Well, Hello Again Shelley Long.
I got a whole week at home before receiving the “get your ass to Arizona” call from Hauser. One step closer to chapter three, taking the wet towel off, meeting Quato, and defeating Cohaagen, as played by Mel Gibson in this movie.
It actually happened on Thursday. Kind of funny timing too. We had some vets at the house putting our 23 y/o cat to sleep. Just as they were about to inject her, my phone rang.
It was the Mayo Clinic letting me know the liver people board approved my transplant. I was a touch distracted, but thanked her and said we’d be out there in 7 days. I then hung up, we walked out to the vet and let them know it was okay to proceed with the death of our cat we’ve had since the first month we started dating. 19 years ago. (She was already 4 when we rescued her.)
So, two things in one 15 minute window. It made me feel like that scene in Me, Myself, and Irene where Jim Carrey looses it cause the lady ahead of him in line at the supermarket is a jerk, switches to his other evil personality, sees she’s buying Vagiclean, asks her if she’s got a little extra cheese on her taco, notices there is no price tag, grabs the checkers mic, and belts through the store: “Vagiclean, we’re going to need a price check on Vagiclean.”
That best described the inner monkey on a tricycle chasing a banana while screaming at the top of their lungs in monkey voice, that lives in my head.
Editors note: The monkeys name is Sargent McMonkey M.D., pictured here. Before the evil transformation.
So off we pack for a two month trip to beautiful Arizona!
See You At The Party, Richter!
Everything is frustrating.
Leaving sucks. Sending you animals off to other houses sucks. Packing sucks. Hotels suck. Hospitals suck. Biology sucks. Everything fucking sucks right now, and all I can do is bury myself in work and be in pain. They’ll have to pry my work computer out of my warm, living hands on the operating table…
I am burying myself in work and sarcastic cynicism. I knew someone who would always say “sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.” I would look at them with an unremarkable gaze and say “fuck you.”
I know I have a great love of rants and idiocy that was fostered by Chevy Chase. Chevy has a moment in Christmas Vacation where he just looses it. I base my rant achievement goals on this sentence.
(In honor of his rant, I’d love to use it to describe liver disease as if it was a person. We’ll stick with Mel Gibson.)
I want to look Mel straight in the eye, and I want to tell him what a cheap, lying, no-good, rotten, four-flushing, low-life, snake-licking, dirt-eating, inbred, overstuffed, ignorant, blood-sucking, dog-kissing, brainless, dickless, hopeless, heartless, fat-assed, bug-eyed, stiff-legged, spotty-lipped, worm-headed, sack of monkey shit he is! Hallelujah! Holy shit! Where’s the Tylenol?
-Clark/Chevy
Fuck all this. And fuck you Ed Sheeran.
Inside every cynical person, there is a disappointed idealist.
– George Carlin
The fine art of shutting up and helping.
Wearing a turtleneck is like being strangled by a really weak guy, all day. Wearing a backpack and a turtleneck is like a weak midget trying to bring you down.
-Mitch Hedberg
I need to stop being a jerk.
Zero Tolerance.
Sounds like the best name for an action movie with Arnold. But in actuality, it’s how I regard most people’s problems right now.
Three things I’d like to break down with you here. And if you don’t like something here because you feel entitled to do it, or you think your doing it to be supportive, I have two words for you. Followed by three more, and ended with one last word, then another:
Please go choke on a dick. Respectfully.
I really don’t want to hear about your problems.
If you have anything that’s bugging you right now, (like a recent episode of The Cleaning Lady, or something about olives) please realize, I care slightly less than everyone else in the whole world. You are just stressing me out trying to see if I can help talk you through it to make yourself feel better. I can’t help, and your problems mean about as much to me as a warm chicken salad after 3 hours at a picnic. I’ll just get up and leave with no reason right now, cause even though I’m hungry, I’m not that hungry. But I will steal a cold piece of fried chicken for the road.
Stop trying to relate to me. No matter what your D&D experience level with life.
If you recovered from something like a terrible rash or a fussy lower back and received good life experience, good for you. But guess what? I don’t fucking care. Stop volunteering your story without me asking.
It doesn’t help make me feel better, and your story is best saved for submission to your own private hallmark channel. What you went through is important, to you. It has incredibly deep and powerful meaning that helped you reshape your life.
However, telling me as if you feel it’ll help ease my pain or help me extract something that can help me get through this is a waste of time. And it just makes you and everything around you dumber and worse off for existing.
