Lamsonacare

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As The Ass Heals...

Lamsonacare: Day Who Gives A Fuck

Lamsonacare Day 8 Million

Lamsonacare Day 48

Lamsonacare Day 47:

Lamsonacare

By:

Charles Lamson

Day 1 (Thursday - March 27, 2014):

I have a pressure sore on my ass. It is infected. I am very sick - septic they call it. I am a gimp in a wheelchair. I have been partying too much - too many late nights fueled by booze, crack and general all around hard living. But I have fun. Fuck it. What else am I going to do? I am a gimp in a wheelchair. One of the few things I enjoy in this life anymore are getting drugged and liquored up and doing my stupid chemical fueled little chat show on the internet. However, do to my life of debauchery, my show will be on hiatus for a couple months while I lay in bed and wait for my ass to heal. Should be a good opportunity to detox as well. Let my liver go back down to its normal size.

I am admitted to a hospital in St. louis. The hospital is called Missouri Baptist, but everybody around here calls it Mobap for short. I am in pretty bad shape. In the emergency room they tell me my white blood cell count is 25 (25 of what? I do not know). Whereas the normal human has a white blood cell count of 10 to 15. So immediately they start pumping antibiotics into me, and prepare to admit me into the hospital.

I have lived in St. Charles my whole life, which is basically a suburb of St. Louis located right across the Missouri River to the north of St. Louis, but coincidentally, I was actually born in St. Louis in a hospital almost right next door to Missouri Baptist. The name of that hospital is St. John’s. There is a lot of stuff named after saints around here. It is heavy duty Jesuit territory. My name is Charles Thomas Lamson and this story is a chronicle of my magical mystical journey through the healing process.

I have a doctor that I have had since I was a teenager. I am 45 now and the asshole looks younger than I do, but he is an extremely nice guy and knows me quite well, literally inside and out. He comes to visit me in my room at the end of the day, which is cool because I am sure he was working hard all day doing doctor stuff. He tells me he is going out of town for a week, but that his doctor buddies at this hospital would fix me up. And he says he will be by again in the morning to check on me. His name is Dr. David Ban, all around good guy.

So they start me off on these hardcore intravenous antibiotics to treat the infection. The Doc tells me he is gonna have one of his plastic surgeon buddies come take a look at my ass to see if they can patch it up.  

My sister is named Kay Meeks. She is my big sister. She is three years older than I am. We are pretty close. After I am settled in my room and all that, she calls me. She tells me she is going to contact a few of my friends on Facebook to let them know where I am at, because last time I pulled something like this I just vanished without telling anyone and they got very worried.

A few years back, I broke my leg and did not tell any of my friends because I am horrible at remembering phone numbers unless they are the easy kind to remember - with repeating digits and whatnot.

Day 2 (Friday - March 28, 2014):

Doctor Ban, as true to his word, visits me this morning and once again reminds me he is going away for a week, but he reassures me they are going to surgically patch up my ass. However, first the plan is to get the nasty infection under control. He assures me that his friends and associates will be checking in on me throughout the week to make sure I am doing okay.

My Mom brings me to the emergency room on day one. And she visits me today on day two. I tell her I am a little concerned about not being able to contact my friends because they might think I just kind of disappeared again and get worried about what happened to me. One time I did that and they literally called all the hospitals in the area until they found me and surprised me with a call. My rationale was I probably was not going to be in the hospital that long so it was not even worth the time to let them know where I was.

But I digress. My point is Mom said she left a post on Facebook as did my sister. She said she was contacted by Robb Revere asking for the number I could be reached at. Rob Revere is the owner of Revere Radio Network, one of the radio stations my show is on. Cool guy. Anyway coincidentally while my mom is telling me this I get a call on my room phone. And it is Revere just sending his best wishes. So that is pretty cool. It lifts my spirits somewhat just knowing I have a listening audience that gives a damn.

That night I get three more calls from my three friends Tony, Tom and Keith. Tom gets my sister’s message on Facebook and calls me. He tells Tony and Keith and they call as well. This also lifts my spirits.

I am in a lot of pain. Due to my disability, I get a lot of weird pain and muscle spasms in my lower body. Usually the only thing that alleviates it at home is just simply getting out of bed and moving around, having some coffee and tylenol, and of course booze and weed always helps.

The conundrum is the more I stay in bed, the more my muscles lock up and tighten up, the muscle spasms increase. And with this sore on my ass, I am to be on bedrest for 6 to 8 weeks. So this will be fun. Plus due to the pain and the infection my blood pressure is through the roof, which is even more troubling because my blood pressure is usually pretty low. So this worries me and the nurses. So tomorrow I plan to ask the doctor for some medication to alleviate this somewhat.

So the doctor actually gives the go-ahead to let therapy get me out of bed for a half-hour at a time. I think it is a little premature because I am still very weak from infection and the sore on my ass hurts like hell, but I am a tough bastard, so I do it.

The transfer from the bed to my chair is difficult and cumbersome because I am so physically fucked up and I am hooked up to IV tubes and pee tubes and I am wearing a crappy gown that keeps catching on stuff. It hurts like hell sitting on my asswound but I can bear it for a half hour. Despite the pain, it feels good to be out of bed and sitting up.

We then take a stroll through the halls. one of the therapists follows, pushing my IV pole. Once again, despite the pain, it does wonders for both my physical and mental well being just to be up and moving around and taking a stroll through the hallways. if only for a half hour.

Day 3 (Saturday - March 29, 2014)

I still have a lot of pain and spasms and crazy high blood pressure, but I am starting to feel a little less sick. I guess all the antibiotics they are pumping into me are starting to work.

I meet the lady who is filling in for Doctor Ban.  Though somewhat older, she is a cute little

Asian-American lady with a pleasant personality and smile. I do not remember her name. I am still sick. I tell her of my concerns so she prescribes ativan, baclofen and vicodin. I am not quite sure what the ativan or xanax or whatever it is is about. I guess she thinks the high blood pressure has something to do with anxiety and maybe she is right. The cocktail does seem to bring my blood pressure down. And it is kind of a mellow buzz, so fuck it. I am not complaining. Regardless, the medicine seems to help.

I meet the surgeon who is to work on my ass today too. She also is a middle-aged lady, but also rather cute in her own kind of weird quirky way. Her name is Dr. Tadjalli. She has a very faint accent. I think she might be Israeli or something. I like her. She seems very nice, but also a little weird and eccentric in a funny and cute kind of way, like a lot of uber-intelligent people seem to be. It is almost like her brain is working too fast for her to get out of her mouth what she wants to say. So she kind of pauses a lot and stares into space while she is thinking of the next thing she wants to say.

But she gives me good news. She says she is going to operate on my ass on Monday. She says it will be a two-step procedure. She says the first step will be to simply go in and cut all the infected tissue out of there. I think they call that a debridement I guess. I do not know. It is some kind of fancy doctor word. She says the second part will be to close up the wound with what they call a skin flap. That is where they take a piece of skin from one part of your body and put it over the wounded area.

From what Doctor Ban tells me, I think I wait weeks before they even think about closing it up so they get the infection under control first. So I am happy and excited by this news.

