U - Urban Legend - #AtoZChallenge

 About 25 years ago in the next town over, a woman was helping her husband home from the hospital. He had throat cancer surgery and was very weak, but was released to continue his rest in the comfort of his own home.

As they parked in their driveway, a man in filthy clothes approached their car to ask for money. She waved the beggar off as she went around to the passenger side to assist her husband.

The beggar, undeterred, continued to ask.

"Just a few dollars. I've almost got enough for a cheap room tonight."

She tried to maneuver around him, but he blocked their path.

"Come on. What's a few dollars to someone who lives in a nice house like this."

She could feel the heat rising in her face. "Can't you see I'm tied up with something right now. I said no. Go away."

The man stepped forward. "I can help you get him inside." He reached out to take her husband's arm. Her husband raised his cane and poked the beggar in the chest. Due to the surgery he couldn't talk, but he made an angry grunt as he pointed his cane to the street.

The beggar threw his hands up. "Alright, alright. I can take a hint. A few dollars from your wallet to help someone wouldn't even be noticed, but I see you're not that kind of people." He turned and continued down the street.

The woman got her husband comfortable in the house and made a call to the police to report the pushy beggar in her yard. They told her they already had someone in the area because they had received several calls about him.

She spent the afternoon preparing the living room for her husband's comfort and getting dinner ready. She had an easy microwave meal, but he could only drink a protein and vitamin mixture since his throat could not handle solid foods yet.

After dinner, she helped him up the stairs to bed. She got him settled in and went back down stairs to relax a little and get some alone time. It had been a stressful week. She poured herself a glass of wine and turned on a reality show.

After a few minutes, she heard a knock at the door. However, there was no one there. She was sure she had heard it, but dismissed it as imagination since she was so tired. Soon, she heard it again. As before, no one was there. She yelled into the darkness, "I'm not in the mood for this tonight."

She downed the rest of her glass and went to bed.

She crept quietly into the dark room and felt her way to the bed. She did not want to wake her husband. She got comfortable and then noticed the window was wide open. She knew her husband had a tendency to get hot, but he usually turned on the fan. She got up to close the window and switch the fan on, but it wouldn't work. She discovered that the plug had come loose and it was behind the dresser. In his tired state, he probably didn't want to mess with it. She reached behind the dresser and plugged it back in.

She crawled back into bed and gave her husband a gentle kiss on the back of his head. He gave a quiet grunt of approval. She was soon asleep.

A few hours later, she awoke to the sound of someone pounding on her front door. In her exhausted state, she shook her husband in fright and he made a few questioning grunts. She suddenly remembered his condition and said, "Never mind. Sorry. I got this." She grabbed her bathrobe and ran downstairs. She could see her neighbor Carol peeking in through the door as she frantically knocked.

She opened the door and Carol grabbed her arms. "Are you okay? What happened?"

She looked at Carol in confusion. "What…Yeah, we're fine. What are you talking about?"

Carol started to answer when two police cars and an ambulance pulled up. Carol ran out to meet them yelling "He's lying over here" and pointed around to the side of the house. The officers went around as the paramedics grabbed their gear.

She started to step outside to find out what was happening, but decided to explain the excitement to her husband first. She ran up the stairs and turned on the bedroom light. She screamed when she saw all the blood on the floor next to her husband's side of the bed. And her husband was gone.

She ran to the bathroom, but it was empty. She ran back to the bed and noticed a note on her pillow.

She picked it up as two policemen came bursting into the room. It read, "Thank you for the good night kiss, but a couple of dollars would have been better for everyone."

---

 

All this month, I am participating in the A to Z Challenge. A new post will go up every day (except Sundays) using a letter of the alphabet as the starting off point. My theme for the month is literary genres. I am writing in a different genre of flash fiction each day. Today's letter is U for Urban Legend.

P - Paranormal - #AtoZChallenge

Crystal nervously got out of her boyfriend's car. She couldn't take her eyes off his house and the fear was growing as she pictured herself going inside.

"Hey, are you okay? What's wrong?" Brian asked.

It must have been showing how scared she was, but she also felt silly. She chose not to tell him what was going on inside her head. Plus, she knew this was an important night. She couldn't blow it because of her paranoia.

Brian slid his arm around her waist. "It's going to be okay. They'll love you. Especially Mom."

He bounced up the stairs and opened the door for her. He reached for Crystal's hand and gave her a warm smile. She felt a bit embarrassed and took his hand. He led her into the living room and she froze as soon as she stepped inside.

She was panicked as her eyes darted around the room. The brown-green shag carpet, the painting of the dead tree hanging on the wall, the old green recliner, the console TV, and the bookshelf filled with plants. It was all the same. This couldn't be happening.

Her eyes snapped to the other end of the living room as Brian's smiling mother appeared with her arms spread wide. "Oh, good. You're here. It is so nice to finally meet you." She came in close for a hug, but Crystal jumped back, her eyes wide with fear.

"No. No. No. No. This can't be happening. This can't be real," she said quietly as she dropped her head and closed her eyes tight. Brian and his mother looked from each other to Crystal and back again.

"What's wrong, dear?" asked his mother.

Crystal tried to stifle tears as she shook her head. "I'm sorry. I have to go." She turned and ran out of the house down the street.

Brian's mother looked at him and he shrugged his shoulders before he ran out after her. She had gotten a block away before he caught up to her.

When he caught her, she was trembling and pulled away every time he tried to touch her.

"Hey. Talk to me What is going on?"

Between sobs, she struggled to get out the words, "I want to go home."

Brian had never seen her like this, but didn't question it. "Okay. Let's go back to the car. I'll take you right now." He reached for her hand.

She screamed, "No! Go get the car and come get me."

"Okay. Okay. Stay right here. Don't move. You're scaring me." He ran back to the house and shouted an apology to his mother before hopping in the car to pick her up.

Crystal didn't speak all the way home. He got her to the door and had to defend himself to Crystal's father that he hadn't done anything to her and didn't know what was wrong. He drove home very confused. 

After trying to convince his parents that he hadn't been dating a crazy person, he called Crystal's house. Her mother answered and said she was fine, but he could not speak to her yet. The following Monday, Crystal was not at school. Brian continued to try to connect with her over the next few days, but he was always thwarted by her parents. She didn't come back to school all week.

