Disclaimer:  There may be some legitimate psi talent out there.  That isn’t the point of the article which readers will soon see.

Last night I was enjoying myself at the Jerry Cantrell concert.  At one point the stage lit up with a number of different lighting effects including some that were directed out into the audience for short bursts.  I couldn’t help feeling a bit of smug irony.  There I was enjoying an IPA and listening to heavy metal music with quite the light show.  According to a number of doctors’ prognostications back in 1979 this would never be possible.

To begin we need to go back…to August 1979.

I had emergency brain surgery to stop a brain bleed.  Before they could deal with it, blood leaking from the artery smothered several cells leaving me blind, paralyzed on the left side, and in a coma.  

I also died 3 times.

Prognostication One:  “I’m sorry it was too late.  If she makes it through the night she will be a vegetable for the rest of her life.  She will never be off a respirator.  She will never walk again, talk again, and she will never know you.  She will have to be institutionalized.”

Told to my family immediately after the surgery.

Reality: I was taken off the respirator a few days later and knew my parents immediately upon waking shortly after that.  I also spoke – asking for a cherry popsicle.  In point of fact I recognized and conversed with everyone who visited me in ICU and later in the Pediatrics Ward.

Prognostication Two:  A nurse handed my mother a pillowcase filled with hair they’d shaved for the emergency surgery.  It was splattered in blood.  She said, “For the funeral home.”  I was in an ICU bed – alive.  Obviously she decided that wouldn’t remain true.

Done immediately after I was moved from recovery to ICU.

Reality: I’m still here.

Prognostication Three:  “She should probably be able to have children but she will have to have a C-section and she will have a difficult time and need to be monitored continuously.”

Spoken to one of my relatives within my hearing distance two weeks after the surgery.  Like I wasn’t there to hear it?  Ghouls.

Reality: I had no trouble and no C-section and no monitoring outside the norm.

Prognostication Four:  “She will never be able to drive and the best she might manage is a menial job paying minimum wage.  She will not regain the use of her left side beyond what she has now.”

Two months after the surgery?

Reality: I got my driver’s license when I was 16.  I began working at 13 – on computer punch cards used to bill members at Oakland Hills Country Club.  I also helped with payroll.  My manager said based on how well I was doing I should go into IT, which I ended up doing.  It was a fun way to direct all that math and science I was studying. I also do lots of hiking, biking, weight lifting, and other physical activity with no problems.

Prognostication Five:  “She will never have a normal life.  She can never drink alcohol or go to any concerts or anywhere loud music is playing or where there is any type of lightshow.”

Again – spoken in my presence but not TO ME – two months after the surgery.

Reality: Now you can see why I felt so smug at the concert last night.

It was very difficult to overhear all those dire prognostications, worse to have to hear certain family members salivate over them.

Other family members told me my life was mine to make and supported my efforts for a full recovery.

When I overheard the part about no driving, no dancing, no concerts, no anything close to a normal life?  I was 11 years and 1 month.  I cried.  I sat in the car in the parking lot – while my mom returned the wheel chair – and cried.

I was truly devastated.

By the time I was 13 I was just pissed.  Who the hell were these people telling me my life?

I was also sick of all the ghouls playing sofa psychiatrist and quoting the latest Good Housekeeping article or whatever they saw on whatever talk show about some aspect of something that in no way resembled my situation anywhere other than their minds.

I didn’t set out to prove them wrong.  That isn’t how I ended up where I did.  I just knew from the beginning I was going to have a normal life.

I remember looking out the window at the hospital – I’d just gotten my sight back though I could only see in black and white at that point – and telling my dad who was holding me up to see out – “I am going to have a normal life again.  I’m going to walk again, ride a bike again, and enjoy the sun on my face.”

I believe readers will understand why this is filed in the Cesspit.

What a load of shiite they shoveled!

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