Day 4 (Sunday - March 30, 2014)

I am depressed. I should know by now not to believe fuckin doctors. Doctor Tadjalli, the plastic surgeon comes by today. She changes her mind. She says she is still doing the first part of the surgery. She is going to cut out all the infected stuff out but she is not doing the second part. She is not closing it up with a skin flap.

She tells me its basically because I smoke and with my crazy wacky lifestyle it is not conducive the success of the surgery. This is bullshit because just yesterday she says she is doing it. And she already knew all that.

The best I can tell she does not want to do it because I am on Medicaid or higher ups give her the orders. I have run into this before with doctors and surgeons. They tell me all these great medical procedures they are going to do for me and then never do it. They just keep setting up appointments and literally make you wait for years waiting for you to die or just keep putting it off until you end up half dead somewhere until another more charitable-minded surgeon takes up the case.

What bothers me the most is the dishonesty. If you are not going to do the procedure do not tell me you are going to do it or make up bullshit reasons why you are not doing it. Do not blow smoke up my ass. Do not piss down my back and tell me it is raining.

At least she still does first part tomorrow. She says she cuts all the infected stuff out of there then puts a wound vac on it which speeds up the healing process of the open wound.

As the day goes on I am less depressed, because I hear good things about this wound vac. It really does speed up healing, almost like a mini barometric chamber. And I know from past experience that even if I do get the skin flap, I still have to lay in bed for six to eight weeks while the new skin heals and takes hold before I can actually sit on it. But with the wound vac it is basically the same time frame. I still have to stay in bed for six to eight weeks. So it is about the same.

At least she goes right to work tomorrow and they put a wound vac on it. I went through this process before where they literally left me hanging for a year and a half. They kept promising they would do surgery or put a wound vac on it but never did.

So I stay in bed and have an open wound for a year and a half until it gets infected and I end up almost not alive from infection. By mixture of coincidence and by matter of necessity I go to a different hospital close to home.

The name of this hospital is Saint Joseph’s. They take pity on me. They treat the infection. Here I meet a more philanthropic compassionate plastic surgeon who without hesitation closes up the wound for me. To this day it holds just fine. No problems there whatsoever. The sore I have now is on a different part of my ass.

But this is why I know Tadjalli is blowing smoke up my ass about her reasons for not closing it up. I suspect it is insurance reasons. Missouri Baptist is more of a high end type hospital. I suspect the administration does not want to pay for some Medicaid loser to lay around there for six to eight weeks to heal when they can just patch me up, stabilize me and send me to a more long term type place that is more non for profit and conducive to people on Medicaid. Like St. Joseph’s Hospital.

But like I say, at least they are go right to work and do something. They are actually planning for my next place to go to - the more long term place, which is a lot more than they do in the past. Where they basically just treat the infection and let me go home with an open wound not using a wound vac just so I end up half dead with infection.

Day 5 (Monday - March 31, 2014):

Today is surgery day. I know I have a long period of bed rest ahead of me. so to keep my upper body strength while laying in bed, on Friday mom brings weights from home. I work out with these from bed throughout the weekend. This helps not only my physical strength. It also helps my mood a lot. Because even working out from bed it feels like I do something. It feels good to work my muscles. It feels good to get my blood pumping. It feels good to get my mind off all the bullshit and just focus on the rhythmic motion of the pumping of the weight. It feels good to release the endorphins whilst working out, even from bed. Endorphins released by physical exertion - nature’s antidepressants.

I have a long wait. surgery is scheduled for 2 PM, which sucks because I cannot eat or drink anything since 12 AM in the morning up until the surgery. It is something to do with the anesthesia. I guess they do not want you to puke or whatever while you have that weird tube down your throat.

\

There is unexpected good news. They are calling me down to surgery at 10:30 AM which is good because I do not have to wait around all day to get it done.

They take me down to pre-op. Tadjalli pops her head in to say hi before surgery. I am rather shocked by how different her personality is in the operating area. She is happy and excited and animated - almost jubilant. I guess she really loves her job. She is in her realm.

I find a lot of surgeons are like that. They are kind of mellow and subdued outside the operating room, but in the OR they are like giddy school girls. They cannot wait to start cutting on people. To each his own I guess.

They come into pre-op and shoot me up with some nice relaxing dope then wheel me into the OR and put me to sleep. I wake up an hour or so later and they shoot me up with more good dope for the pain, then wheel me up to my room in my bed. Viola! Surgery complete.

To my surprise, my aunt Kay, my mom’s sister is there in my room waiting with my mom. They are very close. I think she came more to support my mom, but that is cool. I like my aunt Kay. it is good to see her.

They tell me tomorrow, the GI guy is consulting me to see about giving me a colostomy bag. Everyone seems to think this is a good idea since I have problems with skin breakdown on my ass the last four or five years, and being incontinent, sitting in shit is very bad for skin breakdown.

By the way I feel the difference immediately from the surgery. Its like she cut a huge chunk of evil matter out of my ass. Right away I notice there is less pain even after surgery and I even physically feel better.

Day 6 (Tuesday - April 1, 2014)

I meet another full of shit dick doctor today. He is an asshole. He is the dickhead GI doctor who is supposed to give me the colostomy bag but he says he cannot do it for some bullshit reason. He says it is more trouble than it is worth which is bullshit. Even the other doctors try to talk him into it. It is a simple procedure.

Once again he just does not want to do it because I am on Medicaid and he knows I am not there long. So he stalls until I am shipped off to the other place and then it becomes somebody else’s problem.

I cope with the stress of dealing with these lying assholes with the aid of this cool therapy channel I discover on the hospital TV in my room. It is very soothing. It is nothing but ocean vistas, mountains and streams and nature and stuff. It is cool. This channel is all I watch the whole time I am here. It helps take my mind off the shit storm going on around me.

I have an idea to make a movie of my whole hospital stay while I am laid up. I figure this will keep me busy and may even be kind of fun and therapeutic for me while I am healing. So my mom says she will pick up a camera for me. The idea of Lamsonacare the movie is born.

The therapists come by today to get me out of bed, which seems kind of dumb to me because I just have surgery the day before and I have a wound vac on my ass. So I tell them I do not think it is a very good idea, but check with my doctors. If they say it is ok I do it.

Day 7 (Wednesday - April 2, 2014)

Nothing eventful happens this day. I just lay around healing. I wake up. I have breakfast. I read some cheesy sci fi novel. The name of the book is The Retrieval Artist. The Retrieval Artist is a book about these detectives who solve crime and live in domes on the moon. It is good. I like it.

I spend a lot of time lifting weights in bed. I watch that therapy channel non stop with the oceans and rivers and mountains and soft jazz. I find it soothing.

Another asshole doctor comes by today. He pisses me off. He is a motherfucker. They are starting to consider a more long-term place to send me. So this asshole doctor, an infectious disease person tells me, “You’re going to a nursing home.” He is a grade A asshole. Motherfucker looks like fucking Orville Reddenbacher - stupid fucking bow tie, glasses, fucked up curly hair and all.