On Friday night, Crystal's father came to Brian's house to explain to the family what had happened. He told them that Crystal had just been admitted to the hospital for a possible nervous breakdown. It had been caused by coming to their house. Her father explained that when Crystal was about 6 years old, she had started having night terrors. It involved terrible nightmares where horrendous things happened to her. Sometimes she was tortured, her family was murdered in front her, and often there were hideous monsters. She had these nightmares for over four years. They were so bad, she had to see a psychiatrist and be admitted for a period of time to get therapy. It had taken some time, but the nightmares came to an end.

It had now been over six years since the last time she had one of those dreams. They were just an unpleasant part of her past. She was fully recovered and seemed to not have any lingering psychological effects from it. 

"That doesn't explain what happened last week," said Brian.

Crystal's dad sighed. "I know this will sound strange, but it explains everything. While a variety of things happened to her in those dreams, they all happened in the same location. When you pulled in the driveway last week, one look at your house scared her because she thought it was the house from her dreams. She told me that she knew it couldn't be true, so she came in. And then seeing this room pushed her over the edge. The swears that this house is the setting for those nightmares."

Brian's mom spoke up, "Oh, the poor thing," and squeezed her husband's hand.

Brian asked, "When can I see her?"

Crystal's dad shook his head. "You're not going to. Sorry. She is having the nightmares again and they are worse than they ever were before. Even if we get them back under control, you are now a possible trigger to bring them back. Right now, even the mention of your name starts a cycle that ends in hysterics. My wife is accepting a job transfer and we are moving to get Crystal out of this town. We're sorry."

---

I don't know if this story is really Paranormal, but it was the story I had to write. While this story is fiction, it is based upon something that actually happened at our house. The girl who came to our house lasted lass than a minute before she was back outside trying to catch her breath. She told us her story about our house and demanded to leave immediately. She never came back.

 

 

All this month, I am participating in the A to Z Challenge. A new post will go up every day (except Sundays) using a letter of the alphabet as the starting off point. My theme for the month is literary genres. I am writing in a different genre of flash fiction each day. Today's letter is P for Paranormal.

A - Amanda

I have one person in my life who I consider to be a life-long friend. I have several friends who I have known for many years, but only one who I met in childhood and stayed close to well into my adult life. Her name is Amanda Dycus. But my brothers and I always called her Mandy.

Mandy was three years old when the Dycus family moved in next door. I was eight. My two brothers were five and three. My youngest brother Trevor and Mandy were the same age. Her father Eddie went to the same high school as my father and currently worked in the same coal mine, so they were already friends. Our mothers quickly became friends. Over the next few years, they were on a bowling league together, belonged to a couple of different women's clubs and eventually worked at the same place. Because of the close relationship of our parents, she wasn't just the girl next door. Our families spent a lot of time together. She was one of my playmates despite being so much younger.

The first time I met her was when we had them to our house for dinner. While the adults talked, all of us kids went down to the basement to play. Now…I don't really remember what happened next, but the events of that night in the basement almost stopped our future family friendship from ever getting beyond that first dinner. It is still talked about between our families today.

Apparently, the next morning Mandy had a horrible rash all the way around her neck. It was a large scab that was sensitive to the touch. After her mother, Shirley asked Mandy a bunch of questions the got a story about having a rope tied around her neck. Mandy was only three, so she couldn't tell a story very well. Shirley calls our house to confront my mother and find out just why her boys tried to hang her daughter in our basement. After questioning us, it was discovered that we had all been playing some sort of horse game and pulling each other around the room. The rash was rope burn.

Not a smart game to play, but we were all kids and most importantly there was no devious intent. Shirley eventually got over it and we were all allowed to play together again, but could not use ropes anymore.

Mandy's house was close enough, we did not have to seek permission to go. Especially since it was on the same side of the road. No traffic to worry our parents. Our horse pasture separated our houses, so we only had to cross the pasture and hop a fence to get to her house.

About three years after the Dycus's became our neighbors, Eddie (Mandy's father) was killed in the coal mine. Losing a family member is devastating, but this event for me and my brothers meant that our access to the neighbor's house was temporarily restricted. We didn't need to be running in and out of their house while the family was grieving. At least, not for a little while.

A few days later, my youngest brother Trevor (5 or 6 y/o at the time) was hanging out by the horse pasture fence that bordered Mandy's yard. Mandy was soon standing on the other side of the fence. They hadn't been able to play together for the last few days. Choking up, she confided in Trevor that her dad had died. Trevor reached out to take her hand and told her, "I can share my dad with you."

Mandy has shared that story many times over the years. Thirty years later, she still choked up when she told it.

Eventually, we had full access to each other's houses again. Sometimes there was trouble because we came from a house of all boys and Mandy only had her little sister. We got grounded from going over there for a few weeks after Mandy's sister Ellen wet her pants because she tried to pee standing up like Trevor does.

Since Kyle (my other brother) and I were the oldest, we were the unofficial leaders of our little group. Mandy and Ellen and Trevor followed along with whatever we wanted to do. And we wanted to do country boy stuff. Sometimes, we would disappear into the woods all day and come back covered in mud, scratched skin and torn clothing. We played rough and tumble games as boys do. We climbed in the roof of the house, wrestled with the dogs, and jumped off of the top of the garage. They were right there for all of it.

As we all grew up, we stayed tight friends. Occasionally, me or one of my brothers would take one of the girls to a school dance or other event. It was never romantic, always platonic. Although, there was one summer when we all played a game of "you show me yours and I'll show you mine."

When I was 12 years old, my parents bought my grandmother's house and we moved into it. It was five miles away, but we still stayed close. We went to each other's houses whenever we could. The friendship never faded even as we went into adulthood. Mandy (who had been accepted to Julliard) not only played the piano at my wedding, she even wrote an original song to sing.

When I had been talking to my future wife (online only) and trying to convince her to actually meet me in person, I asked for help on my blog in the post Evidence That I Am Harmless. I asked people who knew me personally to vouch for my character. Many people stepped up to say something, but Mandy wrote this:

She loves me

Of course, as the years went on an everyone started families and moved to other cities, we could not see each other as often but we never lost contact. We were always on each other's Facebook pages and giving our two cents on what was going on in each other's lives.

A few years ago, my parents were going to go camping with Shirley and decided to invite all the kids to get together for a cookout. I hadn't seen Mandy or Ellen in a few years and jumped at the chance to go. I drove three hours to see them and introduce Mandy and Ellen to the woman Mandy had helped me meet with her kind words. My wife got to see how much this friendship meant to me and my brothers. We all sat and told stories of the 'good old days' while our parents were shocked at some of the things they were learning about our adventures together. I mean, we are all adults now. What could they do?

