Dreamer

“A you are an Angel and you glow in the dark.”

“B my name is Boastful, and my bite is my bark.”

“C You are not crazy you’re just having a bad week.”

“D My name is Dreamer I’m always digging too deep.”

 

“4 you’re like a foreigner from over the sea.”

“3 I’ll be a soul seeker until you rescue me.”

“2 we are in tune to traveling town to town to town.”

“1 where we’re you running when the sun went down?”

 

What can I say?

 

“5 It isn’t easy but we’re lucky to be alive.”

“6 I get my kicks strumming in the subway’s hive.”

“7 we were saved but we could use it again, sister.”

“8 I won’t be late for the dream of where and when”

 

“L  I am in tune to your Learned Lady’s Light”

“O I am an old soul overcome with sight”

“V You are the Goddess of the Venus Vibe”

“E  You make it easier for me to describe.”

 

What Can I say?

 

I Blew Myself Up- The Bird Bath

With the surgery grafting skin from my leg to my abdomen and arm completed, I settled into a little routine. Breakfast was around 9am. then try to go to the bathroom. Then someone would come by to clean the room, and then lunch. After lunch was bathing time. This was both humiliating and humbling.

A nurse comes and walks me to the unit bathroom; a large bathroom that consisted of a shower that you could get a wheelchair in. I'm too out of it to really care and I know there's no possibility of embarrassing myself yet I do wonder if she's going to look down there. I mean I know it's not like she hasn't seen these things obviously, but it is causing me anxiety. Anyway, I hobble into the bathroom leaning on the nurse for support. She sets me on a bench right by the shower and then while the she makes busy getting a wash cloth and towel she tells me to undress.  I had been wondering how bathing was going to work. Did I get a bath or a shower? Did I take my gown all the way off or just wash with it on? Was I going to be able to wash myself or would she wash me? What parts get washed? Well, no time to figure it out, I just whip off the gown and sit there dumbly.

The nurse comes over and hands me the washcloth and soap and leans in to turn on the water which comes flowing out a shower hose. "You gonna tell me how to do this?" I ask. She doesn't seem to know what I mean at first but quickly realizes and then chuckles and says I can get everything wet but try to avoid getting the bandages wet on my abdomen and arm (where the grafted skin is). Then she asks if I want help taking off the bandages on my leg. I didn't even think they could come off. They're blood-stained and somewhat hardened. I just sit there in a stupor and I can't figure out if I want her to help me as that means she will have to be right around my not so private area, but then again, I'm afraid to touch the bandages myself. The nurse senses my indecision and begins to unwrap the leg bandage but it sticks to whatever is below the layer of skin they took off. So, she grabs the hose and runs water over it to help loosen it up and before you know it I'm staring at this dark purple, blood red swath of leg from my knee to hip. Now the pain.

Each trickle of water creates a searing burning and I start to half moan half cry. This startles the nurse who immeadiately begins encouraging me and sympathizing. At this point nothing really matters to me anymore. My sole focus is to participate in each task necessary to get to the point where the pain stops. Thus, we run water over the leg, remove the bandages, soap the washcloth, run it lightly over the wounds, rinse the soap away and we're done. Somewhere in there the rest of my body gets washed and I am then left with a towel and a new gown. Washing myself will be like this for the next 4 weeks.

I Blew Myself Up in 2 Seconds- Post-Op

In Celebration of getting my first ever "follower" on this blog, I thought I'd continue with the story of my accident.

As we all know, in 2008 I blew myself up while burning leaves. I was using gas (dumb move, yet exciting), which subsequently exploded and left me with first, second and third degree burns on my stomach, chest, arms, wrist and face.

At my last writing I was out of the operation having skin grafts on my stomach, chest, wrist and arms. I experience PTSD for the first time the day after surgery. Now, just four days after I arrived at the Westchester Burn Unit in NY, I settled in for six more hospital days.