He asks me, “Have you ever been to a nursing home?” Now I am pissed because I have let cocksuckers like him talk me into going to one of those shithole nursing homes in the past. I am on Medicaid so of course it was some shithole state run nursing home. Those places are two notches below prison. They take in the shittiest of the shit as their “patients.” It is basically a refuge for elderly hobos and fucking degenerates. The name of this shithole they sent me to in the past is Rancho Manor. It is located in Hazlewood Missouri - a suburb of St. Louis.

I get a absolutely no physical therapy at this place. A lot of days they do not even get me out of bed. So I have to yell at the administration to even get help out of bed so I can do therapy on my own. Because it turns out being on Medicaid, I am not even allowed in their therapy room for legal insurance-type reasons. Only people with Medicare get therapy, and this was the only reason I went there in the first place, to get therapy and build up my strength after a long illness so I could go back home. They totally fuckin lied to me to get me in there.

At the hospital I was at they did treat my infection and closed up my wound but they did not want to keep me there any longer so that I could actually get physical therapy and build up my strength enough so I could get in and out of bed on my own so I could go back home. So they totally fuckin lied to me and sold me on the fact that this Rancho Manor place was some sort of physical therapy Shangri La where their staff of happy hardworking physical therapists were going to whip me into shape and help me build up my strength so I could go back home, which once again was total bullshit.

On the days they actually did help me get out of bed. I had to do all my own therapy which was not that big of a deal because even though I am a gimp in a wheelchair, I have always been kind of religious about lifting weights. So I knew what I had to do to build up strength, but I was lucky. Many people do not have that knowledge.

I did not see a fuckin therapist the whole time I was there. Mom brought weights from home. So I basically worked out every day and did laps around that place in my wheelchair. And when my mom showed up she would assist me doing transfers in and out of bed over and over again just to get the form down.

So after about five weeks, no thanks at all to those cocksuckers, I was strong enough to go back home. And this is where shit gets even weirder. I live by myself so the agreement with these assholes was I would stay there long enough to get strong enough to be able to do my own transfers in and out of bed without assistance which like I said after five weeks, this goal was achieved.

The first roommate I had there was okay. He was a stroke victim so he basically spent all day and night in bed. Needless to say, he also got absolutely no fuckin therapy whatsoever. But when I got stronger and more active they decided it was time for me to go to the wing where the more high functioning people were.

So they roomed me up with this fuckin pervy asshole with a head injury. The guy wanted to fuck me. The last night he got really pervy and gave it a pretty good try. Thankfully I got through that night with my asshole intact but I sure as fuck slept with one eye open that night. And to top things off people were stealing shit from me the whole time left and right. Stupid shit. My clothes, hats, socks, whatever wasn’t nailed down.

Fortunately, by that point, I had built up my strength to transfer in and out of bed by myself unassisted. So I told myself, “This is my last night I spend here.” So I ran it by the doctor. He was cool with it. I ran it by the head nurse and she was cool with it. I ran it by the administration, the people who actually ran the business, and they were complete utter fucking dicks.

I remember that fucking cunt lady laughing at me condescendingly and telling me “Oh no! You can’t just leave. There’s a process we go through. All this paperwork.” or some shit like that. The fact was they just wanted me to stay in there so they could keep collecting my disability check. That is how those assholes make money off their Medicaid patients. They take your disability check every month so you can live in squalor in their state run chunk of shit village for degenerate hobos.

And I was like “Bulllshit! The doctor said I could go. The head nurse said I could go. I’m not staying here another night.” All my stuff was already packed and my ride was already there.

She just laughed some more in her cunty smarmy way, like she was dealing with just another brain damaged mental defective or dementia patient she was used to dealing with. That cunt. When she tried to protest some more in her cunty haughty arrogant way, I just said “I’m not staying here another night. People are stealing from me. Its not safe and the guy you roomed me up with is wanting to make me his bitch.”

She just laughed some more like I was fucked in the head and it was all some funny joke. But that was it. I was out of there. If there is one good thing I could say about that hellhole it is that it was so fuckin horrible, it definitely inspired me to train and get strong so that I could get the fuck out of there as soon as fucking possible.

So this is why I start working out with weights from bed on my own almost since day one in this hospital stay, because in my experience if you are going to spend a prolonged period of time in bed in a long hospital stay and you are waiting on therapists to come by and build up your strength or maintain your strength while you are laying in bed, you just might end up in a state run nursing home getting fucked in the ass by your pervy brain-damaged roommate.

So this brings us back to Dr. Orville Reddenbacher Shitfuck Asshole. First off, when he says I will probably go to a nursing home. It is totally not even his decision. He does not make that call. He is just saying this to fuck with me - to fuck up my day just to be an asshole. In my experience some people are just like this. They enjoy saying ignorant shit to people just to be mean.

So then when Doctor Orville Reddenfucker follows this up with, “Have you ever been to a nursing home Mr. Lamson?” I am pissed.

I say “Yeah I have. I let assholes like you talk me into going into Rancho Manor. It was a fuckin shithole. Those places are unsafe. They don’t make you better. I know you’re going to try to sell it like its some great place but the fact is I’m on Medcaid, so it’ll be some state run shithole that’s two notches below below prison and three notches below a fuckin nut ward.”

When he tries to say something else. I cut him off. “I’m not going to a fucking nursing home! I’ll go home first and take my chances.”

So he says, “You may not be able to get a wound vac at home.”

So I say, “I don’t give a shit! I’ll rip this fucking thing off right now and go home and take my chances before I go to one of those shitholes. Its not worth getting raped.”

Doctor Orville Shitfuck leaves.

Day 8 (Thursday - April 3, 2014)

I feel a lot better today than I did last Thursday which is when I am admitted into this hospital. The therapists come by. The doctor said it is okay for me to sit in my chair for a half hour at a time. So they help me transfer into my chair which goes pretty smooth this time because I feel a lot stronger and I am a lot more used to this bed. By this I mean I am now familiar with what rails and stuff to grab to help me sit up and transfer and the weird way this air cushion gives. My mattress at home is a lot harder. So I transfer pretty much unassisted today. The therapists are happy.

My ass hurts but it feels good to sit up and be out of bed and to take a stroll through the halls, just to get out of the room for awhile and get out of my head.

The social worker comes by and tells me they are trying to find a longer term care facility for me to go to. I raise concern about my contempt for state run nursing homes. She assures me these longer term facilities are basically like hospitals they are just for longer term patients. She says there are two such facilities in the St. Louis area and they may be all full so they might not even take me, but she says she will talk to them and we will see what happens. One of the places is called Kindred, the other is called Select. Great names.

The pain and spasms and muscle stiffness and tightness are making me very grouchy today. So I am already pretty irritable when Dr. Orville Shittenfucker comes in my room. He can see I am not in a good mood. I tell him to leave me alone. I need to be left alone. He leaves. When I suffer I hate people standing there watching me like it is some sort of fucked up show, Especially Doctor Asshole.

So after I kind of straighten myself out, I watch the therapy channel, I take some drugs. I fall asleep.

Day 9 (Friday - April 4, 2014)

My mom brings me this very cool new Sony camcorder to make my Lamsonacare movie with. It is very cool. I like it. It takes me awhile to learn how to use it but I finally figure out at least how to record with it. I record my first little installment of Lamsonacare the movie.

