More creepy coincedences

I recently found out that my other savior on THE DAY, is a nursing student from Hofstra that I strongly suspect was on the swim team. If she is the perfect woman, I suspect she was middle distance, breast stroke, and also played water polo.

There are no finer athletes that swimmers as far as I can see.

Thank you, Aneeka.

Stories from the OR A/K/A No one reads this thing anyhow

So, December 20th was the final day under the knife. I'm alive, and getting stronger daily, so that's all that counts.

However...

I was checking in to the operating room and a voice from the past caught my attention. I look up, and my closest teammate from college is walking past me, too rapidly to react, as I was still in line. I check in, and am told to immediately proceed to the abattoir. I couldn't pass on Auld Lang Syne though, so I walk over to my voice from the past and rapidly ask the guy "If I said the name Joe Bressler, would it mean anything to you?" (being a really stupid, freshman dorm room nickname from the chicks on my floor freshman year for him)

He looked up, grinned HUGELY and said Hi Scott. As if I had just hung out on the Old North Bridge drinking beers and desecrating British graves with him last night, not 3 decades ago. In the 20 seconds I had, I learned his son, who wound up very OK, was in for something, same bat time, same bat station, as myself.

So...considering the circumstances, I was on as great a high from odd coincidences as I could be. I go into surgery prep area, and POW, I walk into him again. He's there to, correctly, hold his son's hand through the scary part. Lucky kid. I say hi and enter my area. And forget about him.

My prep guy goes to work. Sterilizing my torso, wrapping me in warm blankets, and finally, breaking out the razor. All seemed normal. I had actually asked if I should do that part myself, in advance, but was told not to. This guy goes to town on me and I mostly ignored it. Until I looked down, saw my freshly shaved chest, and out of no where, yelled out "Hey, Joe, the last time my chest was this shaved, you were in the room with me then too!"

The laughter that rained down around me brightened EVERYONE'S mood, and hearing Joe trying to explain THIS to the people in the room was even funnier to me.

That almost made the whole dyinginthestreetheadinjurybraindamagetubeinmychest thing worth it.

Well probably not. But at least it amused me for a minute, and that is all I need from my comedy.

More shrapnel and fallout, 3 months later

What a long, strange trip it's been. Three months ago today, in fact.

First of all, way overdue, huge thanks go to Pat McGonagle with the Gilford Fire department. I know he saved my life. Everyone who read the Gilford Steamer knows he saved my life. I learned about the extent he saved my brain yesterday when my new doctors told me I should have brain damage.

They said that if the accident had happened in the halls of Mass General hospital itself I probably would have had more damage than I suffered because he was RIGHT FUCKING THERE. A crash cart with a team of specialists at MGH would have taken longer, and been less effective. I don't know what wave of the Timberman he started in, but OMFG am I glad I beat him out of the water. Now, I'm not gay, but look at this stud. http://karenbobotas.photoshelter.com/image/I0000UpLRBIS43fE (I hope that link works) You are more than welcome to draft off me any time in the future, Pat. And then, after being Superman, and passing me off to the superb talents of the rest of the Gilford Fire Department, he apparently calmly climbed back on his bike, and completed the race, at a better time than I have done it in the past. HFS, Pat, you just amazed me again.













These are assorted pictures from my stay in MGH. I was there for almost a month due to broken ribs, blood clots in my lungs, bleeding in my brain, and, of course, some minor cardiac issues. As far a month long cardiac and brain issues are concerned, I guess it was alright. 143 different needles over the course of it, and IVs constantly. It was on the FINAL day that they used painless tape to hold in the IV, as opposed to the duct tape they used until then.











Hey, there are 7 of the 15 stitches removed from my skull!

Well, at least my helmet survived. It will be enshrined.











So, apparently before the butchers at LRGH let me go to the real doctors at MGH, they decided to play with catheters. Which was so much fun that I completely blocked it from my memory. What I do remember is blood coming out from somewhere blood shouldn't. And it burned to pee as if I had just spent the night with the most respectible woman in Tennessee. Burning pee, and very disturbing discolorations. Thanks LRGH.

