Two Hundred Forty-five Boxes
This piece is written for all the people I wish I could tell my story
to.
An
interesting title is the first thing that caught your eye. What could 245 boxes
mean? If you’re a warehouse worker, it may mean your worst nightmare. Then
again, if it’s Christmas, it may be that you are really loved or come from a really big family. But in this case, it
deals with the calendar. The time span this piece covers is 245 days, and as my
journal is in box form via a calendar, that is how I came up with the name.
What is one box (or one day) to a normal person is just another day gone by,
but these past 245 have been memorable for many different reasons, and the word
“normal” can’t be used to describe any of it, so here we go.
I hope
if you are reading this you have read all my prior writings; if not, that’s
okay in this piece because there won’t be too many references to prior events,
and if you have read my writings before, some things that happened in 2005 will
be rehashed.
We
start with December 15, 2004. Besides the fact that my calendar mentions that
Hanukkah ends on that date, it is the start of the 245. On that day, I had what
you could call a date with a girl by the name of Rachel. I had met her on the
Internet, and the day prior, I spent six hours talking to her via the Internet.
On this Wednesday, I met her at my favorite pizza place and we talked, then I
went bowling in my late league. This date was noteworthy because it was my
first date in over a year and even more noteworthy because I actually initiated
the contact.
The
story of Rachel only lasts five boxes, as she was a bit too out there for me.
As she put it, “Beer has killed too many of my brain cells.” But the end of
that story leads me to the start of the Winter Solstice and the start of my
overseas travel.
December
21 is the date that I will remember forever because one of my life’s dreams was
fulfilled. I finally was going to travel beyond the borders of America. My
fifteen minutes in the fifty-first state, ahem, I mean, Canada, doesn’t count
(just kidding, Canada!). With my great memory I cannot recall what time we
left, but I do know we flew from Lambert to O’Hare in Chicago. I wasn’t in the
least apprehensive about any of the travels, but in O’Hare for a short time, I
didn’t know the whereabouts of my dad. I quickly became panicked, as I did not
have my cell phone on me, and my brain started to think of every bad scenario
that may have taken place. It wasn’t long before I found him, but for some
reason, he was a bit on edge, which, in turn, put me on edge, and then we
disagreed on something, so at the start of this trip, there was a bit of
tension. Oh, I forgot to put where we
were going. Not too many people are traveling out of the country for Christmas
unless it’s family related, so I guess I should mention where we were going and
why.
My dad
is a film producer/director/writer type of person, and he had a project to do
in Lithuania. For those of you geographically challenged, Lithuania is east of
England and was part of the former Soviet Union.
The
tension quickly died down, not because we resolved it, but just because there
was so much to think about and to prepare for. For me everything was a new
experience, and I wanted to take it all in. In fact, I can’t even remember what
we disagreed about, but whatever the case may have been, after the four-hour
layover, it was off to Frankfurt, Germany.
The
plane ride was a peaceful one, probably because of the destination than air
currents. Traveling anywhere, when it leads to what one wants, always tends to
be smoother.
We
arrived in Frankfurt as the sun was rising, and while looking out of the plane
on approach and taxiing, there was only one thing on my mind, Which way is the Nurburgring? The
Nurburgring is a famous track in Germany that the public can drive around at
any speed for a certain price (I think about twenty dollars a lap). As much as
I pondered that, it was time to get off the plane. I was shocked and almost
afraid, as we had to exit the plane and get off on the tarmac and get into a
bus that would take us to the terminal. It was a very eerie feeling exiting the
plane and being so close to the massive turbine engines. I conquered that short
fear and entered the bus, and we were headed toward a place that in my mind is
one of the most compelling in the entire world, and that is an international
terminal.
Writer’s note: There are many different
stories or pieces that could be written by themselves in this time period, but
this will just be one long one with everything being covered that happened in
that time period. I may write more about one topic or another and may provide
more insight on something, but I will not be throwing anything out like a “game
theory” or something of the sort.
On that
Wednesday, the twenty-first of December, I got my first taste of an
international terminal. It was almost to the point of sensory overload for many
reasons. There were shops that had products I had never seen before, there were
at least a dozen dialects being spoken, and the sheer size of the terminal was
almost breathtaking. But what really struck me was the sense of goodwill in the
air. My experience was, that it is a place of peacefulness even through the
chaos of hurried and weary-eyed travelers.
