Those who know me also know about my two close encounters with death during the past nineteen months. The first time happened during the last week of October, 2009. The blood was flowing down into my legs and feet okay, but not flowing back up, unless I was lying down. The skin on my legs was bone dry because I didn't use moisturising cream on them and this has caused opened sores to develop where where my shoes and pants rubbed against the skin. What I didn't know was that my blood was also infected and that I was slowly dying.
At that particular time I was getting up in the morning at four o'clock to walk my roommate's dog, Betty, (the weather was right, it was quiet, and there were no other dogs around at that time of the morning), then come back in and get ready for my day job. I also spent at least ninety minutes each morning before catching the bus, working on my fiction and screenplays. I would then ride the bus into work, getting there early so I could do a little more writing in the lunch room before my shift started. I would get home about 6:15 in the evening and sometimes walk with my roommate when she took out Betty (I wrote my horror novella, The Encounter, over an experience Betty and I had one night), or maybe just head on up to my room to write for three or four hours before hitting the sack and getting a few hours of sleep. The weekends were generally spent walking Betty, cleaning house, and writing as much as I could.
I finally ended up in the hospital with blood poisoning that October and nearly died the first night in. While my roommate and I were in the Emergency Room, she said that I kept talking to my older sister, Annette, who had already passed away several years before. I don't remember that very well other than a sense that my sister wanted me to know she was there watching over me. I was in the main hospital for two weeks (all I basically remember of that experience is being transported to the second hospital even though people came to see me) and then in a rehabilitation hospital for another two.
I arrived back home after a month, barely able to walk and with a load of medical bills that would choke a horse to death (no pun intended). I ended up having to sell my book and DVD collection to help me survive the time away from work. I didn't finally get my short-term disability till I was actually back at work five weeks later. So much for that.
Well, Betty was at the back sliding glass door to meet me when I got home that night. It was the evening before Thanksgiving. I remember that much at least. Betty's tail wouldn't stop wagging at seeing me. She was so happy. That's the thing about dogs. They're always happy to see you. I guess Betty had thought I died. Anyway, I was back to work five weeks later even though I wasn't ready for it. I simply couldn't afford to lose my job, plus I had a lot of new bills to pay.
What I focused on during that time and during the next eight months was in writing my ass off. I worked on my stories each day like it was my last, hoping to get enough quality (I know that's questionable to some) material out there and to leave some kind of legacy behind if I croaked. I also wanted to be to make a living from what I loved doing because the stess of my day job was killing me. I was sick again in March for two weeks and in June for one. I ended up back in the hospital for a week during the middle of August. My supervisor had to call an ambulance for me because I was about to pass out at work. My legs had swollen and the open sores were seaping through my pants even though I had bandages around them.
Once again I almost died that first night in the hospital. The blood poisoning had done a real number on me, plus I accidentally pulled out an IV when trying to reach the bathroom in time. Talk about blood pouring out all over everywhere. In less than a minutes it was all over the floor, one of the walls, and the door. I didn't care at that point. I was exhausted and ready to pass over into the light, or to kick the bucket, or just plain die. What I remember is sitting on the end of the bed, staring down at the blood on floor, becoming at peace with myself. Luckily, a nurse walked by my opened door and discovered my plight before I bled out. Talk about an angel. I was more worried about the mess in the room than she was. All she cared about was keeping me alive. I kept apologizing to the janitor who had to clean up the mess. They eventually moved me to a room in the quarantined section of the hospital. What I remembered about that week is nobody came see me. I guess it didnt' make much difference in the end. Since I'd been a loner for most of my life, I didn't allow it bother me.
I was out of the hospital within a week though I wasn't necessarily better. My doctor had gotten control of the blood infection, but the problem with my legs didn't go away, even with countless ex-rays, etc. The truth was my doctor didn't know anything about what was happening to my legs. I remember one doctor coming into the room, lifting up the bottom of my sheets, looking at my legs, whistling, and then leaving. I got charged $375.00 for that two minute visit. Also, my insurance had run out by that time and there was no way I could afford to stay in the hospital any longer. Just that one week alone had cost $73,000.00.
