I Am A Quitter

The words shocked me. They were untrue descriptors of me but still I was left wounded. I had uttered the words, “I feel like quitting,” in a private conversation during which I expressed my deepest sadness. What should have remained private was now being revisited in a public forum, entered as evidence in what was no more than a kangaroo court along with other out of context quotes. This truly wasn’t going to end well for me. “You are a quitter. You told me you felt like quitting so you are a quitter.” The mock trial ended and I left for my car. I took my painkillers as I had so many times before so I could endure the hour and forty five minute drive home and began my journey.


Where Were You Dave?

I looked at my legs and my feet from the hospital bed – I knew they were mine because those were the shoes and jeans I was wearing when I left the house. I tried to move my feet but nothing happened. I tried to move my legs but I couldn’t even feel them. I started to feel a little lightheaded so I closed my eyes. I could hear the sounds of medical equipment all around me. The inflating of the blood pressure cuffs, the beeping of the heart rate monitors, and the sound of the IV infusion pumps as I slipped in and out of consciousness. I opened my eyes again and looked at my IV pump. I tried to guess how much longer I had before the bag would be completely empty. I started to feel lightheaded again so I closed my eyes. I awoke again and thought I should text my wife and let her know what is happening. I reached for my bag to get my phone. It wasn’t easy. Everything seemed to be in slow motion. My arms felt heavy, my left hand limited by the IV needle and my right by the wires from the monitor. I unzipped my bag slowly so as not to rip out the IV or detach the monitor and took out my phone and started to text my wife, “so…”