Mandy is in the green shirt laughing too hard.

This was a great day. We all agreed that we had to do this more often and made a few tentative plans to make it happen again the following year.

It didn't work that way. A few months later, Mandy got very sick with a deadly blood disorder. I made the trek back to my hometown with my wife and Ellen fought to allow us in to see Mandy. She had been in a coma for a few days before we got there, so she was not conscious. I spoke to her for a few minutes, held her hand and kissed her forehead. I think it's the one time my wife has seen me cry.

That was the last time I saw her.

She died a few weeks later and I hated that I could not get there to see her again for the short time she was out of the coma, but have always been so grateful that we got to have that cookout get together. She will never be forgotten. I love you, Mandy.

---

This month, I am participating in the A to Z Challenge. Each day this month, people around the world are writing blog posts and working their way through the alphabet. Each person decides their own personal theme. I am writing about people who have affected my life.

This Crap Stays Between Us

Due to my job of delivering office supplies around town, I spend a lot of time in my car listening to the radio instead of playing Candy Crush Saga or watching Big Bang Theory. It's amazing the things you learn if you just pay attention. Yesterday, the radio got my attention when I heard the phrase "poop in a pill."

Yes, the reporter actually used the word 'poop.' I always thought 'feces' was a more professional word, but he said 'poop.'

Apparently, medical scientists really have made a pill full of poop. You can read about it here.

If you are like me (or like any normal person), you are probably asking yourself, "Uh...why?"

Believe it or not, there actually is a medical reason for this. According to the news story, there are some intestinal infections that make a lot of people really sick and can even be deadly, but don't respond well to antibiotics. What do they respond to?

MORE POOP!

After being told our entire lives to wash our hands after going to the bathroom, doctors have started treating certain infections with poop. For the last two decades, doctors treated these infections with fecal transplants. 'Fecal transplant' is the medical way of saying that they took someone else's crap and stuck it in your butt.

These fecal transplants work because…well, wait a moment.

Try to remember I am not a medical professional and will do my best to explain this, but will be using layman's terms.

These fecal transplants work because, healthy crap (HA HA) has the bacterial enzymes needed to fight the infection. The doctor would normally select the crap of a close family member to attempt to recreate the intestinal environment the bacteria are accustomed to. You know, because a happy bacteria is more effective than unhappy bacteria. Apparently, one-celled organisms are temperamental. I wouldn't be surprised to learn that playing soothing music into the rectum afterward makes them work even more efficiently.

If you happen to be the recipient of one of these 'poop surgeries' and are bothered by the fact that someone else's crap has been inserted into your mudhole, you can take some comfort in knowing that it is not a stranger's turd in your butt, but your mother's. Not much will bring a family closer together.

However, regardless of whose crap is now invading your intestinal tract, it is still a procedure that most doctors and patients would like to avoid. This is where the poop pill comes into play. Scientists have found a way to extract the necessary enzymes directly from the donor turds so they can be prepared to be taken orally in pill form. They are made into pills because a suppository would sort of defeat the purpose.

Now, a pill may be less invasive than an enema, but you can't deny that this is still the eating of crap sanctioned by the medical profession. In fact, I can already see how the next Thanksgiving would go at my house if this happened to one of us. Right after filling our plates, I would lean over to my brother and whisper, "Remember that time you ate my sh*t?"

 Nevertheless, they are seeing great success with this new product.

Since it looks like this just may be the intestinal infection treatment of the future, it only stands to reason that the price of crap is about to increase. I haven't been able to find any crap investments to buy into, but I do have plenty I could sell and I make more all the time.

When I was in college, I used to donate plasma. They gave me $25 every time, but I could only do this once every six weeks. If someone established a donor center to accept Fecal Donations and paid the same rate, I could make a deposit every day. That's $750 a month! That would pay my rent and my power bill! A family of four could make enough money that no one would have to work. Or at the very least, their crap donations might be enough to supplement their Obamacare health plan.

Before I Was Free

I had hoped to have another post up this week, but it didn't happen. I have been writing posts for the A to Z Blogging Challenge and posting for this week got away from me. I promise this will be the last time I will use that challenge as an excuse. The challenge starts on Monday and I hope you will drop in every day to see what I come up with.

In the meantime, here is the post from one year ago today about me trying to escape from my family as a toddler. Tomorrow, I will post the results from this week's caption contest with Hitler.

---

I like to think that I have always been my own person. I have my way of thinking, my way of acting and my way of doing things (even if they don't always work). While I can respect the wisdom and knowledge of people that came before me, I like finding my own way. This started at a very young age.

Never a slave to conventional dress,
I found my style early on.

Much to my parents dismay, the pastel colors and little duckies on my clothes just were not acceptable to me. After much deliberation (mostly on their part since I couldn't talk yet), I compromised.

I was gangsta,
before gangsta was cool.

At the age of 18 months, I began to change my own diapers. This was not a modesty issue. We know from past posts, I still don't have any modesty. No, this was part of my unrelenting desire to become my own man.

I demanded this freedom in other areas of my life as well. I knew how I wanted things and would accept nothing less.

Had Mother fixed the steak I asked for,
this would not have happened.

My parents, being appreciative of the freedom I was offering them by my new independence, took advantage of the situation. Since I could take care of myself, they could go out and not have to worry about me. It saved money in babysitters and further taught me self reliance.

Against my wishes, they later decided this was not a good idea.

I invited the neighbor girls over,
but their mom said they were napping.

The cop took this picture after pulling me over.
I was on my way to buy more booze.

After the run in with local law enforcement, my parents had me under their oppressive thumbs and my life was relegated to the boring life of a toddler once again. I endured this for a little over a year before I saw my opportunity to escape.

One Sunday, my family was walking in the pasture behind my great-grandfather's house. It was a beautiful day and the birds were singing. All that open air made me yearn for the freedom that I knew I deserved. After all, it had been over three years since I had escaped from the suffocation of the womb. How long should I be expected to play the part of cute pet? I knew today was the day and began looking for my opportunity.

As we approached the top of a hill, I observed a wide open space before us. This was the place to make a break for it. If I could make it to the tree line, I could disappear and live off the land.

Being acutely aware of my short stature (darn stubby toddler legs), I knew I would need a head start in order to not be caught. The large descent before me would give me the opportunity to gain speed quickly. If the parental units could be distracted for a few moments, I would have the edge I needed.

