Spy VS. Spy, or The Brain And It's Bipolar Ways

Ah, Photoshop. What would we do without you? The answer to that, incidentally, is that we would be forced to learn again to physically manipulate paper and dangerous chemicals to manifest the mad visions tucked away in our minds, all in the name of art and self expression. We would have to physically get our hands dirty with 100 year old tools used by the long forgotten heroes and pioneers of of a dead art form. I miss those days. Picasso is quoted as saying, "Good artists copy, great artists steal." Today, in a world where stringing together sequences of ones and zeros makes you a "good" artist, what is there to steal to become great?

I bring this up as an example of the places your mind can wander when you're medically confined to a bed with too much time on your hands. I've been in this position before. I've been a paraplegic for almost 10 years now, and I've spent a good amount of that time laid up in a bed or on a couch or in a hospital, trying to will my body to heal it's sick self while attempting not to listen to the insane ramblings embedded in my subconscious mind. You would be amazed at the things the human brain can dream up when it doesn't have to focus on the everyday distractions like cleaning your house, paying your bills, feeding your dog/kids/ego/etc. It becomes like a bad knock off of a sensory deprivation tank experience, only you don't know when it's going to start or end, or what outside influences are going to steer your train of thought. For me, it is akin to a lucid dream you can't wake up from or control. You're just along for the ride, and whoever is driving doesn't know any more about the destination than you do. 

During this hospital stay, I've begun to learn how to let go of the wheel and let my brain wander freely down this strange road of ridiculousness, making stops at cabin fever and insanity and all sorts of other roadside attractions. I'm starting to take time to look around at what's happening now, instead of what could happen later or what has happened yesterday. And as long as I can keep up with this attitude, I'm pretty sure I will come out of this medical experience stronger and wiser, as opposed to broken and weak, which was the normal outcome before I decided to start Taking my health seriously. Your brain can be your strongest ally, or your worst enemy. It's up to you to decide which direction it will take you.

Modifying Your Attitude, or Learning To Fake Being An Adult

I was going to write some long, rambling diatribe about how sleeping in hospitals sucks, and the food sucks, and how everything sucks in general, but after taking a step back for a moment and taking stock of the environment I'm in, I think instead I want to write about the things I'm thankful for, even though I'm stuck in a hospital bed right now. 

First and foremost, I want to thank science for making my life possible. If I had been born 100 years ago and broken my back then, I probably would have been killed off by a pressure ulcer within a few years of injuring myself. They didn't have things like pneumatic wheelchair cushions, flap surgeries, and advanced antibiotics that are basically nuclear warfare in the fight against infection back then. On top of that, rehabilitation is actually a thing now, whereas I imagine it wasn't exactly a high medical priority back in the days of mustard gas and trench warfare. I have absolutely no facts to back up this assumption, but in my head, I'm spot on. Being in a wheelchair in WW1 anywhere (besides Hawaii, because Hawaii!) seems like kind of a bum deal when compared to the technology of today. 

Second, I want to thank each and every person, good or bad, who has come into my life over the last 10 years and taught me something. I've learned positive and intellectual skills like programing micro controllers to seamlessly dim a high output LED chip array. I've also learned that you're never going to win in a fight against security at a club/bar/funeral/intervention/etc. from a wheelchair, no matter how much macho juice (tequila) you've consumed. Seriously, you're going to lose that one 10 times out of 9. Yes, I meant to say 10 times out of 9.I've learned that flirting with girls has nothing to do with your clothes, bank account, or that lame story about the time you saved an albino flying squirrel with duct tap and Q tips. I've learned that when you need help, ask for it. Most people are substantially more giving than we give them credit. And never loan money to friends. Just give it to them so you don't have to have that awkward "So, when you gonna pay me, dude?"  conversation while they drink your last beer (and no, this isn't about my current roommate). Nothing kills a great relationship faster than money (with the exception of small pieces of metal travelling at supersonic speeds. I believe they're called bullets). I've also learned that it truly is all about the little courtesies and heart felt gifts we humans tend to bestow upon each other. It's these small acts of kindness that will save us all in the end.

And on that note, I'm going to try to take a quick nap before I destroy a bunch of animal protein-based breakfast items with my mouth and stomach. You all take it easy out there, and try to do something nice for someone today. They'll feel better, you'll feel better, and the world will be a slightly place, all because you decided to make it that way.