Stop trying to tell me it’ll be okay.
And stop telling me I’ll get through this. People try so desperately to make it feel better. Or make themselves feel useful. Like they did something to have some positive impact on my state of mind. All you’re doing is telling me things you have no experience with. Shit, I have no experience with this! Unless your version of Tom Hanks Zoltar work just the same or better, please just stop with the fortune telling. You’re also the reason I am dying to move and not tell anyone where.
Your silly optimism is downright toxic to me right now. It takes everything I’m feeling and dealing with, and relays the message: don’t worry, be happy.
Fuck you Bobby McFerrin.
I say all that to say this, it’s not that I don’t like you, it’s just that right now, I’d really rather you just listen to me. Or ask me anything.
Either that or, go back to your life and get excited for manufactured Disney escapism, like Deadpool. That’s not really manufactured escapism. Cause it’s Deadpool. That’s the point of this movie. To welcome collective public sedations and hide from real problems.
True escapism is an Irish goodbye.
Editors note: I actually can’t wait to see Deadpool. I think I’m just jealous I won’t be able to for a bit. Stupid Mel.
Second editors note: Pretty sure I was in a very different place here upon reflection. I redact the content, but am leaving it up for prosperity, as it’s a snapshot in time of my state of mind. No matter how wrong and stupid I am.
Third editors note: There is a movie called Zero Tolerance!! Like 5 actually. The one I picked is with Robert Patrick.
Looks like I have a movie to watch with quotes like this:
Manta: Yeah, yeah, yeah. I learned all that in Drug Dealing 101.
And
Jeff Douglas: [to his little girl] Just because somebody does something bad doesn’t make them a bad guy.
Amazing. I learned everything in drug dealing 101 too. And sometimes, “you have to take matters into your own hands.” And sometimes, your name needs to be in brackets.
And sometimes you have…
Random randomness for you to enjoy.
Nothing of consequence. Random intermission to make us all laugh. Like how to truly respond when someone says they are sorry.
How in the fuck did I get here?
So, I’ve decided this is my Empire Strikes Back. It’s kind of dark, and a middle chapter that needs an origin story.
I’ve been sober for exactly 330 days. ~a month away from a full year. And not just sober, straight edge. I haven’t even had an aspirin or cup of coffee.
On June 14th of 2023, I found myself in the hospital with my abdomen full of fluid. Commonly referred to as ascites. It is when too much fluid builds up in your abdominal cavity. (I just really wanted to use the word cavity there. It’s a fun super descriptive word when not describing the mouth.) This happens in people who have cirrhosis of the liver. The fluid basically has no where to go. It’s extremely life threatening. Like too many hotdogs life threatening.
So. They jammed a 10 inch needle into my side and pulled out 25lbs of fluid. 4 bags worth. Very close to the record. I was awake and watching it the whole time. Challenging the nurse to find a way to break the record. She tilts me on my side, jostles the needle. I’m shy of the record.
That’s where I met my favorite doctor ever, and he said if you have another drink, you are going to die. Which frustrated me for about 10 seconds.
So I stopped. Started running and eating healthy. Then developed an umbilical hernia, quite common with acute liver disease. Then the body failure. Pain, terrible cramps, blood clot (main portal vein), numbness, and just garden variety body deterioration.
Gained 7kgs back too. (Math) Which pissed me off, but running became more difficult. Then for as active as I had become, my body took it away even faster. Bed ridden. Couch ridden. My body was now making unwarranted advances, like bullies on the school bus circa 1989.
Fun stuff. Reminds me of the movie The Fly with Jeff Goldblum. But instead of merging with a fly and my body falling off to reveal a human fly, liver Mel Gibson was pulling a Porter from the movie Payback and extracting his revenge on my years of stupidity.
So really, nothing like The Fly.
So that more or less brings us up to speed. A rather common origin story for rubes. But haven’t wanted a drink since June 14th, 2023, which is cool.
Does it work?
AA. Alcoholics Anonymous. Meetings for the formally sauced. And apparently not just a little, but SUPER fucking religious.
I always knew it was, but it was borderline cult. I was wondering when the virtual kool aid would be passed around.
So I am required to attend something. Which is totally fine by me. I am an alcoholic for life, even if I never drink again. I was given information about an AA group where two of the founding members had liver transplants at Mayo. So I was like cool! Maybe I’ll learn something! I had already been to three months of early recovery, and meet with my addiction therapist regularly. But they wanted this, so…cool. Try anything once.
