Note: I Had to leave the Mel Gibson photo in color. It is amazing to me how sometimes, well, most of the time, when you have the mind-set to be good to people 100% of the time, what I have been referring to in much of my writing as the good kind of “Karma”, happened today.
Let me splain. I had my almost death experience with diverticulitis five years ago. The doctors had no choice but to remove a small portion of my colon, and vacuum out the shit that had flooded into my abdomen. I know, sounds gruesome and crude, but that’s the truth.
In addition, the doctor that saved my life also “gifted” me with what they call, an “Ostomy”. That’s where they disconnect your, wait for it…………ANUS! And now your shit collects in a little bag. That night, the doctor had told my kids that I might not make it through the night.
Just so you know, it wasn’t like having your tonsils removed, I was in a medically induced coma for about a week after the life-saving surgery. When I tell this story, I like to make note of the fact that if George Carlin was still alive, he would be saying, “Medically induced Coma, BULLSHIT! MORPHINE induced Coma. I always make myself laugh when I tell that one. Hahahahaha.
So, let me splain, for those of you that don’t know, what an Ostomy is, it’s something you discover after you wake up from your seven day nap battling what ever monsters that the morphine brought your way. Wide awake now, I feel it, and I look down and I see it.
A plastic doodad of a bag attached to, taped to, my stomach on the left hand side, full of shit, that the nurse comes to empty (not a lot of shit, but some, because you have been in a coma after all, and they are giving you food now that you’re awake).
This appliance is to seal the brand spanking new tiny wait for it…….. ANUS……..That they have managed to create on the outside of your left side, of your stomach. Yes, you now shit when your shit wants to shit, NOT when you feel the urge to shit!
Oh, I can’t forget, that’s along with the “Battle Dressing” bandages and tape. So at that point you really can’t see the wound yet (someday scar) where the nice doctor took his can opener or maybe pocket knife and frantically sliced you open. Sorta picture that Scottish dude that Mel Gibson played, that got tortured, cut open, before they killed him.
Only, I DID live, and I am forever grateful that Dr. Goodfella saved my life. I say ALL of the preceding to get to my good karma part that happened today.
To set this up, imagine if you will, I have been getting my “ostomy supplies” for five years. Ostomy supplies, the different types of supplies that I have required, can be expensive, and it’s about 10 different items that you need, the plastic shit bag, your “appliance” that you basically glue to your stomach, that your plastic “Shit Bag” snaps on to, lots of other “stuff”.
If you didn’t have Medicare or some other form of insurance, it could be pretty darn expensive. Mine was 100% paid by Medicare, and I had accumulated a lot of stuff. Quite by accident today, I sold ALL of my ostomy supplies in one rather complicated transaction, to one person, a dude in “I Won’t Name The State” (to protect his identity), since I have a pretty wide readership in 30 different countries now. I’m not going to divulge the dollar amount, because that’s not important. Here’s a photo showing how big the boxes are, taken with an old fashioned “Pin-Hole” camera (not really, it’s just grainy for some reason).
What is important, at least to me, is seeing the difference between treating people with kindness (good karma) and comparing that with the religious beliefs that tells us we can’t get to heaven “On good works or deeds” alone. Why can’t we all just believe that treating others as you would want to be treated, doesn’t have ANYTHING to do with HEAVEN, or “Hell, Fire, and Damnation”.
I’m sorry folks, but I feel GOOD about selling this dude all my Ostomy supplies. After all, I’m not Bill Gates, I’m a dude trying to live the rest of my life living on just my Social Security. Those of you in the same boat I’m in can relate to that, I’m sure.
So, the moral of my story, (I’ve been getting my moral compass back gradually now, since my stroke), the moral of this particular story is simple. Treat others the way YOU want and desire to be treated. No Hocus Pocus bullshit (almost said POTUS). It doesn’t take an advanced degree from some seminary to figure that one out folks.
Final thought, kind of a funny story, joke really. At least I chuckled and the pharmacy clerk at the drug store actually genuinely laughed. She not only laughed, she said, “You’re a funny dude!”
Anyway, up and down the pharmacy aisles I trekked. Looking for this particular item that the MRI people said I must get. The aisle where the product happened to be located, was full of patrons pushing THEIR carts, so I just passed that aisle and got in line to speak to a pharmacy clerk.
Now it’s my turn, so I walk up and ask middle-aged female clerk for my item, and this was what I said. “Good evening young lady” (I say that to women even if they are 90). “Good evening young lady, My doctor has ordered a MRI of my brain, and told me to purchase an “over-the-counter” Fleet Enema Kit so that I could flush all the shit out of my brain before they do the MRI”, Hahahahaha.
She’s laughing, but giving me a strange look because I looked soooooo serious when I said that. Then immediately I corrected myself, and she genuinely laughed some more when I said, “Just kidding, they are doing a MRI, but it’s of my PROSTATE gland, (Hahahahaha) more laughter from her and a big smile as she came out from behind the counter to show me where the Fleet Enema Kit was.
Point of this story? It’s downright fun and rewarding to make someone smile, even LAUGH! Try it folks, it actually works! Don’t be so fucking uptight that you have to be so serious all the time. Lighten up! Peace, love, and abide dudes and dudettes. Excuse the “French”, fuck is just a word, and it’s in the dictionary.
Postscript: Have you ever noticed that in spite of the fact that your toilet is functioning properly, after you have stood up, wiped with 2 sheets (at least I do cause my sphincter does an excellent job since my reversal surgery), and flushed, you watch your six inch turd go all the way down, and disappear.
Then a few hours later, you go back to just pee, and that turd has somehow popped back up, like it’s a survivor from the Titanic. Except because it HAS been a few hours, your turd, while still in one piece, somehow survived the plumbing intact but is slightly dissolved, bruised if you will.
So, you flush that sucker again. If you find that same floater AGAIN, two or three hours later, it just might be your plumbing. We will see. I don’t have to pee again yet.
One last thought for the evening. I have said this in many of my posts, if you are suffering from PTSD, or ANYTHING, try writing your thoughts down like I just did. Even if it only makes YOU feel good, or laugh, or bring back good memories, then your writing has accomplished it’s goal.
There are SOME who may feel or think differently than you do. I say who the fuck cares what they think. I know from my own experience, writing HAS been therapeutic for me, and I know for a fact that my writing has made other people feel good about themselves, and yes, you Moral Thermometer professionals, people have “Liked” and happy smiley faced LAUGHED!
Hahahahaha, for the shame of it all. I could care less what they think, really. If you feel embarrassed or offended in ANY way, I’m sorry, I still love you, just don’t read my stuff.
Last word: Just thought of a clever, possibly funny way to tell someone that you are not interested in texting on FB about some kinda “Did you get your money yet?” conversation. Simply text back, “Sorry, I can’t chat with you right now, because my horse is giving me a Blow Job”.
It’s been two hours…….Went to pee again………Turd’s gone!
MRI Update October 13, 2016: No sign of Cancer!