beyond the grave like lazarus
- laugh to keep from going crazy
The adventures and travails of going to the doctor everyday of your life, and being an Anxiety filled individual the very days of your life and leans, man, oh man, I don't even know where to begin. It doesn't really matter that much, just in my own life. I mean people are going through much more and worse than what I have been experiencing lately, these odds six or seven months. But I know what it feels like. I know what they're going through now more than I did, especially if you don't know what's wrong with you and you just wonder if you'll ever be the same. I know my brother was going through some stuff one time and he found out he had thyroid problems and I just shucked it off in my own machismo way that it must just be some stress or depression and thryoid isn't that big of deal. But as I've gone through this here journey from doctor to doctor I know it truly and utterly sucks and that is for sure as I lay on that MRI table wondering where it all went wrong, trapped inside a god awful machine, and of course being claustrophobic and having those fears of tight places and just wanting to get out but drugging myself up with Xanax(like I have been recently and being perscribed everything under the sun but just loving my Xanax to get me through it all says the addicted brain personality) just to get through it and break free from being trapped in that Torture Box. I did that MRI in some Clinic In North Georgia, that's how bad it's been, I've been banished from the City Doctors and my Family Doctor and I've fled up North (not that far) for the only people that will take me (and make money off of me). And not to say my Doctors from Emory University and other presitigous places of learning aren't right and its all just in my head, and maybe I am becoming a hypochodriac of sorts, maybe all the dying of my Grandmother got up inside of me, and I started feeling that real anxiety that had always been there before, you know from massive amounts of drugs and cocaine ingested during my youth, that makes me think I'm dying. But I had a SuperStar Asian Cardiologist near my house, not that he has to be Asian, he could be anybody, but in this case he was a young Asian dude, from one of those presitgious schools, in the top floor of that new hosiptal we have in my County, that heart doctor at the top of his game looking out over the highway, that brought all these people here and me out on the edge of this sprawled out city, that Superstar doctor that I see advertising in our little newsapeper about all the fancy things we have avaiable to us now, “I really don't think there is anything wrong with your heart, but you are a mystery.” in his leather shoes and swede pants giving me a quixotic look in his kind but throughful manner, as we sit in his office and me in a leather chair, thinking about what it must be like to be him with some young wife, and living in some big house, and don't ask me what's wrong with me, I've been to them all, all kinds of doctors, young ones, fat ones, Nigerian doctors who hate my guts, Indian doctors, old New Jersey doctors wearing cowboy boots and prescbiring me my Beloved Xanax just for the heck of it. I've been to see them all, on this loathsome adventure, into the Wonderful World of Medicine in America, and now I'm broke, and still working, and barely hanging on, but really is that even unusual in my life, but not really, but now I understand. Now I understand all about OEDIPUS. I understand all about the Spinx. Which is a funny thing to say but I understand. Because you never know when you might need help. You never know when things might just fall apart and crumble into your hand. You just never know. One day you could be riding high on the hog, and the next somebody is kicking dirt in your eye, and punching you in the stomach, because that is how life does you, and ain't it a bitch, just saying it for the pun, no offense to be taken. But Now I'm out in North Georgia getting MRI's at out patient clinics they put out there, because I've been banished from the SuperStar doctors with their leather chairs and offices with great views of highways. But they good doctors out there, but sometimes they get a little disorganized, like the ladies taking my Blood in my Lab, who are talking on the phone all the time, and don't even care what they're doing, country as all get out. But you could find that anywhere I guess, “We need you to get up here and take another lab, You didn't finish the one you had. Just come in any time you want.” as I asked them a thousand times about did I miss another one I should have taken, and then they call me up the next day saying I got another one. But they're the only one that will take me now. I've got in to many arguments with Nigerian Pulmonolgists and Doctors with fancy leather chairs are tired of me at this point, and I'm a little worn out myself. I'm withered and worn right now and drained of all the blood in my body from all the Blood tests. But my Girlfriend from another Country is helping me get through this, helping me to keep living life, holding my hand when I nearly pass out from fear of needles and have to drink animal crackers and apple juice to get through it, and taking notes when I'm at the doctor, and when I'm drugged up on pills which is a little less now than what it was, she wipes the drowl from my mouth, not really but you get the point. Maybe I'm just a morbid person, that suffers from fear of dying. Its tough. To think about. It reallys is and maybe it did overwhelm me, and getting an unknown form of sickness is not helping me either that is for sure. But I'm probably going to die of Cancer from all the Tests I've been through, but lets keep it on the postive and not worry about all that right now. Don't sink yourself into pits of self loathing and denial, just keep right on going. No more of that dark humor. No use really. Your not helping yourself. Just pop some more pills you'll be ok. Now I just go fishing to try and forget about all this. But that would be nice except I'm a damn sorry fisherman. Me and the fishing line just do not mix. I just cast out into a North Georgia lake and get caught on a branch, and twist my line all up and that's it for me and I just sit there and enjoy the view. I mean I know all about fishing, all about fish, read books about it, studied those fishes patterns and lives, but can't fish to save my life. But oh well you have to do something right. Or maybe it's just this work thing beating me down to an utter pulp. Maybe full time employment is just not for me. I can't do anything anymore. I cant think. I cant sleep or eat without being up at work. My life has become the damned airport. I think I would rather me homeless sleeping under a bridge than work full time in any place of employment. But maybe not. Mabye the rat race is not for me. Maybe I can't have those responsbilites that others have. Maybe I can't even wipe my own arse. Maybe it's not that bad, have some positivity. Don't go down into the negative. Dont' throw youself into a lake because you fishing line gets twisted. Come on, Man think of the brightside. You could be stuck in an MRI machine, as you have your quarter life crisis, and the tough North Georgia lady tells you got another 15 minutes, and “just hold still right there, you Doctor needs to do a little more,” and just kill me right now and get it over with quick, maybe they can put a laser in the machine for the suicial patients and they can just off them in there and wouldn't it be so nice. No don't go down that road. Just a little bit of black humor for you that's all. But then me and my Mom who went with me and sat in the waiting room texting her old College Friends from the Seventies in Texas, those good old hippy days like out of a Linklater movie, as I got that Water Torture in that MRI machine, but after we went to a Southern Diner in North Georgia, like the Waffle House before they had Waffle houses, with the old waitresses, that serve you fried Bologne sandwiches, and fried pies on the grill, and I sat there on that small town Square and those Trains were passing and it all seemed surreal, from the tops of Hospitals with Superstar doctors to sitting watching trains passing through a small town, maybe I just got dropped off in the 1950's with some segregation, and all the white folks know each other, and are eating fried bologne sandwiches, in that small cramped place, where you can hear everything, and everybody knows your name, and where that small town life really doesn't exist anymore, but I could kiss that fried pie and fried bologne sandwich, beccause I'm still here and I'm still kicking and they released me from that water torture, that big lady from North Georgia stared at me with her awkward stance, and said we could exit to our right, as my mom was still texting her college friends, and I told her I wanted to get the hell out of there, and go watch Trains through transposed small towns, that don't exist anymore. But I got to stay positive, that all you can do. Kiss that fired bologne sandwich and be thankful you're still walking around. And you can fish and be frustrated, and you can get grind up like mush at a full time job you hate, but got a girl you Love, and some mountains trailing in the distance, but know this my friends, like John Lennon said once, the bes t laid plans of mice and men,because you can't plan for nothing because you don't really know whats going to happen down the line. I doubt he said that, but you got to think positive. Take it from me. Its all you can do to keep from going crazy.