Pajamas.....I love pajamas....and I love them SO very much that I have managed to stay all day long in my pajamas. Some would call me a bum of epic proportions, but I choose to say that it's my day off and devil-be-damned, i'm going to do what I want!! Today is not a "Traveler" sort of day....but not too long ago (a few weeks ago to be exact), my life was nothing BUT being a Traveler....you see, I've just recently returned from the longest trip of my career - a 45 day trip. So I guess that now would be as good a time as any to explain how I've gotten to this point in my life....and to explain a bit further, why I have come to embody the life of a Traveler and Not a Tourist....
So picture it....Atlanta Georgia....December 1999 (note my ode to the fantastic wit that is "Sophia Petrillo"/Estelle Getty on my favorite of fave shows "The Golden Girls" - all you GG fans will understand the reference :)). So....December....a few days post-Christmas...I find myself crawling across the floor in excruciating pain, trying desperately to crawl to my then-boyfriend in the other room....as I cant muster the strength to yell to him. I need to go to the Emergency Room. NOW. Something is desperately wrong. He finds me passed out on the floor of my bedroom, carries me to the car and rushes me to the hospital. I am in and out of conciousness and still, to this day, do not know how he found the hospital, as he is not from Atlanta. We arrive at the ER, and, after a few quick tests, am rushed to the Operating Room. I am told that a torqued, grapefruit-size ovary is cutting off my blood supply. I remember seeing my mom standing over me, crying, and then I am out.....off to anesthesia never-neverland. The only other thing I remember is telling my gynecologist that I will kill him if he cuts through my adorable tattoo on my bikini line....he kept his word....it's still there, as cute as ever....a few centimeters from the now 5 inch scar where he cut into my body.
The next 24 hours are a blur....I remember people coming and going, and more than anything, I remember the feeling that I am slowly, but surely, drowning in my own fluids....I was terrified....I couldn't figure out why it was getting harder and harder to breathe, and something told me, haunted my fading thoughts, that I was getting ready to die. I was drowning, and I was dying. At some point, my Mom went home to change and shower, and apparently I called her....to her horror, I could barely speak because of my struggle to breathe....that is the last thing I remember. She stops everything she is doing and rushes back to the hospital, to find me in severe respiratory distress. (I remember none of this). After talking to my doctors, it is decided that I should be placed on life support, due to the fact that I have something called ARDS (Adult Respiratory Distress Syndrome).......a phrase that unbeknownst to me will become something that will haunt me, and my health, for years to come. And as they say in the acting world......"And, Scene....".
- I'm in a coma, on life-support, on the brink of death, fighting for my life....-
Flash forward two weeks....it's dark....very, very dark....and my throat feels full and I can't breathe right....I'm confused and scared.....Am I dead? Is this Heaven? Hell? where AM I? I try to open my eyes but I can't....I'm so tired....I can't move.....and then, with all the strength I can gather, I slowly open my eyes to see my Mom, standing over me, with a smile on her face and tears streaming down her cheeks....she tells me she loves me. Tells me not to talk....tells me I can't talk because of a tube down my throat.....but I know, because of the look on her face, that I am SAFE. My Mom is my guardian angel....she has always been there, and always will be there.....I love her more than words can describe....and because of her, and ONLY her, I knew I would be OK....
So picture it....Atlanta Georgia....December 1999 (note my ode to the fantastic wit that is "Sophia Petrillo"/Estelle Getty on my favorite of fave shows "The Golden Girls" - all you GG fans will understand the reference :)). So....December....a few days post-Christmas...I find myself crawling across the floor in excruciating pain, trying desperately to crawl to my then-boyfriend in the other room....as I cant muster the strength to yell to him. I need to go to the Emergency Room. NOW. Something is desperately wrong. He finds me passed out on the floor of my bedroom, carries me to the car and rushes me to the hospital. I am in and out of conciousness and still, to this day, do not know how he found the hospital, as he is not from Atlanta. We arrive at the ER, and, after a few quick tests, am rushed to the Operating Room. I am told that a torqued, grapefruit-size ovary is cutting off my blood supply. I remember seeing my mom standing over me, crying, and then I am out.....off to anesthesia never-neverland. The only other thing I remember is telling my gynecologist that I will kill him if he cuts through my adorable tattoo on my bikini line....he kept his word....it's still there, as cute as ever....a few centimeters from the now 5 inch scar where he cut into my body.
The next 24 hours are a blur....I remember people coming and going, and more than anything, I remember the feeling that I am slowly, but surely, drowning in my own fluids....I was terrified....I couldn't figure out why it was getting harder and harder to breathe, and something told me, haunted my fading thoughts, that I was getting ready to die. I was drowning, and I was dying. At some point, my Mom went home to change and shower, and apparently I called her....to her horror, I could barely speak because of my struggle to breathe....that is the last thing I remember. She stops everything she is doing and rushes back to the hospital, to find me in severe respiratory distress. (I remember none of this). After talking to my doctors, it is decided that I should be placed on life support, due to the fact that I have something called ARDS (Adult Respiratory Distress Syndrome).......a phrase that unbeknownst to me will become something that will haunt me, and my health, for years to come. And as they say in the acting world......"And, Scene....".
- I'm in a coma, on life-support, on the brink of death, fighting for my life....-
Flash forward two weeks....it's dark....very, very dark....and my throat feels full and I can't breathe right....I'm confused and scared.....Am I dead? Is this Heaven? Hell? where AM I? I try to open my eyes but I can't....I'm so tired....I can't move.....and then, with all the strength I can gather, I slowly open my eyes to see my Mom, standing over me, with a smile on her face and tears streaming down her cheeks....she tells me she loves me. Tells me not to talk....tells me I can't talk because of a tube down my throat.....but I know, because of the look on her face, that I am SAFE. My Mom is my guardian angel....she has always been there, and always will be there.....I love her more than words can describe....and because of her, and ONLY her, I knew I would be OK....
The next few minutes are a blur of nurses, doctors, medical equipment and an experience I will never, EVER forget....being "extubated". With panic taking over my body, I am told that they will count to three and then I need to cough, so they can remove my breathing tube. WHAT are they talking about? I'm confused and scared and panicked....the only thing keeping me from dying of terror is the feeling of my mom's hand around my own. I hang on for dear life......here it comes....1-2-3....COUGH....I feel like I'm throwing up from my lungs....as I cough, they pull on a long tube, which seems to be coming out of me at record-slow speed, and then finally.....I AM FREE.....I cough a few times and then that's it.....I take a few slow, steady breaths on my own. I look again at my Mom, who I'm now using as my sole-barometer to gauge if everything is ok, and the relief on her face is all I need to know....I realize I have NO idea what is going on, where I am, what day it is.....I certainly don't know that nearly 2 weeks have passed....but thanks to my Mom, I know that I will be ok. Exhausted, I close my eyes and drift off to sleep, with my hand wrapped tightly around my Mom's.....I will be OK.....I will be OK.....I will be OK......
And thus, began my life as a Traveler....I began this NEW life by Traveling through Death, back to Life, and there was NO going back.....As my Mom slowly explained to me what I'd been through, that they thought they were going to lose me many, many times, I realize that I've finally started Living, not just floating through life....like a Tourist....I've experienced something that few would ever be able to survive, and I've lived to tell about it....and it was time to make some changes. MANY MANY changes. Time to start Traveling, in every sense of the word. To live my life with the exuberance of a man who has been granted a stay of execution....it was time to change. NOW. And so, I began my new life.....
More, MUCH more, to come.....
(it's time to get out of my pajamas.....it's time to Travel....)
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