Wednesday October 14, 2009

10:00 AM. Woke up and hit the bathroom... the morning routine. Tool's already awake for a doctor's appointment at 11. He's been in Poland this last week and just got home last night and apparently had a little medical mishap towards the last few days of the trip.

As the story goes, him, Shimon, and Chris were sitting down to dinner while in Berlin and just before the food was brought out, Tool started experiencing a numbing sensation in his face and the back of his head that quickly shot down into his arms. Worried that he may have been having some sort of stroke or heart attack, (even though it wasn't) they got him to a German hospital where they got him on an I.V. and let him rest for a few hours. They told him that it may have been an allergic reaction to some food or it may have been dehydration (they had been on a day-long tour earlier and hadn't drank much of anything). Feeling better, Tool left the hospital and they finished out the trip. So today, he's going to the doctor just for a checkup to make sure everything's alright.

Tool heads out and I crawl back into bed to chill out and watch some t.v. while it's still early. I get a call from Tool about 5 minutes later telling me that UPS had stopped by earlier this morning to deliver his new credit and debit cards (he also managed to lose his wallet in Poland) and we must had missed him, as someone needs to sign for the package. He tells me that they will be back between 10:30 and 11 this morning, so make sure I'm home for the next hour or so. I tell him I don't plan on going anywhere anytime soon. I go back to watching some re-runs of Home Improvement.

It's about 11:15 when I realize that the UPS guys hadn't shown up yet and I am now desperately craving some Dunkin' Donuts. I contemplate hanging around for a little longer, but end up opting against I'm not gonna wait around all day for these pricks if they have no intentions of even showing up. Fuck them. I throw on my robe, grab my keys and am out the door.

I'm looking exceptionally bummed out this morning in my robe and slippers, so I decide to hit up the drive-through. I order myself up a coffee and an everything bagel with cream cheese and I then spot the overly flamboyant voice on the other end. I pull up to the window and sure enough, it's the gay drive-through worker who likes to mess with my head every time I come through. I'm not a homophobe, so I generally get a kick out of his harmless and joke-flirting. This time when I pull up, he asks me who I stole my eyes from. I'd be lying if I said I didn't drive out of there chuckling to myself a little.

I get home and sit down at my computer to check my e-mail. I decide today is a good day to get my final essay done for my application to Flashpoint Academy that I have been putting off for weeks now. I throw on some music and open up a fresh Word document. After about twenty minutes of spacing out, Tool walks in the door. I bomb into the kitchen to ask him how his doctor's visit went.

He tells me that the doctor couldn't really tell him what happened, but to keep an eye on his right arm. It seems that when they gave him the I.V. at the Hospital in Berlin, they may have hit a nerve, as there's some small bruising. He says that they took his blood pressure and heart-rate and he's perfectly healthy, so there's nothing to worry about. He does complain about feeling a bit under the weather, but he thinks it's due to walking around in cold and rainy conditions for a week while he was overseas. We bullshit a little more before he heads out again to go pick up some DayQuil for his oncoming cold and I head back to my computer for attempt #2 at finishing this essay.

The second attempt is an even bigger failure than the first. This time, instead of spacing out, I successfully find anything and everything to take away from my writing, but i do manage to keep the blank Word page open just to keep me humble. Between browsing through Netflix movies, jamming out to various musical artists, and zoning in and out of t.v. shows (including countless episodes of Law & Order), I made damn sure I didn't accomplish anything productive throughout the day. In fact, all of the time spent making sure that real work was avoided at every turn sparked a sudden tiredness in me and I end up catching a quick nap before work. Sometimes being a lazy bastard can take a lot out of me.

I wake up from my nap at 4:00 and jump in the shower. I finish getting ready and head out the door to fight the vexatious rush hour traffic. Surprisingly, however, I do arrive to work about five minutes early tonight. The only problem is that Ryan is still there, and he shows no signs of leaving anytime soon. I walk in the door and he tells me that he's pleased to see me show up early, and I hold back from telling him how disturbed I am that he's a douche. Feel the love.

