Too Much Information – an online comic
An old house, a geek, a cute transvestite, a very tall lesbian, and at least one ghost–what could happen? – Adult situations and artistic nudity. Not suitable for children.
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OK since this is the last one of these I’ll post about the time I died. No, not kidding. I joke about it alot but for at least two minutes and probably longer I was minus both pulse and respiration because Some Asshole (always important to capitalize a proper name) couldn’t stand for my bicycle to be on his road, something he made sure I knew before he hit me with a pickup truck going 60 MPH. It wasn’t that bit that let others know it was deliberate because I was the only one that could her him swearing to get off the road. It was the fact that he had to wait until he got to a place where he could cross the median to get on my side of the road and be going the same direction as I was riding.
I wasn’t in Heaven, it was more like a waiting room with a 3-D TV showing the entire universe. There was an older person in there who told me I could zoom in as far as I wanted, but didn’t tell me how, and I got called back before I could figure out how to make it work. I was also told I was there to become one with the universe and there is some dispute as to whether I was actually called back or if I left from boredom, but either way, here I am. I will say that being dead was very peaceful and pain-free, unlike the state I came back to, with multiple broken bones in my leg and skin missing or detached from several places on my leg and face. That shit hurt, and to a much lesser degree still hurts. But that was over 18 years ago and at least some of the discomfort is because I’m almost old enough to collect Social Security now to go with getting killed. And I should probably mention that being dead saved my life because I had a huge open wound with multiple severed arteries in my lower leg that didn’t cause me to bleed out because my heart wasn’t beating to push the blood out, and that I didn’t “come back” until they tried to scrape my remains off the street. The funny part of this was at least some of the people there decided I was “dead dead” and were quite startled when I told them to be careful because I “broke the upper end of my femur”. I remember their startled shouts and then I passed out again and woke up in the ambulance asking if anyone got the number of that truck, and telling them it was too late to be a bus so it had to be a truck. I also mentioned that the only thing I could say for sure was that it was white and some kind of truck.
The rest after that was being blind in the ICU and not mentioning that it was nice to have the lights turned low so I could rest until after I was transferred to a ward bed, but that is a tale for a different venue.
Back when I was an intern, I had a discussion with one of my Mentors – He asked me how I could serve in the Military as a Physician – I told him that because I, and others like me, accepted that service, and the Big Blank Check that comes with it, he and his wife (another physician) would NOT have to serve if they didn’t wish to.
The idea shook him up a bit – he was just enough older than I am that he would have faced the Draft directly, whereas I only faced it theoretically – If the draft had continued through 1974-75, my number was 30…
When he settled back down, he said, “I understand now. Thank you!”
My dad served 19 1/2 years in the Navy during Vietnam as an aviator. Two days are etched clearly in my mind, when the majority of the POWs came home some of the told some of what happened there to reporters and my teacher read that all too graphic article out loud to my 5th grade class, and at least half of us had parents in the military. This wS also right before lunch. I never saw so many perfectly edible meals thrown untasted into the trash. None of us could get the descriptions out of our heads nor help thinking that it could easily have been our fathers going through that.
The other time was noticing Dad by the trash can with something in his hands. To this day I’m not sure what prompted my to go over to him. I sat with him quietly as he went through the emergency equipment he had never had to use as he bailed out of a plane shot down. He told me about every piece of equipment that was in it and why as well as the pieces that had gone back to the supply in the Navy (gold and medications for pain or infections). He seemed to need to talk about it, perhaps to avoid thinking about men he knew who had to, never got the chance to, or the fact that he’d never had to. I don’t know if he thought about the fact that usually this would not be a conversation with your 9 year old daughter, but I listened and I’d like to think that helped him. He gave me a couple of pieces out of the kit and I kept them as treasured items for years until the were too rotted to keep, but I still remember, and I’m grateful to have shared those moments with him. To paraphrase Luna, the only thing I know is I still miss him.