I pointed at a cloud and babbled in that way that adults think are so cute. When they looked up, I bolted for the bottom of the hill. I was able to get close to the bottom before they realized I was gone. Only a few hundred feet more and I would be free forever.

I looked back and noticed that they had taken pursuit and were screaming for me to stop. They must have been aware of my intentions because they were much more frantic than usual. My father was closing in fast, so I concentrated on my departure.

Upon reaching the bottom of the hill, I tripped and sprawled forward. My tumble caused a white hot dust to come out of the ground. I quickly found it difficult to see and began to cough. I then realized that I had been duped.

My great-grandfather had anticipated my plan the night before and laid out a trap. He had burned a large brush pile after clearing out some trees. Knowing this was where I would most likely make a run for it, he placed it in the valley before the trees.

The entire pile had been burned to the ground and the only evidence of the preceding days events was the white ash on the ground. In my haste to get away, I had not noticed what I was running toward. The fire was out, but the coals were still crackling hot. My hands were now holding up the rest of my body from being burned, but my center of gravity did not allow for me to stand up and remove my hands from the burning.

Was this going to be the end? Would I slowly disintegrate into the pile eventually engulfing my entire body? I had underestimated the deviousness of my guardians.

My father snatched me out of the fire. I knew they were disappointed that the trap had not worked properly. He was going to throw me in and finish the job properly. I held my breath and waited for the heat, but it never came.

My father ran back to the house as the heat in my hands began to grow to intolerable levels. After a quick clean up, they rushed me to a hospital. The doctor's did horrible things and then bound me so I could no longer cause any trouble. My parents' plan to end my independence was complete.

I could no longer change my diapers.

Without the use of my hands, I had to humbly allow my mother to feed me and take care of my bathroom issues once again. I couldn't even use my toys. My life was going to be dependent on them forever.

My dog didn't even respect me any more.

Two days later, I was returned to the hospital and thrilled to learn that they were removing the hindrances that had been placed on me. However, my hands and fingers had doubled in size and were covered in blisters that stood over an inch tall. My hands still didn't work. Then they held me down and bound me up again.

They teased me this way every few days. The doctors would take them off and then replace them. I finally understood. They were trying to break my spirit.

After a few weeks, I falsely admitted compliance. Satisfied that I would not attempt escape again, they freed my hands. It was several years before I tried again.

It didn't go well either.

Sibling Perceptions

Deep in thought

This post is a response to some of the questions I received on my November 27th post asking readers to submit questions. This series of questions came from my brother Kyle.

There are a few questions I like to ask everyone I run into, at some point.

1. Have you ever eaten a grasshopper?
2. Have you ever eaten anything, while it was still alive?
3. Do you have a fear of picnic tables? If so why?
4. When and what was your feelings, when you realized your younger siblings could take you down.
5. Have you ever been so considerate of your neighbors, that you asked them to leave for the weekend, because you didn't want your party to disturb them?
6. Have you ever gone to Six Flags while your brother sat in a hospital room awaiting surgery... on his birthday?
7. Has your hair ever resembled the tsunami wave that hit the cost of Japan?
8. Have you ever come home and found your household cabinets rearranged?
9. What is your favorite family memory from your childhood?

At first, I thought about skipping over these, but then decided that I better tackle them. Whether they were meant to be a joke or not, he would call me out on it. So here goes...


Have you ever eaten a grasshopper?

Yes, I have eaten several. I've had chocolate covered grasshoppers and grasshoppers coated with a nacho powder similar to the coating of a Doritos chip. However, I believe Kyle is referring to one specific instance that my mother loves to tell about.

When I was very young (I don't know the exact age), I was bugging my mother for some food. She was preparing me something, but I did not let up in asking. I must have been very hungry...OR a whiny, difficult child. I don't know which. Once she had fixed my plate, she found that I was already chewing on something. As she got closer, she saw the leg sticking out of my mouth. Apparently, she was not filling my belly fast enough and I had found a dead grasshopper in a windowsill.


Have you ever eaten anything, while it was still alive?

The answer to this question (like most of the others) is 'YES.' I have written before about the time I ate live octopus, but I didn't have to leave the country to eat live food.

I was in high school when I heard about goldfish swallowing and just had to try it. It really wasn't a big deal. Pop it in your mouth and wash it down with some water. I did use fresh tap water and not water from the fish tank. I have also eaten live earthworms a few times. They were pretty slimy, and I will still choose the worms over okra every time. The fish was better.


Do you have a fear of picnic tables? If so why?

I don't fear them, but I do keep a close eye on them. The worst accident I ever had involved a bicycle, a picnic table and a poorly constructed ramp. Due to the events of that day, I was knocked unconscious, missed weeks of school and still have back problems 30 years later. I will tell the entire story in a future post.


When and what was your feelings, when you realized your younger siblings could take you down?

You should ask him about
the time he tried to fly.

I expect that when that day comes, I probably won't be too happy about it.


Have you ever been so considerate of your neighbors, that you asked them to leave for the weekend, because you didn't want your party to disturb them?

Yes, again! Always mindful of my surroundings and never wanting to be a hassle to anyone, I try to be considerate.

About 15 years ago, I lived way out in the country and had a small^* gathering planned.

*For this 'small' gathering I had rented port-o-potties and had a stage constructed in my backyard for the evening's entertainment.

As the stage was being built and the bands started to arrive, it occurred to me that I did have one neighbor. It was my brother Kyle and his wife. They lived close enough that we shared a yard.  Never one to be rude, I informed them (with a proper 4 hours notice) that there may be some revelry lasting past nine o' clock. They were welcome to attend, but might be more comfortable spending the night some place else. They chose to leave for the night.

Which was a shame, because they missed a great party.


Have you ever gone to Six Flags while your brother sat in a hospital room awaiting surgery... on his birthday?

I almost wonder if some of these questions were designed to make me look bad. Nah! I'm sure it's just me.

The answer to this one is 'YES!'

I did do this, but made great sacrifices to make it happen. Our church youth group was going to Six Flags for a summer trip. We had purchased tickets weeks in advance.

Six months
of lugging him around

Kyle, without thinking, has a massive bicycle accident during his birthday party days before this trip. He is hospitalized and enjoying some great drugs while I am left holding his ticket for Six Flags. While Kyle was getting to enjoy the wonderful psychedelic world of medical grade hallucinogens, I have to find another person to use his  non-refundable ticket. I had to make two phone calls before I found someone to use it. It was awful.

