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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Ralts Bloodthorne" data-source="post: 1717496" data-attributes="member: 6390">The phone rang Friday morning. The doctor's office.Greeeeeat, just the way I wanted to start my day. (I sleep between 10 and 14 hours a day now, and still feel tired all day. It kind of sucks)My ultrasounds, CAT scans and all the other crap have been verified, along with the chest authoscopy (sp?) done two weeks ago.One valve is showing signs of recovery. The two inside my heart are not. The virus ate a damn hole in my diaphram (the reason I can't seem to breathe) and no, they still haven't been able to ID it.So I called some old friends, and had them run the effects on me...Just in case, you know?Nope. Doesn't match anything I might have come in contact with during that interesting phase of my life.Thank God.Apparently, I picked it, of all places, at a hospital. They won't tell me more than that, but apparently the other 3 people who contracted it died of heart failure.I refuse too.I've never laid down for anyone or anything. And I won't now.My wife hears the phone in the bedroom get hung up, and then the shower start. She sits down on the toilet and waits for me to start talking. The room is filling with steam, and I'm sitting crosslegged under the hot spray."It's killed the 3 other people who contracted it." I tell her. I'm not afriad, I just shudder to think of what the death of a parent does to children. And my son only finally found me a year ago."Do they know where it comes from, or how it is spread?" she asks."Remember the woman who sneezed on me in the ER?" I ask her, rubbing my cheek. God, that's nasty. I can't STAND it when people don't cover thier mouths and instead spray you with crap."You're kidding.""Nope.""Could I have gotten it?" She's genuinely concerned with a valid fear, We've had, shall we say, fluid exchanges."No, apparently the only reason I got it was because my immune system was supressed from the surgeries I've had in the last year." I told her.She stepped into the shower and held me, making everything all better.So, I kind of retreated from the computer again, scaring the hell out of some of my friends online. (When I up and vanish, they have a tendency to worry that the phone call they get will be an invitation to the wake)I've got a good 20 or 30 half finished manuscripts on my computer now (Damn, I've only been up for 2 1/2 hours, and I'm tired already) that I just can't seem to get the energy to handle. The summer went by without the usual "Obnoxious Daddy-Man" hijinks of blowing up sandcastles on the beach, having BBQ's, digging a firepit and trying to burn down my front yard, swimming at the lake, and all the other stuff I've done with my children since they were born.They're mad, but not admitting it.The strangest thing, is I'm at peace with this. Dying doesn't bother me. Don't get me wrong, I don't WANT to die. Hell, I want to LIVE! But I also realize something that many people don't, until it is too late...See, I spend almost 4 months on life support when I was 21 after taking a piece of shrapnel in the face during Desert Storm. I could go on for over 10 years, if I was willing to be hospitalized.No thanks.See, that 4 months was Hell for me. The first month, I had a machine breathing for me...That's what I'd be looking at if I agreed to be hospitalized.No thanks. I'll sit on the couch, take my time to go out to the front yard, and give my kids encouragement as they play in the sunshine, then come back inside with them and play videogames with them.Seriously. It's about the quality of your life, not the length. And yeah, I can say that. I've woken up twice unable to breathe.Sure, I could lay there and let it happen. It never hurt. Sure, I wasn't breathing and could feel the weight in my chest push down on me, trying to hold me to the bed, but there was never any pain.No thanks, let's hold on another day. Fight. Struggle. Breathe in despite the burning pain that a deep breath causes in my gut.So, it's Sunday morning. I've checked on my kids three times. Not because I worry about them, but so I can look at them. And be thankful that I have them.There's been a lot of blood, pain and suffering in my past, so my own death isn't bothering me that much. I've had a good run...I saw the Vatican.Made love to women.Held a newborn baby in my hands, so my face was the first thing it saw.Delivered a child in the back of a vehicle.Jumped out of a perfectly good airplane.Gotten drunk in Germany and woke up in England.Gotten mugged by two loggers wearing (I kid you not) prom dresses.Been in a vehicle that rolled. Once because we hit a deer. Another because we hit a mine. Another because the front tire came off an pulled us into the ditch.I buried my twin brother. I outlived the sorry SOB! (DANCE DANCE DANCE!)Wrote an RPG book. Sure, it wasn't everyone's cup of tea, but I liked it.Went skiing in the German Mountians.Toured most of England.Saw the Pyramids of Egypt.Met many many fantastic people.Saw tech progress from 300 Buad BBS's to T-3 internet.Was in Germany when the Berlin Wall fell and Germany reunited.Went on alert when the Soviet Revolution of 1990 happened.Fought in several conflicts.Went to college and earned a 4.0 three years running.Drove all over the US to see Mt Rushmore, Billy the Kid's Grave, the Alamoe, the Grand Canyon.Got to explore the World Trade Center in 1994.Got to see a city burn.All in all, I've had a good run.When you're 34 years old, will you be able to tell yourself the same thing and believe it?Life is there. Live it.</blockquote>

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