Christmas Jews

I guess last night was a bad time to start Christmas shopping!  If finances had panned out otherwise, I would've started much earlier -- like this past July.  

Oh the crowds of people wandering aimlessly around store aisles and to top that off most of them are rude.  I wouldn't mind the rudeness so much if they threw a "Merry Christmas, now excuse the fuck out of me" at me.  I'm in the department store with Kindra and the girls, I am dripping sweat because I am dressed for being outdoors.  The crowds of people are setting off a defense mechanism in me that makes me want to ram their cart out of the way after the first "excuse me!!!!!"

I hate the phrase "happy holidays."  Sure there's two holidays crammed right next to each other but c'mon people.  Do I look Black or Jewish or Arabic??  Okay.  Maybe I throw people off when I talk ghetto, or maybe the 5 o'clock shadow has me on the terrorist watch list, or maybe it's because I usually have enough change in my pocket to give exact amounts at the register.  I don't know, but y'all know how I feel about people being politically correct and people lay the PC on thick this time of year.


I could only make it through two stores of assholes and elbows before I felt the Tourrette's starting to kick in. (I had to Google Tourette's for the spelling, I didn't want to offend any of you cocknockers)


This year Gabrielle asked for an Ipod, a Blackberry, and a laptop.  She is five.  I laughed and asked if she needed a bra too.  Kids these days.  When I was a kid we got socks, underwear, and five different sets of Legos; we were content.  But back then we weren't so excited about the gray tube socks with yellow and green stripes around the calves. 

My Christmas shopping has just begun, so today I would double the dose of anxiety meds and baby-step through the stores.

On another holiday note; a couple nights ago they had a piece on the evening news about how to correctly "tip" service people and how this year most people don't have the extra cash to leave the kind of tips they want to.  I can see tipping a waiter/waitress or someone who valet's your car or the pizza delivery guy, but tipping the Fedex or mail carrier.  (Sorry to my mail carrier friends!!)  

Tip the mail carrier, this is a new one to me.  I've offered the mailman a cold bottle of water or a cold Coke when it was blazing hot, but tipping them for Christmas?!?!  I took the advice.

I wrapped a frozen burrito in gift wrap, and on the tag came the real tip:  "Please try and drop my mail at the same time on a daily basis. Also, please keep the junk mail I am supposed get on Monday's and Wednesday's and last but not least -- watch out for the landmines in the yard."

I bought a lot of extra stamps this year with the intentions of all you mail carriers getting a raise.

The other day our puppy, a Boston Terrier, was playing with our other dog, American Bulldog, and she got so riled up that she latched on to his balls.  The Bulldog started to bleed like a stuffed pig so Kindra got a wash cloth to wipe his sack off.  He laid there on the floor, with his leg twitching, as Kindra wiped the blood away.  The more she rubbed the more the dog got excited.  She abandoned that chore when Mr. Pinky started to show himself.


I was browsing through the local drug store a while back looking for something to get rid of my foot odor.  I was really off in la la land and found myself in the "feminine hygeine" aisle.  I stopped and looked straight ahead at eye level and Eureka!!!!!!  


Summer's Eve feminine body wash.  If that can kill some funk down south, it should be like using a cannon to kill a house fly on my feet.  I took it home and scrubbed my feet with it.  Man did that shit work good.  One day Kindra was in my shower and said "what's the Summer's Eve for?!?!" in that suspecting voice.  I told her my story and erased all suspicions.  She thought it was dumb at first, I thought it was a scientific breakthrough, and when she couldn't smell the funk of my feet, she agreed it was a great idea.


Now I buy the shit in bulk at Costco.  I have no shame in going to Costco for a 12 pack of "feminine body wash".  The people in line behind me probably think the old lady has serious problems but oh well.


On work bonuses....


Back in the 90's I worked as an Ironworker for about a year or so.  I worked for a company that put up commercial metal buildings.  It's the bottom of the Ironworking trade.


98% of our jobs were outside and this particular day we were siding a building.  The siding sheets were about 60 feet in length and had to be screwed in about every 10 feet.  It was just days before Christmas and it had been blistering cold for weeks.  It was a Friday so the owner of the company decided to hand deliver our checks with our Christmas bonuses.


My coworkers told me the boss gave cash bonuses and usually a turkey or a ham.


The boss pulls up in his SUV, we all climbed down from the scaffolding and walked over to his truck.  He hops out and starts handing out the envelopes.  My coworkers and I opened our checks and each of us got a different cash bonus.  One guy got $500, another $300, another got $250 and I got $100! ! !!! !!!!!!!


I immediately started thinking "what a fucking cheap ass!"  The guy had a 40 yacht, owned his own Yacht club, his own contracting business that was booming and I got a measly 100 bucks?!?


"C'mon over here for your turkeys."  He gave all of us turkeys but when I got my bird it looked more like a Cornish hen than a turkey.  


By now I was wound up tight with the skimp check and even skimpier bird.  I stood there with check in one hand and a baby turkey in the other.  Everybody wished him a Merry Christmas.


I hastily said "Happy Hanukkah Ray!!"


"But I'm not Jewish, Mike." he said in this dumbfounded look.