The following is an as it happened, detailed experience that I had for 1 hour.
Unfortunately it turned into what to do when your are 3 minutes into something awful that lasts for an hour, but you want to be polite and stay, cause that’s how you were raised.
But anyway, exactly as it happened.
So I found myself in this meeting of 28 people, who were multiple degrees of odd and shady.
Some had their lights dimmed and you could only see their silhouette. So I join and they welcome me. Okay start. Then a few praise Gods and an opening prayer.
At this point Ed Harris is telling me to take one last huge breath in CAB 3 as he takes the last suit, and tries to get me back to safety.
They count the minutes, and then go to the question. It’s of course a downer about shame. So they go around the zoom. They pick people by rolling some D&D die and saying “J7” and then you name. I have no idea how the weird logic of selection was determined.
Now I’ve lost most consciousness, as Ed Harris furiously tries to get me back to the main platform of the Deep Core.
They go around the room. Most people decline to answer. But it’s not their declining that caught my attention. It’s how they all said it exactly like the last person.
The nuke that Coffey deployed descends further into the trench.
“Thank you for the question Gary. I appreciate the offer. But i am going to decline today. Again, thank you and God bless.”
They all said it exactly like that, 20 people said no, two answered.
Then it came. L5. Andrew, would you like to go?
I am Andrew’s smirking delight.
[drooling with sarcasm] Yes! I’ll go! What was the question? Oh ya shame. Well it’s all about isolation and loneliness for me. It all started a year ago and…
I continue to just make things up that I don’t even remember. I quote Robin Williams as my own. I discuss the desire to rid myself of pain…
At this point Ed Harris has hit me with the defibrillator twice.
I wake up to some guy talking about how he recently met a girl at a bar and that when he told her he quit drinking, it was a red flag for her. Of course it was. He was in a bar.
And he didn’t consider himself an alcoholic anymore. Like he was cured.
You are an alcoholic for life, regardless.
Oh, and the whole thing about you not making the choices, but God was in control?
You were in control no matter what. Religion or not. If you’re not religious, you’re in control. If you are religious, God gave you something called free will. You did this, they are your choices. They are also your choices to fuck up. (I’ll go toe to toe with anyone on the topic of religion any old day of the week. I know more than them.)
The meeting ends.
I am now Ed Harris. Walking out of the alien ship.
I did it once, and we’re good. I’ll try something else. All in all they were nice enough, but everything was just way too cultish. And they wanted my physical address to send me books and a coin.
Yeah, that’s gonna happen. They know my first name. That’s good enough.
Last day here!!
So, the road to Jeff Fahey via Rio begins. Why Rio? Well I’m glad you asked.
Reasons 1-4: Bing Crosby. Bob Hope. Dorothy Lamour. Part of the “Road” series.
Reason 5: The plot.
Please enjoy the synopsis, and I’ll break down the parallels to my journey after:
Scat Sweeney, and Hot Lips Barton, two out of work musicians, stow away on board a Rio bound ship, after accidentally setting fire to the big top of a circus. They then get mixed up with a potential suicide Lucia, who first thanks them, then unexpectedly turns them over to the ship’s captain. When they find out that she has been hypnotized, to go through a marriage of convenience, when the ship reaches Rio, the boys turn up at the ceremony, in order to stop the wedding, and to help catch the crooks.
So Pam and I are jumping aboard a car bound for Arizona. I’ll let the reader guess which one is hot lips, and which one scat.
At any rate, we are both soon to have some time off from work, and I allegedly set fire to an adventure coaster for a traveling circus. Allegedly.
But anyway, Pam recently tried to help a drunk driver and friend from getting into a car. Took away the keys and everything. They thanked her for saving them, then proceeded to call 911 about the keys. We ran, jumped in the car, rehoused the pets, and decided to head out of state for a bit.
We both figured it was a good time to get me that new liver I’ve wanted for so long. Problem is a good friend is not far behind us, headed for Arizona to get married on the quick. She’s been convinced it needs to happen this weekend, as her fiancée is an out of work kingpin who needs to stay in the states. After this, they can safely head to Rio to restart his kingpin rule of the import/export business.
Once again we get called into action to stop the marriage and save the day before they get back to Arizona and then California, by way of Rio.
That and we want to get Jeff Fahey at some point.