After
the layover there, it was time to fly to our final airport destination—Vilnuis.
As we taxied toward the runway to take off and leave Germany, my thoughts were
on that for the short while I was in the same country as a friend I used to know,
Ashley. But as much as I dwelled on that, I had a book to get back to and it
was a short flight (well, short if you consider the length of the flight from
O’Hare).
We got
to our destination, and what first struck me while we were taxing toward the terminal
was the coldness of the airport. What I mean is that at the end of the runway,
it looked like a prison. The architecture of the surroundings had as much life
as a cemetery. The wall between the airport and the road was a three and a half
feet-thick concrete wall with enough barbed wire on top to kill an elephant.
This was a definite sign that this country was once under Soviet rule.
As we
got off the plane, we met the pastor that would be our guide of sorts, and
thankfully for me, he spoke English quite well and was more than eager during
the stay to answer my questions about Lithuania.
That
first day we spent in the capitol city and my dad did a couple of interviews,
one being the head bishop of the Lutheran church of Lithuania. The church that
this bishop was at was in the middle of a very highly populated area, and the
density was astounding. The roads are small and packed, and the last place
you’d expect a church to be, there it was. What was even odder, there was a
beauty salon connected to it and was essentially part of the basement.
We
didn’t stay there at that church too long, but long enough to hear the story of
how the Soviets had trashed it during the Soviet era and how it was, and still
is, being rebuilt to its former glory. I also tasted coffee for the first time,
and I can tell you, I’m never trying it again. Even though my dad said it was a
very strong brew, I’m still not going to try it again.
From
there, we drove around the city for a short while, and it was during this short
while that all the day’s travels finally caught up with me. I started to fall
like a brick from a high-flying plane. I was awake long enough to be scared to
death a thousand times by psychotic European drivers (trust me on this, if you
think Chicago is bad, you haven’t seen anything). So psychotic, in fact, that
in a thirty-minute time span, we saw the aftermath of no less than five fender
benders.
From
Vilnuis, we had to drive about five hours to the city where we would be
staying. I don’t remember that ride because I was fast asleep once we left the
city, but my dad said I didn’t miss much except a drunk driver that nearly
killed us.
After
that drive, it was finally time to sleep in a bed. We were staying in the
resort town of Palanga that’s nestled right off the Baltic Sea. We were dropped
off, and as soon as I could, I was asleep in the bed, and it was a very
comfortable bed as well.
The
next day we got up early, and we had a busy day ahead of us, but first we had
to eat breakfast. We ate at the hotel restaurant, which would become the norm
for us while we were there. I can tell you ordering food in a foreign land is
quite interesting. If you order bacon and eggs, that’s exactly what you get: bacon and eggs as one. But besides the actual
food topic, during this first day of breakfast, I heard a very familiar song.
In the background, there was this song in a language I do not know, but I knew
the song. It took me about fifteen seconds and then I realized that the song
was in the game of “Project Gotham Racing2,” so now any time I hear that song I
am instantly taken back into that hotel restaurant in Lithuania in the
wintertime.
Like I
said before, we had a very busy day. It was the day before Christmas Eve, and
we had many different places to see and do. One neat thing I did was walk over
the Baltic Sea on this pier-like thing. While doing this, the waves were very
choppy and the clouds coming ashore were quite ominous. A whale of a sleet
storm backed up their ominous appearance. We quickly took shelter under the
pier, but it quickly passed and we went back to the car. We visited with many
different people on that day and saw much of the western part of the country.
That
night we went to our guide’s children’s Christmas party/play. It was an odd
sensation to see a play and all the interactions but to not understand a word
from anybody. It was neat to see that the interaction between parent and child
is the same there as it is here.
After
all the walking, we were very tired that night, so we went to bed expecting to
sleep until morning. We were both wrong on that assumption because around 3:00
a.m., that wonderful thing called jetlag hit both of us. Somehow my dad knew I
was up, and he asked me if I was and I replied that I was wide-awake. Instead
of fighting it, we decided to stay up and read the books we had brought. To a
tourist this experience may have been a bad one, but those two and a half hours
were some of the most memorable of the entire trip. Maybe it was the sense of
safety in that hotel, or maybe it was the fact that I finally realized I was
halfway across the world, but whatever it may be, I will always remember those
hours reading and being with my dad.