Homeboy doesn't leave until almost 7:30, so the second he leaves, Allie and I haul ass trying to get everything done to close that we couldn't do while he was in the store. Refusing to allow him to fuck my night up, I become exceptionally more motivated than usual and I am cruising through the store comparable to that of someone who just did a few bumps. The entire store is ready to close by 8:30. I shoot a call over to Justin to make sure we're still on for the Wednesday night bowling. They have $1.50 games and beers every Wednesday night, so needless to say, we've been there every time for the past month or so. He tells me he's watching the end of the Hawks game with Phil and they are gonna cruise as soon as it's over. This is perfect because I won't be home for another hour anyway.

We close up the store and I gun it home to change. There's something about wearing work clothes outside of work that just bothers me, so I have to throw something else on. Justin texts me while I'm driving telling me that him and Phil are already on their way to the bowling alley, so I definitely cruise home a little faster than usual to assure I don't miss out on too much alcohol indulgence. I get home and Tool is sitting on the phone with my mom. I also notice the small drugstore he purchased that is now sitting on our kitchen counter. Obviously, Tool's not feeling all that great. I peep in his room and ask him if he's all good, and he says he's fine, just feeling like he's coming down with a cold. Right on. As long as it's not the fuckin' flu, I can handle it. I tell him I'm going bowling and will be back later. I bomb out to my car and head over to the bowling alley.

Once there, I cruise inside and start to look for my delinquent buddies, and they are nowhere to be found. I cruise back outside to call them, as to not look like a lost jack ass wandering the place by myself. No one wants to be "that guy." I get outside and Justin, Phil, and Katie are just pulling into the parking lot. Now, maybe I gots trouble with the math... but I'm pretty sure that Justin informed me while I was on my way home from work that they were on their way. It takes me a good 15 to 20 minutes to get home from work. Then I had to stop and change, which added on at least another 10 minutes to the trip. So we're looking at about half hour and change for me to get my ass to Brunswick Zone. This place is no more than 5 minutes away from both mine and Justin's place. Yet somehow, I arrived a good 5 minutes before them. Clearly, it's Justin who's gots trouble with the math. I am sure to point this out to him as we walk inside.

We pay for a few games and make a pit stop at the bar as we walk to our lane. The bartender already looks a bit perturbed, and it's hard to blame her. I can only imagine the slimy sacks of shit she has to put up with on a night like tonight. People hear the words "cheap beer" and they automatically forget how to tip the bartender, as if the fact that the beer is cheap somehow means it's less work for the bartender. That logic is indeed an exercise in retardedness, which is why I don't follow it. The "nice guy" in me kicks in and I try to calm her down a bit and let her know I'm not the typical cheap asshole that normally comes here on a Wednesday. Not that I really owe her anything, but I do like to maintain my good-guy reputation. I'm not a meat-head, and I don't want anyone mistaking me for one. I throw out lines like "take your time," and "no hurry." It's crazy how much those words make all the difference to a server sometimes. She starts to calm down a bit and hands me my beer. I hand her my debit card to open a tab with and she puts it in a jar next to the register. I then toss a few bucks in her tip jar and she definitely gets the idea that I'm not there to make her night a living hell. And it definitely pays off throughout the night when she started serving me quicker than anyone else standing in line, going as far as taking my order first even if there were 4 or 5 people in front of me waiting in line. And people say that being a nice guy doesn't pay off...

The night is going pretty well. I suck some major ass at bowling, but it's something that no one really seems to care about. We're not really a competitive group, so I only get well-intentioned and light ridicule. We're about halfway through the second game when I get a call from my Mom. I cruise into the bar room, where it's surprisingly quiet, and answer her call. Turns out she's a nervous wreck because of my Tool's not feeling well. He made the fatal mistake of mentioning that if his numbing symptoms continue and/or get worse, he might want to go to the ER. My mom tells me that she wants me to keep an eye on him and not be out too late tonight and to check to see if he's alright when I get home. I tell her not to worry and he's most likely fine. After I hang up with her, I shoot a call over to Tool just to check up. No answer. I go out to the lane and bowl a frame and call him back about 10 minutes later. Still no answer. I assume he's probably just sleeping, as he did buy some NyQuil for his cold that he felt coming on. I know that shit knocks you out like a bastard, so I just safely assume it is why he's not answering. But there is still that tiny part of me that feels a little nervous. I start thinking, "oh yeah, shit always starts like this. Everyone just assumes that everything is fine and bad stuff will never happen to them, and just when they think everything's fine, that's when shit hits the fan." Justin can sense that I'm feeling a bit rattled, so he asks what's up. I fill him in on the whole Poland story and how Tool's still not feeling right since he got home. He picks up on my mentality and invites me out for a smoke to try and help ease my thoughts. It's my first cigarette in a long time, but I kind of needed it.