"Well from the looks of this check and this turkey, you're a fuckin' Jew bastard!!!"  I slung the turkey across the frozen parking lot and went to the break trailer.


Needless to say, I got fired a week later on a Tuesday for being 5 minutes late.  The boss had my check made out already, so I was lead to believe it was planned around my Jew comment.


Merry Christmas people!


Does anyone still get Christmas bonuses?


Have your kids asked for something and you laughed?!?!


Got any other "home remedies" you want to share?






 

On Social Networking

Social networking on the internet is serious business, at least to many people it is.

I have 285 "friends" on my Facebook page and I probably know about 250 of them in real life (yes I'm that cool).  When I use to blog on Myspace I had about 700 "friends".  But were they really  friends?

Myspace had a bulletin feature and quite often people would post bulletins "Cleaning out my friends list, if we haven't talked in a while you will be deleted..." or something of that nature. 

Get a fucking life.  The odds were on space that, that person befriended me for some reason (my blogs would be an excellent guess).  It's a social networking site, key word networking.  My life will go on even if the number of friends is lighter one day than it was in previous days.

You see folks, some people get carried away and take social networking too seriously.  If you get so upset that some of your "friends" haven't poked you, took a quiz about how well they know you, or sent you fancy glitter comment, then maybe you should re-evaluate your life.  

Would you be upset if not everyone on your wireless network didn't contact you? NO!  So why would it be any different on a website?  

Since I've left Myspace for unspecified reasons I've been trying to whore my blogs out on Facebook to get people to read.  There's a big difference between the two sites:  Myspace is like a sleazy night club and Facebook is like rehab or church.  Your grandma, your Aunt Edna, or your boss is more likely to be on Facebook than on Myspace because Facebook censors a lot of us free thinkers.

But since I've left the uncensored Myspace (it's a lot harder to be censored there) I haven't changed the way I think or who I am.  I'm still the same smart ass with a warped sense of humor and what is even more humoring is when people delete my comments or wall posts.  It's means I've struck some kind of chord and that's music to my ears.

I will befriend just about anyone and I'm sure I could just about offend everyone, but I won't be deleting anyone because we've never corresponded since we became "friends".  And if you are offended that someone on your list has had no contact with you and you plan on deleting them, maybe you should cancel your internet service altogether and get some real life friends.  


It's easy to make and delete friends on the internet but have you spent so much time social networking that you've lost any social skill you had to make or delete friends in real life?  I think there may be quite a few on my list that have socially decayed. 


Remember, networking sites are in place to stay connected with people.  If your life has come down to who leaves comments and who doesn't, then all you're doing is taking up air.  I know this isn't the case with everybody but there are some out there like this and I'm certain everyone has at least on person like this on their "friends list."


So from me to you: if you feel I haven't been in contact with you enough feel free to delete me.  If I deleted everybody who didn't read my blog, I wouldn't have many friends.


Stop taking social networking so seriously, it's only the internet!


 

No Pigeons Here

It was early one cold January day like today when my phone rang.  I reach over to look and it's this chick Jennifer so I hit ignore as I had for the past couple weeks now.

It had been a week since she called and I even deleted her from my phone book, but I recognized the Cincinnati area code.

I quickly wait for the voicemail I know she'll leave, most certainly hate mail.

Finally it arrives and I call.  One new message from 513........

"I am calling to congratulate on winning the asshole of the year award.  You know I thought you were something special, an eagle.  You're nothing but a pigeon so GO SHIT ON YOURSELF!!!"

I press 9 to save the message.........

Woohoo!!!! It was only January 6th of 2001.  Such an achievement to win so early in the year!  I couldn’t wait to brag to my Boilermaker buddies that night; I knew they would be envious when I played them the message!

I had met this girl from Cincinnati through a friend we'll call John.  He said she was cool, so I agreed to meet her when she came to visit friends and family here in the 313.

I thought she was a pretty decent chick; she was a bank manager, had her own apartment, no kids and she liked to drink. 

We were kind of leading a parallel life in two different towns. 

She on one hand made great money at the bank, and liked to have fun.

Me on the other, raking in the OT as well as the cash behind it, and I was all about having fun.  

Working, Drinking, Smoking, and hanging with my boys. Fun, fun, fun!

We starting talking on the phone, which I guess kind of turned into dating.  We both worked a lot, but she agreed to come up one weekend to hang out and I told her she could stay at my apartment.

She came up, we hit the bars, and got shitfaced like a mother!  Well I was lit, but not as brightly as her.  I was a little well more seasoned but she wasn’t that far behind.  It's time to leave the bar and she's having a hard time walking and I'm not having the easiest time shuffling as we hold each other up.

We get into the car and it’s less than a mile to my apartment thankfully.  We get in the door, she says she’s gotta use the bathroom and I swan dive into the bed with coat and shoes on.

I wake up sometime right before day break and take my shoes off.  Where could this drunk be?  

She's not in the bed next to me and I've been passed out for hours.

I walk to the bathroom and open the door and there she is, curled up in a ball with her panties and nylons around her ankles, and the rug she was lying upon is soaking wet!!

I'm thinking, "HEY I just bought that Martha Stewart shit and she pissed on it".

She had obviously either passed out sitting on the toilet or fell down and passed out getting ready to use the toilet, either way I am appalled.