A lady comes to my room. She is a representative of one of these long term care facilities the social worker tells me about yesterday. This lady represents a place called kindred and says they have a bed there for me if I am interested. I am. She says the name of this place is Kindred. She says it is is like a little hospital inside a hospital. Apparently they have their own little wing of a hospital called St. John’s. This is coincidental in two ways. First, the hospital is located almost right next door to Missouri Baptist, which is where I am at right now; Second, St. John’s is actually where I was born - where young baby Lamson came into the world.

So I am thinking for this Lamsonacare movie I am making about my stay in the hospital, this could be a whole full circle ironic twist kind of thing. So I tell her okay I will go to this place. I am supposed to be taken there tomorrow via ambulance since I am stuck in this bed until my ass wound is healed.

The therapists come by to get me out of bed again. Right about the same time another lady shows up just as I get up into my chair. She is very attractive. It turns out she is also a representative of one of these long term care type facilities - the place called Select. I ask her if she did not hear I am already going to that Kindred place at St. John’s, but she says it is my choice.

So we talk and it turns out this Select place is located inside St. Joseph’s hospital. St. Joseph’s is in St. Charles, right down the road from where I live. All my friends and family are from St. Charles. So I figure this is great - a lot more convenient. I can even just take the bus home when I am released. Plus I am already familiar with the staff and stuff. I have been to this place before. So I decide to go there. I go there tomorrow.

The therapists are waiting there the whole time while we have our little chat. The Select representative lady leaves. On with the fucking physical therapy! I take a stroll through the hallways again. It is very refreshing. I am feeling good about all this. I am in a good mood.

To make matters better, since I was hurting and so miserably yesterday, they adjust my medication. so not only am I feeling less pain now, but I also have a pleasant laid back buzz going on. I am not even that disturbed when I see Doctor Orville Buttfucker come into my room. He is actually being nice. He asks me if I am having a better day, because the day before I was miserable and grouchy and told him to leave me alone as soon as he enters my room.

He goes on to tell me they are sending me to a longer term care facility tomorrow and I tell him I know, that I have already talked to the social worker and the different reps about it already. I cannot believe how nice Doctor O.R. is being today. I find it is that way a lot of times with asshole bully types. If you act like a fucking asshole toward them, they tend to actually act nice.

I guess because he knows how I feel about going to a nursing home, he starts very nicely explaining to me the difference between going to a nursing home and one of these long term care facilities. I let him know I know the difference and that I am cool with going to this Select place. We are actually being civil to each other.

Doctor O keeps being pleasant as he goes on to explain how he viewed the CAT scans of my lower body. Suffice it to say, for a crippled guy, I have been around a lot and done a lot of stuff, put my body through a lot of shit - lived hard There is a lot of damage down there - broken legs, broken hip, steel rod in my right femur.

So he starts to lecture me, but in a nice way. He basically concludes the lecture by saying, “You can probably stick around a while longer (by this, I assume he means staying in the land of the living), but you have to make some changes. You’re not 25 anymore.”

He then tells me before I go to this new place, since I’m on antibiotics for an extended period of time, until April 23rd to be precise, I have to have a pick line put in, which is basically an industrial IV from hell. It is a whole surgical procedure where they take this catheter and insert it surgically under your clavicle and then thread it in up this huge vein in your neck.

I have had the process done before, and the assholes like to tell you it does not hurt at all. You do not even have to be put to sleep. All they need is local anaesthetic and you do not feel a thing. All of this is bullshit of course. It hurts like hell and you can feel the creepy sensation of this tube going up the main artery in your neck.

So they take me down to another floor to do this procedure and I voice my concerns to the doctor. I ask him if there is any way I can get some sort of sedation for the procedure. He says yes but since I had already eaten and stuff that day, we reschedule for tomorrow, but I cannot eat or drink anything after midnight.

So I go back to my room. I eat dinner. I read. I watch the therapy channel. I get doped up. I go to sleep.

Day 10 (Saturday - April 5, 2014)

They, they take me down to get that pick line installed. They shoot me up full of good dope. I do not fall asleep during the procedure but I am so high I do not really give a shit what is going on. I am so high, I actually enjoying the procedure. I am disappointed when it is over.  

I go back to my room and wait for the ambulance to take me to Select at St. Joseph’s hospital in St. Charles, Missouri. I shoot my second little installment of Lamsonacare. I still learn how to work this new camera. I have lunch. I read. I watch the therapy channel. I wait. While I wait the wound people take off my wound vac because it is a whole system with an electric pump and everything. And St. Joseph’s has their own. So they put on a regular bandage in preparation for my trip over there.

About 3 PM the EMTs arrive. They load me up into the ambulance. We take a trip to St. Charles, Missouri - St. Joseph’s hospital. My new home. Yay!

We arrive at St. Joseph’s. They take me to my new room. The people here seem nice. The tech guy is named Greg. I forget the nurse’s name. Right away though, I like Greg. He seems like a pleasant guy.

After I get settled in, they start the intake process, which means they ask me millions of questions about my medical history which is extensive. However, aside from the obvious cripple guy issues and the infections, I do not have any health problems. So the monotonous part comes when they start asking me about diabetes, heart conditions,  allergies, blah blah blah - and I just have to keep answering, “No no no no no no no…” You get the picture.

So after that shit, I take out my camera to record another installment of Lamsonacare.  it is a short one. I spend so much time learning how to use the camera, I already fill up the memory card and the only way to free up some memory unless I want to delete it is to import these files to a computer, which I do not have in the hospital with me.

So I call Mom and ask her to bring her laptop so I can keep this Lamsonacare money machine rolling. She comes up with a better idea. Since I am not blowing money while I am in the hospital, we decide to take some money out of my account and get the cheapest laptop we can find that I can play with while I am in the hospital. But I also need the computer to operate the editing software that comes with the camera. So it is looks like I have to put the filming of Lamsonacare on hiatus for a couple days.

I take time to scan the TV channels at this new place to see if they have that soothing therapy channel that they had at Missouri Baptist. They do not. The closest thing I can find as far as soothing quality goes is this channel where they show a live shot of the hospital chapel 24/7. This is a Catholic hospital so I guess the more devout patients like to turn on this channel while they pray. I guess this is the purpose of this channel, because the chapel is always empty. Aside from a few stragglers coming in to pray, there is never anyone in there. I guess that is why I find it soothing. The silence and all the religious symbols have a calming effect. Even though I am not a religious guy, I appreciate things that are soothing and calming, especially in times like this. Plus I figure the more soothed and calm I am, the more it aids the healing process.

Day 11 (Sunday - April 6)

Nothing happens today. I lay around. I relax. I read my sci fi book about detectives that solve crime on the moon. I order eggs, bacon, sausage, toast, cottage cheese, milk and an apple for breakfast - the same thing I order every morning. They say protein is good for the healing of the wound. I take drugs, a sweet xanax and vicodin cocktail.

My sister visits. She is busy with a new job, so this is the first time she visits me since I am hospitalized. It is a fun visit. We both have the same fucked up sense of humor so we both have a few laughs making fun of stuff. Then my mom shows up, surprising us both. We have a nice family visit.

I am annoyed that I cannot film my stupid movie for a few days while I wait to get a computer in here to work with my camera. Technical problems. What can you do? So I keep myself occupied going back and forth between dozing and reading all day.

