When you lose gallons ( yeah, exaggerating) of blood and have seizures under anesthesia you have visions, hallucinations or opiate dreams, whichever.
Wake up to very low glucose (70, not exaggerating ) and are nearly comotose. You get asked questions.
Really.
Instead of just floating off to the “place”…OH no!! You have to make choices.
Peaceful death? Nope.
I can’t catch a break.
A simple “pull the dang plug” wouldn’t work. Arguing with faceless, non-voices don’t cut it.
They insisted. Pushy, they are.
As I was promised I would live, I decided, ok I guess I will.
It didn’t seem like the correct way to do it. I swear, in my addled state it’s all I had.
I couldn’t think of one important thing left in my life that I could actually do to improve any thing. Couldn’t pull up one clarifying thought.
I have no doubt, you have more stories to tell. What would we do with out Bayliss, Bigfoot, Clarence and all the others. Those stories delight all of your followers here on the Dope, and we look forward to many, many more.