I tried waking her and I checked to make sure she was breathing when she didn’t wake up.

I should've severed ties then.

On another weekend she came up, my friends Steve and Sean were throwing a party at their house.  I knew better than to get too fucked up around this chick because I would be the one who had to drive. 

She's three sheets to the wind at the party and starts telling our mutual friend John's girlfriend that she (Jennifer) loves John like a brother.  She just goes off and starts blabbering some fucking fairy tale about how her parents and John's parents go way back.  John's dad lives in Atlanta and his mom in Allen Park; her parents live in Kentucky.  John's Greek woman becomes enraged by her mindless drunken fairy tale.

It's time to take this bitch home before she gets killed.

The next day I wake her up and tell her she's gotta go back to Cincinnati early.  I knew she had no recollection of her fabrication.  I was through with her; I was not into the role reversal where I was the sitter when we drank.  It's supposed to be the other way around.

There is now just 2 weeks until Christmas.  I avoid her calls all through the holidays and just when I think she has gotten the point she calls after New Years.

On the evening of January 6, 2001 I made it into work around 6:30 pm at Belle River power plant.  My buddies and I are all sitting around ready to go to work at 7 pm.

"You guys wanna hear something funny!?!?" I say with excitement as I called my voicemail.

"I am calling to ........... GO SHIT ON YOURSELF!!!"

The crew of 40 men gathered around when they heard the laughter from the guys at my table, even the foreman and the super.  I had to replay it several times in a row so everybody could hear.

It was a rather glorious and stunning achievement bestowed upon me so early in the year.  I was the envy of all my working peers!

© Mike McDonnell

The Bitch Slap

Last night me, Kindra, my daughters, and my baby cousin attended a "Trunk or Treat" that the church has every year.  

Just a little insight.  I rarely attend church.  What's my excuse?  I don't care to attend.  But I decided to go along for the Trunk or Treat.

We went inside the gym for a few to let the kids play on the bouncy things.  Said hi to a few folks then I went outside when they got ready to serve pizza.  There were hundreds of people there so I went out to talk to a friend's husband.

I went over to the friend's Scion, where he had the trunk open and was talking with his new father in-law.  I asked how they both were and asked the hubby what was new.  

"Same old same old" he replied.

He asked what I had been up to and I gave him the "same old same old" bit.  Then the father in-law put in his 2 cents.

"Yep same old stuff, just sitting around." He turns and says to his son in-law and says "that's all he does is sit around all day."

For somebody I have only met a half a dozen times sure knows how to push my fucking buttons.

"Yeah, sit around all day buddy" was the extent of my smart ass comment before I turned and walked away.  

So it's this I wonder.  What does he really know about me?  And where does he get his information.  

Seeing that I don't attend church often as Kindra he feels inclined to feel I just sit around.  Or maybe she tells her friends at church all I do is sit around.

Does he know why I sit around so much?

Because I can't work.

I don't even think he's worthy of hearing the story of why that is.  Maybe he knows somewhat of what has happened to me.  

Does he know how well I can cook?  Maybe he's mad because he's never been over to eat at my house.  

Does he know that there's a hot meal almost every night of the week, and Kindra, the kids, and I all sit down as a family to eat?

Does he know that I sit down and color with the kids.  Does he know that my kids love to make their own dinosaurs and color them?

Does he know I try to teach my kids responsibility and routine.  Each school day I make them eat breakfast, take their vitamins, and shower.  After they shower they know to brush their teeth then get dressed.  Does he know this?

Does I sit and read books with the kids while they play Barbies?

Does he know that I make sure they brush their teeth before I tuck them in at night?

He must!!!!!!!!!!!

Because I go to church so often to mingle with people who like to pass judgment on others.

Years ago a man like that might have got bitch slapped for that kind of comment.

...story of my life

Life flight to base. We have twenty five year old Caucasian male, severe burns to legs, hands, face, and lower torso. Patient's vitals are stable at the moment, but blood pressure is steadily increasing. Patient also stated he was in pain and was having difficulty breathing. EMT's confirmed that patient has suffered internal burns as well. Pain meds were administered and patient is sedated. Estimated Time of Arrival is twelve minutes.

This is what I remember from my last day at work. Was this the beginning of the end for me? I wasn't going to fold because I hadn't any trump cards left in this game of life. It was time to renege and just pray that I didn't get caught.

At one time I used to be the jack of all trades and master of none, but that was until I had become a Boilermaker, or more less a high pressure welder. So what if the job was the dirtiest I ever had. I had a job I loved and a pocket full of money. Being an apprentice and a second generation Boilermaker was all I needed to give me the grandeur visions of the sugar coated life I was trying to achieve. I was on top of the world and it finally felt like my life was on the right track after 25 years of mistakes.

Life flight to base. We are approaching the landing pad. Patient is now in critical condition and his throat has started to swell. We will need a vent in place upon arrival.

As the life flight neared the landing pad there were several nurses awaiting the arrival of the helicopter. It's not an everyday thing to air lift patients to a hospital unless they are in a serious condition. The medical staff knew this and were adequately prepared as the helicopter was about to touch down.