In all honesty, I don't even remember the events of that day, but Kyle has six titanium rods in his knee as souvenirs to help him remember. I have nothing.


Has your hair ever resembled the tsunami wave that hit the cost of Japan?

Hey, I looked good.
Although, I get the feeling this is not
the picture Kyle had in mind.

Have you ever come home and found your household cabinets rearranged?

I have written about how some of my pranks involved breaking into someone's house. Growing up in the same house as Kyle, he tends to think the same way on some things and this is one of them. He and a friend broke into my house once and rearranged the contents of all my kitchen cabinets.

I had no idea anyone had been in my house until it was time for dinner. Nothing was where it was supposed to be. I ended up just leaving it that way.


What is your favorite family memory from your childhood?

I honestly don't think I could pick one. I am not someone who can complain about my childhood. It was great. I have tons of memories of running around in the woods with my brothers, exploring the countryside on our bikes, hanging out with friends, coming up with and trying out new stunts and lots of other things. My parents provided a wonderful house to grow up in.

With Friends Like These...

Image stolen from the Dude Write site.
I don't know where they stole it from.

The dudes over at Dude Write have a slasher theme happening this week (since it is the 13th week) and it immediately reminded me of this story. However, I feel that I have to offer a disclaimer and a warning with this post. First, the disclaimer: I was not present for the following events. It is a story that my brother Trevor has told many times. I have heard it so many times, I am sure I can piece it together. Next, the warning: This post might get a bit graphic and since I haven't searched for the images to use with it yet, I don't know how bloody it might get. After the post about playing chicken, reader Marianne requested a heads up before subjecting viewers to such violent images. Even though this post is being written to be linked to the tough guys at Dude Write, there will be women reading as well, so I want to be polite. Be forewarned.

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Guys have certain rituals that may not be understood by the fairer species. Everyone has seen a guy punch a friend, casual acquaintance or even a stranger in the arm. The female equivalent would be to hug or jump up and down while screaming. This is just part of the bonding process that allows men to show affection towards each other without losing any appearance of masculinity.

In some contexts, this practice evolves into other forms. Back in the days when I frequented bars, it was not uncommon for a male to talk to another male while discreetly holding the flame of a lighter to the butt of the man he was talking to. Within a few seconds, the heat would raise the temperature of the denim to a degree that caused the victim to jump. Then, rubbing his seared rear, he would laugh with his friends as he joked that he had been gotten.

Not all men use the lighter to the butt prank, but they are practitioners of some similar practice that is common among their group of friends. This story is about one of these practices that had evolved into something ridiculously stupid a bit less subtle.

Several years ago, the bar that my brother hung out in was filled with men who had developed the practice of poking each other in the back of the knees. The purpose was quite simple. It was supposed to startle the victim and make him jump so everyone could laugh at him. Ladies, please don't judge. Most men are pretty easily entertained. Drunk men even more so.

The practice was fairly simple. Approach a man standing and talking with other men. Place object to poke him with directly behind one of his knees and then wait for him to step back. When he hits the object, the unexpected sensation causes him to jump and laughter ensues.

It didn't take long for the practitioners of this prank to discover that not just any object would deliver the intended result. For instance, a finger would simply cause the victim to turn around and ask, "What are you doing?" It might even get you punched. Using a pool cue wouldn't get you much more than a smirk. However, something sharp generally got the desired effect. A well-secured toothpick could supply hours of entertainment.

Eventually, someone ingeniously used his pocketknife to get the same result. Since most of these guys always had one on them, it quickly became the tool of choice for this favorite prank. That was how the practice of mixing alcohol and sharp objects came to be commonplace at this particular tavern.

One evening, John whips out his knife to steady it behind the knee of Brad to start the festivities. As he approaches the intended area, Brad jumps back in the midst of the story he is telling. The unexpected action causes the freshly sharpened blade to sink over two inches into Brad's flesh immediately severing an artery.

The blood is spraying out of the new wound and the people standing around are stunned silent as Brad is trying to figure out what just happened. John snaps out of his stupor and grabs some napkins. He and Trevor begin trying to stop the bleeding.

The two of them usher Brad into the bathroom to patch him up because everyone knows that the restroom is the most sterile place in a bar. Actually, they needed some privacy since they needed to remove Brad's pants to better access the wound.

Once in the privacy of the restroom and Brad's pants were removed, there was nothing to stop the trajectory of the still-spraying blood. Trevor and John had blood on their faces, shirts and all over their arms and hands. It was flowing freely down Brad's legs and they quickly realized they would not be able to fix this.

When you stab your friends, you should be better prepared.

As Brad is attempting to replace his pants, John and Trevor are using entire rolls of paper towels to clean the excess blood off the floor. The mess is everywhere and there are dozens of blood-soaked rags littering the floor. John slips in the blood, knocking Trevor and Brad both to the floor covering them in even more sticky mess.

They hear a scream and look up to discover a horrified man clawing to get back out of the bathroom. He had walked in to find what appeared to be three blood covered men (one with his pants around his ankles) fighting on the floor of the bathroom. He thought he was witnessing a murder.

As they help Brad out of the bathroom, John admits that Brad really needs to get to the hospital and tells Trevor to take him. Trevor exclaims, "I'm not taking him to the hospital. YOU stabbed him! You take him."

John was really concerned about getting in legal trouble for stabbing his friend in a bar, so they concocted a story about Brad cutting himself on some sheet metal. Due to loss of blood, Brad was losing consciousness, so they threw water in his face so he could wake up long enough to learn the story. Trevor still insisted that John take Brad himself, but did allow John to use his truck since it was older.

John drove off with his pale friend and Trevor returned to the bar for a much-needed drink. However, the bartender handed him a garden hose and sponge while silently pointing toward the bathroom.

From Ferris Wheel to Hospital Waiting Room

I spent a good portion of my day at the hospital with Adam. He had to have surgery again today for his recurring abscess problem. This is his 8th occurrence since the beginning of the year. If you would like to catch up with this story here are the previous posts in order:

• Abscessed Adventures with Adam WARNING: GRAPHIC!!!
• Hop Along Sunday
• Dad, Do You Ever Get That No-So-Fresh Feeling?
• Getting Tired of Hospitals 

This was the largest one yet and they scheduled emergency surgery to get it taken care of. He is fine and doing well, but I wanted to share a couple of hospital room statements.

