hurting myself or breaking anything. Some shit was still connected to the chair, and I was half hanging off the bed, but I was able crack open my laptop. When one of the nurses arrived, she helped me all the way onto the bed and took care of the equipment. I think she tried to scold me, but I probably just waved her off because she was interrupting what I was watching.
Nothing was going toÂ keep me from my movie, even if it was Halloween H2O. Nothing!
Â Forward again. December. Christmas shit is everywhere. I’m holed up in my aunt and uncle’s house when I get some visitors. Bunny, Christo and Cupcake dropped by to say hello. That and take some Christmas pictures. Sure, whatever. Bunny tells me she bought something, but it needs batteries. Normally my mind tells me to make a dildo joke, but I was too suspicious. She tells me that she wants to take the pictures in the downstairs living room, which was fine by me.
I still had the fixator and the walker, but I was able toÂ maneuverÂ down the steps as long as someone brought me the walker. In the living room, I learned of Bunny’s plan. Well, really it was the idea of both Bingos. As a Santa’s hat is tugged over my head, my fixator is decorated with garland, lights, and ornaments. I became a frowny Christmas tree. Those were our holiday pictures. Three smiling people and a frowning, tortured cripple.
One more hop, skip and a jump, and it’s April. The fixator has been gone for a while, but I still need a cane to get around. Not only am I back at work, but I’m attending a group meeting. This is where all the surgeons, doctors, nurses and CRAs get together to learn more about their jobs and discuss the future of their research. I had to turn my name tag around a few times so that some of the people who are less than thrilled about the queries I send them wouldn’t know who I was.
At the end of the first day, we all met at a nearby bar for drinks. After several hours of drinking and talking, I finally stand up and everythingÂ hits me all at once. I try my best to stay poised (we all knows how well that works) as I shared a cab with another workmate. I got home safe and sound, I know that much because I remember leaving the cab and walking down the alley towards my back door when…
I woke up in my bed with no idea how I got there, a splitting headache, and the knowledge that I slept through my alarm. I was going to miss the first meeting, but I could make the second on time. I begged Bunny for a ride to the train station, though she was less that happy because I apparently jumped on the bed and kept annoying her till four in the morning. We were getting ready to leave when I noticed that I couldn’t find my cane. Nor could I find my phone. At some point during the night, I lost both items, and there wasn’t a slim chance in hell that I was going to remember where. They were gone. So we left. I decided that I was going to waddle along for the day. I eventually replaced the phone. I never replaced the cane.
And that’s how I learned to walk again.
Now it’s today. A bleak reminder of what I, and all my loved ones, had to go through. This is the reason I say “fuck it”. Who needs a depression day? It’s not a holiday that I get off of work, so get it the fuck off myÂ calendar. If I make anything more of it than this, then every year I’ll just be down because I know the day is coming. When it arrives, it’ll be double depressing. I don’t need a sadness week. I get enough guilt from Black History Month. Fuck that, I’m nipping this shit in the bud.
Of the things I went through as I recovered, these are the things I want people to remember. I’m not suffering anymore. No one needs to know all the dirty day to day details. What I have written here is all the information anyone needs. So that’s that. As far as I’m concerned, September 21st is now ‘National Pet Your Cat Day’.