"Okay!! Let's get the patient to the ER! Plastic surgeons are waiting to assess the situation. We have to finish cutting off his clothing to see how bad the damage is. The vent is in place in the ER!"

Slipping in and out of consciousness I could feel the gurney rolling down the never-ending corridor to the ER. The staff around me was scurrying. The sounds of their slip-on shoes shuffled together as if orchestrated. At this point, I felt comfortably numb to the commotion around me with only thoughts of the closest of family in my head. I couldn't begin to imagine how bad they would take the news of me being injured at work.

"Hello Mike. I'm Doctor Cederna. On the count of three we are going to lift you from the gurney onto a table so that we can finish removing your clothes and get you on the way to feeling better again..."

"Okay Doc"

"Here we go!! One.., two.., three!!"

The voices! The voices of the frenzied medical staff had started to become distant. Everything started to seem as if it we being played out in slow motion. The orchestrated sound of slip-on shoes becoming faint. I was no longer in control of my movements. Was I in control of what was to become of me? What about my family?

"Let's get the patient stabilized and prepped for the I.C.U. If I had to take a guess, this patient has burned probably about fifty percent of his body. Since burns can take up to forty-eight hours to run their course and actually stop burning, there is no need to take him to the tub room to get the wounds cleaned."

"Doctor", one of the frenzied nurses said, "The patient has a wallet with no contact info, but he does have a cell phone with him."

"Good. Let's see if there is a phone number for anyone we can contact, preferably his parents. In the meantime, let's get the patient wrapped loosely in some non-stick bandages as the swelling will increase significantly. Make a call and get an anesthesiologist down here. We are going to induce the patient into a coma because of the severity of the burns. Once we have him sedated we need to get the vent in before his throat swells shut. The pain is going to be unbearable if the patient wakes up and that's not what we want."

"Yes Doctor", the nurses replied in unison.

So there I lay, wrapped from head to toe in gauze, as if it was Halloween and I was dressed as a mummy with a tube down my throat. Every now and then I would take all my strength and any willpower I had left inside me, just to make sure I was still the one in control of my life, and open an eye. I plead to God inside my mind. "Please God; I know you call the shots. I know this is your world we're living in, but if you are taking me please give me one last chance to see my family while I'm still in physical form. One last glimpse of the ones I love to take with me forever. Please God, Please." Off to sleep I went.

At this point I was in an induced coma.

Finally I had awaked to see my family by my bedside sobbing. I tried to shout and tell jokes to let them know that the Mike they knew was still here, but they couldn't hear me. Why couldn't they hear me? I could here myself perfectly fine. Why were they crying? I was going to be okay, or so I thought.

"Nurse, NURSE!!!" I shouted. I had finally been acknowledged by one of the nurses.

"What DO YOU want?"

"I'd like something to drink. Would it be too much to trouble you for a damn soda?"

"If you want a soda, get up and get it your damn self!"

All the nurses turn to look at the spectacle I had become and began to laugh and point as if we were children on the playground and I was the fool who fell of the monkey bars.

Why were these nurses acting this way? I knew this whole scenario wasn't right so off to sleep I drifted again.

"Well Mr. and Ms. McDonnell", said Doctor Cederna.

"Please call us Jim and Marlene."

"If I could please have you calm down for just a moment I will try to explain your son's condition."

"CALM DOWN?!?" sobbed my parents. "Why is he so swollen up? Why do you have a tube down his throat? Is he going to live?"

"As you know your son was in an accident at work where he was burned significantly over multiple parts of his body. What we don't know is the percentage of how much of his body is burned. These first twenty-four hours are critical in your son's survival. If he makes it through the first twenty-four his chances of survival greatly increase. If he makes it through the initial forty-eight hours, he will survive. The swelling of your son's body is normal"

"But to the size it is now? For Christ' sake he's about tripled in size..." Jim screamed.

"Chris and Chris, thank god you guys are here! This hospital staff is cuckoo. I think they're trying to kill me..Hey, guys!!"

"Why what are they doing to ya Mike?"

"Last night they let me piss all over myself then let me lay in it. They didn't clean it up until just before you guys came. They also told me to get out of the bed and get my own damn soda, and kept pointing and laughing at me. There's something really funny about this hospital staff. I don't like it here."

"You sound tired Mike; maybe you should close your eyes and get some rest."

"Okay, Jaime! Lower me down the lead and the bucket of tools then come on down."

"I'll be down in just a sec. Something's wrong with my harness. Don't go in that hole until I get down there Mike."

It was a long drop into this ancient old coal burning boiler. It probably hadn't been run in decades. Lord knows why they would want to do any kind of maintenance to this piece of junk. What were they going to use it for? Man this place was dirty. Fly ash from the spent coal was on everything it could rest on. It even made it difficult to breathe because everything you touched sent this ash airborne.

"We need a doctor in ICU room four!! The patient is pulling the vent tube out of his throat, as well as the feeding tube. Get a doctor in here! Quick!"

"Did you bring me a respirator Jaime? This damn fly ash is making it hard to breathe down here."

"Of course I did Mike!"

I strapped on the respirator so that I could breathe a little easier. Jaime and I proceeded to open

the trap door to the entrance of the room where our work was.

