Skip to main content

How I went to bed and woke up 5 days later with a partial beard and my crotch shaved.


“I went home with a waitress,
The way I always do
How was I to know
She was with the Russians too.”
W. Zevon

There are places in my head that are greyed out now – like real city places where things have happened, and talks have talked – all things that should be memories but are not. When I try to pin these things down with words, they escape and bounce away as if greased pigs fleeing the horror of a wayward children’s zoo. They are things just outside of sight, outside of the patterns of my mind --they are places that I’ve been or are going to, or maybe omens and portents – it’s hard to say, but like the auras that precede a seizure, this where the road to nowhere begins for me.

These are the dreams I fall into shortly before I lose it. The fact that they are too vaporous to describe with words concerns me, but it seems important to try because flashes of them happen to me many times a day now. At work, they come when sitting at my desk looking at a monitor, in cars when I stop between stops. They come unbidden as if waiting for the right time – like a software update looking to load during a slack time. The problem is that I can’t remember where the individual pieces go, or even identify the parts of them at all. This stuff seems to be off-memory and not available for access, by me anyway.

Maybe it’s better just to describe things in a beginning to end narrative. For a novel, this would be easy and fun – I can be the unreliable historian telling the tale, and by including official hospital documents, you could actually track the progress of my delusions. The problem comes from this being more of a documentary with limited paperwork. It’s the stuff of madness, so why not tell it as I maybe see it in the order I mis-remember it:

I went to work on a Thursday and felt funky most of the day – no locked in a vault kind of stuff, but feverish and missing noticeable pieces along my timeline of reality – as I said, kind of funky.

I got home about three in the afternoon, a couple of hours before Mary, as usual. I remember feeling hot, so wet a dish towel and wrapped it around my head like a modified white guy doo rag, but less stylish. When Mary got home, I remember making excuses and going to bed. I woke up in the hospital sometime on Saturday, kind of confused. I had an IV in my left hand, a heart monitor with other dangly things connected to my chest, and my crotch was shaved, both sides.

I was found mentally out of it, in bed and non-responsive, by Mary. She called her sister, the doctor--and 911. An ambulance took me to Good Samaritan Hospital. Because I have a permanent pacemaker, they thought this might have failed me, or that perhaps I had bad heart beats that might need an implantable defibrillator. One of the many tests was in the cardiac catheterization lab – that’s why I was shaved. I also stank like a hobo and had the meaty beginnings of a half-assed beard.

By Sunday I was getting better – I have poor memories of the day, but do remember parts of it – visits, partial conversations with doctors, and a lot of people stared at me in a funny kind of way, but I’m kind of used to that. On Monday, I was good enough to send home. (I’m good at faking sort of normal, so getting them to let me go wasn’t that hard.) Also – they were not sure who would pay them for their services, that helped.

So, in the week I’ve been out, I feel sharp – my sense of humor has come back, and my ability to write in complete sentences seems unimpaired. Physically, I’m better than ever, walking more and continuing to lose weight. They discharged me without a diagnosis – other than vaguely blood pressure related stuff. I’ve followed up with my regular doctor, whom I love, and the VA seems willing to pay for my hospitalization.

Everything has played out better than I have any right to expect. But the auras continue.

Update a week later -- the auras have gone, and I feel pretty normal, or normally abnormal if you prefer.

Found a great article that seems timely about post hospital syndrome.


Popular posts from this blog

Satoshi Nakamoto claim

I met a man claiming to be Satoshi Nakamoto outside a building I work at near the SF train station. He asked to talk to me. He was white, 50ish, with a 3 day beard that seemed trim.  He was dressed in high quality, slightly worn Patagonia gear.  He spoke in a quiet voice and didn’t appear obviously crazy after a brief talk with him.  He said that he had worked with people in the building that I’m at, but was confused about the details.  “You ever had amnesia?,” he said, not knowing who he was talking  to. “It’s like that.” Having enjoyed our talk - he then asked if I would do him a favor and,  “get the message out that I’m back in town —that’s all,” he said, “They’ll figure the rest out. “ “,” he added,“ they’ll need to know that. “ He’s wearing bright orange gaiters if interested. He’s probably going to be around for a while.  He’s maybe nutty, but since he didn’t bring up Deuteronomy during our conversation, I’m giving him the benefit of a doubt. Later -

Free Willy

“…Some say it's just a part of it We've got to fulfill the book.” B. Marley Before I completely run away from the point, the subject of this essay is free will, or, more accurately, the illusion of free will. It will be interesting to see if free will even comes up laterally over the next few hundred words now that I’ve set it up as a specific goal.  The imp of the perverse makes it a sure thing that I won’t – but that surety might also double back and force  me to stay on point. There are no dogs to pick  in this fight and it’s not a fight,  and if I’m right, none of this is anything but documentation for a litigious god that will never see it. Like quantum mechanics, life is about either time or place, never both, and how we choose to pretty up our choices is neither the point, or even a choice – it’s after the fact punctuation we use to justify and make sense of our ontological messiness.  (Science has proven that we decide things with our body before the brain

We sit in passionate apathy

"You can’t debate with someone who hates you." C. Hitchens   Reason has become a tool to manipulate you into thinking things are true that you know are not true. Science and math have become a tools for the wealthy to increase the piles of money they then use to Rent the laws.  Religion continues to be a form of racist nationalism – a nation built on manufactured words that demand the permanent death of all humans who follow different words. The more the others believe their truths, the more they need to die. Welcome to the new hybrid theocracy -- based on the Eastern Orthodox, but with just enough Texas to really pop. The intellectual framework for western society no longer works for most people – faith has been lost and now ridiculed; common sense beliefs passed down for generations are being discarded while children are being raised as docile pups to be eventually clubbed into the correct forms of submission. We no longer question and an