I’m drowning in my own pool of blood.
I see a razor sitting on the edge of the sink.
My mind goes into a spiral as I begin to think.
Maybe just one cut to ease the pain.
I promise to myself not to hit a vein.
I’m finally alone with my thoughts, and I find they are running around in several directions, but still running back to one thought. Will a friend, of 25 years, get a miracle tomorrow, or will he be taking his last breath? I fear that it will be the later. He has had no movement since he had a brain aneurysm back when we had the ice storm around January 27.
His wife called to let me know that he was suddenly dizzy, had blurred vision, and a intense headache. So they rushed him to the ER in Bartlesville, where they determined he needed to be life-flighted, but because of the severe ice storm in the area, the chopter couldn’t fly. Insted, he was rushed by ambulance to the only hospital that could handle the golf ball size bulging in his brain, which was in Wichita, Kansas. The trip took over an hour, allowing the aneurysm to grow to the size of a baseball. He never had a chance, even after the surgery.
I did a little research online and found out that a unbelievable one in 15 people in the US will develop a brain aneurysm during their lifetime. Many will die on the way to the hospital, and over 50 percent will die within the first thirty days after rupture. Those who do survive, about half suffer some permanent damage. This scares the hell out of me.
I can’t help but think it could possible be my turn, and I don‘t want that outcome for my life. I want to go out on my own terms...not some random hand from God’s sky, reaching down and taking my last breath without warning. I had been at his house just two weeks before, after he had begged me to come by and visit him. I felt obligated to go since I hadn’t been to see him and his family in two years or more. I wonder if he knew somehow? If he felt it coming and wanted to get together one last time?
Whatever led me to finally going, I’m glad I went. I got to see him with his dream. The one that Tony always wanted...to have a family of his own. He has two beautiful daughters, one typical 14-year-old from his wife’s first marriage, and a 9-year-old dark hair, brown eyed little girl, that looks so much like him. He was happy, even though they didn’t have much. I could tell when I visited that they all loved him very much. It was strange seeing them call him Daddy, but that’s what he was to them, no matter what kind of life he had lived in the past, he was their loving Daddy.
He was one of the gang members I hung around with, did drugs with, went to jail with ..more than once. He was two years younger than me!! And his life will probably be over in just a few more hours. He hasn’t woke up or responded at all to those around him. His wife said she was going to let the girls spend the weekend saying goodbye, and Monday morning they were removing his life support.
It’s after 2 am and I should get some sleep before the call comes. I hate those kind of calls. The older I get, the more frequently I receive the late night, or early morning calls. You never get use to them, and sometimes I just don’t know what to say to the person on the other end of the line. I wonder what people will say when my turn comes? ...Surprised that it hadn’t happened before now? I’ve lived a hard life, and like Tony, I feel I’m in the last Chapter of my book...the end is near.
I don't think I want to be here for the call...I may spend the day in Sand Springs driving around in little circles. Anything to ease the pain.
The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain.
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