"I gave the patient a sedative which will calm him down. If we have to, we can put restraints on his arms to make sure he doesn't pull the vent out", said the doctor.

"I don't think that will be necessary Doctor." Replied one of the nurses.

"This young man has about fifty family members and friends in the waiting room awaiting their 

turn to see him. It seems these rages only come after seeing a family member. Are you sure we

shouldn't restrain him?" one of the nurses implied.

We had finally got this fly ash encrusted door open. I was dark inside this little room where we had to go in and weld some plates to the wall. We still couldn't figure out the purpose of our work on this ancient boiler. There was no point in fixing this piece of garbage. It didn't even have electricity to power tools or lights. All the power we had was from our portable welding machines.

"Well I guess I'll go in and get these plates welded Jaime." I said.

"Are you sure you don't want me to go in and do it? It'll only take a few minutes."

"Nah. Just have one of those apprentices up top throw down some electricity and some drop lights."

I crawled into the hole with a drop light. I had all the materials I needed for the job. The little spots on the walls where the plates were to be welded were all prepped. Just as I put my welding hood on, the resistors in this tiny room started to hum as if power was restored.

"Jaime!! What's going on out there? There's not supposed to be power to anything in here except for what we brought!!" I screamed in terror. "I don't know what's going on Mike. Somehow the boiler has been fired up!! How the hell can that be?!?"

There I was in this little room of resistors that had started to hum and glow red as the power went through them. The humming sound was like I had my ear next to a 747 jumbo jet while it was taking off. At that moment I didn't need any light. The resistors had become cherry red all around me as I started to burn.

"Excuse me, nurse." said Marlene. "What's the matter with my son? Why is his blood pressure 198/133?"

"Well Ms. McDonnell, with the extent of Mike's trauma and his overall body temperature mixed with the combinations of drugs, his blood pressure will be on the high side for a few days."

"High side!" Marlene cried.

I awoke to see my very good friends from high school Matt and Tony. I hadn't kept in touch with Matt as much as I had Tony. I knew Tony since kindergarten at St. Mary's. We used like to smoke some left handed cigarettes once in a while, but at the present time I had out grown such childish things and our friendship remained.

"Tony, Matt, you guys have to get me out of here. The staff is brutal to me."

How is that?" they replied.

"When I have visitors the staff is cordial, but when everyone's gone they treat me like a prisoner."

"We can get you outta here if you want. We can arrange it for tonight."

"Most definitely!"

"You look tired Mike get some rest and we'll be back for you later tonight."

"Okay."

Later that night the staff came in and took me from my bed and put me onto a gurney. I could hear the muffled voices of the staff saying something about the operating room. Once again I was on a long journey down a never-ending corridor with the faint beeping of the blood pressure monitor in the background. I kept thinking over and over again that it was only a matter of time before Matt and Tony would be here to rescue me from persecution. From time to time I was able to open my eyes, but the lights streaming along the corridor were blinding. It was cold, very cold. Who was I going to tell with a tube down my throat?

"Hello Mr. McDonnell. We are going to perform one of several skin grafts on you today," one of the nurses said as they moved me from the gurney to the operating table. Somehow I was able to open my eyes and keep them open. As I was lying on the operating table I was able to see everyone in the OR. To my surprise I noticed the surgeon administer himself what I guess was morphine. At that moment I tried to get up and get the hell out. Why would the surgeon be taking morphine before he was going to perform surgery on me?

"What the hell are you doing doctor? You're not operating on me while on morphine!"

"Hush up! I'm the surgeon and you're the patient. The morphine helps to relax me and gives me a steady hand during the procedure. Besides, if you don't like it you're free to leave!"

I squirmed and squirmed, but nothing. I was strapped to the operating table. All the while, the surgeon was taking his own dose of morphine, as well as his interns. The laughter grew as I tried to escape. I knew escape was inevitable so I gave in and just lay there. Had Matt and Tony just been filling my ears with what I wanted to hear, or were they really coming to save from these wacko doctors and hospital staff? All I could do was wait.

The doctors proceeded to bring these long, steel flat bars into the OR. These bars were about eighteen inches long, quarter of an inch thick, and about an inch wide. What these bars were for I hadn't a clue. That was until the rolled me over onto my stomach and strapped me back down again. The doctors proceeded to put these bars vertically over my calves. How they got them to stay in place I dare to ask.

Once the operation was over I was taken back to the ICU room I called home. I was so doped up that I could only feel the discomfort of the bars on my legs.

"How did surgery go Doctor?" Jim and Marlene asked.

"There is significant damage to his legs, mainly his calves, but overall the first surgery went well." Doctor Cederna stated.

"We had to administer more anesthetic so Mike may be asleep most of the night. Tentatively, there is another operation scheduled for tomorrow."

I awoke to the sound of a helicopter outside my window. Over a loudspeaker I could hear the voice of Tony, "Mike, we're here for you man. Break the window and we'll throw you a rope to pull you out of here!"

In the meantime, sirens in the hospital started to go off as Tony broke the window. The sirens that blared were so loud I felt as if my ears were going to bleed.

"Come on Mike, we gotta go!"

"I can't get up Tony; I got these steel bars on my legs so I can't walk."

"Okay then, I'll come in for you!"