We
finally got back to sleep, and we got up and it was Christmas Eve. We ate
breakfast again and the same lady waited on us. My dad asked her how long she
worked because it seemed like, regardless the hour, she was there. The answer
she gave was shocking. She stated that she worked from 8:00 a.m. to 10:00 p.m.
six days a week! In all the places I’ve been, it is the people stories like her
that I wonder where they are as I write this. Is she still working sixty-hour
weeks? How can someone do that and appear to be as content as she did? I could
go on and on with those type of questions, but there’s more of this trip to
talk about.
Once
again, it was Christmas Eve, and after eating breakfast, we went with our guide
to this house where a birthday was being celebrated. But this wasn’t just any
birthday. This was a birthday for a woman who was turning one hundred. That is
just mindboggling for me, because she would have been alive for the pre-Soviet
era, the Soviet era, and the current state it is now. Those eyes would have
seen so much. And I better not forget they also saw WWII. At this party the
people were quite friendly toward us American strangers. They asked us what it
was like in America, and this one older woman was very intent on wanting to
know why American movies were generally violent. All in all, it was a very
memorable experience. Also, of personal note, that party was the first time I
drank anything with alcohol in it. I had a glass of champagne. I didn’t
willingly drink it, but when handed something and the person seems quite intent
on giving it to you and you don’t speak their language, I thought it would have
been quite rude not to accept. Only later did I know what it was.
That
night we went to our guide’s church service (by the way, our guide’s name was
Darius) and I felt almost ashamed that I wasn’t paying attention in church, but
I had to keep telling myself that even if I paid my fullest attention, I would
be unable to understand a word anyone spoke. So after that I went to the side room
and continued to read.
After
the service, I was in the back of the church just observing, and again I was
shocked on how the interaction between people is almost identical to ours over
here. Not that I was expecting a polar opposite or anything, but it was very
weird to see a parent care for a child, but the words make no sense.
After
the church was locked up, we went to one of the elder’s houses and had
Christmas dinner. The family was very nice to us and, for the most part, all
spoke English. It was very intriguing to see Christmas customs of another
country. The niceness of those people made me wonder why America isn’t as warm.
The sincerity of the people is something I have never witnessed before. That
warmness from people would be experienced on the next day as well.
Christmas
day was just like the day prior, except the hotel restaurant was closed, so
that was a bummer. Thankfully, Pringles taste the same over there as they do
here, so I munched on those, and the Cherry Coke’s taste is also quite close
(don’t taste the Sprite though!). During the course of the day, which would be
our penultimate day, we went to three different churches and saw the place
where a very big church used to be, but it was destroyed in the war.
It was
indeed Christmas, but for me it didn’t feel like Christmas at all. Christmas
for me is all about routine and being with the same people, so while the
calendar said it was Christmas, it didn’t feel like it. In fact, not even the
temperature felt like it, as it was considerably warmer there than it was in my
home in St. Louis.
The
next day would be our last full day in the country. Sadness started to creep in,
as I am very much sentimental and every little thing I saw I knew it would
probably be the last time I saw it in that place. For instance, that morning
would be the last time I would have those bacon and eggs; that night would be
the last night that I would walk into my room.
That
day would bring news of the terrible tsunami, but hearing the news reports in a
different language kept us from knowing the full effect of the disaster.
The
last day we did some more touring and videotaping, and we also went to the
Amber Museum. That museum was one of the weirdest I have ever visited; not so
much because of what it is, but because of its surroundings. Its location is in
the middle of this large park, and on this cold, snowy day, there were no
people about, but in the middle of this park, there was a massive museum.
Behind the very large and heavy doors were actually people who work there. It
was just very odd, because it was about a half-mile walk to the place, and not
a soul outside was to be found, but inside there were people. It was just a bit
strange.
That
night we had our final dinner in Lithuania, and what a dinner it was. We ate at
this pizza place that isn’t more than a quarter mile from the beach, and let me
tell you, it was the best pizza I have ever tasted. If I ever have a lot of
money, I may have a spur-of-the-moment urge to buy myself a plane ticket and
fly over there just to have that
pizza. It was so good, it should be outlawed! During that great meal, it was
fitting that the sun was setting, because the sun was also setting on our
journey. In less than eight hours, we would be headed back to Vilnuis to board
a plane for home, but as that meal lasted, it was such a fine end to such a
wonderful stay in a wonderful country.