My time here was marked by the changing shifts of hospital staff, meal deliveries, and medication servings. My ten unique observations (as recorded on napkins) during this period of time are as follows:

1. The people who deliver hospital meals eventually take on the uniformity of the meals they serve.

2. In general, the overnight nurses are not as qualified as the daytime nurses.

3. The pain medication made me constipated, and the anti-constipation medication did nothing. Although I kept telling the doctors and nurses that the AC meds weren't working, they continued to give me the same stuff until I was finally suffering severe abominal pain. Now we had three medical issues to deal with: Burns, PTSD, and severe constipation.

4. There are basically two types of people who work in a hospital: caretakers and punishers.

5. After you've had a skin graft, aside from the pain, the most annoying things are trying to control body temperature, finding ways to reposition your body, and getting at itchy places.

6. Whenever a swath of your body is in bandages, you MUST have a thin, long, tool with which to insert underneath the bandages to get at hard to scratch places! Luckily, during a prior Christmas, my mother had given me a thin backscratcher as a present. It was one of those long, thin, sticks with a little hand at the end and now I had a use for it.

7. For some still unkown and very odd reason, the hospital had no dental floss.

8. If you try to do something by yourself the nurses can become very concerned. But if you ask them to help you with something, the nurses can appear very disinterested.

9. I was the least burned victim on the unit and the only burn victim that was in my age range. Everyone else was either very young or very old.

10. Ten days is about the longest I could imagine staying in the hospital. Luckily, I was able to leave at that time. For those who must endure more time than this, I salute you.

My Exclusive Interview With The Ocean

I meet the Ocean on an overcast beach near the coast of New Jersey. The Ocean is looking a bit grey on this day and greats me with a relatively loud roar as if we are old friends even though this is our first interview. The Ocean invites me to sit near some rocks and we make small talk as I get out my recorder for the interview session. I have my coffee and the Ocean seems content with water. There are few people at the shore today but I can still sense the impending crowds of summer.

Me:
Well I'd like to thank you, Ocean, for joining me today as I know you are always busy and I appreciate you giving me a few minutes. So, I guess we may as well get right to the oil issue because that is what the hot topic of the day is. Let me ask you, what your thoughts are on Brittish Petroleum now that this well has broke?

Ocean:
My view hasn't really changed at all. As you probably know I generally do not make judgments on what people do for a living and I've always tried to be a giving thing in nature. The consequences aren't mine to determine. I think BP is like any other company. Something went wrong with them somewhere or there wouldn't be a problem today.

Me:
So are you saying that what is happening in the Gulf of Mexico doesn't bother you?

Ocean:
Well of course it bothers me because it's happening to me.

Me:
You mean it's happening to one of your Gulfs.

Ocean:
No, see that's where you're wrong and I think it's part of the problem. Human's compartmentalize very easily and almost out of necessity. The primary way of handling this for most humans is to see the Gulf of Mexico as something separate from where they are physically. It makes you feel safer and less anxious in the moment. Water doesn't do that. A pebble tossed in the Indian has an impact in the Gulf of Tonkin and so on.

Me:
So what would be the equivalent for a human?

Ocean:
Well, it would be like if someone put a needle into your intestines because they wanted to extract the bile and acids that are in there. Now those materials are OK if they're contained within the intestine and can be pulled out by a contained needle. But if the needle broke and the acids and such started billowing into the rest of your body well, that stuff would start to eat away at your body and you'd probably get very sick.

Me:
It must be somewhat frustrating when you can't speak to humans and yet they have such an impact on you?

Ocean:
That's another misconception that most humans have. I really never shut up. Did you know that when there was no industry you could hear me talking from hundreds of miles away because my voice would echo through so many valleys. But now I can be heard only within a short range. But I've pretty much always been saying the same thing.

Me:
What's that?

Ocean:
Well, it's pretty simple. You just take care of me and I'll take care of you. It's that simple. Like if you just treat me ok, I'll have lots of things to give you for a very long time. Evrything you humans need, I have. And I don't mind giving it to you. But you have to play nice with me in the sandbox so-to-speak.