I chill out for a bit and Justin gets me back to neutral. We head back inside to finish up our last game and have a few more brews before last call. At this point, I'm already about seven beers in, so I'm feeling somewhat tanked. We call it a night just around 12:30, as we're the only fuckers left in the entire place and we can tell that the people working are getting pissed that we haven't left yet. We bomb out of there and head to our cars.

In the parking lot, everyone discusses where the night's headed thus far. Still feeling a little shaky after not hearing back from Tool for the last hour or so, I back out of the continuing shenanigans for the evening and tell them I might catch up with them later if I'm feeling up to it. I don't normally drive drunk, and I do not condone it in any way, but this place is literally down the street from me, so I suck it up and make the trip. I successfully make it back home and gun it upstairs to assure myself that Tool is fine.

Sure enough, when I get inside, he is just waking up from his nap... or slight coma, given that he was taking NyQuil. I ask him how he's feeling and he says it's hard to tell right this second because he just woke up and is extremely groggy. I tell him I'll most likely be awake for a little while longer, so if he needs anything to let me know. He then proceeds to cruise into his room to get ready to pass out for the night. I bomb into my room and change into my chillin' pants and chill at my computer while I check e-mails and burn my latest Netflix movies.

No more than a half hour later, Tool cruises into my room with a certain nervousness on his face. I can tell he's not well at all. And then he says it: he wants to go to the ER. Without hesitation, I throw my jeans back on, grab some water and advil (in case we're there for awhile and I start to rock a hangover while I'm still awake), and we cruise. I'm still fairly intoxicated, but the situation is kind of sobering me up in a sense. Still, it's a pretty odd picture when you stop to think about it. Didn't think for a second while I was slamming my 7th beer of the night that I would be accommodating my brother to the hospital. And it's these interesting mishaps that I continue to make mental notes of, as they are prime source material for stories in a film.

We pull into the parking garage and walk inside. We are greeted by the lady at the front desk who gets all of Tool's information. As we're sitting there, Tool looks over at me and notices my perplexed state of mind. He kind of gives me this look that says, "what the fuck is wrong with you?" and I shoot him back a look that slurs "$1.50 beers at the bowling alley." and he answers back with another look that says "you fucking lush." and I throw him a look that says "this lush just drove you to the ER at one in the morning." and he nods his head to signify, "touche." I'm not sure if the lady at the front desk was paying attention or not, but if she was, she most likely thinks we're both on drugs at this point.

She escorts us to the check-up room where they discuss exactly what's going on with Tool's fucked up medical issues. While they're doing that, I get a text from Justin asking what I'm up to and if I'm still coming to chill tonight. I tell him I had to take Tool to the ER and my phone starts ringing within 5 seconds of sending the message. It's Justin. I walk out into the hallway and fill him in on what happened. He asks if I want him and Phil to come by the hospital, and though I do think it would be quite entertaining to see three drunken assholes hanging out at the hospital with one of the drunken asshole's older brother in a gown on a bed with an I.V. hanging out of him, I tell them that I would rather they didn't drive in their current state of inebriation. It's already a misfortune that my brother's in the hospital, I don't need two of my best friends in the bed next to him. I thank him for his concern and tell him I'll fill him in on what's happening. I hang up and walk back into the room. The nurse then escorts us to the room with the hospital bed and all the technical shit. Can you tell I don't have much of an extensive collection of medical terminology in my repertoire?

