How to Make a Blomelet: Do Not Add Water

This entry is the first egg in a blog omelet, a “blomelet” if you will. A common phrase in our tempestuous and whimsical (tempestical? Hmmm, not sure about that one) is “you can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs.” One typically says this when he/she has to do something unpleasant to achieve some favorable result. In the case of the egg, the egg is broken – this is bad because there’s no going back, that egg is going to get cooked or will need to be thrown out. There’s also a chance for foodborne illness, a sad hen mourning the loss of another unfertilized embryo, and so on. The upshot to all this heartbreak is the savory omelet that will result.

That said, let me be the coiner of a new phrase – “you can’t make a blomelet without writing some suckass posts.”

That said, what you are reading is not the “blomelet”, but rather a suckass post that will serve as a sacrifice to the savory “blomelet”.

That said, I’ll be upfront – I’m out of practice, so this post will suck major ass, I need to shake the dust off. Again I say, you can’t make a blomelet without writing some suckass posts. How many suckass posts does it take to make a blomelet? Beats me.

That said, I will start this suckass post in earnest. Let me start by apologizing for this post and the dearth and sporadic publication of the last few entries. Moreover, I apologize for the lack of topical continuity. Part of the problem was all the squirrels and shiny things that distracted me from the purpose of this blog – to chronicle my “injourney”. To put that into perspective, my last entry was titled “Follower Analysis…and Some Hotdogs” and before that “The New Ramtha: a Short Story by JL Wilson – Read and Vote Please“. The former had to do with gaining my 100th follower, the latter was a short story I entered into a short story contest. Consistent I amn’t (why not? It works and you know it does). There was a time, in the long, long ago that I updated this blog weekly, I want to do AT LEAST that.

That said, this is my pledge to me that, henceforth, I will regularly contribute to this blog and the content will be topically relevant.
That said, I think it’s time for some fun facts, new and old, about Jarrett –

1. That said, here is the first fact – my injourney started about nine years ago when a number of factors, not least of which was a congenital malformation in my brainstem, caused a brain hemorrhage, festooning the Pons portion of my brainstem with blood.

a. That said, here’s a supporting fact for the first fact – much the same as water is toxic to the wicked witch, so blood is to neurons.

b. That said, here is a fact that further explains the first supporting fact of the first fact – how did the witch go so long without touching water? Did she bathe in her own spit or something? Yuck!

c. That said, I digress.

2. That said, here is the second fact – the episode described above with the blood, neurons and malignant female wizards caused a number of issues and disabilities that are still with me today.

3. That said, here is the third fact – I opted to have surgery to remove the cause of the hemorrhage to prevent future eruptions.

4. That said, here is the fourth fact – these two occurrences (the hemorrhage and surgery) have set me upon a lifelong “brain injourney”.

a. That said, here’s a supporting fact for the fourth fact – “brain injourney” is a clever portmanteau of “brain injury” and “journey”.

5. That said, here is the fifth fact – this blog is gluten-free. Eggs don’t contain gluten and neither do suckass blog posts.

a. That said, here is a supporting fact for the fifth fact – seriously, food manufacturers, the “gluten-free” labeling is getting ridiculous. I’ve seen it proudly stamped on a few products that are leagues away from gluten – I can’t remember any right now, but I’ll get back to you. It’s on the order of a peanut butter advertising that it’s “alcohol-free”.

b. That said, here is a fact that further explains the first supporting fact of the fifth fact – Gluten is a protein found in wheat, rye, barley and other grains. Gluten is composed of two proteins, Gliadin, and glutenin. In the presence of water, this rascally duo conspires to form gluten. Gluten is what makes dough “doughy” and elastic. Some unfortunate souls cannot digest gluten properly, causing it to get stuck at various points along the gastrointestinal tract and bio-terrorize from the inside out (excessive gas, upset stomach, diarrhea, etc.).

c. That said, this is the last fact related to gluten, I’ll revisit this at a later date, it is a topic far too big for a few facts.

d. That said, here is a fact that further explains the second supporting fact for the fifth fact and connects it to the first supporting fact of the first fact and thus brings us full circle – water is a menace. It’s out there creating proteins that are indigestible, and cause some to experience gastrointestinal horrors just shy of an alien popping out of the belly. On top of that, it’s mercilessly killing the “wicked” witches (how wicked can one truly be when surrounded by cute little monkeys?) And if M. Night Shyamalamadingdong is to be believed, it’s lethal for space invaders as well.