So what better way to run through the similarities of our travels, than to use a series of 1940s movies that nailed cultural appropriation and stout racism.
…no… wait…
…I’ve just been informed this adventure is now called Highway to Fahey, and I am no longer allowed to speak of the road movies. In fact, the writer who wrote that has been sacked.
So please enjoy a fantastic 1990s road trip movie about Chad Lowe fighting HellCop and traveling to hell to rescue kidnapped Kristy Swanson from Patrick Bergin (Beezie).
Oh good lord. Never mind. Please enjoy something completely different…
Road Trip | Day 1 of 2
Made it to my parents house. Tired. Laid in the backseat the whole time. My legs were crouched up against the window, and all I did was stare at the ceiling of the car. At least the first part was the longest, and it’s over. Tomorrow is only five hours. Man, I’m tired. I just wanna sleep for like, two days. But I can’t, because we gotta get an early start.
Anyways, it’s kind of cool because Pam and Bonnie got us the bigger room. (Thank you Miss. Vandelay.) There are two beds instead of just one and an oven. Oven was key. If we didn’t have one, this just wouldn’t have worked. I’d have to tell the Mayo Clinic, “sorry, I think I’m gonna have to take a rain check on the new liver. We don’t have an oven. I can’t live like that. I’d love to pretend like I’m 20 again and cook everything on a hot plate, but I don’t think I can pull it off. I mean, I can still pull off corduroy, but not this.”
For some reason, all I wanna watch are the movies Mannequin and Weekend at Bernie’s. I had forgotten, but Mannequin is a strange, strange film. Did you remember the mannequin is actually an ancient Egyptian princess who was living in the year 2514 BC?? I did not. I just read the synopsis again. I mean, you got James Spader, and Andrew McCarthy, and a mannequin, that’s an Egyptian princess. What could go wrong? Well, a lot. Hijinks ensue. With hilarious results. And love is found.
And fantastic dialogue like this that was created and then poured out the lips of Hollywood Montrose (Designing Women anyone?!) like a 1982 glass of Chateau Rothschild: “Don’t let Felix get to you. He just has a bad case of Miami Vice.”
Then you have Weekend at Bernie’s. Another memorable performance by Andrew McCarthy and this time Jonathan Silverman tags along. Everybody knows this movie, but my favorite part is the party at the beginning. They’re operating his hands for him to make gestures as if he’s listening. The dead body gets fresh with a girl as operated by Larry. I don’t know, there’s something so 80s, so weird, so fucking twisted, but absolutely hilarious about that scene.
By now, I am wondering just as much as you’re wondering why am I talking about these movies so much? Well, there’s a completely logical, meaningful answer to this.
Both movies are about living, then dying, then living again. So, if you think about them as the same movie with different character intentions, you might just find that I and John Denver are full of shit man.
Pam just spoke up and started talking at me saying we are in tremors territory right now. About to pass through the town of Perfection. By god we are. (And I know it’s Nevada they are in, but let me have this one.) Really want to stop so I can start running and have Pam yell, “Run for it? Running’s not a plan! Running’s what you do once a plan fails!”
Tremors territory:
Okay, as you probably guessed we are on to part two of the road trip now.
This post was going somewhere, then died, and now I’m firing up that computer once more to finish that flyer I promised to my friend to save his copy business.
Cool. Back to weird.
So I got up at 5:30 this morning to grab pastries for mom’s day. Found this great place and waited in line for an hour. At 6:00. Then they spilled hot coffee on my hand and I had to apologize.
At any rate, the pastries were delicious, and cooked her breakfast after that. My brothers most likely hate me now. The one with liver failure cooked breakfast for her on the way to a transplant.
I am the definition of a lovable asshole.
Tork Bru.
Quick note: the research behind this phrase yielded vague and slightly sexual connotations. But someone made a sticker about it, and I think it should be replaced as the sign off for the constitution.
Road Trip | Day 2 of 2
Please see previous post. It was combined to one for your reading convenience. If you missed it, you have to keep reading.
Or have it your way, and make it a SubDay.
Finishing up the drive.
Almost there. Pam drove the whole way like a champ.
But we did encounter a suicidal bird. Who completed there mission today on the grill of the truck at 147 kmh. (More math)
Half of him is still there, just need a good stick. He’s big too. Another one followed him in and met their end as well. I think we encountered a bird cult. But it’s Pam 2 | Birds Cult 0. Two birds, one truck. (2006 internet, yo.)
