Month: February 2016

September 21, 2015

It was a day I had been anticipating for weeks. It was the Brix Tavern golf tournament. Brix is one of my biggest customers, so the opportunity to rub elbows with a good customer and my bosses was very appealing.

On top of that, it was a Monday off work, so needless to say, it was going to be an awesome day. It could have been described as a Chamber of Commerce weather day: 77 degrees, sunny, with a light breeze. The thought of golfing with business associates and friends had me very excited and happy.

It was a scramble (a team, best-ball event) and we were playing like crap. We were three over par through 16 holes, which is really bad for this type of event. This was the only stress I had all day. That final score won us no prizes at the post tournament lunch. Although, there was one big surprise on the way.

While sitting at the table with what seemed like three pounds of bow tie pasta on my plate, the jabs and ribbing began among the team, recalling our epic fail on the course.

Several minutes into assaulting the carbohydrate cargo on my plate, I noticed the strangest feeling. It was a tingling sensation that started at my toes and migrated to my shoulders. I reached for my shoulder because it kind of tickled, and to my disbelief, it was numb.

I spoke out to the table, “My left arm is numb” to which some concluded I was having a heart attack. “No” I replied. “It feels more like a stroke to me.” Holy shit, and I’m only 50 years old!

Immediately, nearby cells phones began clicking a cacophony of 911 dials. In the distance, I heard the ambulance siren wail. Then it hit me, “They’re coming for me.”

That wasn’t the most horrifying thought. It was the realization that I was surrounded by my business associates. “Please don’t let them see me get loaded into the ambulance right here.” I begged my teammates to get me away from eyes and potential cell phone cameras. Lord knows, I didn’t need to be “trending” on this day.

On each shoulder, there was someone trying to help into a golf cart to meet the medics away from prying eyes. The problem was, I couldn’t stay standing let alone take a single step. I told them to just put me down in the grass. My pulse was racing along with my thoughts. “What is happening here?”

I was completely immobile and helpless. On top of that, I was about to take my first ambulance ride. Finally, I concluded that this day hadn’t turned out to be awesome after all.

Minutes later, the medics began poking, prodding, and analyzing my vital signs. As if I wasn’t even there, they were all talking around me about the fact that “this man” just had a stroke. I sat there thinking, “Hello? I’m right here.”

I remember not being overly worried though. I mean, it was a stroke. Many have lived seemingly normal lives after having them, and I actually felt fine. Besides, emergency care arrived within 15 minutes, which led me believe that odds were good that I would be okay. — Wrong!

After what seemed like hours laying in the grass, I heard the ambulance in reverse beeping to load me up. This is now real and very scary. Nothing I could say or do could change the direction of this day. Before I knew it, I was on the stretcher and loaded into a MetroWest ambulance. Immediately, we started traveling down some dreadfully rough, Washington County roads to Tuality Hospital in Hillsboro. It felt like seven miles of speed bumps. I hoped to somehow survive the ride.

Upon arrival in the ER, I was draped in blankets and prepped for another ride. They told me a Life Flight helicopter as warming up on the helipad nearby. “Wait, what? Life Flight?” I’m not dying, I was telling myself. At least, I hope the fuck not!

I had never been in a helicopter and let’s just say, it wasn’t worth the wait. My stretcher was strapped down and so was I. All the lights were off and by now, it was nearly 7pm. It was dark both outside and in, so there was nothing to see… simply a loud, bumpy, in-the-sky ride to Providence Hospital.

I later came to know that this ride cost me $3300 after insurance paid their portion. And to think, I once bypassed a $300 heli-tour of Vegas and Hoover Dam back in the day. My bad! So when the hellish ride on Space Mountain was complete, I woke in the ICU.

Apparently, I had gone directly into a cat scan and then into surgery where a tube was put in my head to drain the blood that had accumulated as a result of the stroke. “Won’t I need that blood for another day?” I guess not.

The ICU was a 24 hour nightmare! There were tubes and wires coming out of me and going into countless machines that all had different tones and alarms that seemingly never shut off. It’s like I was in the middle of Chuck E. Cheese with nurses all around. This is where cannabis candy saved my ass. Anxiety? Gone. Pain? None. Sleep? Yes… all night long.

Making the candy was a hobby of mine, yet I hadn’t tried the cannabis variety due to company policy. Fortunately, a friend convinced me to try some in the ICU. Holy cow! It accomplished what oxycodone, morphine, or Tylenol couldn’t. Amazingly, this candy-making hobby was paying dividends in ways I could have never imagined.