Late night thoughts

This was a good friend of mine. She lived down the street from me what seems like a lifetime ago, although it was just 3 years.

She died last month, relegated to the past tense. Gone.

I knew it was coming. I knew about the cancer slowly killing her from the inside out. I knew there was a finite time to say goodbye, and I never made the time.

I know that death is as natural as life, and if you live long enough, you're going to lose a lot of friends. There is not a lot of choice in the matter. But we do have a choice about how we handle the deaths and last days/weeks of our friends and family. The only regret I have about my friend passing is that I never made that final phone call. I never reached out one more time just to tell them I love them and they will always be a part of me. That a cold PBR and Hot Tub Time Machine will always make me smile and think of them. And this is the lesson: no matter how hard it is, if you have the chance to say goodbye, do.

Just sayin'.

Back home for a second or so.

This picture is (was) happening right now. I love it when I can capture motion. I love it when I can make something look alive.

Today I turn myself over to the competent hands of Anchorage's hospital system. I suffer from pressure ulcers (bed sores) due to the fact that I'm incredibly skinny from the waist down, and I didn't take my health seriously until very recently. I have an ulcer now that requires professional help, and so professional help it will have. I can't stress this enough kids: skin health is a HUGE deal when you're a para/quad. It can make or break you. Pressure ulcers have been trying to break me almost every second since I broke my back almost 10 years ago. It's a fight. Every day. And it's a fight that I wasn't ready to take on seriously until very recently.

When I first broke my back, I shut down. I didn't believe that I could ever do anything worth doing again. I partied and I raged, and I didn't give a damn about my health. I didn't expect to make it to 30.

I basically planned to die at 30.

So when I started getting pressure ulcers, I never took taking care of them seriously. Now, I've been through many surgeries, countless rounds of antibiotics, and years of my life wasted on a couch or in bed.

This bout of ulcers has been different. This time I'm motivated. This time, I want to live. I'm 32, dammit, and there's a lot of this world and life that I still want to see. So I'm going to beat this debilitating evil I've been dragging along with me all these years. It's going to be hard, and I'm going to have to work for it, and it's going to be intense and emotional. And it will all be worth it. 

So, without further adieu, I'm going to get in my truck and make the drive around the inlet, and into the depravity and fray of the city. 

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The sun is coming over Boston Logan International Airport, and I have my back to the windows and my face buried in this computer to avoid the exhaustion that my body is telling me I have. I just won't give in. Yeah, that'll work.

I don't know what to say about this trip. It's been beautiful and painful and confusing and affirming and, well, just about every other emotion I can come up with. I need to refuel the tanks. I need solace. I need space. I need to be home with my dog. Especially the dog part. And to all of the other things that go unmentioned at such an ungodly hour, when the devil wants to take hold of your fingers and dance out the sins in your head, please stay at bay just a little longer. Let me lay down in my own bed and silently scream my sins to myself, find absolution, and get some damn sleep.

My last afternoon.

This is India. I like this one. I took it today as I stood watch while her dad went to run errands. She was being very playful, and kept making a picture of her friend kiss things, most notably, her stuffed puppy. 

Tomorrow I head back to Alaska. Three weeks in Boston is plenty.

"You can only make your first album once..."

Usually, these first posts are supposed to introduce you to your dear narrator, or something. But I don't have the time or will to do such a tedious task right now. You see, I'm sitting in a hotel room in Boston, Mass. hanging out with a close friend while his daughter who has severe CP (cerebral palsy, for the uninitiated) and has just undergone a massive double hip replacement surgery. She's 15. She's also one of the coolest kids I know. She has a smile that would make a hardcore feminist worship Burt Reynolds. 

I've been here for three weeks and I'm emotionally and physically exhausted, and I haven't done a damn thing compared to her dad. That man deserves a goddamn medal. He also talked me into starting this blog. Evidently my life has been deemed interesting enough for public consumption, so here we go.

This is an adventure.

So, in the next days and weeks, I'll get around to the normal "getting to know you" tap dance of death that is making an introduction interesting, but for now, I need to settle my affairs on the east coast and get back home to the moose-infested wilds currently known as Alaska. Should be leaving by Thursday. Wish me luck.

-A