LAUGHTER IS THE BEST MEDICINE - MY FENTANYL TRIP

 So, I guess I had better preface this in case I have some do-gooder "colleague" - really not someone who is in 'league' with me... -  snooping around on the blog and trying to get me fired so I can double my salary with the next gig - and not have to be forced to get a jab and go into an office and deal with treacherous leaches who can't stand good principle.... haha...  It was a state-induced fentanyl trip that the doc and (my wife) both agreed to.

Since I woke up laughing my head off, I am writing this in the middle of the night so I can remember what woke me up, tomorrow.  So, for our Friday night date a few hours ago, my wife set up a dinner with the parents of my daughter's hangout buddy.  They just lost their 16 year old daughter to a one car roll over crash with ejection and she died in the arms of the first responder.  Speed and alcohol (of the driver) was involved.  Thankfully for her, there was only one death that she will be responsible for.  The other passenger survived, though he nearly bit off his tongue with the force of the crash.  Not a good day.

Anyway, I was kind of not looking forward to this double "date" because I thought I would get all serious and we would talk about losing a child.  A really sucky subject unless both people are kind of mind-melding and on the same wavelength and then you can go deep because the subject is so cathartic.  I also was worried about my counterpart who is normally very quiet (John Wayne type) and into hunting and fishing, none of which I am into.  Not out of interest for the art of it - but I just never had the dad for that kind of thing and, to be honest, I was more into a good book and curling up on a couch and reading all day long instead of gutting an elk on a frozen hillside...

So, the "date" was actually going quite well.  Plenty of real good conversation - which led to the inevitable undernourishment at an all-you-can-eat joint here in Cardston (The Cobblestone Manor), for those visiting our quaint town.  Normally, I plan and plot how I can cram as much food into me as possible at one of these places because it is a bit expensive (but very good), but in this case, the convo was going good so I could not pull myself away to refuel and I had actually decided before-hand that I was not going to make a pig of myself.

So our convo changed from one subject to another and then settled on Covid.  I started in on my sordid tale and one thing led to another and I was telling them about when I tried to break out of the hospital with my arse hanging out of my hospital gown in 20degF weather and 45 miles from home.  Was not gonna happen in the mind of a normal person - but seemed perfectly legit at the time....  I had tried to bribe my daughter and this couple's son to come pick me up in my truck (I only let me wife drive my baby) - but I was desperate enough to let a 16 year old drive it to come save me from my fentanyl trip I was on.  And I was going to pay them $100 to do it.  The night I did this, two other patients actually made a break for it and almost got out.  It was a code yellow and personnel were running everywhere.  That is when I hatched my plan for the great escape.  The best part of the whole story was that I could not even bring a fork to my mouth to self feed at that point.  Not sure it if it was the residual fentanyl in my system, or if it was just plain muscle atrophy for sitting in a hospital bed for two weeks straight without moving.  So much so, that I still have nerve damage in one leg from probably not being turned enough.  I favored one lung when I was on the ventilator - so I spent alot of time on that one side.  My whole upper leg was dead for months after I came home but it is almost all returned to a normal state.  I just roll with it.

So, that night I was up most of the night hallucinating and around 4am and decided to make the break for it when the hospital staff was distracted trying to diagnose a power outage on the floor above me.  I ripped the pic lines out of my hand and arm which was incredibly painful.  I think you are supposed to slide them out the way they went in - not rip them straight up.  It started gushing blood everywhere.  I hate the sight of blood and started to pass out but managed to flop out of the bed.  Remember, moving an arm to my face was herculean in nature - moving my carcasse out of bed a whole different story.  Thankfully, I had my old friend Gravity on my side...  I totally forgot about my catheter hanging from my guy parts.  Later, when they actually removed that, it was incredibly painful and I cannot imagine ripping it out in an uninflated state!  OUCH!!!  Not sure if it was the drugs, or what, but I remember the young nurses changing my diaper and sponge bathing me and my unit had become nothing more than a glorified clitoris and refused to come out.  I am surprised I did not elicit some guffaws and surprise that I had actually fathered five children...