I order a grilled ham and cheese sandwich, fries, cottage cheese, milk, an apple  and a protein enriched nutritional supplement drink for lunch. I order the same for dinner. I kill the rest of the day lifting weights from bed, doing drugs, dozing and reading until I fall asleep for the night.

Day 12 (Monday - April 7)

Once again, at this new place, thanks to my history as a dirty filthy disease carrier who has had MRSA in the past, I get my own private room with a bed right by the window. It is not the best view in the world. It is just a view of the roof of another building. But it is a window and the light shines in and I can stare out and look at the sky, which I often do.

Mom comes by with a big surprise. She got me a new laptop. It is pretty cool, but since it is a Google Chrome Book it cannot help me for my purposes. It will not let me download the stuff to import files and edit with this new camera. So mom says she will get a Windows operating system to install on this laptop. Another day of no filming of Lamsonacare. Oh well. I figure there will be plenty of time to get footage for this groundbreaking documentary.

Two therapists come by. They come to get me out of bed and into my chair for a limited amount of time.

My mom brings electric clippers from home the day before. I shave my beard.

So after I am done shaving, it is time for me to get back into bed, because I am only allowed to sit up for a half hour at a time.

Right after, St. Joseph’s wound doctor and her two nurse assistants come to check out my wound.

The two therapists are still there. They stay because they want to see what the doctor’s recommendation  will be regarding my physical and occupational therapy. They actually argue a little with her because standing orders from Missouri Baptist say I can get in my chair for a half hour at a time, but Doctor DaValle says, “No.” She wants me to completely stay off my ass wound, which I do not have a problem with because I actually was a little skeptical of letting  therapy get me up on my asswound so soon after surgery. In my experience the only way to heal these pressure sores is to completely stay off them until they heal.

My main attending physician who is overseeing my case comes in to see me. Her name is Doctor Latha Myla. She is a very nice, pretty little Indian lady. She is very pleasant. She is always smiling and always seems genuinely pleased to see me. I have met her before in a previous stay here. She is a nice lady and a good doctor. She seems to actually care. I am proud to have her as a member of the Lamsonacare team.

My infectious disease specialist doctor at this new place pays me a visit. Right away, I like this guy way better than Doctor Orville Assenfucker. This new guy is named Doctor Young. He is a very pleasant guy with twinkly eyes and a nice smile. He also seems to actually like and care about his patients, which is refreshing after some of the fucking self-righteous, snobby asshole doctors I have dealt with. I am pleased to also have Doctor Young as part of the Lamsonacare team of medical professionals.

Overall, I am impressed with the  whole Lamsonacare team I have met today. They all seem to be caring, compassionate, conscientious and competent healthcare professionals. It has been a good day. I get doped up and drift off to sleep in a pleasant drug-induced haze.

Day 13 (Tuesday - April 8)

I wake up. I order breakfast. I read until it comes. I eat my eggs, bacon, sausage, toast and drink my milk. I read my sci fi novel.

My mom comes by with what she thinks is a Windows OS, but it is actually Microsoft Office, which even though I cannot use on my Chromebook because it does not have a Windows OS, it is not a total loss. It is a good program to have for my purposes for my desktop at home. She says again she will bring by a Windows OS tomorrow. Once again, I need a Windows OS for my new Sony camcorder so I can download the proper editing software and so I can import files from the camera so I can free up memory because my memory card on the camera is full.

However, I am no computer genius but I am starting to suspect that this Chromebook is so simplistic that it is really not meant for this kind of thing. I am even starting to think from all the messing around I have done with this, that Chromebook is not even meant for a Windows OS, but once again it will not be wasted. I can use it on my desktop at home to upgrade my system.

But still I like the Chromebook. It is good for all the fun stuff like this word processing program for example and Facebook and Youtube and e-mail and browsing and stuff like that. You just cannot download and stuff except for their specially approved apps, a lot of which are actually pretty cool.

But anyway, this gives me the idea that even without the camera, I can still keep filming Lamsonacare, using Youtube. Then when my little journey is over, I can have a series of Lamsonacare episodes on Youtube and put all the footage together, then edit it down into a 2 or 3 hour documentary.

So not much goes on for the rest of the day. I order the same thing for lunch and dinner. I order grilled ham and cheese sandwich, fries, cottage cheese, milk and my protein supplement drink. This stuff is called Juven. It is supposed to be great for healing wounds.

I spend the rest of the night reading and thinking up ideas for my Lamsonacare movie. I take a vicodin and xanax cocktail and fall asleep.

So I start to feel better. It was the day from hell. Once again, this is Lamsonacare, One Gimp’s journey through the fuckin healing process. So I decide I have to film the good with the bad. Without these bad parts mixed in what good is it? You gotta have the drama, the passion, the love, the loss, the sorrow, the redemption. Blah blah blah.

It is kinda funny. I was talking to Rob from Jersey and he was watching my clip from yesterday and he tells me I’m like the Les Straub of hospitals. Although Les Straub always says its important in survival situations to get a fire going. In survival situations, a good fire always lifts your spirits. However I recommend not to try this in the hospital. I did and the staff got very upset with me. So I say, “What’s wrong with you guys? Don’t you watch Survivorman? I’m in a survival situation! I was just trying to lift my spirits!” So I am promptly escorted to the psych ward.

Day 16 (Friday - April 11)

Aw man this is stupid. Another day in the fuckin hospital. I look like shit. My teeth look horrible. My mouth tastes like shit. My nose looks crooked. Lamsonacare - one gimp’s journey through the healing process. I am Charles Lamson. Coming at you from a shitty fuckin hospital.

I have a white pillow, a blue mattress and a yellow and green hospital gown

Holy shit! I look pale. I look like fucking Dracula! Man I just lost all skin color. All that aside I am feeling a lot better than I did last night.

I do this surgery in a couple hours. So that is fun. Sarcasm aside, it might actually be fun, because they usually get me very  high first with this drug. So that is always pretty kick ass. Then they knock me out. Then they do surgery. Then I wake up. Then I am in pain.

Then they give me good drugs for the pain. I am high. It is a party. I look forward to that.

So they are preparing me for surgery. They give me two bottles. It tastes like lemon-flavored shit. Or like deer urine. I never drink deer urine.

I was in a bad state yesterday. I shit a lot. I puke a lot. It also induces vomiting so I puke and shit all day long.

Day 17 (Saturday - April 12, 2014)

Roughly four weeks left. I am in a hospital bed right down the street from my house. It is about a ten minute ride through town. My homies call earlier.

I just want to point out I got a call from Beebopskeebop from Florida yesterday. He is a regular listener on www.revereradionetwork.com He seems like a cool guy.

I do a radio show as well. The name of the show is The Rant. It is a global broadcast - 25 million listeners worldwide. The show broadcasts Monday through Friiday two to four Central Time. I do another radio show Sunday evening on www.flagshipradio.com five to seven PM central.

I have the colostomy surgery. I am now a transhuman cyborg that shits in a bag. Yesterday after surgery they put me on a liquid diet.

I had not eaten in 3 days. I am famished. The beef broth is fantastic and the jello is marvelous after three days without food. It tastes good.