As I
walked into my room for the final night, I silently got misty eyed, but my
tiredness let me fall asleep fast enough before I broke out into full-blown
sobs.
After a
short five-hour sleep, Darius was there to pick us up, and I said goodbye to my
bed, and room, and hotel, and then to Palanga as the lights fell behind the
horizon outside the rear window of the car. I slept the rest of the way to
Vilnuis, and as the sun rose it was time to enter the airport and start the
long trip home. Our first stint would have us fly to Warsaw; then from there we
were back to Frankfurt.
Our
layover was to be just two hours long, and because we were going to be flying
back on a 747, we barely had enough time to finish our McDonald’s meal. We got
to the gate right as it was starting to board, and we were set to make our
final voyage back to home…or so we thought.
We
boarded the plane normally and then we started to pull away normally, but then
I noticed that a lot of little lights were flashing above all the steward
stations. Then I noticed that all of them were on the phone, and I knew that
this wasn’t a normal situation. I quickly thought worst-case scenario: Was it a
bomb? Had we been hijacked? What was wrong? We started to creep back to the
terminal, and I told my dad something was wrong, but he quickly dismissed my
fears. They were found out to be somewhat grounded, as the captain came on the
PA and said that there had been a small fire in the air-conditioning duct. The
repair time was only an hour and a half, so after that we were back up in the
air headed to Dulles.
When we
got back to American soil, we quickly had to get to our gate because of the
prior delay, but thankfully we made it. But then, because nothing for me can
ever be normal, our plane we were on for the last leg of the trip wouldn’t
start. After another thirty-minute delay, we were finally taxiing toward the
runway. That’s when the captain came on the PA and said some very unnerving
words, “Okay, folks, as you noticed, we wouldn’t start and we were able to fire
the right engine, but the left won’t fire. I’m hoping as we go full throttle
the air will kick-start the left and everything will be fine. This is a normal
procedure, but you may feel some tugging as we go down the runway. Like I said,
this is a normal procedure. I haven’t done this before, but we should be in the
air momentarily.” I know people like to tell it like it is, but did he have to
say that he had never done this before?
As you
can tell, we made it because I’m writing this, and after a long trip we were
home, but my luggage was not. Somewhere it got lost in between Dulles and
Lambert, and it would be three days before I would get it back. In my luggage
were the mementos I had been given from Darius, so I was very nervous that they
would be lost, but thankfully, I received them with my luggage. The mementos
are in a white box that was taped at the Vilnuis airport, and I have yet to
open the box because I fear it would be too painful, because the memories of
when I received them were of such joy that I don’t know if I could handle the
memories now.
Jetlag
hit me bad, and the next three days are somewhat blurred. I bowled in my
bowling league on the twenty-ninth, and then for some reason I drove to
Indianapolis to see my mom, who was visiting my brother. I had slept from noon
until eight the day prior, so I was awake enough to drive, so at 1:00 a.m., I
decided to go.
It was
a very foggy and nerve-racking trip. The fog was dense enough that from the
right lane you would be unable to see the median, and all the while I was being
passed by trucks and cars who were doing at least twenty miles per hour more
than me and I was doing sixty, so I quickly picked my pace up because I would
much rather do the hitting than be hit.
I made
it safely to my brother’s house at six in the morning, and my mom was up to
meet me. Later that morning my mom and I ate at IHOP. We talked and I talked
about my trip and all that had happened since the last time I had seen her. I
really wanted to see the Brennons, but contact could not be reached so my hope
that the prior Christmas could be relived was dashed (Okay, I made one reference to a prior piece).
That
evening, due to the jetlag, I went to sleep at 4:00 p.m., but because my
brother’s place is rather noisy, I was awakened at 10:30 at night. I knew that
I would be up for some while, and I didn’t want to sit and do nothing for the
entire night, so just as spontaneous as my decision to drive to Indy, I made
another one to drive back just twenty-one hours after I started my way there.
My mom didn’t like this, as she wanted to be with me for New Year’s, but like I
said, I didn’t want to do nothing all night, so I left and headed back home.
Something
happened on that drive home that was most unexpected. My former girlfriend,
Emily, called me and we talked for a good forty minutes. As she started to go,
she said she would call me back after she ate, but in true Emily form, she
never did, and to this day I haven’t gotten that phone call back.