The Wicked Egg of the Wheat Protein
“How about a little gluten, Scarecrow?”

e. That said, here is a summary of water’s transgressions –

i. It’s potentially harmful to humans
ii. It’s no friend to supernatural beings
iii. It’s a fine howdy-doo to our visitors from the stars. Think of it like having guests from another country and serving them acid to drink

That said, I will wrap this up – Indeed, this entry sucks major ass, and I both love and hate it. Here’s to a scrumptious, gluten-free blomelet! I welcome your comments, they are the little flakes of cheese that will add much-needed flavor to this culinary literature (liculinature?)

That said, the phrase “that said” occurs 23 times in this post (including the previous two)

That said (24), FIN

That said (25), @JarrettLWilson

Dialectical Menialisms #II: Before and After

We often reckon time in terms of before and/or after some remarkable event. Notable examples include B.C. and A.D., the civil rights act of 1964, the dismantling of the Berlin Wall in 1989; and 9/11 of course.

For me, my Being Until Transformative Trauma, or “BUTT”, includes everything from Thanksgiving Day 1980 (birth day) to around May 23rd, 2009.

Twas on or about that day that a lesion in my brainstem began to leak blood like so much pee-pee from a baby’s untrained bladder.

Life with the Awareness Subsequent a Stroke, or “ASS”, began, as I reckon it, on September 3rd, 2009. I’ve started calling September 3rd my “rebirthday”. This is not to say I strode from the hospital after surgery like so much John Travolta a la Saturday Night Fever. Surgery on the brain bestows no alleviation of symptoms, rather it visits more trauma upon the already sensitive cogitation apparatus. The significance of this event was not the surgery itself, but rather the decision to have surgery.

Now that I think on it, ASS could also be Awareness Subsequent Surgery. Either way, my BUTT had no idea of the impending ASSery.

Reciprocally, any account I…uh…recount, about my BUTT is anecdotal. That is, my ASS tends to glorify my BUTT because I’ve had my ASS for a long time. Therefore, the time of my BUTT has been elevated to the level of golden age, when it may not have been so great. That’s the thing, I try to get my ASS in gear, but my BUTT always gets in the way. In a manner of speaking, my BUTT is a pain in my ASS.

I tell you what though, I recently read Laura Bruno’s BLOG, whose compelling argument for the improvement of life after a catastrophic illness has…uh… compelled me to believe that myself. That is, my BUTT believed that I’d continue on much like I had been. Think about that, Internet; my ASS, your ASS, his ASS, her ASS doesn’t have to be the same or worse than the BUTT. This may seem obvious to you, but this has been a revelation to my ASS.

By comparison, I was a lazy BUTT, but my crazy ASS never rests. I think my BUTT would’ve been fine cruising through life as a spectator, but I’ve a joy joy feeling of significance taking shape in my ASS (relax, I’m not about to take a dump).

I speak, again, of a singularity (mentioned, briefly in the last paragraph HERE. Methinks I’ll be using this term often, so allow me to offer a more complete explanation. Quite simply, a singularity, as I employ the term, is when seemingly unrelated objects and/or events come together in such a way that providence seems not only possible, but probable.

The beauty of a singularity is that it both transcends and affirms one’s faith. Christians may give all credit to God, Muslims to Allah, Jedi to the Force, Donald Trump to money and nonsense (or I guess that would be Money and Nonsense (Monsense?) when they’re deified); but the way I see it, a singularity is simply a sign that there are powerful forces all around us.

For example, the (initial) topic of this post is before and after or b & a. These two letters, over the course of the yarn I’ve here spun, have taken on new meaning. In case you haven’t figured it out, I’m talking about BUTT and ASS. Does this mean the powerful forces have conspired for me to tell you all about my BUTT and ASS? That question is irrelevant. I believe it to be true and as WI Thomas said, “If men define situations as real, they are real in their consequences”. At this moment that means that I believe powerful forces are aligning behind me, so from my point of view, it’s true. If it’s true, it must also be true that you, dear reader, were meant to read and comment and get off your BUTT, get your ASS in gear (I realize that some of you don’t have an ASS or a BUTT as I use them here, but you know what I mean), and experience the turning of the gears of life.