Me:
Do you get anything from humans, besides headaches, these days?

Ocean:
Of course. There is nothing like the exchange I have with humans on my beaches and in my water. It is a huge part of what makes me ebb and flow like I do.

Me:So can you tell us how bad this oil spill is going to be because no one seems to know.

Ocean:
All I can tell is what I think. I'm no doctor. I'm an optimist generally and I don't want to think the damage will be that great but I also know from experience that it will be a very long time before I can clean this wound. And even then, I can't control what happens.

Me:
Do you have any other advice for us?

Ocean:
Yes. Just do the next right thing and stuff will work out. For example, it's probably not "right" to buy oil and gas since these companies are so uncaring, lax and greedy. But if you can't stop buying oil and gas, you can find ways to use less of it and work toward eliminating it from your diet. When you go to bodies of water, pick up a piece of garbage and throw it away. And if you see a BP executive, or a garbage dump executive, etc. you tell them they should be ashamed for not playing nice in the sandbox. And if you can effect someone and get them to do the next right thing, then get them to do that. If people do that it will be the same as the valleys carrying my voice hundreds of miles inland. The only other choice is your death, so it should be fairly simple.

Me:
I think a lot of humans will find it hard to believe that you don't seem angry about this. I think a lot of humans believe you'd want them to go kick some BP ass.

Ocean:
That's your thing not mine. I can't tell you what your next right thing to do is. I can only do mine. I keep doing what I do with whatever you leave me with to do my job. That's all. It's that simple, Man.

I Blew Myself Up: PTSD

Interestingly enough, just prior to having blown myself up on March 23rd, 2008, I had been working with adolescent girls who have severe emotional dysregulation and, among other things, post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). In fact, I was supposed to be finnishing my last week at the school in Boston when, instead, I accidentally blew myself up and now here I was, lying in a hospital after four days and a skin graft to my abdomen, chest, arms and shoulders.

While I have much empathy for people, it is based primarily in trust, not necessarily in experience and having never experienced PTSD in my adult life, I always had difficulty understanding the concept. In my capacity as a special educator, I would hear the psychologists and sometimes my students, talk about nightmares, inability to sleep, depression, etc., but I have to admit, I was pretty much just trusting that their struggle was real to them. I could not truly understand it.

My reality has sunk in a bit more now. They say I will be here at least ten days, maybe back to work in three weeks and healed in one year. It doesn't sound so unmanageable. But I have no idea what I will look like when all the bandages are gone. Will a woman ever be able to look at my bare chest without being grossed out? What about my arms and wrist? Will I be able to play guitar? Because right now, my wrist is in a lot of pain and doesn't feel like it can stretch straight.

It's approaching midnight and I'm heavily sedated. I can't really remember the last time I was fully asleep...sometime earlier in the day I think. I turn off the TV and start to nod off. A few minutes go by.

I awake with a jolt...I was almost asleep...I nod off again...I start to dream of smoke...blue smoke....after a few minutes

I awake with a jolt...I was slightly asleep...I nod off...it's a little harder this time...I'm almost asleep. After a few minutes

I feel my hand moving and I slap myself on the chest.

I awake with a jolt and a bit of pain. What the hell is going on? I turn on the TV and watch a little...I start to nod off. After a few minutes-

I awake with a jolt...

This routine continues through several doses of medication made to make me sleep, and through the next day. I tell the doctor and he has a clinical psychologist come to see me. She comes down from the psych ward and asks me what is wrong. She is a tall, blond, attractive med student with a Eastern European accent. I explain that I can't sleep, etc., etc., etc.. She states that this is normal and that once I get out of the hospital I should seek counseling. She orders me more pain medication and maybe an anti-psychotic? I am not sure.

The night comes. Every time I start to fall asleep I start to dream about fire, explosions, and smoke. I hit myself in my sleep and this wakes me up. I awake with a jolt numerous times and I start to believe I am losing my mind. I realize that I can't sleep, I'm exhausted, I'm sedated and it's just one big cycle that never ends.

