Mussels. That’s what I had to eat—a lot of Mussels.
They were good, too.
“Boy, that sure was a good Birthday Dinner for Aunt Ann,” I thought.
—I thought to myself a lot during this whole event—
While sitting in the School line, my phone starts making a sound. “Beep, Beep, Beep” was the sound my phone made.
I picked up my phone, and the screen read, “Too hot to charge. Turn phone off.”
“Oh, wow. It is hot in this car. Me sittin’ here in my Sports Coat. Those Mussels are probably cooking in my stomach.”
I turned the A/C on low and turned the fan on High. I put my phone up to a vent to cool it off.
“Oh no. I’m not feeling well. I can’t throw up in the School Line. Everyone will make fun of Niece Number 2. I can’t do that to her. Hold it in, Lynn.” I thought to myself.
I looked at the time: 2:40 PM.
“Five minutes to go. Just hold on.”
I feel myself getting sicker and begin looking for something, anything, to throw up in.
I find a plastic bag.
“Hold it in, Lynn. Don’t do this here. It’ll embarrass her.”
The kids walk out the door. Thousands.
I can’t hold it in anymore. I put the bag up to my mouth, ” B-a-a-a-r-p-h.” —Right into the bag.
Niece Number Two hops in the car.
“Don’t look at Uncle Lynn, Niece! He’s throwing up. He’s sick. He’s bad sick!”
And she quickly begins looking at her phone.
“B-a-a-a-r-p-h” again into the bag.
The line moves.
“B-a-a-a-r-p-h”
“I’m so sorry, Niece. Duck, so nobody sees you in here!”
I pull forward and get to the stop sign.
“B-a-a-a-r-p-h”
“Oh God, the bags full! Crap,” and I pull my Colostomy bags out of the pocket of my Sports Jacket.
I put a new Colostomy bag up to my mouth.
“B-a-a-a-r-p-h”
“Oh, God! This is the lowest of low!”
The line moves, and I pull out onto the highway and head home.
Then, we all stop. A complete standstill.
I look forward, and three cars have wrecked. I could see that it was a minor “Fender Bender.”
“Oh God, No! Not now. Not today.”
“B-a-a-a-r-p-h”
I filled the Colostomy bag. I set it aside and grabbed another Colostomy bag to puke in.
“B-a-a-a-r-p-h”
The Police who directed the School Traffic began caring for the Fender Bender and got the cars off the road.
Traffic begins moving again.
“B-a-a-a-r-p-h”
“You got your seatbelt on, right?”
“Yes. Always.”
“Oh, God. You’re gonna see your Ol’ Unc’ doing some fancy driving. Don’t watch me.”
“B-a-a-a-r-p-h”
I set that Colostomy bag to the side and grab another one.
I drive down the highway, windows down and wind blowing on my face.
The wind on my face helped a lot.
We arrive home.
Niece Number Two dives out of the car and runs in.
I dive out of the driver’s side and get in the grass.
“B-a-a-a-r-p-h”
Niece Number Two had apparently gone for help because everyone in the house crowds around me.
“Oh, God,” I say while down on my knees in the grass beside the driveway.
“B-a-a-a-r-p-h”
“Son, we gotta get you inside.”
“Okay. Help me up, easy,” I say.
Then, just like that, I didn’t want to be moved.
“Let go! Let go! Leave me here!” “I’ll die here. Alone. Leave me be.”
“B-a-a-a-r-p-h”
“Pick me up now; I’m in between spasms. Take me in, please.”
“No!” I continue. “Don’t touch me! Don’t crowd me. Leave me here!”
“B-a-a-a-r-p-h”
“Okay, now. Let’s go inside, quick.”
Then, again, “No! Leave me be! I’m dying…”
Mom and Papa just pick me up and take me back to my bedroom.
Now…, I will tell you what happens next. Not because I want to. No. I don’t want to. But, because if I don’t, you’ll hear it through the Grapevine, and it always gets worse through the Grapevine.
Once in my bedroom, I tear all of my clothes off.
I was burning up.
I strip down to “buck nakedness.”
I have nothing but a Colostomy bag and my Urostomy bag on.
My Night-time Urostomy bag was attached. It holds over 2000 cc’s and has a six-foot hose.
I’m sitting on my bed. My made-up bed. I make my bed every day.
Next, all I hear are sounds. I don’t know who said what.
“Honey, I’ll get your temperature and a wet rag for your head.”
“It’s all those Mussels you ate.”
Mom brings in a bucket with some water in it.
Throw up in that if you have to throw up.
All of a sudden, my body locks up. All my bones and muscles locked up while I was sitting on the edge of the bed.
I slide off the bed and into the floor.
I couldn’t even put my arms out to catch myself because my body was locked up.
“Call 911,” I holler.
I was lying there, naked, with my Colostomy bag and Pee bag. The Pee bag was lying by my face.
In my weak, sickly voice, “Oh, God. This is how I’ll be found. Naked and lying on the floor.”
“Hello, my Son is sick. We need an ambulance.”
“Oh, God. I’m one of those people. The ambulance people will walk in and see a Forty-Seven-year-old SON who lives with his mommy and daddy. This is how I’ll be found. Oh, God. Not this. In all my Nakedness…”
My body “unlocks” itself at that time, and I can move freely again.
“B-a-a-a-r-p-h”
“Boxers! I gotta get something on! I can’t be found like this.”
“B-a-a-a-r-p-h.”
I crawl to my drawer and open it. I grab a pair of boxers and put them on.
“He’s in the back. Back hall to the right!”
“Oh, God. Here they come. At least I got the boxers on.” I lay on my stomach with my face on the floor.
“I’m gonna be found like Elvis… This is horrible. At least Elvis was dead.”
I grab the bucket, “B-a-a-a-r-p-h.”
I lay back with my stomach and face on the floor.
I hear someone walk into my room.
I lift my head just enough to see who is in my room.
“You must be Mr. Thomas.”
“Oh, God. This is the lowest point in my life…” I say.
“No, Sir. I’ve seen worse. It’s going to be…” I roll over on my back, exposing my Colostomy and Urostomy bags. “Oh, God, Sir. Special Patient,” he says aloud.
“Yes…” I say in a weak voice. “I’ve heard that all my life… ‘Special Patient.'” I continued, “They’ll say it at my funeral—three days from now—’ he was a Special Patient.'”
My mom will stand up and say, “But he grew up to be real smart.”
I crawl back to my bucket.
“B-a-a-a-r-p-h”
“What was the last thing you ate, Sir?”
“Mussels. Lots of ’em.”
“That’ll do it. I’ve seen it before.”
“Can you help me to my bed? I’m feeling better all of a sudden.”
The man, the Angel sent from Heaven, picks me up and lays me on my bed.
I can now see everything.
He hooks the Oxygen and Heart reader up to me.
My heart was elevated to 120 bpm.
I tell him that I have a fast heart rate. It’s typically 110.
I also tell him I’ve seen heart doctors about my heart, and they all agree that I “Just have a fast heart rate.”
My temperature is 96.5.
And I lay there. —With Michael watching over me.
And, as I lay there, I became 100% better.
I ask, “Do you do this full-time, or are you a volunteer?”
“We’re full-time.”
“You can call me ‘Lynn.'”
“You can call me ‘Michael,’ Sir.”
And Michael and my family stayed with me—all my numbers went back to normal.
And I didn’t even need to go to the hospital.
I’m going to stop by the Fire Hall, where Michael told me he worked, and do something for him.
I mean… The guys seen me at my worst. And in my boxers… I have gotta do something for the fella.
No more Mussels for me.
I’m doing fine now.
I’m even fully dressed.
