Dance With Death - Part 2

Brushes with death isn't anything new for me.  You might be surprised by just how often I've come close to death.  I've side-stepped the inevitable so often that one might think that I'd have more faith in a higher power... but I don't.  Divine intervention?  Nope!  More like dumb luck or fluke.

Survival #1:

Growing up, I idolized my cousin.  He was a couple years my senior and had a life that seemed extravagant and wild and fun, even though he was a kid from a town, population less than 500, I'm sure.  His graduating class was four and he was the only male.  I'm sure he didn't care for his pipsqueak cousin from the city, tagging along, but it was only once every four or five months, so he took it in stride and I enjoyed every minute I could muster.

On one particular evening, my cousin was going to go driving with a friend of his.  This friend was a year or two older than he was and had a driver's license.  I suppose it could be argued that he looked up to his friend, just as much as I did my cousin.  They were set to go for a drive, which I assume in those days was traveling the back roads, drinking some beers and chatting about the mischief so-and-so was up to and who's fooling around with who.  But I was inexplicably tired on this evening, so I uncharacteristically opted out.  They asked if I was certain, adding that I was welcome to nap in the back seat if I got too tired.  I remember looking down at the dark embroidered backseat and contemplating, but decided to be responsible.  A trait I've not practiced a lot in my illustrious lifetime.

I awoke the next morning to news that my cousin and his friend had been in a vehicle rollover.  I don't remember all the details of the accident, but essentially they'd hit the ditch and the car flipped over itself.  As a young boy, I very rarely wore a seat belt, especially as a passenger in the back seat.  Plus, given my lethargy the night before, there would've been a very good chance that I would've been sprawled out in the back seat, fast asleep.  My limp body would've been tossed around the cabin of that little Ford coupe, like a rag doll.  I would've definitely put their survival rate in jeopardy, as would mine.  If I were lucky enough to be ejected from the vehicle, I doubt any survival would have been very bearable.  But I wasn't there.  I was safe at home, nestled in my bed.  Alive.

Survival #2:

My family used to have season tickets to the local hockey team, the Saskatoon Blades.  My mom, dad, sister, and her first husband, the cheating scumbag piece of shit, but let's just call him Grant.  My sister and the scumbag, sorry, I mean Grant, were very athletic, so it made sense for them to have season tickets.  My dad loved his son-in-law more than his son, so he bought season tickets too, and to leave my mom out would be rude, so he bought tickets for her, too.  I was allowed to go to games if he was otherwise occupied, usually with work.  (It would come out that my sister's then husband was a cheating scumbag piece of shit, after my dad had passed away.  Good thing for the scumba--, I mean Grant, that my dad never learned that character flaw, otherwise he'd have been f*cked up by my dad.  Although, I like to speculate, sometimes.)

One evening, my dad was off at work and I was offered the vacant ticket.  Usually, I would jump at the chance, not that I was (or am) a big hockey fan.  I'm not.  But I enjoyed going out to the big arena and taking in the sights and sounds of excitement.  Sometimes I'd run into old school mates and catch up on what was new in their lives.  On this night, however...  Just not into it.  I opted out.

If I'd have gone, I would've tagged along with my sister and scumbag in their Ford Festiva.  Not sure if you're familiar with it, but essentially it's a little tin shitbox on 12" wheels.  Google it.  You'll agree.  That night, after the game, my sister at the wheel, turned her little red shitbox onto the highway, and headed back into the city, as the arena was located on the outskirts of town at the time.  In the years since, the city has grown exponentially, eating up the real estate around the sports complex, but in those days, it was pretty remote.

So my sister turns right onto the highway to head back into the city and her little car was quickly slammed in the rear end.  Force of the impact was so severe that the entire rear end was crunched up against the back of her driver's seat, the bumper, literally just inches from her spine.  Remarkably, both she and Grant... f*ck it!  The scumbag, came out of the accident without much injury.  However, if I had tagged along as I often had, I'd most certainly have been dead.  Nobody would've survived that impact if they were in the back seat.

Survival #3:

I slipped on some ice.  Just one foot.  My left.  However, in doing so, I somehow twisted my leg and tore my calf muscle.  Not a pleasant feeling.  I do not recommend it.  Especially considering the months that would follow that misstep.

My treatment was to ice it, keep it elevated and wear a tensor bandage, in addition to keeping off my feet.  No problem.  Seems simple enough, but I was never shown exactly how to apply a tensor bandage.  It always appeared simple enough.  I'd strained and tore muscles before that and used a tensor bandage successfully without incident, but this time around was not the case.  I always preferred the bandage to be snug.  Nothing bugs me more than feeling that f*cking bandage unravel.  I hate repeating myself in any case, especially when it comes to tedious tasks.  Apparently, I liked it a little too snug and a blood clot formed in my calf muscle.

I learned that if a blood clot forms in your lower leg, it's not good but can be treated if discovered quickly enough.  If the clot breaks off and heads up your vein, past your knees, it's gets more dangerous.  If it hits your heart...  You're f*cked!  Mine was discovered pretty fast... Discovered above my knees, destination: Heartland.  I was rushed hastefully into emergency and treated extraordinarily fast.  Blasted with Warfarin, which is essentially rat poison.  In fact, that's how it works on the rodent species.  They basically bleed to death.  Thankfully, it doesn't have that permanence in humans, although your blood does get really thin and if you cut yourself, you CAN and WILL bleed out if you don't seek immediate medical attention.

I don't know how "serious" this event was, but the medical staff at the hospital where I was a resident for about a week and my own personal physician never hesitated to tell me how "lucky" I was.  Okay... maybe.  That's why I count this as survival number three.

Survival #4:

It was over ten years ago.  It was also the first time I had gotten pneumonia.  I remember stepping out of a nice hot shower into a cold f*cking house and BLAM!  Both lungs collapsed on me.  I knew immediately that I was in deep shit, but wasn't sure how deep.  Completely winded, I called for an ambulance, but decided against it when I learned that I would be the one paying for the ride.  What the f*ck happened to free healthcare?  Too many assholes taking advantage of a good situation.  Leave it to the crackheads to f*ck it up for us normals. 

Winded, I got myself dressed and toddled myself out to my car.  It was a 5-speed, but I managed to get myself to the hospital.  I suspected that I'd be there for awhile, so I chose not to park in the paid parking lot, but instead in the free lot across the street.  I'm guessing many thought that way, because these days, that shit is way expensive.

It took me about an hour to walk across the street.  Extreme yes, but I save a fortune on the ambulance... and parking.  As memory serves, I was a guest in the hospital for another week or so.  I remember hospital staff being amazed and disturbed at my feat, adding how lucky I was I didn't die in the process.  I've collapsed a part of a lung since then, which I'm told was quite serious, so I guess two complete collapses could be construed as serious.  

Whether or not I'm a survivor of death is disputatious, at best, but you must admit that I have managed to sidestep some serious shit.  So whatever this new medical setback is that is being placed on plate, I'm sure the shit will turn out right.