That brings us to the end of the turbulent 2004. Will 2005 be any
better?
As 2005
started, jetlag was dogging me much like a mosquito that keeps buzzing your
ear. I just couldn’t shake it or get my hours back on a somewhat decent track.
On January 4, I slept an astounding seventeen hours, and then I finally
regained some control of normality on my sleep schedule.
A week
and a half later, my dad talked to the Linger Production Group. They are the
ones who produce ABC’s telecasts of the Indy Racing League races and the Indy
500. He talked to them about getting me an internship of some sort, and on
first talking with them, it seemed like something could be worked out. Five
days later it was said that I would be working the St. Petersburg race.
January
30 would mark the day that I would start to really take my writing seriously,
and after that day I have been firing off pieces left and right.
February
4 marked my twenty-second birthday, and in true typical Aaron fashion it was a
rather depressing day. For me nothing is more depressing than a birthday. It’s
one more year toward the end, the end of what I don’t know, pick something and
that’s what’s closer to the end.
Eight
days later I would be watching Speed’s
coverage of the ARCA race from Daytona. It was a crash-filled race with several
red flags and one extended red flag because a car destroyed the catch fence and
it needed to be repaired. Later in the race, on the next to last lap, the
screen flashed quickly to a car upside down sliding down the backstretch. As it
slid, it got back into the grass and started to tumble, then it was hit hard by
another car, and immediately after that happened, the shot changed and the
angle was now looking straight down the backstretch. As the angle changed
again, more cars could be seen flipping, and one car flew as high as the top of
the catch fencing. It was, to put it mildly, a horrific scene.
Speed’s coverage of the aftermath was
horrible. Not a mention of the crash in the post-race interviews, and they went
to their NASCAR pre-race show as if nothing happened. This scared me, as in the
racing world no news is bad news. Had a driver been killed? Or more, did a car
off the screen fly into the lake or into the stands? What happened? The
Internet sites were mum about it, and for the next hour and a half there wasn’t
a single word about. I went absolutely crazy in fear that something horribly
bad had happened. In the end, just one driver was moderately injured, but that
time of anxiety was very, very great.
Four
days later, it was confirmed that I would be going to Kenya later in the year.
This was great news, because I was getting very depressed because I wasn’t
doing much of anything and there wasn’t really any progression of any sorts on
any topic, so this was much-needed news.
That
weekend saw the running of the Daytona 500, and it was a very depressing time.
It was the first time in over six years that I would be watching the race
alone. Prior to 2005, I either saw it with my dad, or from 2001-2004 I watched
it with Emily, but since she hated me, and my dad had a business obligation, I
was relegated into watching it by myself.
Two
days later, though, all that would be forgotten, as my dad and I were headed to
Indy to have a meeting with the Linger Group. My dad said that the meeting went
well (I couldn’t tell if it was a good meeting or a bad one), but it was
decided that my first work would be the Indy 500 and not the St. Pete race.
This was decided because the Kenya trip would interfere with that race.
Two
days after that, on February 25, it was time to get my shots for Africa. Prior
to this day, I had a streak of 386 days without a hospital visit, but this day
would see that streak end, but not of my own doing.
I don’t
remember much about that day, and the first thing I remember is grimacing in
pain as the yellow fever vaccine was injected into me; then suddenly everything
went black. I don’t know how long I was out, but as I awoke temporarily, I
thought I was getting out of my own bed to go get the shots, so it was quite
the shock when I was dressed, sitting in a chair, and the lights were on. I
simply asked, “Dad, where am I?” and before he could give an answer, I was out
again. I have snippets of memories of that time and the time I came fully aware
of my surroundings in the hospital. It wasn’t a pleasant experience at all, as
it felt like I had been awake for a week with no sleep and no food. What had
happened was the needle had hit a nerve and it triggered a very long medical
term but, for space’s sake, it caused me to faint.
Not
much of note happened between that incident, and it was time to go to Kenya on
the twenty-first of March.
At this point in time, please refer back to “Kenya.”
I probably saved myself three hours by doing that, but I’m sure if I had rewritten it, it probably would have been the same anyways…
At this point in time, please refer back to “Kenya.”
I probably saved myself three hours by doing that, but I’m sure if I had rewritten it, it probably would have been the same anyways…
As
hectic as December to March had been, the first three weeks of April were very
dull in comparison. Bowling on Mondays and Wednesdays was about my only
excitement, minus the weekends I flagged.