I call the orderly. This big dude comes to my room.

Now I know I said earlier that the most humiliating thing was crying while naked in front of a nurse. But women are used to that. However, crying in front of a big, hulking dude definitely ranks up there in the high humility range. I'm trying to explain the madness cycle of not going to sleep to this guy. He seems to understand and he doesn't laugh and he doesn't walk out. No, he just says that I WILL fall asleep and he says he'll leave the door open and that he's right across the hall if I need anything. He says I can call him as many times as I want.

Phew............now that I know that even the big, hulking, nurse-dude even cares, I can finally fall asleep.

I Blew Myself up: Living with 1 layer of Skin

OK..here's the deal.

I came out of surgery with a thin layer of skin taken from my right leg (knee cap to hip...alll the way around) which was then put through a meshing machine to spread it out (like playdough through the playdough press) and then grafted (laid over and stapled) to my abdomen/chest, arms and a little bit on my shoulders.

I can't do the pain justice.

Doing ANYTHING with my leg other than lay down, the blood rushes to my the limb where there is one layer of skin gone. There's really nothing to compare this to.

I would lay in my bed until I had to go to the bathroom. The nurses would tell me to use the bed pan but I knew that longer I stayed off the leg, the longer it would take to heal (leg needs fresh blood flowing to it to help regeneration of cells). So I'd say screw them and feebly sit up in the bed. Then I'd anticipate the pain.

I let me leg slowly fall over the edge of the bed. The pain is really not bearable. It feels like my leg is a humongous pimple that is about to burst. I tear-up and slide off the bed hobbling on one leg. Why does the movie "Misery" come to mind as I limp out the door?

I moan all the way down the hall and quietly hum to myself- because if I don't hum, I'll cry. I guess I'm using my 'inside" voice to cry?

When I finally get to the bathroom, I sit down. Really, my bodily need to relieve myself is completely secondary to my need to manage the pain. It's like my body and my pain are two different things. The body goes to the bathroom while "I", the real "me", hums songs, counts numbers, swears, spits, goes a little crazy, until I can stand up again and hobble back down the hall to my room.



Back in my bed I feel the sweet relief of having my leg up. Besides that, I bask in the glory of having kicked the pain's ass. Well, Ok,at least I feel like I "beat" the pain. A guy has to have something to hold on to in situations like this. The fact that I'm alive isn't enough anymore. That was so "yesterday."

I blew myself up in 2 seconds: It's NOT FUNNY

I took quite a break from writing about the explosion for several months. Mainly, life has had other things in mind for me and I'm a fickle writer by nature. I go through periods of inspiration and periods of writing insomnia.

However, I also stopped writing for awhile because I wanted to seriously consider whether or not my story could be hurtful to others who are burn victims. Gone are the days when I could give two-shits about what I said or did in the name of brutal honesty. The question here is not whether I want to be honest (I am honest), but whether or not I'm writing for the right reasons.

There was another man who did exactly what I did. I read about him back this past Summer. Unfortunately, he had burns over 80% of his body while I was lucky enough to only burn about 15% of mine. I wonder is someone who has had their face burned off would read my story and feel angry or hurt because I can take such a cerebral view of what happened to me. Would I write the same, find the humor and surreality in it all if I had burned my hands, face or penis off? No, I imagine it would be different. But at the end of the day I only have my experience. I imagine, being who I am, I would probably continue to find those same characteristics regardless of the severity of the experience.

I started writing this Blog because NOWHERE could I find any support for burn-victims with medium burns like me. I know it must exist and I did find a few sites but no support groups, no blogs, etc.. No, I didn't burn my face off and my heart goes out to those folks with serious, serious burns. I can only say that no matter what a person's tradgedy, it ultimately becomes their strength.

Stay Tuned: Next time I tell about the one-time changing of all bandages and the staple that got stuck in my wrist.