Bird two: (not pictured, bird one.)
I imagine the bird also maybe having a record of cars missed. Like he was the bird champion of missing cars. But he never counted on Pam. Always bet on Pam.
We also just passed through the town of Quartzsite which has one of the highest crime rates in America compared to all communities of all sizes – from the smallest towns to the very largest cities. 32% per 1,000 residents. But with a population of ~2,400, and the biggest attraction being Hi Jolly’s Tomb, things start to connect. Like when you realize Buddy Christ just…pops.
Quick History. Please think of the elevator jazz of your choice here:
Hi Jolly, (Or Hadji Ali, also known as Philip Tedro) a Syrian-born camel driver, was brought to the United States in 1856 to drive camels for the US Cavalry. At the time, the United States Secretary of War Jefferson Davis wanted to try using camel transport to move people and freight over western deserts. Hi Jolly was lead camel driver for a round trip between Texas and California. By 1859, however, only Hi Jolly and “Greek George” remained of the ten camel drivers originally hired. After the camel experiment ended, Hi Jolly remained in the southwest, where he became a prospector, desert guide, mail courier, and freight hauler.
Hi Jolly died in December 1902 in Quartzsite, Arizona and was buried there, the first grave in what became Hi Jolly Cemetery. Due to his popularity with the local citizens, they spent weeks building a pyramid monument over his grave made from multi-colored petrified wood and quartz.
End of summary, but a fascinating piece history. Mostly for Pam since she asked. And here is his tomb:
I need the next two days like an open cavity in my chest. (Cavity usage two!) And I miss regular trees. The ones out here look angry; like they are yelling at you with a thick Italian accent.
Current feeling in Wile E. form:
You know what’s funny about Mr. Coyote? He’s actually the protagonist. Tenacity in the face of the Runners audacity. He’s just frustrated at this fucking bird he can’t catch to feed his family. So while the deck is stacked all the time against him, he continues. Like a Greek Tragic Hero. Determined to fail, but unwilling to stop.
Coyotes hubris knows no end.
Oh……ya.
No pleasure, no rapture, no exquisite sin greater… than central air.
– Azrael
We are unpacked and here. 😊 Not a bad place.
Fahey approved.
Be right back! More part two to come!
Take it easy, Dude…
Well, that was quick. Welcome back Mr. Kotter.
Been here less than 12 hours and I am now listed. MELD score is still high, so could be any hour or day at this point.
Last night we did get to go shopping. Talked with this very interesting checker who wanted to run through the fine art of where plastic bags tear on his lane due to poor construction, it was a very long conversation about plastic. I would like that part of my life back please. I already know everything I need to know about plastics from The Graduate. And I had one word for that checker: No.
Anyways, we were able to get out of there with only mild injuries, and then had to go to CVS for a sunglasses repair kit. (Readers hint, they weren’t my sunglasses.)
Got back to the hotel, and pretty much crashed. Tired from two days of driving. Woke up this morning for a bunch of fun appointments.
First one with was with a psychologist. he was nice enough, but I’m really tired of telling the same story over and over again. He’s staring at it in his notes while I tell the story again. Then he casually goes, Yep that’s what I have here. Well if you have it, just let me know next time. Let’s save me a Sigourney Weaver moment from Galaxy Quest. Because I have one job to do here, and it does not entail repeating myself, or anyone else, over and over and over and over and over and over and over again. I felt like Pee-wee Herman right there. Just imagine that whole sentence in his voice. Side note, I need to watch those movies again.
Now I’m back at the hotel, filling out paperwork, waiting by the phone, and waiting for that MiraLAX to kick in. That might have been too much information, but at this point come on. Pretty sure we’ve had the pooping discussion already or at least reference to it. It’s fascinating.
Oh and I almost forgot! With all this paperwork, there’s only one thing I wanna do…
I looked inside Nicolas Cage and I found a secret: People are random and pointless.
I am watching it for the third time. Starting from the beginning.
So much happiness.
I saw Dan Harmon perform once. It was amazing. I remember adult diapers, him putting them on with an audience member, then 30 minutes later, in the middle of a different conversation, he started urinating. He got up with pure joy, announcing at the top of his lungs that: it was happening! He then continued to describe the sensation in great detail, and commended the quality product of Depends. Zero leakage.
It was awesome, but also.. it wasn’t?