As Adam is just coming out of anesthesia:
NURSE: Adam, are you doing okay. How do you feel?
ADAM: (eyes still closed) Were there budget cuts?
NURSE: Budget cuts? What?
ADAM: (a little clearer) Has there been budget cuts since I went to surgery?
NURSE: (laughing) Adam, sweetie, I don't know what you're talking about?
ADAM: (opens eyes) I was just wondering why I no longer have a pillow.

As the nurses kept coming in to check on him, Adam was going in and out of consciousness from all the painkiller he was on. Despite the questions they had about what kind of pain he was in and how he felt, he insisted on telling them about the internet love story of myself and Red. They thought it was the incoherent babbling of a drugged man, but he got all the details right. He would not allow any other topic to be discussed for almost 30 minutes.

For whatever reason he had my love life on his mind, it must have been sparked by knowing that I had just spent the previous day with Red. We spent the day viewing various parts of the Indiana countryside and landed at a carnival that evening. I know some of our readers have been curious as to how well we are getting along and wondering if we have found ourselves to be compatible. I think that can be answered by how we spent a large portion of our time at the fair.

Coolest T-shirt find - I know. I'm a nerd

We each had our cameras out trying to capture people wearing the most ridiculous outfits to send to Misty at Misty's Laws for her Weekly Whacked segment. We were highly entertained by the couple in the matching camouflage shorts, the number of girls wearing cowboy boots with shorts and the woman frantically chasing her toddlers that would not stay by her side. Having someone to make fun of people with is much more rewarding than doing it by yourself, plus it gives me a greater sense of self-righteousness when another person is in agreement at the cluelessness of others.

NOTE: According to Blogger, cluelessness is not a word. However, I am still enjoying some feelings of superiority from yesterday, so I will refuse to change to another word. Blogger just needs to get smarter.

When we weren't making fun of the other fair goers, Red was turning several shades of green as we climbed on rides with teenagers to show them how it's done. I don't know what we showed them, but we succeeded in not getting sick despite the constant spinning of some of the rides.

For those of you paying attention to the ongoing story of Red and myself, we are getting along wonderfully and appreciate those of you that have been rooting for us. We will keep you up to date. Mostly.

At Least We Know I'm Not Pregnant

In the last year, I have suffered through several horrible nights of excruciating pain, been to the emergency room three times, received numerous steroid injections and been X-rayed several times. All of this has been because of my shoulders which occasionally try to kill me in my sleep. I believe there is something living in there that is either trying to eat it's way out or is feeding on my shoulder bones.

I can feel the discomfort growing during the day and as the days go on, I lose more and more mobility until it gets to the point that I cannot make even the slightest movement of a finger without searing pain shooting up and down my body. The animal inside gets angry when I move and starts biting me. As odd as this sounds, I grow accustomed to it and am very careful with the offending arm. I don't move it. I support it with my other hand when I am walking and I gently place it on the desk or table in front of me when I sit. I mess up and get shooting pains every now and then when I move it the wrong way and anger my inner critter, but I figure out how to deal with it.

Unfortunately, once I lay down at night, there is not much I can do. After sleeping about an hour, the blood has had time to relocate to the sore area and the pain is ten times worse making it almost impossible to turn over or even sit up. Either that or the creature eating my shoulder is nocturnal and prefers to feed at night. It is usually at this point that I give up and go to the hospital.

I have written about these visits before and they can be read here:

That Which Doesn't Kill You, Makes You Realize How Old You Are
My Experiment With Steroids
I Want to Donate My Arm to Science
Enough Vicoden and I Will Agree to Anything

This has happened enough times now that the doctors have decided that there must be something more going on than just the occasional bursitis. I told them my angry parasite theory and they don't seem to be interested. They sent me to an orthopedic doctor, who sent me to a physical therapist and ordered a sonogram. I have seen the physical therapist once and will begin treatment next week. I went in for my sonogram yesterday.

It just looks like the ocean. An ocean of BLOOD!

After several minutes of watching them look at pictures of the inside of my shoulder, I was starting to get bored. Every picture looked the same. I had no idea what she was looking for and when I asked, she said, "Anything unusual."

Looking at the monitor, I asked if the cascading blood river was something unusual. She said it was not.

I wasn't satisfied, so I asked her if she had ever found an angry animal gnawing on someone's insides. She stopped her examination and looked at me.

Sonogramoligist Person (SP): "Do you mean, like, a tapeworm?"

ME: "Do tapeworms usually crawl up into people's shoulders?"

SP: "NO!"

ME: "Then why would you suggest that? I mean something like a beaver?"

SP: "What?"

ME: "Or a woodchuck. I don't know. You're the doctor!"

She went back to examining my shoulder and didn't answer my question. Maybe it's something they aren't supposed to talk about. As she moved the magic wand thingy around to the front of my shoulder, she did ask if it hurt when she put pressure there. I assured her that it did. She didn't respond or change anything she was doing. I think she enjoys her job.

After several more minutes of awkward silence, other than her clacking the buttons on the machine, I asked what she was finding. She showed me this picture.

The first curve along the bottom is my shoulder bone. The white line on the top of it is lubricating liquid. The next curve is also bone and above that is muscle tissue.

Since the curvature of the bones appear smooth, there does not appear to be evidence of arthritis, bone spurs or other abnormalities. There even appears to be the right amount of fluid. It looks healthy. I asked, "Did you see any tooth marks? Or did you even look?" She assured me that she saw no teeth marks, but I think she was just avoiding the conversation. She didn't take me seriously and hadn't looked.

She told me to put my shirt back on. Everything looked good and I could go home. She would send my results back to the orthopedic doctor. I hesitated, "Don't I get any pictures?"

SP: "What pictures?"
ME: "My sonogram pictures."
SP: "We don't give those out."
ME: "We both know that's not true. I have seen lots of pictures of sonograms. Some women just carry them around with them."
SP:"That's because it's for their baby."
ME: "So, you admit that you do give them out."
SP: "For pregnancies."
ME: "Do they pay extra for that?"
SP:  "No. It's a complimentary service."
ME: "Do you want me to scream sexism?"
SP: "I'll get your pictures."

After a supervisor came in to find out why I wanted pictures, I gave her a similar run around and they eventually brought me a disc with my sonogram pictures. I promptly went home and popped it into my computer. After carefully scanning the pictures, I found this.

I knew it. Those shots weren't steroids.
They were monkey tranquilizers!

Enough Vicoden and I Will Agree to Anything

Proverbs 20:29

Aging sucks. As much as I want gray hair, because I think it is cool and makes a person look wise, I do not appreciate all the extra age related stuff that goes with it.