Well now I get to move on to solid liquids. God knows what kind of Orwellian double speak diet that is.

By the way, I have an awesome room all to myself, with a great view of the sun rise. There are some pretty kick ass views though from this hospital. It is right on the river.

They are making me stay in bed. For awhile they are saying it is okay to get up a little. but now they are saying no. Those bastards.

St. Joseph is a Catholic hospital so there is a lot of religious symbolism and crosses and shit on the wall, but hey whatever works, right?

I would like to point out, The name of the show and book/ manifesto is Lamsonacare, collectively. I was being sarcastic whilst naming the show. This is neither meant to be an indictment of or pro any kind of stupid healtcare system. This is just one Gimpy-American’s journey through the healing process.`

Addendum:

Feeling a little better. Okay so the reason I am making this addendum iis I’m pretty psyched!

Day 18 (Sunday - April 13, 2014)

Another day of Lamsonacare. My wound vac is beeping. Day 18 in the hospital. They have discontinued my antibiotics. They said I was going to be on them till the 23rd. so maybe it is just a computer error. Who the fuck knows? I don’t know. Everything is up in the air right now.

I give another shout out to Zeepobskeebop. I am very high on pharmaceutical drugs during today’s Lamsonacare Youtube clip. He called me on Friday. We had gay phone sex.

I never really talked to him that much in revere chat. but on the phone he was a steamy cauldron of masuline passion.

Cool conversation but I cut it short

Day 19 (Monday - April 14, 2014)

They kicked me out of my cool private MRSA room. Those fuckers. I have a new roommate his name is Terry. During the filming I have to tell Terry I am doing a Youtube clip and that I am not going insane.

Day 20 (Tuesday - April 15, 2014)

getting used to the new room. They kicked me out of my private room yesterday. I have a cool new roommate though. His name is Terry. I am waiting for my asswound to heal. I stay in bed till then. I think it is three more weeks. It is maybe a month. I do not know.

When they discontinue the antibiotics the other day, it is a mistake. A computer glitch. They put me back on them till the April twenty-third.

They are talking about surgically closing my asswound. I believe it when I see it. A lot of doctors are fuckin liars. You cannot believe a fuckin word they say. Cynicism is a major component in Lamsonacare. ,

I tried using Mom’s laptop. Did not work out so good. Back to Chromebook.

I am more energetic than I was yesterday.

Day 21 (Wednesday - April16, 2014)

My new roommate is a gun fanatic. Not so much a second amender type. He is more of collector of very old guns. Old guns are his thing, Like the ones in the spaghetti westerns.

Aunt Kay calls.

Aunt Kay visits.. I read. I work out. I go to bed.

Day 22 (Thursday - April 17, 2014)

Nothing to report.

Day 23 (Friday - April 18, 2014)

I look tired and dopey. I am tired and dopey. Yesterday, I bum out. I think it is a getting to me. The laying in bed.

Les Straub says survival is about moving forward. It is about going home. So that is what I think about. Go home to my apartment. I have a big huge stiff drink. I know that sounds homoerotic and gay, but it is the truth. Whiskey and water is my strength. The hope of one day again feeling her sweet brown warmth flow through my body in her liquid embrace is the only thing keeping me going at this point. I love you Lady Whiskey, my sweet brown mistress. A really strong drink.

Sipping that mofo. Smoke some pot. Do some other various chemicals. Illegal chemicals. And just fuckin chill and relax. I get back to my radio show, that I do Monday through Friday, two to four central time PM and on Sunday afternoon from  3 - 5 PM Central. The one on Monday through Friday is The Rant. The one on Sunday evening is called the Lamson Experiment. The Rant is on at least two different networks. Global broadcast. 25 million listeners worldwide. The Rant is on www.revereradionetwork.com  and www.flagshipradio.com - The Lamson Experiment is exclusively on www.flagshipradio.com for now. I highly recommend both those stations and those two shows in particular. By the way you can find tons of archives of the old shows at Revere Radio. Check it out! I command thee! There are tons of them there free for the taking.

As far as breaking Lamsonacare developments happening; things are progressing very slowly. They allow me to sit on my ass now for limited periods of time on the side of my bed. Yay! So That is fuckin exciting!

Still working out a lot from bed. That is doing a good job of keeping my upper body strength. But the newest development is they tell me sometime soon, I get up in my chair again for limited amounts of time. Which should be cool because that way l move around and stuff outside of this room and look at other things.

Yesterday I bum out because I am tired. I have trouble sleeping the last couple days, even though I am tired. I lie here staring at the ceiling. I am too tired to read. I lay here all day, staring like an idiot.

Doctor X calls yesterday. He is supposed to come up today. or sometime this weekend. Not quite sure when.

I got pretty good sleep though last night. I take a valium, hydrocodone cocktail. and the shit puts me right to sleep. So that is beautiful.

I am on a valium and xanax cocktail. They give me the xanax so I do not get all keyed up and act like an asshole. I admit I do not mind taking it. It is soothing.

This is kind of a shitty situation the whole way around

Day 24 (Saturday - April 19, 2014)

This is day twenty-four of my saga. It is The Year of Our Lord 2014. I just got a new nicotine patch.

I have two cups of coffee. I do an episode of Lamsoonacare. I write a story as well, alongside all these Youtube clips. All these clips are part of a movie. I put it all together and edit it down to make a stupid fuckin documentary.

I am in pain. I am a big wussy.`I am about to ask for drugs but I do this first. I get some xanax on top of it. It is a fuckin party. It is party time in room 127 St. Joseph Hospital St. Charles - in the beautiful heartland of these good old United States of America, right at the confluence of the Mighty Mississippi and the Majestic Missouri Rivers.

Day 25 (Sunday - April 20, 2014)

Happy Easter! Which I am sure everyone knows celebrates the time when Our Lord chased the snakes out of Ireland. Then The Lord and his 12 Irish drinking buddies went to an Irish pub to celebrate and they got very drunk like Irishmen.

Oh yea, also, it is the day that celebrates bunnies made out of chocolate and colorful eggs. Happy Easter to one! Happy Easter to all! And to all a good night!

Day 26 (Monday - April 21, 2014)

Nothing to report

Day 27 (Tuesday - April 22, 2014)

Alright! Big fuckin news on Day 27. I sit now. I am out of bed. I am up in my chair. Big development. Big step forward. Tomorrow is the last day of IV antibiotics. It is still a little sore sitting on the asswound. It feels good to get out of bed.

Day 28 (Wednesday - April 23, 2014)

They let me get up in my chair now. Big step forward. I cannot film myself taking a tour around the hospital like I wanted to. There are privacy laws. It is not so much for the staff but it is illegal to film another patient in the hospital. Privacy Act.

Day 29 (Thursday - April 24, 2014)

Today is Day 29 of my struggle.

Day 30 (Friday - April 25, 2014)

Doctor Parikh is an asshole.

After spending like a month in bed, now that I am up in the chair, I have found a little window with a view of the river. It faces southeast so in the morning the sun shines in there like a solarium. The sun feels good.