The twentieth
saw me to see a coworker I knew six years prior. Her name was Carol. It was
very nice to hear how she was doing, but it was also saddening because I
instantly remembered all the memories I had. And when I mention memories, I
just not only remember the time working with her at the bowling alley, but I
remember the entire time era that I knew her. So Linda was remembered, and the
days I would go over to my dad’s apartment and play “Grand Prix Legends” and
the afternoons where I would go to play golf at Forest Park. It’s amazing what
one person can do to unlock so many memories.
Two
days after that meeting another incident would occur. I was flagging a practice
session, and at the end of it the primary race director wanted to chat about
where the next race’s starts would be, so he got this flatbed (not a pickup,
imagine a golf cart, but without a top, longer, and with just one seat), and we
were going to drive out to the finish line. As what I mentioned in the
parentheses, it only had one seat, so I was seated on the flat part. Bad idea!
As he drove toward the track and made the turn onto the track, the vehicle was
traveling too fast to hold me, and I was flung off much like a rodeo rider is
bucked off a bronco. I landed on the ground, thankfully feet first, and I was
able to take about five steps before falling, and those five steps let me land
on grass and not asphalt. But in the end, I had a sprained ankle, and another
trip to the hospital would be necessitated.
The
prognosis was good, and it was only a mild sprain, but the hospital visit would
prove to hold more boxes of my calendar than just April 23. The trooper that I
am, I flagged the next day; granted, I was hobbling, but I did do it.
May 2
would be a day that would shape the rest of the year so far. Before this date,
I was still looking forward to working for the Linger Group and being at the
Indy 500 as an intern. But on this morning, I would wake up with a phone call
saying that ABC had taken over the dealings concerning interns, leaving me cold
and in the dark. It was a very bitter day for me. I had been told that it was going to happen,
and as so many things have happened before they fall through.
Three
days later, I went to a baseball game with my stepbrother, Mike, and normally a
game itself isn’t worth putting in something like this, but during this game,
the other team had runners on first and second with no outs, and Mike said,
“Boy, a triple play would be nice in this situation,” and no sooner than he
finished the word of situation, a triple play had happened. Not too many people
can say they have seen one of those.
May 9
was the day I completed reading A Tale of
Two Cities, and I’m not much of a reader, but that was a really good book.
It was very depressing, as I saw myself in one or two of the characters (too
bad for you, I won’t mention who), and it was a rather bleak book. The next day
I would start to get very sick, a sickness I will never forget.
May 10
I woke up with what I can only describe as a pimple on steroids on the back of
my neck. On this day, I would think nothing of it except some mild discomfort,
but the morning of the next day would prove to be very bad. I woke up with a
fever that eclipsed the 104-degree mark, and I woke my dad and we went straight
back to the hospital (this is why I mentioned prior that the hospital visit
would be in more boxes).
I was
admitted to the ER, and the ER doctor lanced the bulging abscess and then put
me on IV antibiotics, and for the first time in my life, I was admitted to the
hospital for an overnight stay. I wasn’t feeling like myself at all, so I
didn’t care where I was so long as I was getting those nice blue pills that
were killing all the pain, but what I don’t understand is why they wake a
person up, like myself, who has just fallen asleep to give them medicine to
help them go to sleep. Also the constant bothering of checking my blood
pressure and what not got to be very annoying, but I guess it’s their job to
make sure the patient isn’t dying.
The
next day my fever was still persistent, and my primary care physician was
actually going to discharge me, but my dad called the nurse, and since I wasn’t
getting any better I was going to be kept another night.
The
second night into the third day was one of the most depressing times of my
life. My dad was headed to Ft. Wayne, Indiana, and I talked to him at 4:00 in
the morning, but after that, I couldn’t sleep. I thought of how many people I
used to know and how they would never know if I died there on that bed. At the
time I didn’t know what was wrong with me, and even if I did, with all the pain
and pain pills, I probably could not grasp whatever condition I had, but sadly
I did realize how lonesome I was. I wondered if Kyle would ever know, or Emily,
or Ashley, or anybody. When the mind has nothing to do but think upon itself,
it isn’t a productive experience.