For the last year, I have been fighting a painful battle with my shoulders. I have been in the hospital 3 times for what the doctors have told me was bursitis. Read about one of those visits here. My most recent episode was last week and I was given the same diagnosis.

Since then, I have been pretty well drugged up on painkillers (I totally understand now why people take these for fun) and anti-inflammatory medication. Yesterday, I saw an orthopædic specialist, who sent me to a physical therapist today.  Thursday, I will be back at the hospital to get a sonogram on my shoulders. Maybe they think my shoulder is pregnant. I don't know. Although, it would make sense that there is something living inside there. Sometimes it feels like the bone is being gnawed on.

It is frustrating to have pain and not understand why it is happening. Luckily, my pain is not present all the time, but when it does flair up, it is horrible. I can barely move without crumbling over in agony. However, I believe this physical therapist may have found the problem. I am about to have a few very unpleasant months, but it will be worth it if he is correct.

I saw this same man about 10 years ago for a back problem that I had dealt with for the previous 15 years. He theorized that the problem was not in my back, but was a problem in my hip. A quick adjustment and a few weeks of therapy and I was cured of a major issue I had endured for over a decade.

So, when the orthopædic doctor handed me my papers and said I could go to any physical therapist I wanted, I knew who I wanted to see. At his office today, after me telling him my story of what has happened for the last year, he had me do a few movements to observe my mobility. Things like raise my arms above my head and straight out. Try to scratch my back as high as I can. Of course, I don't know what he is looking for, but he kept making small grunts. A-HA!  OK!  Uh-Huh! He would then write on his notepad.

Based on what he saw, he had me try a few more things and then told me what he thought the problem was. I have tightness in my post-blah-blob-jiggity-ascular area. This is somewhere in the back of my shoulder. Since it is so tight, it restricts my movement (which I don't even notice) and I compensate with other parts of my body, causing the flair-ups which would not be happening if I could move naturally.

He then told me that over the course of the next few months I would begin to hate him. Apparently, the exercises to fix this and stretch out the area are not pleasant. However, before he can do the therapy, I have to prepare the area at home with some pre-stretching.

According to the therapist, a shoulder with full range of motion should be able to lay their arm flat on the surface while in this position. My left arm goes to about 45 degrees before the pain kicks in and my right arm (the one I am having problems with this time) does not like to rotate at all. Pain or not, it just stops even with pressure. The muscle (or tendon or old piece of shrapnel, whatever it is) is too tight to allow for the movement. This is part of what he claims will be the reason I will not like him. Before I go back for my therapy on May 9, I should be able to get my right arm to a 45 degree angle. If not, we cannot begin treatment.

I started as soon as I got home and I have to say, I HATE THAT MAN. This sucks. Before seeing him, if I started to feel discomfort, I stopped what I was doing to find another way to accomplish my task without pain. Now, I am supposed to purposefully hurt myself in order to do it correctly.

I actually have a decent tolerance for pain. Due to my past back issues, I have dealt with pain most of my life, but this hurts. He told me that I will be very sore from these stretches and we was right. I have only done it once so far and I hurt more now than I did before I went to the hospital. According to him, they should slowly begin to stretch and I will see some progress each day. In the meantime, I am wondering what he is going to do in therapy since this is just the stretching to prepare for what is coming.

I am very happy that we are finally going to get this taken care of, but the good doctor and I may not be on speaking terms for a while after this.

I Want to Donate My Arm to Science

In past posts, I have told stories of some of the crazy things I have done (jumped out of moving cars, set myself on fire, crawled underneath moving trains, etc) and bragged about how I have never broken a bone. It is true that none of my bones have been broken, but that does not mean that I haven't done damage to my body. I was reminded of this yesterday morning.

After dropping Kirsten off at school, I noticed a small, but sharp pain in my right shoulder as I closed my vehicle door. While the pain was not much, I recognized what it was immediately. I have had it before and it usually gets much worse before it gets better.

I have written about this pain and what it does to me in two posts which can be read here.

That Which Doesn't Kill You, Makes You Realize How Old You Are
My Experiment With Steroids

This recurring problem has been diagnosed as bursitis, which in general is inflammation of the tissues in the joint. Once I first feel this coming on, the intensity grows slowly. My shoulder gets more and more distressed, restricting my movement a little each day. After about 5 or 6 days, it culminates in a horrible night, when I am unable to sleep because it hurts tremendously to even attempt to roll over. This time, it must have been in a rush.

Despite having only first felt the beginnings of this pain yesterday morning, the intensity grew quickly over the course of the day and I seriously considered if it would be worth chopping my arm off once I had been in bed for a couple of hours. Laying down allows more blood to go to the area and it begins to throb, shooting pain down my entire arm and into my back. The slightest movement multiplies the intensity.

I pushed through the night deciding to go to the emergency room in the morning. I had learned from previous experiences, that there is no point in going to my doctor, since it would take a week to get in and by then I would be dead...or wishing I was. Same thing.

Since I had taken Adam to the hospital on several occasions (here, here, here and here), I thought he might jump at the chance to  get to do the same for me. When I called him, he came over immediately. He was happy to return the favor and said so several times.

There was also a second reason I had called him. I still had full use of my other arm. I was perfectly capable of driving myself. After all, I had just driven my daughter to school. The previous times I had been to the E.R. for this problem, they asked me if I had driven myself. When I responded that I had, they responded, "Then we won't give you this shot."

The shot they were referring to was the good stuff. The ultra-super-feel-good-floating-in-the-clouds-meeting-Jesus shot. Since the pain in my shoulder is so sharp and intense, a regular painkiller does not begin to touch it, but they promised me this stuff would. I would explain that I only lived 2 blocks from the hospital. They could give it to me as I was walking out the door and I would go straight home. They declined saying that they didn't want to be the reason that I had to meet Jesus that day and never be allowed to leave. You know, because I died in an accident. The joke makes sense in my head.

Since I was in terrible pain and they had not given me the shot on previous visits because I was driving, I wanted Adam to take me so I could get it and then go back home and sleep. Because of the events of yesterday's post, Adam was going to see another doctor today. Knowing they might do a procedure on his feet or the abscesses, he had taken several strong painkillers. Thus, my attempt at staying safe behind the wheel of a car was diminished as soon as I hopped in with him. Nevertheless, he drove me in his self-induced haze.

Since I was not yet in the horrible pain as last time I was there, I was in a much better mood. And having had no sleep due to my shoulder, I had trouble following a logical line of thought.

