It’s my re-birthday today. It’ll be yesterday by the time this is posted–or maybe not. I may just post it immediately after I finish. Or not at all. It’s my re-birthday, and I’ll not post if I want to. Or don’t. Whichever.
I am so graceful to still be alive. It’s trite, but true that the specter of death can make you appreciate what you have. I will admit that a year later, I am not as conscious every minute about these being my bonus days as I was in the months following my getting out of the hospital.
I would actually say this is one of the best things that ever happened to me. I can say that with the full knowledge of hindsight. I would not have said that when I woke up or the first week after I was unconscious, I was bewildered, confused, and ready to fight whomever needed fighting. I wasn’t sure who needed fighting, but I knew someone did.
I remember that I was not one second and the next second, I was. I sat up with a start and had no idea what the hell was happening. The doctors had to explain it to me, and it took a hot second for me to understand what was actually going on.
Here’s the thing. I’ve been so incredibly lucky. I should be dead. I was dead. Twice I died. Then I woke up. I was told that it would be months if not years to get me back to normal, if that ever happened. I recently watched a video of a doctor explaining the side effects of a stroke. He was saying you had to forget normal and celebrate each step you make. It was very much, “Life as you know it is over and you better resign yourself to tough times for the rest of your life.”
I was saying that my medical crisis was one of the best things to happen to me. I can say that, though, because I know how it turned out. I am fine now. I’m better than fine. I’m better than I was before. I can’t tell you how much more so. My lifelong body issues–gone. My depression–almost all gone. My anxiety–mostly gone. My self-esteem–through the roof. You can’t tell me shit, and it’s brilliant. It’s not something that I can advise for anyone, though, because I can’t guarantee that the outcome will be the same.
I was supposed to die. I keep saying that, but it’s a driving thought of my life. I mean, it’s always in the back of my mind, just reminding me that I should not be here. You would think that would be a bad thing or make me feel bad, but it’s fucking amazing. It’s so breathtaking, it can make me almost cry.
I call every day a bonus day, and I say it without irony. I’m grateful every time I think about it. I have had 365 extra days. What is there not to appreciate about that? I love my friends and my brother, and I especially love my cat. I love that I can go on Twitter and chat with people, and I have a community on the RKG Discord. As to the last, I dipped a toe in the water the first few days it was up and running, but I quickly got overwhelmed.
I went back a month or so ago, right before Krupa’s Dark Souls III platinum run part….5? I just poked my head in, but I was using my old alias, so no one really noticed me. Once I changed it back to my real name, then, everyone was ready and welcoming. One guy said he had expected me there when he had joined, and there were several who were so happy to see me.
I wrote a post today about my re-birthday, and I got some really warm responses. It felt great, and I am happy to mark my re-birthday in this way. Just acknowledging that this day was so important to me is huge. I consider it’s my birthday, honestly. I don’t care about my real birthday–I never have.
When I was a kid, I hated it. I loathed it for many reasons. Every year, I would think about all the things I hadn’t done that year, and it would just make me unhappy and depressed. In my twenties, I started obfuscating my birthday. For Facebook, you had to include your birthday which you had to have public. I was not happy with this. So I put a fake birthday on my profile. January 16th or something like that.
It was hilarious. January 16th would roll around and I would get a wall of happy birthdays. I would think, “Why the hell do I have so many birthday–oh right.” And I would find it incredibly funny. Fortunately, Facebook rescinded that requirement. I might have kept the same birthday, though. I don’t remember.
Then, in my forties, I moved to “I don’t care” about my birthday. I wasn’t celebrating it, but I also wasn’t mad about it, either. It was what it was, and I just left it at that. Now, I don’t care about my actual birthday, but I’m all about my re-birthday. September 3rd, 2021. The day I died, twice, and was brought back to life, twice. Once with CPR and defib. Once with both of those and an EpiPen jab. Plus that pesky ischemic stroke. That happened as well.
I was unconscious for a week and then woke up with a new attitude. After I got over my shock and anger, I was ready to face my new life with equilibrium. I was ready to kick some ass, yo. Again, I knew someone needed fighting, though I didn’t know whom.
I don’t think I could have made it through the darkness if I didn’t have the impulse to smack someone in the face. I woke up ready to fight and I’m still here with my fists cocked. Not really. I don’t need to fight anyone right now because I’m right as rain. I am about to eat a ton of Thai food in celebration of my first re-birthday. That is a very good day for me.