-Troy
When life shuts a door, open it. That’s how they work.
Donation after brain death. That’s what I just got a call for. Someone, somewhere is being taken off life support by their family at 8pm tonight. After that (from what I remember) they have 45 minutes to monitor. If the body dies within that time, it’s a viable organ. If it doesn’t, it’s not.
If the body does die, and they get the organ, they will put it in a vacuum and seal in up for transport to me. I will get a call no later than 1am tonight to let me know if I need to come in. Not a huge rush though, as it can take upwards of seven hours to run tests to make sure it’ll work once I’m there.
A very morbid feeling when all is said and done. Some person, somewhere is no longer gonna be breathing in 4 hours, and it’s a possibility I may get their liver.
Jeff: “People die every day, and by the time I finish this sentence, a hundred people will have died in China.”
Troy: “Why…did you stop talking?!”
As Spock would say: Curious.
I think I need a nap. (And more Star Trek and Muppets references in part three!!)
This is all way too surreal for myself and the future liver Jeff Fahey.
Nice to meet you. My name is Andrew.
Well, chapter two is now at an end. At the hospital, getting prepped. Just had an EKG, next is an IV.
Good times.
Surgery is at 8am! (New note: it got pushed back to noon due to scheduling stuff. I personally think liver Jeff Fahey has become sentient and they are trying desperately to calm him down for the inevitable.)
So the road has come to an end, and the merging with Jeff Fahey begins. Like the ending of the movie Society. For those of you who haven’t seen it, it’s a bizarre movie during the 80s horror glory days. Movies by Stuart Gordon and Brian Yuzna, with stars like the awesome Jeffery Combs and Barbara Crampton.
Brian Yuzna got his start with Stuart Gordon during the Re-Animator days. He made this awesome social commentary creature flick called Society. Not for the faint of heart, so probably don’t watch it.
Anyways, there is this epic end scene where all the rich people are merging with one another in this crazy sex orgy. (James Gunn paid tribute to it in Slither. Slither is a story for another time as Pam almost broke up with me due to me seeing it without her. She didn’t even want to see it! But I digress.)
So even though the movie is about an elite 80s sex cult, (which you probably really shouldn’t watch) it is about merging with something else that’s living.
Anyway, here I am, done with all the tests, taking a few hours to hopefully poop (yep, more pooping references!) I am ready to go, and excited to pull a Venkman and see you all on the other side.
Please enjoy some pictures, and one final quote.
“You are all better than you think you are, you are just designed not to believe it when you hear it from yourself.”
– Jeff Winger
Very true but I’m thinking this might be more fitting:
I feel like I’m Han Solo, the reader is Chewie, and Pam’s Ben Kenobi, and we’re in that fucked-up bar.
– Jay (of Jay and Silent Bob)
Or if this is the third act of Clue, and if your into that who brevity thing, the answer to all of this is:
One, plus two, plus two, plus one.
– Wadsworth
So, more like three quotes.
And Jeff Fahey is somewhere in a tube right now….
Will the real Jeff Fahey please stand up?
So, you may be wondering, “but Andrew! You signed off yesterday, said you were going into surgery, and that there was more to come in part three!”
Well, like the middle chapter of any epic series, writers sometimes opt to use lazy tactics to give themselves a ton of options, and move the story along in a choose your own adventure route with zero regard for reader expectations. It’s the writer equivalent of I wanna go home and have a beer. Or in my case, creating fake drama with a second liver. (I get two shots at thermal exhaust port.)
So, no surgery yesterday, went home, ate some food and passed out. They didn’t like the look of the liver once it got to go time yesterday. It wasn’t at 100% of where they like to see it, and it wasn’t improving.
I am cool with the let’s wait for the top of the line, and not choose the ‘that’ll do’ one. I am not in the movie Babe pulling off the ‘good enough not to eat you’ end scene.
So after a 14 hour stay at the hospital yesterday, here we are for round two. They found a new liver for me almost immediately. (Guess I’m all kinds of super sick. Front of the line for everything.)
Surgery is now at 5pm with the new one! In the hospital since 9, just waiting to get going! Oh, and blood cultures are fun, ice is delicious, and Pam has just signed on for June’s issue of Cactus Weekly.
Alright everybody, it’s time to kick this pig!
– Tom Dodge
Stay tuned for part three, or more of part two! (Lazy writers device, don’t fail me now!)
Success! We’ve moved on to part three.