Just as Tony said that, in flew another chopper that shot down Matt and Tony's.

All I could think was that my only way out of this hellish hospital was Matt and Tony, and now that's gone. What was I to do? There was nothing I could do I could no longer walk because of the bars on my legs. I began to think. Was I dying and this was God way of repaying me for all the sins I had once committed? Or had I already died and stuck in purgatory? I would give anything not to be in the hell I was living.

"Well good news Mr. and Ms. McDonnell!" said Dr. Cederna. "It's been seven days since your son's accident and the swelling in his throat has decreased enough to take the vent out. Now we will keep him sedated for a few more days to ensure his comfort level."

"Oh thank you doctor" they replied.

"Nurse it is really hot in this room. Could you turn down the heat a bit for me?"

"Oh poor baby can't stand the heat. Well how about I turn it all the way up for you? How would you like that? Is that all you do is complain Mike? You act like you're the only patient we have!"

Several days had passed and so had several operations. The vent was taken out of me and they began to bring me back from the coma I was in. My parents had been there religiously waiting for me to become coherent.

"Hey mom! Where the hell am I? What happened to me?

Mom and dad both came over to my bed and began to cry as they hugged and kissed me.

"What's with all the emotions?"

"If you only knew" replied my father. "If you only knew."

"What the hell are these boots on my legs? Man they hurt like hell."

"Mike, you burned about forty percent of your body at work. You were in a drug induced coma for 10 days, and they kept you sedated till now."

"Ok, so what day is it?"

"Thursday" my father replied.

"Damn I got to get up and out of here. I've been in here over a week. That means my friend Steve's wedding is Saturday. I have to pick up my tux and I have to get a haircut. I have wedding rehearsal tomorrow! Give me a hand getting up will ya?"

Both of my parents stood there laughing at me and my ambitions. They knew the seriousness of my situation, and knew I wasn't going anywhere for quite a while. For a minute I tried to get out of bed, but found I couldn't move my limbs. I had been bedridden for ten days and had lost so much muscle mass that something as easy as lifting a leg was a task. I never really knew the extent of what had happened to me until the nurses came in later that evening to do a bandage change.

Later in the evening when the nurses came to take me for my bath was when the truth finally hit home. In the tub room, as the nurses unwrapped my bandages, is when the severity of my burns had become clear. I had suffered severe burns to the legs, hands, upper body, and face. By the time I realized what had happened, I already had five skin grafts. My legs and hands were burnt the worse, but despite my condition I was still alive. Even though menial tasks were by themselves tasks, I was able to learn how to walk again. The awful pain in my legs was from these big plastic boots the doctors had put on me while lying in bed. The purpose of the boots was to protect my new skin, and to keep me from becoming pigeon-toed from being in bed for so long. I had spent a total of six weeks at the University Hospital.

Everyday things began to have a whole new meaning as I began to heal. I used to talk about everything I was going to do when I got out of the hospital, all the places I was going to go, and all the people I wanted to visit. After a couple of weeks in the hospital I was on a first name basis with most of the nursing staff. I had survived trauma and lived. Life was grand again, and the hospital menu was quite exquisite; some of the best food I had ever tasted! Colors had become more vivid, smells more unique, and the sunlight much warmer and brighter than I had ever realized. Who could say they cheated death and won? I was given a second chance at life. A life that would have more importance; more meaning than just waking up and going to work, and never really slowing down to notice the little things that make life grand.

© Mike McDonnell 2004

About my Dad...

A few weeks ago my dad was diagnosed with lung cancer and Waldenstrom's macroglobulinemia.  Waldenstrom's is a blood type cancer.  That time he had checked himself in because over the course of a couple months he had been feeling severely fatigued, and had barely energy to do anything.  Over those couple weeks he had started to look pale and physically tired.

Upon the first blood test the doctors found his blood's hemoglobin to be very low.  Normal range for a man is 14 and his was 7 when.  Immediately they began blood transfusions to bring his hemoglobin count back up.  

Dad had the whole work-up while there.  CAT scans, x-rays, blood tests every 6-8 hours.  Doctors couldn't figure out where the blood was going: he wasn't bleeding internally, or through his urine or stool, and no external bleeding such as a bloody nose.  The doctors decided to do a bone marrow biopsy.


He had spent nearly a week in the hospital before doctors could give him a diagnosis.  They had found lymph nodes swollen in various parts of his body. A scan found a small mass, about the size of your fingertip, on his left lung.  The lung cancer was not related to all the years of smoking, but the doctors deemed it to be environmental.



He went to an oncologist for a second opinion who confirmed the first diagnosis: stage 2 lung cancer and Waldenstrom's macroglobulinemia.  The oncologist explained that the mass on his lung was so small that they could surgically remove it before it spreads, and the Waldenstrom's could be treated with a drug called Rituxin.  

As bad as the news may have seemed, the prognosis was very good.  The doctors wanted to start the Rituxin treatment right away and get him in immediately to remove the spot on his lung.  The oncologist explained to my father that people with Waldenstrom's who received the treatments had an 80% chance of never having a problem with the disease for many years if at all.  

Through all of this my dad has had the best outlook and is ready to attack these problems head on.  He had his first treatment on Friday and on Saturday he looked and felt like a million bucks.