Once in the room, the nurse gives Tool a hospital gown and tells him to put it on with the opening on his back. She walks out of the room while he changes and Tool asks me if he should just strip bare-ass and put the opening in the front. I can already tell this is gonna be a fucked up trip to the ER. We end up waiting there for about an entire fucking hour before the doctor finally shows up. In the meantime, the nurse hooks the I.V. up and takes his blood for testing. Throughout this entire ordeal, Tool is complaining that he's gotta piss, and the I.V. is not helping his cause. After the blood test, Tool books it out of the room to find the bathroom before he voids his bladder on the bed.

Upon his return after successfully finding the bathroom, the doctor finally comes in and does his thing. He tells Tool that they are going to do a CAT scan and see if they find anything. He also tells me that everything is going to take at least another 3 hours, and it's already going 2:30 AM. Tool tells me to go ahead and cruise home and pick him up later, but I feel much better just chilling with him until we find out what's wrong. Something tells me that if I go home wondering what's going on with him at the hospital, I won't be able to get much sleep. So if I'm going to be awake either way, I might as well chill in the hospital with him. I am feeling a little overwhelmed at the moment with all this medical shit and the thoughts of there being something seriously wrong with my brother, so I opt to go out and have a smoke (Tool had a pack in his car, which I drove.) I head to the car and fire up the second cigarette of the night that marks the first night since February that I have smoked. I don't really feel a relapse coming on, but it does chill me out a bit, which I definitely needed. While I'm outside collecting my thoughts, I decide to call my Mom to let her know what's going on. It's late as fuck, but I know she'd have my ass if she found out we spent the night in the ER without letting her know.

Surprisingly, she answers after the second ring. Turns out she's still a nervous wreck over the whole situation and hasn't really been able to sleep. I let her know that they're keeping him for awhile longer and they are going to be doing a CAT scan soon. This makes her feel a little better knowing that they aren't just passing this off as nothing. We talk for a little bit and then I cruise back inside after telling her I will keep her updated.

Once inside, I walk into the room and Tool is gone. The nurse tells me that they just wheeled him out to do the CAT scan and he'll be back momentarily. I chill out in the room and wait. They wheel him back in after about 10 minutes of waiting and he's got this look on his face like he just saw a naked woman for his first time. Evidently, this was the first CAT scan homeboy's ever gone through, so he's a little confused. Now it's time to wait for the results.

It's almost 4:30 AM when the doctor finally comes back in and tells us that the tests all came back negative, i.e. they couldn't find anything wrong. This lifts a huge weight off of both our shoulders, but we are still confused as to why we are sitting in the ER if nothing is wrong. Obviously something is going on, or else we wouldn't be here. The doctor said that it could have been a number of small things, but he recommends getting an MRI done ASAP. He gives Tool the name of the neurologist to call first thing tomorrow. The nurse comes back in and says that we can leave as soon as the I.V. is all drained out. She bombs out and says she'll be back to check on it. Tool is definitely in better spirits, but I can tell he wants to get the fuck out of the hospital. I jokingly suggest that I stand up on the bed, grab the I.V. bag and squeeze the shit out of it to speed up the process. We both have a good laugh as we paint a picture of just what that would look like if someone were to walk in and see Tool all fucked up and me holding the I.V. in my hands saying, "umm... hey... is this cool?" Once our laughing is all out, the nurse comes in and the I.V. is drained. She unhooks everything from his arm and Tool puts his clothes back on, to which I suggest that he just leave the gown on and make it look like he's a fuckin' nut job who's trying to escape the hospital. Once again, the laughing ensues.

We finally bomb out of the hospital just a little after 5:00 AM. We stop for gas on the ride home and Tool calls Mom to let her know of the status. We get home and I'm so delirious that I can barely stand up straight. I set my alarm for 8:00 AM, as I have to work at 11, but I plan on calling in early and asking if I can come in a little later so I can catch up on some much needed sleep after the unfortunate events that have just taken place. I wish Tool a goodnight and tell him if he needs me, not to hesitate in waking my ass up. I can tell he truly appreciates a brother helping a brother out, even in the most unfortunate of situations. He tells me that he hopes he never has to return the favor... some true brotherly bonding. I'd be lying if I said I didn't love it.

After all is said and done, I cruise into my room and crash while watching re-runs of X-Men.