I was sick. I’d been under the weather for a couple weeks but pressed on like I always did. I’m single. Chronically single. With no one to share the load, downtime is a luxury I simply cannot afford. On most days I go about my daily grind giving myself the usual pep talk: “I HAVE to work. I have bills to pay. Rest is overrated. I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”
At least, that USED to be my mantra. Not so much anymore. Anyhow, I had symptoms of the common cold. It could have even been bronchitis, but I never felt bad enough to go to a doctor. I know my body and this didn’t feel serious. I doubled up on my holistic meds and vitamins and kept going. Until one day, I couldn’t. I remember waking up and my body just ached. I tried to make it to the kitchen to get some water, and I guess my body just gave out. I collapsed right there on the kitchen floor.
I don’t know for sure how long I was out but the consensus seems to be about two days. I don’t talk to anyone regularly so that determination was based on my Facebook postings. I post religiously, daily. There was a 53 hour lapse between my last post and the time the landlord unlocked my door for the police wellness check. Somewhere in there I slipped into a coma. By the time paramedics arrived my heart rate and breathing were nearly nonexistent, so naturally they thought I was dead. The medical examiner was called in to do his rituals, then I was shipped off ... to the morgue! I still can’t figure out how several departments and numerous people missed the fact that I was sick, but not DEAD! Apparently there’s a lot more incompetence in this world than I realized.
Whatever took place at the morgue has never been revealed to me. Every inquiry I made was met with the brick wall of HIPAA laws, privacy policies, and office procedures. I can’t tell you how many times in the past year I’ve screamed, “It’s MY privacy you’re supposed to protect and I’M giving you permission to tell ME what happened to ME when I was laid up in your morgue!” Needless to say, I’m still fighting that fight. I guess somewhere along the way, they froze me. Or maybe just kept me slightly chilled. Aside from what’s shown on tv dramas, I really have no idea what goes on in those mysterious places. I just thank God no one asked for an autopsy. That probably would have done me in for real.
Once I arrived at the funeral home I was put in the care of an inept embalmer. Somewhere between his penchant for cocaine and loose lady visitors, he failed to embalm me for the service which was quickly scheduled to take place mere days after I arrived. Thank God for another big miracle! Who knew sex on the job could be a life saver? Ultimately, his actions would cost him his career … and his marriage, but the distraction of his side chick saved my life.
After his part of the process was “complete,” I rolled down the rest of the assembly line. Hair, makeup, outfit, arrangements, then it was on to my big day. That’s what I’ve been able to piece together from various accounts. Now let me take you back to how it all started, from my perspective.