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Guy Boss Returns … All You Got to Do Is Call

By Guy Boss | Published 11.08.2010

I had several witty and touching paragraphs written, designed to make you contemplate your place in the universe and marvel at the writer’s almost inhuman bravery. But they fell under a Hummer3 when we stopped for a McFlurry. It was the kind of report that would have had you marveling at a person’s unflagging struggle to survive and wondering how many times he can be asked who the president is and which day of the week it is.

What happened is this: Some of it I have to trust to eyewitness accounts, because I have absolutely no memory of the initial event or the two weeks or so that followed. For that, I am oddly thankful. My wife tells me that around 2 a.m. on July 11, 2010, I woke her and insisted she take me to the hospital. I’ll leave out the gory details that men my age seem to relish, but suffice it to say that I was having a hemorrhagic stroke.

Now, even in times of crisis, my universe tends to be more perverse than a paying customer would want, and as we were walking from the car to the ER, my legs decided they weren’t going to work anymore. Even though I was only 20 yards or so from the doors, the hospital workers were forbidden to come out and get me. It had something to do with insurance—I’m not sure if they meant theirs or mine. My wife says I made myself comfortable in the parking lot until the ambulance arrived to take me the final 60 feet.

After that, there were scans and surgery and other forms of general weirdness, and about two weeks later, I came to realize I was in the hospital. Eventually I found out about the stroke and discovered my right arm and leg didn’t work, and for reasons known only to it, my right eye didn’t open. About two weeks ago they sent me home. (For those of you who keep track of these things, it was almost exactly three and a half months since my stroke.)

I’m still getting therapy every day and can now walk across the room like the illegitimate love child of the Mummy and Frankenstein’s monster. My right eye opens now. Unfortunately, it’s on a schedule that makes sense only to it.

I’m hoping to start posting my little essays again soon—I’m getting fairly good at one-handed typing—but what I wanted to do right now was express my heartfelt gratitude for your concern and encouragement. I can’t tell you how much they meant to me. Talk to you soon.

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