No photoshop here. No, that's not a metric scale.
Soooo, another benefit to hyper attentive, hyper vigilant doctors at the best hospital on earth is that I have my own personal AED/heart monitor attached 24/7. That signals every time I shiver, sneeze, or become even mildly excited. Which is interesting because of the effect to the libido on head injury victims. At least I know that works. And works. And works.

Oh! here am, going from Timberman to Mass General Hospital. I'm pretty sure they let me fly it, and then rappell to the roof. I am a stud, just ask me.


Well, at least for all the DNFs in the race, I did have the fastest time in the swim.

I beat two trees!

Oh no I fucking didn't. Two trees are doing high fives right now, they kicked my ass



This is me, at Mass General Hospital, 4 days later. I'm just gonna say OUCH.

Apparently, I crushed the swim (picture not included)

4 miles into the bike, the reports say I kinda passed out, and keeled over my handlebars.

Thanks helmet. Oh, wait, maybe not so much.
That bright spot is from my helmet abrading the back of my skull, like a cheese grater. I think next year I'm wearing Lord Vader's full face mask.

Oh yeah, the Team Angry team uniform, which was scissored off me by the first guy with a sharp pair of shears, may also have been a tactical error, as I have found 6 new abrasions

All in all, pretty successfull outing.

I was the best member of Team Angry this year, and if I could remember ANYTHING from the 38 hours following my getting my breakfast Saturday morning, I would tell you. There were monster hero EMTs, and a monster hero nursing student who were first at the scene, to whom I owe ENORMOUS thanks for saving my life, The Gilford FD EMTs for the same thing, Whoever it was the FLEW MY ALMOST LIFELESS CORPSE ON A GAT- DAMNED MED FLIGHT to Mass General (wow, you guys kick ass, I am really sorry I missed that), The Medical team at LRGH that recognized I was beyond their experience and called in the big leage. and the neighbors at 35 whatthehellever street I was on when I tried my Evel Knevil impression.

Total score so far, broken maxiofacial bones, 2 cracked ribs, sore teeth, 2 black eyes, huge scabs on the backs of both hands, and one knee. And a urinary tract catheter that I am desperately trying to forget. Especially the blood colored urine I passed into Lord Bouve's future Captain Morgan cup. (Yeah, that I CAN'T forget. Thanks Odin, you suck)

Oh yeah, incipient heart problems that is the only thing I directly inherited from my paternal grandfather. I would have preferred the fishing boat, all things considered. Fucking Canadians...

Oh, yeah, one utterly destroyed ego. BTW, MUSFM.

Starting Over, 2011

Wow, I really fell off this thing last year. Other issues took precedence. Oh Well.

However, I kicked it in today. Ran two miles. oh boy. Yippee. I want to die. Be back soon.

Ow.

George the Animal is AWESOME!

Team Angry has, for the most part, taken the winter off.

T & I are trying to keep in shape, skiing Gunstock regularly.

K, Uncle T, and the rest of the kids are doing other sports, and doing well.

George however, is doing fantastic!

42.6 pounds, 7 years old. He took up wrestling. And, boy oh boy, is he good.

Timmy and I went to see him for the first time at the NH State championships. Three rounds later, we have a State Champ in the family.


Two weeks later, we went again, to some regional thing in Plymouth NH. Three rounds later, another gold.

Last weekend, he went to the Nationals Qualifying tournament. Three rounds later, another gold, and an invitation to the nationals. Pretty cool honor for a first grader.

The trip to Ohio is not on the books however, for many, many reasons. Prior commitments and the necessity to be in Ohio are the two biggest ones.

I now respect cops, flagmen, and race volunteers

Ok, it's time to get this one out.

I tried to forgive & forget, but can't do it.

The guy with the licence plate "Channel" is a complete douchebag. I told you this was coming.

