Warning: Due to the graphic nature of this post, reader discretion is advised.
The small reunion of friends and former teaching colleagues at the waterfront Chevys was by all accounts a fabulous time. Throughout the course of the evening, spirits were swilled and entrees were consumed. Even the Adventurous ALS Boy managed to make it through dinner without a single newsworthy choking incident.
Sitting on the pot at home later that night resulted in more of the same nothing from earlier that morning. Two days without dropping a deuce had become a rarity of late since the introduction of my breakfast fiber gummies. I abandoned the process of excavating my bowels in favor of the more leisurely activity of viewing the Wendy Williams Show.
My being tired was the most likely reason why the black CoQ10 refused to dislodge itself from my esophagus a few moments later. Several attempts were made at plunging the nozzle of our suction machine down my throat in an all-out effort to gag me but it was all for naught. I went to bed with the unpleasant taste of pills on my tongue.
Shortly after 2:30 in the morning I grunted Fehmeen awake because I could sense that something had run afoul during my slumber. What could have caused the foul-smelling dampness on my shirt, boxers and bedsheets? Had I peed, pooed, barfed or worse? What the H, E, double hockey sticks was going on?
Once the lights were illuminated and my wet t-shirt was peeled off of my sticky stomach, it became patently obvious exactly what had transpired. Or one could just take a hearty whiff of the air in my personal vicinity now that the covers had been removed. The small plastic cap on my feeding tube had somehow come undone and for an indeterminate length of time the contents of what used to be in my stomach was now spreading its orange-yellow oozing bile nastiness as far as the sleepy eye could see. Simply stated, I threw up out of my tube.
With three people working in concert, the cleanup effort was surprisingly quick and efficient. And throughout all the hustle and bustle of our late night shenanigans, there was one little person under our roof who slept through the whole ordeal: Emma.
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Posted in Accidents, Life on January 20, 2010|
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Life inside our insulated little ALS bubble took a serious and frightening turn yesterday afternoon.
It was my choice to order the chicken quesadilla. I determined the size of each bite. Ultimately, I alone decided to swallow the piece that got stuck.
The five minute span of time between when I heard Fehmeen yell, ‘Call 9 1 1,’ and when I came to on the kitchen floor with an EMT fitting me for an oxygen mask is completely lost to me. Five minutes gone, vanished, disappeared.
Mom, Dad, Emma, and Fehmeen, I am so sorry for causing you so much stress and worry. I promise to act more responsibly in the future.
Nothing like a near-death experience to put living my slowly-dying experience into the proper perspective.
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Posted in Accidents, Life on November 16, 2009|
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Driving home from the East Bay this past Saturday night, we rolled up to the scene of an accident on Industrial Blvd. in Hayward near the on-ramp to Highway 92. In addition to the crumpled-up car on the side of the road, there were at least two police cruisers blocking the street, lots of flares burning red, and a man in a crane repairing a street lamp that was damaged in the accident. Except for the elevated worker in the basket, the crash site was devoid of any significant activity at the time I responded to Fehmeen’s question about what she should do with a nod of my head that said drive forward. We were immediately approached by a uniformed officer who asked us what we thought we were doing. As Fehmeen explained to him that it was all my idea, I vaguely recall Emma saying ‘hi’ three times from her seat in the middle of our van. The policeman then noticed me seat-belted to my wheelchair in the front and said, “Since you’ve got an injured man in there, I’m going to let you go through.” It wasn’t until we were on the incline portion of the San Mateo Bridge did my shit-eating grin subside. Big or small, I love getting away with something.
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Posted in Accidents, Life on October 6, 2009|
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The title of this entry was supposed to be Why Not. Because of an off-the-chain Saturday that included a reunion with a friend I hadn’t seen in over twenty years and a super-yum dinner that was followed by another personal healing session at Thai Time, I was all geeked up to write about a new mind-set I was on the brink of adopting. From this more positive point-of-view, why should I allow this disease to slowly kill me when I was doing so many different things –like watsu, qi-gong, acupuncture, the chiropractor, and even my sessions at Thai Time– to prevent that from happening. Today was the day that I was going to begin to will myself back to health.
But then _ _it happened.
To say that I sharted would imply that I was trying to get away with a one-cheek sneak that someway, somehow went terribly, terribly wrong. No, it wasn’t like that at all. The entire episode was more akin to an unstoppable force versus an immobile (and muscle-less) object. When all was said and done, the collateral damage wasn’t nearly as bad as the psychological damage. And needless to say, I forgot all about that new-and-improved mind-set…for the day.
I just wish I didn’t have to learn the lesson of “_ _it happens but _ _it washes off” so literally.
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