Yesterday was his lung operation.  Doctors were concerned that the lymph nodes throughout his body that were swollen may be related to the spot on his lung.  My dad's hemoglobin count had dipped back down and the doctors decided not to biopsy a lymph node in his chest area but they proceeded with the lung operation.  Their concern was that they couldn't control the bleeding in his chest if they had removed a lymph node, but the bleeding in the lungs could be controlled.


Last night I went up to see my dad in intensive care and it was hard to fight back tears.  I could see he was in a lot of pain.  At that moment I knew how he must have felt when I was in the intensive care unit and it was him looking down at me.  They got my dad set up with a machine to administer his pain meds at the push of a button: he was doing a lot of button mashing while I was there.  The nurse showed me his back where the incision was and the bandage was pretty large.  The surgeon had told my mom that he was only going to make a cut large enough to get his hand in -- ouch!



The oncologist came in to check on him last night while I was there and said that he should be able to get up and out of bed today.  But that seems like wishful thinking on the doctor's part.  The doctor also said that test results show that the Rituxin is already working.


The doctor's said that he should be in the hospital approximately 7-10 days.  After he gets out he'll have about a 3 month recovery over which time he will resume the Rituxin treatments. 


Getting past these first few days of post-op will be painful and we're keeping our fingers crossed that the swollen lymph nodes are not related to the spot on his lung.  If they are related that means he'll have to do chemotherapy.

I really hate the word "chemo."  It seems to be a killer more than a treatment.




What really irks me is that my dad just retired 5 years ago from the Boilermaker's trade after 25 years of service.  The whole point of retiring from work is to enjoy the money you've made over the years, and not have to deal with serious health issues.  But what really chaps my ass is that I still have a lawsuit pending from an accident I had as a Boilermaker.  I want him to relish in victory with me when my lawsuit is over.  


My dad took it pretty hard when I got hurt at work because he had put in all those years without a serious injury and I had been in the trade 2 years and nearly got killed.  I know how he felt as he sat at my bedside now.  I'd do anything to take his pain away.


Overall he's a tough old bird and his attitude towards getting better is awesome.  He still remains positive throughout this whole bump in life's road, and that's what I admire most about him. 

Funny Money

Funny I got this phone call yesterday from a fan but not the kind you think. Usually when I get phone calls from 800 or 888 numbers I don’t answer them and let the voicemail take over. But yesterday, I couldn’t let this particular voicemail go unnoticed.

This collection agency has been calling me for the past couple months. You'd think that after the first dozen failed attempts of trying to recover the $79.80 they'd stop. No, they just had somebody else try calling.

What happened was when my cell phone carrier merged with another wireless carrier; somewhere in the switch to the new billing system $79.80 somehow got scraped off the old carrier’s bill and went into collections. Now I really don’t think it is my fault that they didn’t just leave the $79.80 on my bill which would’ve got paid but instead it went over to collections.

When I got this voicemail that was in a threatening tone of voice, I had to call back to mess with the hothead who left it. I dialed the 800 number, gave them the reference number for my bill, and they connected me with the mad voicemailer.

He answers and demands me to tell him when I am going to pay the $79.80. I asked him to run through his spiel about "this is an attempt to collect a debt...this is being recorded...” If the mad voicemailer who makes a little more than minimum wage is going to be a hothead over 80 bucks, I want it recorded.

"It's $80 dollars. Do you really have to leave me a threatening voicemail everyday?" I asked.

"You have owed us this debt since January 2008 and when did you plan on taking care of it?" the collector said in a snooty voice.

"Well maybe if you stopped harassing me over 80 bucks I'd just send it off in one of the payment envelopes I receive on a weekly basis, but you keep harassing me. You leave long, demanding messages and I call back and we argue over the debt which I don’t quite understand. And our little arguments cost me airtime that could be better spent on something like this very debt. It's not my fault the merging of two cell companies left me in collection status."

Now I am starting to get underneath the collector's skin.

"It's $79.80 and how did you plan to take care of this today?"

"I don’t. How much do you make an hour?"

"That's none of your business sir. Now how are we going to resolve this matter?"

"We're not going to resolve anything today. So let's see, I'd say you make $10 an hour. You've been calling me for months over $80 and I'm sure that your company has spent at least 8 hours trying to recover this debt. That's $80 right there. If you hound me this much for this measly amount of money, I'd hate to see what a real ass you can be to somebody who owes hundreds or thousands."

I ended the call while I was ahead. I mean really, is it worth harassing somebody over $80? I went and dug up one of the envelopes they had sent me that had a return envelope. I took $80 out of my Monopoly game and stuffed it in the return envelope with the bill.

I could pay it but that would mean sacrificing something like a bag of groceries or diapers to pay this bill so I sent them some funny money. On the bill I wrote “credit my cell phone account the 20 cents.”

© Mike McDonnell 2008

The House Bitch Extraordinaire

I ran across this video on Yahoo today about 'men doing more house work.'

I found it pretty funny because when a man does more housework than a woman, he's known as the 'house bitch'.

Since I don’t work and my old lady does, guess who gets stuck having to cook, clean, and then have sex at the end of the night?