OK, I’ve put my ASS into this entry. Better quit while I’m ahead.
FIN
@JarrettLWilson

It’s Good to be Alive

Wonderful MeHappEaster, interwebs! Or happy Easter if you’re not into the whole brevity thing. I come to you today because my heart has been stirred. I frequently listen to NPR via the NPR One app. A featured story today was that of widowed parents of young children. Rather, the widows did the talking, but the subject was more centered on how the children will turn out and how to best remember the child’s father (listen to it HERE).

This topic really resonates with me. You see, I nearly died (more details HERE). I’m not fond of saying that. It’s too dramatic and it smacks of hyperbole.

Still, I suppose I’ve come closer to meeting the reaper than most. At the time, I had a two year old daughter at home. By the expert skill of Dr. Jonathan White and the loving support of my now ex wife Jessica and my parents, I persist in respirating, masticating, cogitating, pontificating, etceterating, and most importantly, continue participating in the upbringating of my daughter(ating…).

It is altogether fitting and proper (thank you, Mr. Lincoln) that I would choose this day to blog on this topic. On more than one occasion (such as HERE and HERE) I’ve asserted the notion that, in a figurative way, Jarrett Wilson died from a brain hemorrhage in May of 2009. He was given new life in September of that same confounded year. The resurrection thing is the only similarity between me and Jesus; I have trouble enough walking on land, I can only change water into Crystal Light or coffee and my dad, as cool as he is, is not God.

I think I’m digressing here. What I’d like to relate to you, dear reader, is that I’m glad to be alive. I think I’ve said that before and I try to give the impression that I’m grateful, but sometimes, it just needs to be declared.

To be sure, being alive is hard sometimes. On the other hand, life is beautiful – there are beautiful people everywhere, the way they comb their hair, it makes me want to say… it’s a beautiful world… it’s a beautiful world…

That said, there are a lot of things that suck, another way to say it would be there are a lot of things that suck because of stuff I did. I let these things occupy too much CRAM (read more HERE). For today at least, I’m going to revel in the singularity of each moment. A singularity in that each moment is a culmination of a heartbeat, a breath of sweet, sweet air, some thought to move us about the day and being with good people. 🍻

FIN

@JarrettLWilson

So Close, Yet So Far

WP Cover PicThe prezi found here: https://prezi.com/0mvptvuqyviu/ is a synopsis, in a way, of a book I’ve been writing about my experience with a brain injury. It contains excerpts from the book, but guides the viewer with a whimsical poem. I’m gonna go ahead and blame my Ahab like compulsion to write this book for my absence from blogging of late. I made this to show agents and such at a writer’s conference. I was hoping I had enough to get the ball rolling. Turns out, I’m less than halfway done. But, as Ahab got the whale so shall I finish this book – hopefully, it doesn’t do me in, though.

Aztec Gods, Needles in a Foot and Hand Torture, Oh My!

image

I’ve been pretty lazy about the look of my blog. Previous banners have been hastily cropped images of my MRI scans or some such thing. So, I set about to remedy the situation by creating a banner representing my “injourney”. Though it may look precariously thrown together, I assure you that each object represents something very meaningful. I’ll start with perhaps the most powerful being on the banner. The colorful fella in the right corner is Huitzilopochtli,the Aztec god of war and the sun. I’ve a tattoo of Huitzilopochtli on my right shoulder blade –

image

What struck me was, if you say “war” and “sun” back to back very quickly, it almost sounds like “Wilson” – and as you know, Wilson makes top quality sporting good products, and is my last name.
I jest, although not one of his defining divine powers, he’s also associated as being the guide for journeys, having led the Mexica  (Aztecs, though don’t let Huitzi hear you say that, he was against that nomenclature – thought it sounded too much like “ass-tech” and didn’t want people thinking they made fancy toilets or other such things) from Aztlan to the site that would become Tenochtitlan, the Azte…err, Mexica capital city. It is this quality that convinced me that his likeness should appear on my right should blade for the rest of my days. He would always be near to guide me.
The colorful dude on the other side is Xipe Totec, which means “He of the colorful commode”. As you can see, he’s sitting, almost squatting, on a very colorful chair. This is actually a toilet. He was fine with name “Aztec”, thought it’d be a good opportunity to spread the word about his sacrificial, butt guillotine commode. While pooping, a blade slices off the bottom and flushes it straight to Templo Mayor in Tenochtitlan to be offered up to the gods.
image

Again, I jest.