Admitting Nurse: Are you allergic to anything?

Me: Just keep cats out of this room.

Nurse: We don't allow cats in the hospital.

Me: That's good. It would probably violate some health codes.

Nurse: Anything else.

Me: Local laws, maybe. I don't know.

(Later)
Nurse: Do you have a living will?

Me: No. I am going to live forever.

Nurse: No, you won't.

Me: Yes, I will.

Nurse: No, you will not. Everyone dies.

Me: I never have. Adam, have you?

Adam: Never. Not once!

Me: Ma'am, I have been pushed off a railroad bridge, fallen out of moving cars and even took an axe in the head. I have never even broken a bone. I will live forever.

Nurse: No, you will die.

Me: Your bedside manner sucks.

The on-call doctor informed me that he has never given the steroid shot into the bursa sac of the shoulder before and was not comfortable attempting it on me. I readily agreed. He did set me up with some anti-inflammatory drugs and some painkillers to help me sleep through the night. This means it will take longer to heal and get my range of motion back, but I will be on the mend instead of it intensifying any further.

Discharge nurse: Do you know your name?

Me: Why wouldn't I know my name?

Nurse: What's your name?

Me: What's your name?

Nurse: My name is Karen.

Me: Correct.

Nurse: Tell me your name.

Me: Don't you have it on the paper your holding?

Nurse: Yes, but I need to verify it.

Me: Didn't I give you my driver's license earlier?

Nurse: Yes, you did.

Me: Did you lose it?

Nurse: No. I have it right here.

Me: Well, I am sure it is correct.

Nurse: What's your name?

Me: The same as my license.

They eventually escorted us out and despite Adam's Facebook post giving people the impression that I was dying, I am fine. I am still in a lot of pain since it takes a while for the anti-inflammatory meds to start taking effect, but I should see some improvement by tomorrow morning. I was referred to an orthopedic doctor to see if we can prevent this from happening again.

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Followup from yesterday's post: Adam saw a surgeon today who scheduled him an appointment for tomorrow. He will be in surgery to get the abscesses drained and the staples removed from his foot that were missed during his last surgery four years ago. After recovery, he should be in a lot less pain.

Getting Tired of Hospitals - OR - (screaming) Oh, Kelly Clarkson

It is time for another installment of our continuing series involving trips to the emergency room with Adam Elliott. I don't plan when these posts are going to happen any more than I can plan when Lindsey Lohan is going to appear in court next. It just happens.

For my regular followers, you already know that Adam has been in the E.R. several times in the last few months. I have written about each one of these visits and they have been some of my most popular posts. So, recognizing what people like to read about (regardless of how disturbing it may be), I decided to share this one as well. Here are the first three if you need to catch up:

• Abscessed Adventures with Adam
• Hop Along Sunday
• Dad, Do You Ever Get That No-So-Fresh Feeling?

I have used an alias for Adam in the last couple of posts in order to save him from the embarrassment caused by the first time I wrote about him. However, somehow people saw past my subtleties and fake names and figured out who I was talking about anyway. So, I will just use his real name. That should prevent any further confusion.

In my first emergency room post, the reason for being there was an abscess that had burst in the middle of the night, causing lots of blood and a huge understandable freak out from Adam. Since this had already happened to him once, he recognized the signs and knew that he was having the same problem again. This time, however, there were four and they were all in the groin area again.

Since we had to DJ for a dance on Saturday night, he decided to get them fixed to prevent them from bursting while working the dance. That would have been a problem. So, we went to the hospital on Friday night.

Please keep in mind that Adam was in a lot of pain and was not in the mood to speak with medical personnel. 

After parking the car and locating the room they placed him in, I witness him impatiently trying to justify to a nurse why he is back again. Explaining again why he doesn't have a regular doctor and describing again why he had his foot amputated. It gets old telling the same stories again and again.

After laying spread eagle on the bed to show the doctor where the problem was, he was advised to go home and take a hot bath. The doctor then chastised us for waiting so long to come in. Adam tried to get him to understand that after having parts of both feet cut off and spending over two weeks in a coma, he has a severe aversion to coming to the hospital at all. The doctor then explained that at midnight on a Friday, the surgeons required to fix this problem are not available and would not come in for so minor a problem.

Adam raised his groin up in the air and exposing the area, yelled, "You mean this is a minor problem! I can hardly move!"

The doctor looked again and hurriedly exclaimed, "Oh, I didn't see that one! We will take care of that right now." He then rushed out of the room.

I was relieved to hear that they were going to take care of this and started to say so, but noticed that Adam was not doing very well.

Now, if you ever want to have someone with you to keep a serious situation light-hearted and maintain a sense of humor to keep you distracted, I am your man. Regardless of the intensity of the moment, the jokes just keep coming. Once, after replacing a friend's calf muscle (true story) and having seen his shin bone from his knee to the ankle, we kept laughing as we struggled to stop the bleeding. We joked as we carried him to the car and kept doing it as we rushed to the hospital. He was even laughing and making jokes. I've been told humor is my defense mechanism. I can't help it.

However, I could quickly tell that Adam was not responding to attempts at humor and definitely was not going to be laughing even if I handed him comedy gold. I attempted to switch to good friend/comforter mode. I am not nearly as good at this.

His body was starting to shake at the thought of what was about to happen. He had experienced horrible pain when the area was even touched and they were about to cut into it. I tried to calm him and help him see how this was going to be worth it and he understood that, but was very scared. After all of his surgeries, he really doesn't like being cut on anymore.

I am not going to go into details as I have in the past, but I will say that I saw the inside of parts of Adam's body that I never even wanted to see the outside of. I stayed in the room for the whole thing as extra weight to sit on him a friend to help keep him calm while they did what they had to do. I learned that Adam has a lung capacity that I did not know was possible. I have heard him scream in pain before, but he launched into a scream that lasted at least a full minute without taking another breath.

They took care of the worst part of it, but now he has to get scheduled for a full surgery to complete it this week. He will be knocked out for his one. We are also going to try to talk them into removing the staples that are still in his foot from his last surgery.

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I had decided to not write about this one, but Adam insisted. When Adam goes to the ER, my stats explode. I try to make it funny while I tell the story, but usually there are a few things that happen that make it funnier. This visit was not funny. I hated seeing my friend in that much pain and not being able to do anything about it. Hopefully, our future hospital visits will have more comedic value and not be as serious.

Technically, I guess I should be hoping not to have future hospital visits.