What followed was a two month stay in the hospital and lots of physical and occupational therapy, which to date, I have not even come close to completing.

My earliest recollection with my Mom was around 1968. I was 4 and we lived in a small apartment in Dallas, for some reason. Not sure why we left Austin, but if later life proved anything, Mom was probably a groupie for some Dallas band.

We were at the kitchen table filling out paperwork to send in for A FREE Frito Bandito erasure… fast forward to what seems like 6 months, the erasure finally arrived and I probably lost it a day later. These times were my first in hearing how Santa could use his magic to unlock deadbolts and bring presents to kids who didn’t have fireplaces.

I never felt like I didn’t have a great Christmas, but looking back I don’t know how it happened, because my Dad was out of the picture by now (not by his choice) and my Mom never had a job that I could remember back then. Next thing I know, we are moving into a mansion in Hollywood… California! This house had an elevator, swimming pool, and at least 6 bedrooms. Again, at 5 years old, I thought everybody does this, right?

I went to first grade with Dino DeLaurentis’ kid…Probably the brother of Giada from Food Network for all I know. Turns out, we house-sat for a member of Steppenwolf for a couple of years. In that house, we experienced the ’71 earthquake, many, many parties, and a few naked people wandering around when I would get up for a glass of water.

I also was the only kid in my class who thought it was normal for people to have syringes in their bathroom. I mean, every parent gives themselves shots, right? Again, I never felt neglected, as whoever was around was like another parent, always looking out for me, taking me to parks, showing me how to roll joints, educating me on the fine play of Jeff Beck. Fun times at the beach, occasionally Disneyland, and toys galore is what I remember. Next thing I know, we are back in Austin for the 3rd grade.

That’s when I met my buddy, Scott Gebert. We played baseball all day long, literally lived the life of the movie Sandlot with a few oops mixed in when got caught throwing rocks at cars. I lived in a house about halfway between Scott and my grandparents on Manchaca Rd. My Mom worked for Willie Nelson (Yes, THAT one!) and helped on tour plans, photography, and apparently drug distribution.

I played Little League Baseball and Mom was at most games, but one afternoon, my Grandfather was there to take me to their place. “You are going to be staying with us for a while” he tells me. That lasted 2 years. I guess Mom had to do some time in the pokey and the Grandparents arranged temporary custody.

See in them days (Texas speak), that’s about what it took for anyone other than the Mom to get/keep custody. So after 3rd and 4th grade in Austin, Dad finally gets custody of me and flies me, with my twangy-ass drawl, to Oregon where I was a novelty to all these English Majors here. I was 10 and didn’t speak with my mom for 13 years.

For the first few years, she wrote, every month. I never wrote back. I was told by everyone how bad a person she was and to just “ignore her” She never missed a holiday or my birthday. I don’t even know hers. (who doesn’t know their Mom’s Birthday?) After a while, she stopped writing. (Can you blame?)

One day, out of the blue I decided I needed to call her. She cried for a long time and said how sorry she was, and how much regret she had. I told her that I had turned out fine. I had my issues, like everyone, but I’m okay. I told her to not live the rest of her life in regret, but to enjoy what’s next. That seemed to make sense.

We were never close, but I visited her once in Texas a few years after that phone call, and once again in 09. She lived for many years on a farm with her then husband and after he divorced her, she was pretty much left to live with relatives, and ultimately in a care home.

Mom’s life was definitely “front-loaded” She lived 70 years of life in her first 30. She paid the ultimate price for the drug use, finally losing the battle of Hepatitis C. I loved her as a small child. I never hated her, I just never really knew her. I know she loved the Cowboys and if alive, she’d watch the Horns tonight.

She was a “fuck’em if they cant take a joke” kind of person. She had many friends in the music industry and many visited her in Austin while she was in my great uncle’s house. Willie even brought her weed personally.

I share all this to open my soul to my friends. If you wonder how someone’s Mom can die and they confess that they weren’t close to them, well, this is it. I could have reached out more as a child, but no one wanted me to, and I guess it was easier not to. I forgave my Mom years ago for mistakes she made, but all the while, the family made sure got a proper upbringing.

If anyone is still reading this, I say thanks for listening. For those who have recently lost a close loved one… I feel for you! I just wish that I had been closer to my Mom and that I hurt more than I do now. I feel loss, but not like I should.

And… that’s about all I have to say ’bout that.