None other than yours truly! The first couple years of it suck a donkey dick, but I've grown accustomed to it....being Mr. Mom.

Mom and the kids leave in the mornings by 9 am to start their days at work and school.  Of course a house bitch is up before the sun; if not you’re getting six lashes from the tongue of a mad woman.

Up in the morning usually before 6 am to make my pot of rocket fuel.  I would have an anxiety attack if for some reason I didn’t have coffee that morning or knew I would have to get dressed and run to Tim Horton's.  It's hard for someone with OCD to break routine ya know?

I have till 7-7:30 am then its time to wake everyone in the house, even the lazy bulldog, but momma bear.  Not until the heathens are dressed and I've got breakfast crammed down their throats that the momma bear comes out of hibernation.  A big stretch up a morning yawn before I am summoned for the first kiss: a good house bitch gets these kinds of perks!

Once mom and the kiddies are all off it's time for Mr. Mom's breakfast of champions.  A left hand lucky followed by a Mt. Dew is all the motivation one needs to get into laundry mode.  The shit is never ending in a household of five.

I may get a spare moment here and there to plug in the guitar and rock for a few.  That is if I don’t have an appointment somewhere or a mile long grocery list to knock out.  For a man that doesn’t work, I am the busiest mutha on the planet.

All this in an effort to get laid.  It's not like I have a BIG bonus check coming from work or some dividends rolling in on a quarterly basis that I can buy diamonds and shit with.  Nope.  I have to earn my keep.

So before the family starts pouring in like hungry wolves from a long day at work or school, this obedient house bitch will be serving dinner with a smile.  Remember....friendly service means good tip!  My tip will be dinner at the Y.

After a long hard day and the kiddies are tucked away all comfy and cozy and you can hear the dog's snoring resonate through the hardwood floors: it is only then that the obedient house bitch gets some loving from momma bear.

It’s not as bad as it sounds.  The laundry is folded and the wood floors have been cleaned with Murphy's oil soap and I get to hone my OCD skills.  I've even learned to be a gourmet kid's chef.

In my slack time, I get to fuck around on myspace, blognag, and play a tune or two on the guitar.  I even learned the soulja boy dance. Cook, clean, dance and fuck.  I even know how to brew my own beer and wine.  What more could a woman ask for?  Diamonds?  

You don’t need diamonds if you've got a good house bitch!

© Mike McDonnell 2007

The Pink Cap

The other evening I was painting in the basement and had on an old hat from work.  The type of hat is a Landry cap that protects a welder's head from sparks.  The two girls found the hat to be cool.  I both of them try it on.  They thought they were cool.   


I got to thinking as they tried the hat on.  

Hey Gabby, Olivia: I have a pink work hat just like that one. I'll have to find it.


They get all giddy whenever their dad wears pink.  They love my pink shirts, so they were pretty engrossed in dad's pink work hat.


As they finished their dinners I went and found the pink Landry cap I had tucked away in the bottom of my clothes closet.  I had to make sure to shake the spiders out before I showed it to them.


Here's the deal girls: the first one to get done putting away all their toys gets to wear the hat first. 

Gabby and Olivia had mad a monstrous mess with their toys in the basement and they worked together to put everything away.  They both wanted to wear the pink welding cap first!!!


They cleaned everything nicely but Olivia got done first, which was a very first for her, so she got to wear the pink cap.  I told Olivia she had to share the cap with Gabby, take turns.  Olivia got to be cool like daddy for a little while and then she let Gabby wear it so that Gabby could clean her room and be cool while she did it.


The hat worked like magic.  As Gabby cleaned her room, I helped Olivia with hers. 


Rooms clean + beds made + pajamas + toothbrush = bedtime at 8pm.  

Boy did I ever trick them with this silly hat.  We'll see how much momentum with chores we can maintain with the cap............





Yes I did catch some hell for wearing a pink hat while at work.  All good fun though.  But my girls find my work hat highly amusing.  Went from getting teased at work to now getting teased by a 4 and 5 year old set of girls.

The No Collar Worker

I told you how my morning started but if you weren't quick you missed out on that slice of life. 

I had to take Kindra to the doctor for a case of butt hurt this morning. I posted the sentence "off to the doctor to check on my butt hurt" on my Facefuck page. I get back home and notice I have a new message from the pastor of the church I semi-belong to; apparently my mom is the only one not networking. Mike, You're sick. I guess that's why we get along so well.  

Since he's not a friend via Facebook he's only privy to selected information. Religious views: The Antichrist By golly I've never been struck by lightning but I can guarantee he's going to pull me aside to ask questions.  

Wrong answer = lightning bolt 

So a long time friend is going to get a job with Kindra in the real estate business. From I.T. to selling homes. He goes to interview with Kindra's boss earlier today. Well he's totally opposite of Mike.... 

Okay. What's that supposed to mean? 

He's a white collar worker and I'm a no collar worker. If it requires a shirt with more than two buttons....fuck that shit.

I'm slaving over a hot stove while I drill my old lady on the differences between my friend and I, according to her boss.
 
-You're just not the professional type. *Well what type am I? 

-You're more like a trucker or sailor. 

*Because I use the "F" word in almost every sentence? 

I may not have a regular job per say but somebody has to keep things real.