Team Angry tried to help as volunteers for the half triathlon at Timberman this year. OMFG, it was probably the hardest job I have ever had.

We were at an intersection/turn, in the middle of nowhere, in Gilford. It was the slowest traffic street on the entire course. Team Angry, and one of Gilford's finest, Doug, had the duty.

Before the race started, the only traffic was literally little old ladies going off to church, and one young lady taking the drive of shame out of the trailer park. The local health club was closed that morning, specifically due to the thousands of bikes scheduled to go past that day. The one house within walking distance had the lawn chairs out, awaiting the excitement.

K, T, the cop and myself determined our jobs, and fooled around with our sweet orange flags for about 2 hours, waiting for it all to begin. We set up cones, got our coffees, and talked cop talk with our new cop friend. We were at a T intersection, with the bikes going to the left by us.

At 8:45, the first bikes started coming by. It was easy. "LEFT TURN AHEAD, GO LEFT OF THE CONES!" Keith then followed up with with some good cheering, and that was the last we saw of them.

I can handle this. A minute later, another bike, another yell, another cheer. Hey, this is fun.

It went on that way for about 5 minutes, until a car came from the cop's end. Straight into the bikes that are coming more frequently. Which I then had to stop, because they wanted to drive in the bike lane. With bikes coming.

I'll leave this part as I did it; badly.

Some of the drivers were pissed off that they had to wait. Because they apparently ignored the twelve foot, lighted signs, advising an alternate route, that had been out for two frigging weeks. As if a Sunday morning is so important at 9:30 fucking AM that they can't wait 4 minutes. Hey dick - God sees you, and it's more important to show signs of Buddha-like patience for strangers than it is to be there for the first two bars of Amazing Grace.

Actually, most people were very understanding. Almost all of them were, actually. A minivan full of New Jersyites seemed annoyed.

The locals were all pretty cool, because without Timberman, Gunstock, and a Walmart TV commercial featuring a driver from here in 2002, it wouldn't even be on the map. Gotta love and support the tourist dollars.

It was going pretty well, until the true thundering herd started coming by. After 10:15, it was almost non stop, with very short breaks in the bike crowd. We would then yell "GOGOGO!!!" to the drivers, who would peel out faster than the pit stop at Loudon.

Until this one complete asshole decided to leave the trailer park. Now, I don't know what he was doing there; if he lives there or wanders the park in a short skirt, if he wears dresses or leather pants, rides a Siobhan or not, is paid in dollars, crack, or Ramen chicken noodle soup. I refuse to speculate.

I will say his license plate say "Channel" I won't say what state. figure it out.

He sat in the driveway, and wanted to pull into the oncoming bikes, into their flow. It would have been much, much easier to take a right turn. Sure, it would have added a couple miles for the detour, but he was going to run into 2 more roadblocks either way he went. And with that license plate, I knew he was a local.

So, after about two minutes, he decides to ignore both me, and T, telling him to wait. He pulls straight across the road, and blocks the bikes. He created a funnel for one of the bikers, who had to slam on his breaks, and still caused the biker to hit him, and another car. Luckily, the biker wasn't hurt. Pissed, absolutely. At me, probably. It was my job to prevent that. I don't blame him.

Doug was too far away to do anything. We yelled at him to get out of the way. He decided that using the F-bomb was the right thing to do instead. He then started to open his door, but T ran over, and the coward slammed his door and put it into gear. He probably didn't want us to see his tutu.

Then he pulled onto the lawn, drove through two front lawns and took off.

I know one Marina that I will never get gas in at Lake Winnepesaukee. That's just a guess.

Then, K was waving at a Q-tip to stop, and she hit his arm and flag, and drove right past him, Doug, the cones, and followed Mr. D-bag Channel up the road.

I can see how she woould hit him, it's not like blaze orange two hundred sixty five pound Clydesdale is noticable on a sunny day.

Next year, if they let us, I hope to do something easier. Like quantum mechanics.