Xipe Totec or “Our Lord the Flayed One”, is the god of, among many other things, the cycle of life-death-rebirth. You see, I’ve come to consider May 22nd, 2009 (the approximate date of my hemorrhage), as the date my old self died. I was reborn when I had surgery to remove the cause of the hemorrhage.

Getting back to the mortal realm, the little girl in the yellow shirt and headlamp is my darling daughter, Quinn. I go to the gym, and therapize myself that I might get to be more active with that little fireball. The headlamp is for what I call “technology spelunking”. I wear it when I need to fiddle around inside my computer case or complete some other task without adequate lighting.

The hand in the vice is a not so subtle reference to occupational therapy and its toils. Not much more to be said about this – if you’ve ever wanted break off your aching hand and use it to give someone (esp. an occupational therapist) a bloody slap across the face, then flip the bird with it, then you understand that image.

Rounding (more like ovaling) out the left side is a MRI scan of the top of my head. The white dot in the middle is a marshmallow I shoved up my nose when I was seven. Since that time, every time someone asks, “What’s that smell?” I invariably answer “marshmallows”.

Come to find out, the marshmallow passed through my digestive tract the same as if I’d eaten it – as such, it has long since done the thing that biological things do, whose name esca…DECOMPOSED (!) in the bowels of some sewage treatment facility.

The white dot in this scan, and the scan of the stick man in the middle, is actually blood – these scans were taken very soon after the big bleed.

The relatively huge foot (MY foot with a NEEDLE in it) is a direct result of that white dot – the blood scrambled some wiring up there, causing a perpetual spasm running through my left arm and left leg/foot. To combat this unpleasant symptom, I get injections of botox every three months, two of which go in my foot (let me reiterate: TWO INJECTIONS! FOOT!)

All these things make up my injourney, and so, are strewn about my path like so many playthings carelessly scattered across the front yard by a whimsical child.

The stick man furthest down the path has a question mark for a head. This is for two raisins –
1. In the future, my head will probably look about the same on the outside. I can’t make any assumptions about what it’ll look like on the inside. Of course, there will still be neurons and dendrites and hormones of varying flavor, but I have to accept the possibility that there might be more white stuff (there also might be a “Johnny Mnemonic” style hard drive or an antenna ala Vonnegut’s Sirens of Titan.
2. I couldn’t think of anything to put there.

And what banner would be complete without the auspices of LepreSean? He popped in and asked, “Whersh me potta gold?” Xipe replied, “I’m sitting on it!”

FIN

@JARRETTLWILSON

EUREKA! And some OT

Turns out, the pump was not to blame for my recent neuro woes (neurwoes?) I’m not totally convinced that the pump isn’t somehow involved, but it appears that I had a small bleed at my resection site in the Pons region of the brainstem.

some of the symptoms (the excruciating pain in my ass muscles, the temperature fluctuations on random areas of my body,  and the increase in spasticity…

ITEM! I’ve just now (unless you read this after 7:23 on Friday, February 13th. Then it’s the date/time you’re reading this minus the above mentioned date/time) found the cause of the hemorrhage, methinks.

You see, I was about to mention increase in blood pressure after “increase in spasticity”. My blood pressure shot way up.  This probably aggravated the small bit of cavernoma, causing it to bleed ever so slightly.

So let this be a lesson to you – if you do trunk rotations, DON’T let the catheter from your baclofen pump pop out of your spine. If it does, DON’T let your blood pressure spike. If that happens,  DON’T let the pressure get to your brainstem. If you DON’T heed any of these warnings, DO go to Zale Lipshy University Hospital,  ask for Dr.  Jonathan White and get on a low dose of ‘roids to reduce the swelling. Next, DO start with therapy exercises, because the ~18 month window of best recovery has officially opened.

You might try something like this –

Next,  be prepared to eat a LOT, because ‘roids make you ravenous!
FIN
@JarrettLWilson

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