So, I got out of the hospital and went on extended medical leave. I had no insurance, but there was short-term disability. Fortunately, this kicked into effect four weeks later. I was out this time for three months. I learned a lot of new things to do with my legs, which helped their condition. I also wrote like a speed demon. I felt as though time was running out for me. I sent stories and movie scripts out to e-zines, publishers, directors, and even actors. I hoped something would stick to the wall. Of course, nothing did. I then went back to work during the middle of November in 2010.
I kept writing like there was no tomorrow up until the end of February of 2011. That was when I moved to a new place to live, which is only a block away from work. The apartment is small, but furnished with utilities included. I still need to get a large bookcase, a writing desk, and a chair for it. My writing has slowed down tremendously. The first month I was here I didn't have a computer to write my stories on. I had to get my old computer and have it upgraded. I also tripped and fell down on the sidewalk and in the bathtub, which didn't help my body one bit. Each time I fell (I always made sure to turn my face at the last moment so I wouldn't bust out my teeth or break my nose) it's taken close to three weeks to recover. No doctors or hospitals or new medical bills. My legs have been doing better even though I have to watch them closely and make sure I get to bed by seven o'clock each evening so the blood will flow back up to my heart and the swelling will go down.
What writing I do is generally done in the mornings before I go to work, or on the weekends. I've rewritten several of my short stories. I've polished up my screenplay of The Tunnels, adding a few new scenes and getting the length of it to around ninety-five pages. I've worked on my short novel, Dolan, but still have a lot more to do before it's finished. Right now, I'm rewriting my screenplay of The Encounter. I've already shortened some scenes and added at least ten new ones to make the whole film move faster and to make one particular role in it larger. While I've been doing this, I've also been keeping my blog up, trying to write something new every weekend.
Now, as you're probably wondering, what in the hell does this have to do with the movie, Seabiscuit? If you've managed to last to this point, I sincerely thank you because I know it's been boring. Everbody has their problems, some worse than others. You either deal with them or you don't. What has kept me going for the last year-and-a-half is having a good friend in New Hamsphire to be there for me, an ex-roommate who helped me as much as she could under the circumstances while being under a lot of pressure from her own dire situation (I mean she offered me a place to live after I'd been laid off from my previous job and was about to lose my apartment, so that's a debt that can never be repaid), and the inspiration of several movies. Yes, the wonderful inspiration I got from several films.
Movies have played a big part in my life just like books. When I was in the rehabilitation hospital in 2009, I watched The Shawshank Redemption, The Green Mile, and Rudy on my portable DVD player. I didn't just watch them once, I watched them several times. They gave me hope and the belief that I could still succeed no matter how bad everything seemed at the moment. The line from Shawshank ("Hope is a good thing, perhaps the best of things, and no good thing ever dies") became my mantra. In fact, the inspiration from movies have kept me going for the last nineteen months. I remember a line from Rocky Balboa when Rocky tells his son, "It's not about how hard you can hit, but about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward." That line was in respect to how hard life can hit you when you least expect it. It seems to me that when things can get bad and I'm about to reach the point of no return, I pick up a movies that helps me through the process in a positive way. Seabiscuit did that for me this passed week. A lot of things happened, and I thought I was going to end up in the hospital through no fault of my own. Seabiscuit showed me that no matter how bad life can get, or how miserable it may seem to you at the time, there's still the possibility of good things coming, if you don't give up. In other words there's the opportunity of being given a second chance at life.
For those who don't know, Seabiscuit is the true story of a racehorse in America during the last thirties. Everybody involved with Seabiscuit, from the owner (Charles Howard) to the trainer and to the jockey (Red Pollard) were on their last legs with nowhere to turn. Life had beaten them down through tragedy and unforseen circumstances. Then, along came this small horse who was as bad of shape as they were. The four of them found a reason to continue and together they make a miracle happen. No one thought Seabiscuit could be turned into a actual racehorse. Forget about winning. These four beings were given a second chance at life and came out swinging. I'm not ashamed to say I cried during the movie. If they could be given a second chance at living life to the fullest, maybe there was still hope for me.
Seabiscuit is definitely a "feel good" movie, and the acting in it by Jeff Bridges, Toby Maguire, and Chris Cooper is sheer Oscar-caliber work. If you are on your last leg and ready to give up on life, I urge you to watch this movie (remembering that it's a true story) and maybe...just maybe that second chance at life will come around for you. Because you know, hope is a good thing, perhaps the best of things, and no good thing ever dies.
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