On that
morning I was scheduled to have my next dose of all-important painkillers at
6:30. The nurse shift change started at 6:15, and 6:30 came, then 7:00, then
7:30. Each quarter hour I buzzed and said that I really needed the medicine
because the pain was so great that there were times that I wished that I were
actually dead or in a coma. As bad as the pain was, either of the two would
have been just fine. Eight o’clock became 8:15, and then finally, finally after hours of pain that no one
should endure, I got the medicine. At the same time I was told that the reason
I was so sick and had a big mass of something on the back of my neck was
because of a staph infection. A doctor looked at me and then said she would do
surgery in the next two hours, and sure enough, I had a surgery. While I
remained awake for it, it was rather painless except for the pain-numbing shots
that were injected. And some of those needles went in about an inch!
They
needed to go that deep because that’s how far she made the incision, and not
only did she make an incision, but she took out the entire mass. The mass of
infection was about the size of a U.S. quarter and the depth of approximately
one inch.
After
the short surgery, I was back in my hospital room, and Mary, my stepmom, was on
her way to pick me up. I had not seen what my neck looked like, and at the time
I was not aware of the fact that part of my neck was gone. But as she arrived
and as the nurse was telling her how to pack the wound, I knew it was bad,
because when the nurse took off my bandage, she looked like she saw a ghost.
When I got home and saw in a mirror what my neck looked like, I could not
believe my eyes.
The
falling apart of the internship may have been a blessing in disguise because
had I been up in Indy, I may not have said that I needed to got to the hospital
for fear that I may not be able to work. So what does this mean? I probably would have just dealt with the
pain, and that could have had fatal consequences.
Even
though I still had a hole in my neck, we went up to Indy to attend the 500. It
was a great race and a great time all around, as we went to two races the day
prior to the race and also saw Star Wars
Episode 3. So many good memories abound from the end of May.
The
entire month of June was mainly wasted away playing “Forza.” During this month,
I was the number-one rated player in the world, so I had to maintain that
status. I did apply for a job in this month, but I think I’m glad that they
would just keep my application on file because the more I think about it, the
more I believe that a normal job could kill me. Oh, the application was to the
bank that I formally worked at.
The
start of July was more like what I’m used to with that being stuff outside the
norm. July 2, my best friend, Kyle, got married, but I wasn’t invited to it, so
I don’t really know what that means, if anything. But after that, not even a
week after, a hurricane was brewing in the gulf. It was less than nine months
removed that Hurricane Ivan ravaged Pensacola, and this new storm with the name
of Dennis was on the same path. So what do we do? Well, since I guess we hadn’t
had enough adventure in the previous nine months, we went down before the storm
so we could be in the storm.
Dennis,
when it was 150 miles out, was a category-4 storm bordering on becoming the
worst category of a five. We were somewhere near Mobile, Alabama, when it hit,
but we were on the west side of the eye, so we didn’t get any severe weather,
but we got winds that were still over fifty miles per hour and torrential
downpours.
Somehow
I made it through without getting injured, and thankfully for the citizens of
that area, the storm weakened and it wasn’t as bad, so on July 12 we got back
to St. Louis.
After
that, once again, there was a lull in any noteworthy activity, until August 1.
On
August 1, I went to the baseball game and I was expecting a good game, but I
wasn’t around to see the first pitch. Of course, something bizarre had to
happen to me. I was walking back to my seat after getting a bottle of water and
this vendor passed me and said, “Excuse me,” then as soon as he passed me, he cut
in front of me stopped suddenly. I tried to avoid him by walking left, but I
made contact with him, and as my luck would have it, I slipped on previously
spilled Coke and ice and I went backwards into a wall with my head; in the end
I suffered a concussion and whiplash. I can’t even go to a simple ballgame
without an episode from bizzaro-world hitting me.
I spent
about six hours in the ER and was released around 2:00 in the morning, but I
don’t remember too much about that. Since that time, my short-term memory has
been a bit shaky, and the dizziness and headaches were brutal. They are slowly
diminishing, and I hope that they will go away in full shortly.
So what
does the future hold? Today on box 285, I wrote that I heard from a friend I
had not heard from in ages (Josh), and also that I have a meeting with a man
who owns a sprint car. Will the boxes in the future hold good things? People
live their lives looking so far ahead (I know I do), but sometimes one has to
look within four lines to see a box and realize that there are days, and within
each box a life-changing experience can happen.
No comments:
Post a Comment