After spending that long without it the sun is like heroin

(Saturday - April 26, 2014)

I get out of bed. Mom helps me because none of the therapists are here on the weekend. She brings some lease papers for me to sign. It is that time of year to renew the lease on my apartment. I get housing assistance so my rent is pretty low. This year it has gone up one dollar from $126 to $127 a month. That is not too bad.

I know today and tomorrow are the last 2 days I get out of bed because after surgery I am on bedrest for thirty days until my skin flap heals. After these thirty days though I am good as new. I am better than new. No more fuckinng restrictions. i start a new life. I get my masters either online or at Lindenwood. I get my PHD. As soon as possible I sign up. I travel. I make movies. I go to the Social Security office to collect on my father’s survivor’s social security instead of collecting SSI disability. It is quite a bit more money than disability.

Tom visits. It is good to see him. We plan for me to take a bus down to Memphis as soon as my ass is healed. We go to Beale Street. I bring my harmonica. I get a cup and panhandle on Beale Street. I film it all. We make a movie of the whole adventure.

Doctor Shapiro comes by to have a look at the wound, I guess to see what he is dealing with come surgery time on Monday. He seems upbeat and says the wound looks nice and healthy and clean and says everything should go well on Monday.

For a surgeon, he is a pretty pleasant guy. He is even nice to the nurses.

Day 32 (Sunday - April 27, 2014)

I do not know what is wrong. I cannot get my Youtube to work right. I am having trouble posting my videos. Both yesterday and today. So Lamsonacare the movie or Youtube series or whatever the hell it is will have to be on hiatus a few days until I figure out this little snafu. Regardless, my day is pretty good. I get out of bed and stroll around in my wheelchair which is even more precious now because tomorrow they put a skin flap on my ass wound. so I will have to stay off that for four to six weeks while the new skin takes hold. So surgery is scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. So after midnight tonight I am NPO. That is medical talk for no food or liquids until after surgery. I try to see it in a spiritual light. Like a fast. Like Muslim during Ramadan. But I am not looking forward to a day with no meds.

By the way, this is totally random, but they have the most excellent coffee on this floor. Mixed with my morning valium, baclofen and vicodin, it is an awesome buzz, not as good as pot but one must make do with what one has available.

I know it is a really dumb thing to be psyched up about but I am really psyched about this stupid colostomy. I have been like this for for 24 years so just the idea that I am not shitting on myself anymore is almost miraculous to me. Plus it opens up a lot of freedom to do things that I was afraid to do before, like take trips with my friends.

Case in point, my buddy Tom pays me a visit yesterday. It is good to see him. He is a doctor so he is familiar with all this medical stuff. He tells me again he cannot believe it took me this long to get this procedure done. I do not know why I just found the whole shitting in a bag idea freaky. It scared me for some reason.

We always plan for me to take the bus to Memphis so we can go to Beale St. where I can do some panhandling but I never do it because I am afraid of shitting but now that I shit in a bag like a transhuman cyborg this is no longer a concern. i embrace transhumanism now. As soon as my ass heals I take the bus to Memphis, and that is just the start. Bring on the fuckin nanotech and microchips!

Day 33 (Monday - April 23, 2014)

Day 3 of no video coverage of Lamsonacare. Hope the bugs get worked out by tomorrow. Today is surgery day. Earlier I was miserable. No food, no liquids but most horribly no pain meds and my surgery is not scheduled till late afternoon so I hurt like a mofo but I try to be stoic and caveman like about it but my nurse sees through my clever disguise and asks me what is wrong.  I tell her I am hurting but I cannot take anything because of the NPO. She tells me I can have pain pills. That is good to me.

Day 34 (Tuesday April 24, 2014)

Boring.

Day 35 (Wednesday April 25, 2014)

Nothing to report.

Day 37 (Thursday April 26, 2014)

A lot of shit to report ladies and gentlemen. Donna Van Meter and TL called last night. TL is my friend from London. Donna is the program director at Flagshipradio.com. TL’s real name is Cairn Mckenna. I like TL. He turned me on to the traditional Irish folk singer Luke Kelly, for which I am eternally grateful. I enjoy luke Kelly.

Anyway they called last night and it was great to hear from them. There is beeping going off in my roommates area now. I think it is a code blue.

I just had a funny joke on the tip of my tongue but I forgot what it was.

I ask them if it was a code blue. They say no.

So anyway, there are a lot of coode blues in here. I am around death 24/7 at this hospital. It is a struggle for survival ladies and gentlemen. I am on the shitlist of the Obamacare Death Panels, but through sheer force of my goddamn cunning and will, I have managed to avoid the icy touch of Obama’s death panels. Code blues going off left and right.

I am wearing a shirt. It is a Busch work shirt. It has a slogan on it. The slogan is, “Making friends is our business.” Pretty fuckin catchy. It is white polo style with blue lettering. There is a blue stripe on the collar. Making friends is my business.

Day 38 (Friday April 27, 2014)

Day 38 of my stay in the hospital. Doctor Parikh tells me I am going home last night. Doctor Parikh is a motherfucking piece of shit asshole. He comes in and asks me with a big smile, “How would you like to go home?”

I tell him I would like to go home immediately, as soon as possible. He say’s, “You can leave now!” Again with the big smile like he is offering me some kind of great deal. He says he can let me go home then he would try to put me on his list for surgery. and he says the whole procedure could be done outpatient, which is impossible for a skin flap surgery. But I am getting ahead of myself.

At first I let him sucker me, but only for a minute, but even in that minute I knew something was wrong. He was not doing some kind thing letting me out. He was doing what a lot of doctors had done to me in the past. He was trying to give me the heave ho - treating the infection but then going home with a hole in my ass so it gets infected again.

Nurse comes in. I tell her I do not want Parikh. I want a second opinion. Right that minute she calls Shapiro. It is Friday night. Shapiro said he would be happy to perform the surgery on Monday. Fuck you Doctor Parikkh you piece of shit cocksucker. He just wants me to go back home with an open wound he knows will get infected. Fuck it. Then it will just be somebody else’s problem.

I dealt with 2 face pricks like him for years. They’ll spend years treating the infection rather than just close the wound. They spent a year and a half before Shapiro finally closed it before and now. He is batman.

Day 39 (Saturday April 29, 2014)

I was oon hiatus two days. I did get my ass surgery. The asswound is closed now. Further development it looks like I need a shave. Just woke up not long ago. So should only be 30 more days of hell.

Day 40 (Sunday April 30, 2014)

On the seventh day of June which is a Friday I ride the Megabus from St. Louis to Memphis. I return Sunday morning. The plan is to meet with Tom, Keith, Snakeman and get a hotel on or close to Beale street or whatever works. The plan is to sit on Beale Street playing my harmonica and panhandling whilst filming it on my cool new camera. So I am there live panhandling on Beale Street Saturday june 8, 2014 sometime during the day. And filming it as part of a movie.

Day 41 (Monday May 1, 2014)

They just shot me up with drugs. That was weird.

I have a lump of fat on my head. It looks like a meat yamaka. Rob from Jersey said it looked like a jew horn. It is actually an alien implant. That is where Reptoids from Planet Pop Tart put the device.

The High-Command of The Gamma Quadrant communicate to me as well through my alien implant. I have managed to somehow make my ugly lump of head fat work for me. It is as if my lump of head fat had a fatty brain of its own with its own agenda.