Anyway, when I hit the floor, I passed out.  I am not sure it was not from this catheter tube pulling on my pink parts.  It is only so long of a tube - so I am still not sure how I got as far as I did...  When I came to myself after probably 10 mins, I looked down and there was a platter-sized pool of blood on the floor.  I managed to steel myself and not pass out again looking at it.  As I was describing this at the table, my wife was frantically trying to get me to shut up because I guess others were zoning in on the convo.  Talking about blood and bodily fluids just as you are finishing up dinner is a no-no, I guess....  But I was just getting to the good part - so I had to keep going.  When I talk, I flail my arms, and go bananas the more animated I get - not much unlike a cocaine-binging Italian trying to sweet talk himself out of a mafia hit for an unpaid drug debt...  So, away I went.  When my wife left for another yet plate (she was payin' so she was going to get her money's worth), I really went for it because I knew my leg was safe from the annoyed kick or thigh squeeze - but what she does not know is that I cannot feel it anyway - so it does no good to keep at the old "shut my husband up" tricks.  So, I rounded the corner and went for home plate and told everyone about the German doctor that came in with a few nurses and finally found me and made the famous statement in his Westfalian accent, "Vee may hav lost zee var, but it appearz zat you hav lost z battle...." as I was laying there in two uncontrolled bowel movements and loss of bladder events (ever try peeing uphill when you are below the catheter bag?  Damned near impossible...).  Drum roll, it was perfect.  At that point, some gal several tables away comes up with total hilarity written on her face and said to keep the show up because it was very entertaining.  Glad I could help aid the digestion....  I looked at her later in the convo and she was still guffawing at her table.  I should have asked for donations for the show.

Anyway - when the evening was over, I was just glad we never got on the topic of death.  It is still a bit raw for them obviously.

So we got home and I fell into bed several hours early and woke up around 2am to the sound of howling dogs.  Like every dog in Cardston literally barking into my open window.  We have a problem here in town with the Natives coming off the rez and pilfering whatever they can for drug money - to the point that I want to move as far to the other side of town as I can.

Anyway, there is this mentally handicapped guy here in Cardston who is probably 40 years old with the capacity of probably a teenager.  Heck, he has a smart phone and was rocking that thing one day as he walked past our home.  Way better than I can rock mine.  Every day, walks past my place (he is openly howling or something as he walks along - I have always thought it was just something like Tourette's) as he goes from his home, where he sleeps, to a day care facility where he socializes with some mostly female caretakers and other patients.  They also work at a facility where they can have meaningful work and be a part of society while the rest of us with consciences fight off the euthanasia wolves who see the unborn, the infirm and those with diminished capacities as worthy of being made into Soilent Green (trademark reserved by Klaus Schwab and other globalist nazis)....  He is always well-dressed and cared for (not Klown Slob - the other fellow).  Anyway, these dogs are just going nuts and then I hear this howling in the midst of the cacophony - it was my mentally-challenged friend!  Out for a midnight walk and playing the part of "dog whisperer".  Every single dog in Cardston lighting it up as he walked along howling.  I finally got his thing.  He does not walk around in the day howling because he has no control over himself, he is literally calling the dogs.  My wife and I walked out on the front porch the other evening and saw him herding a German Shepherd in front of the Cardston Temple yelling commands to it - and watching it moving with a very submissive stance in front of him.  This guy is a master dog trainer!

So, when the realization popped into my mind at 2am this morning, along with the memory of doing the Italian thing in the restaurant, it lit me up and I could not stop giggling and belly laughing.  I swear, I was having a fentanyl flashback.  Just way too funny!

That is my story and I am sticking to it.  And now I will remember it when my wife asks if I had any fun dreams in the middle of the night.