The Pleiadians are the ones who are controlling me.The Pleiadian Overlords want me to create Lamsonacare and spread the benevolent core teachings of Lamsonacare - at the end of a gun if need be.

Stuff to report: I am leaving hospital, within the next several days. I stay at mom’s for 20 some days till butt is healed. God help me.

Day 42 (Tuesday - May 2, 2014)

I fight off Obama’s Death Panels another day. Lamsonacare will never die, motherbitches!

Day 43 (Wednesday - May 3, 2014)

I am at my mom’s now. Nice view from the window and good camera angle with mirror in background.

This is the exact same room I grew up in which is kind of weird.

Day 44 - (Thursday - May 4, 2014)

I am 45 years old. and I am doing on the scene live reporting from mom’s. No sign of any gunshots yet, but it is still early. Mom’s is a rough place to stay. Carrying a piece at my mom’s is a must. A lot of gun play. Long story.

Starting to look better after being out of the hospital a couple days. Those places drain the life out of you. All the superbugs. The sooner you can get out, the better.  I planned on celebrating the past two nights but i am soo tired both nights I only have a sip or two then fall asleep. I was more tired than thought I guess.

Plus the medication. They give me seven days worth. I am weaning off it because aside from very occasional recreational usage, when I am outside of the hospital I do not like having them around. So I cut down. I experience mild withdrawal. It is nothing I cannot handle. Oh the drama unfolds.

Day 44 (Friday - May 5, 2014)

I write. It is still dark outside. It is the wee hours of the morning.  I slept good last night. Nothing to report ladies and gentlemen. Nothing!

Day 45 (Saturday - May 6, 2014)

I need alcohol! Falling into a little depression. I am not sure why. It is the withdrawal I am weaning off the pills. So I am god-damned edgy!

Day 46 (Sunday - May 7, 2014)

Nothing happened, except I somehow passed through a type of a transdimensional timespace portal. The timespace event took me back 3 days in Lamsonacare time but by the Gregorian records no such timespace fluctuations have happened. I shall investigate this further.

Sort of going out of my mind here. It is very quiet here. I know at the hospital I was constantly bitching about how noisy it was. There was always a certain nervous tension in there. Obama’s Death Panels were on the prowell. Through my sheer cunning I defeated Obama’s Death Panels again. I am in the belly of the beast of Obama’s Evil Socialized Death Machine. Every day is another struggle against the Death Panels. If it were not for Benjamin Fulford’s magical one thousand Ninjas, my ass would have been smoke a long time ago.

Non-stop drama and action. Now it is calm, quiet and peaceful. It is quiet. It is too quiet. I am getting quite bored and edgy. Twenty-one days to go. Fucking nurse is coming by today. God help me they are at the front of Obama’s domestic attack of Obamacare Death Panels.

I am not quite sure what I am going to do with this writing. I have been paying attention to the word count and there are 21 days to go, so I amm thinking it will not be enough for a novel. So what will it be? A short story? An article? A paper? An essay? A manifesto?

Or perhaps, I was just planning on carrying on with the narrative until it reached minimal novel  size at fifty thousand words. That would make Lamsonacare roughly the first third portion. So that gave me the idea to write a whole novel in three interconnecting parts. The novel would be called Summer 2014. Part 1 would be called Lamsonacare. Part 2 is called June. Part 3 is Conclusion. It will also all be filmed and put on youtube daily and all this footage will be edited down to a watchable length. So Summer 2014 is an awesome movie as well.

Regardless, there 21 days left of Lamsonacare. Maybe less. My ass is healing incredibly.

(May 9, 2014)

There are twenty days of Lamsonacare left. I cannot wait. The project was somewhat satisfying, but living through it was a pain in the ass, literally, pun intended, blah blah blah. The sooner it is over, the better for me. Perhaps sooner if I heal faster. Which might happen.

The nurse came over yesterday. She told me my ass was wonderful. Life is beautiful. Everything is healing wonderfully.

It is very early in the morning. 5:27 AM. I live with two elderly people. I am starting to adapt to their ways. Go to bed at four PM. Wake up at 4 AM. Seems like a good plan except last night I had a few drinks and I was in a getting drunk mode. After a few drinks they went to bed and I was laying there wide awake and sober. Tonight I am getting mom to leave more booze on my stand. I want to get drunk tonight. But who knows? I am slowly turning into one of them. They are old people. They go to bed early. They like to get up early. It is a cool lifestyle. I am digging it.

Twenty days left. Twenty days left. And that is the end of Lamsonnacare, unless I get cancer or something.

I have been healing fast. I eat nutritional high-protein food. I take maqny high-quality nutrtional supplements. I lift weights every day n bed. I exercise with a green 8 pound weight all the time. It iis. However nothing is a true replacement for actually sitting up and moving around out of bed. You just use different muscles when you are upright than yu do breclined.

Day 45 (Saturday - May 10, 2014)

I have 19 more days left on my journey. All of the trees are a lot bigger now. It gives the neighborhood a lot more of a wooded appearance. I like it. It was not like that when I was young. The subdivision was relatively young. The trees were small.

I must shave today. My nose hairs look ugly. I eat breakfast. I work out. I write. I fantasize about the future - or plan excessively, depending on which way you look at it. I cannot wait to take the bus and train to exotic places like Memphis, Texas, Florida, Mississippi, whatever. The world is my oyster.

But anyway, I do not know what to report. Everything is just the fuckin same all the time! If you want me to feel better buy my Lamsonacare bumper stickers and coffee mugs. They make great Mothers’ Day gifts. All of the money made from sales of Lamsonacare merchandise will go directly to crack. Some of it will go up my arm. Smoking crack, snorting coke and heroin. And I will be buying whores. So if you want to give to that cause buy the merchandise. Please feel free. If not, that is fine too. Who cares?

So we got 19 more days. I will be out of here. Lamsonacare will be over. It shall be glorious. So look for me on Beale Street. Saturday June the Eighth; leaving St. Louis at 2:45 PM. Arrive at Memphis 8:15 PM. Get a hotel close to the bus station. I plan on already being buzzed by the time I reach Memphis, because I plan to smuggle two small discrete flasks of whiskey on to the bus in my attache case. We go to the hotel and get more drunk. Saturday we refill all our flasks. Head out. Get breakfast. Go to Beale Street. Go to a bar. Have a few drinks. Get lots of film coverage of all this. Get a donation cup and panhandle while I play my harmonica. I film all that of course. Hopefully I make some drinking money. We go to another bar. Drink more. Listen to good live music.

Day 46 (Sunday - May 11, 2012):

It is day 46 of Lamsonacare. 18 days to go. I can’t wait. I have to get out of bed. There is stuff I have to do. Today I will work out. Write some. Maybe read. Drink my dinner until I fall asleep. There is a nice view from my room - the best I have had in my Lamsonacare experience so far.

Kay and Bill (my sister and brother-in-law) came over to Mom’s. Kay got loaded. I got drunk too, but I hid it well, which is easy to do if you’re just laying in bed anyway. I spent a good deal of the day working on Lamsonacare. It has become my life work. I live for Lamsonacare.

To Be Continued...