Been laughing my head off this morning remembering when I got hit by that car. I had just got home after a near fatal heart attack and decided I needed beer and cigarettes. Walking across an intersection I got hit by a car that was making a right hand turn. I remember that I could not figure out how I went from walking in a straight line to suddenly being face down in the street. Now comes the funny stuff, you have to realize that I have suffered enormous amounts of pain in my life. I have cut my index finger on one  the halves of my femur that was sticking out the side of my leg. Worst cut I ever felt,pretty painful.  So, anyhow, I get hit by a car last November 2 hours after getting home from the hospital after a near fatal heart attack (doctors told me "you will not survive another... ummm I had two more in December... duhhh), sp. I'm laying there in the middle of the intersection and people are calling 911 and **** like that and the driver gets out and says " oh god, oh **** oh ****", and the only thing i can think to say is " which is it?" he says "huh"? and I remember saying "you gonna prey, or **** me over again or ****" ? he asked me if i wanted a ride to the hospital, wrong question. all i wanted was beer and cigarettes, so i limped away.

Today is the 25th of June. It has been exactly 6 weeks since anyone from my family has emailed me. My younger brother actually contacted me by phone a little over a month ago, but nothing from anyone since then. During that conversation with my younger brother I had to try and convince him of how sick I am. I do not like to dwell on the subject, but feel almost like I have to justify myself to myself. The fact of the matter is that my heart has an ejection fraction of 15% when last measured after my 4th heart attack in 2008. That is down over the past year from 40% following a near fatal heart attack in  August 2007 when the veterans administration hospital in Houston, TX saved my life but discharged me to the streets of Houston. They discharged me from the hospital and I found myself to be once again homeless, jobless, and penniless , standing on the sidewalk in front of the U.S. Vets facility at 4640 Main street. I was kicked out of the facility because of the heart attack. I called the facility manager from my cardiac care unit bed to inform her that I was in the hospital and was told "you need to find somewhere else to live" that was told to me by MS. Pierre who was the facility manager. I was not given a reason for her putting me back on the streets of Houston, only that I "need to find somewhere else to live". I later found out that I had missed three bedchecks in a row (I was in the intensive care unit at that time and didn't have access to a phone) which is why I was left on the street with my belongings packed in garbage bags. Anyhow, following several 'clerical' errors within the veterans administration, I was unable to obtain medication to help my heart. As a consequence, my heart failure worsened to where it is now. To bad that clerks actually run things at the veterans administration. I guess I must have pissed one off and they delayed my appointments (something that anyone who knows how things really work at the veterans administration hospital already knows -- do not **** off the clerk, they can put anything into your medical records anytime they want to.

Got a call from a friend today. He had surgery 3 months ago at the VAMC (Veterans Administration Medical Center) in Houston. These are the same folks that so kindly denied me my medication and doctors' appointments. That is the reason I am dying from congestive heart failure. Anyhow, my friend had this surgery and wound up with a n infection. He had to tell the medical staff that he had an infection and at first they ignored him until he wound up in the emergency room with a high fever and infection. He was admitted and antibiotics were administered. He was followed up with wound care (provided by the VAMC at no charge to him since he is a Viet-Nam era veteran) and antibiotic therapy. The wound seemed to be getting better but never has healed properly. last week he went in for a follow up visit and the chief of surgery for VAMC Houston treated him. My friend told the doctor ( who he actually mistook for a nurse )that he thought the wound was infected again and requested that a sample swabbing be performed. The chief of surgery replied that he didn't think it was infected and that his job duties did not include taking sample swabs. Today, my friend was informed by his attending physician that his wound was infected again and why wasn't a sample swab taken on his last visit. My friend described what happened and that was actually when he found out that the chief of neurosurgery had treated him last week. And Nobody really Believes the VA screws up!

As my  disease becomes progressively worse,(Congestive Heart Failure) I have noticed that I am having a very difficult time accepting the end result. Being close to death is nothing new to me, having done so at the age of 9 month (according to my mom) with major surgery to correct the cleft palette I was born with. Then, being pushed off a third floor window ledge and shattering my right femur and left wrist had pretty much the same result. Having three perforated ulcers in my stomach and the surgeries to save my life again brought me to the brink of death. And then the five near fatal heart attacks has made it so that, according to myth, I am S.O.L having used up my nine lives. Guess I"m living on borrowed time now. But to be told by my doctor that I should get a hobby and enjoy it while I can has really sent me into a tailspin. I read about the 5 stages of grieving, and would guess I'm still in denial. I cannot believe this is happening, my ejection fraction has gone from 40% following the heart attack in August 2007, to 15% following the heart attacks last year. I bounce back and forth between denial and anger, lashing out at any little thing that goes wrong. If I turn on my computer and it doesn't start fast enough, I get angry, If I'm cooking something and it does not turn out the way I expect it too, I throw it away and do not eat. Doesn't matter that I never feel hunger pain anymore, not since 1986 when nerves to my stomach were severed to try and slow down acid production as well as losing 1/2 of the stomach anyhow. I don't get angry at people except myself, blaming my body for screwing me over,(how does one justify that?, is the body separate from my consciencesnous?) I get very angry with God for making me suffer the indiginities of my body. I can no longer lay down, my cough gets so bad I vomit, I hate to eat because the pain that I get afterwards from my digestive track doubles me over and brings sweat pouring off my face, I cannot walk or exercise, my right hip and left knee are damaged and cause excruiating pain even when I sit. I have no pain medicine, no insurance, cannot afford medication or doctors' visits. the IRS wants to garnish my Social Security Disability payments to pay off back taxes (which, truthfully, I do owe - it's just extremely difficult to file a return when you're sleeping in a homeless shelter in downtown Houston ). I get sad and depressed cause I think I have suffered enough already and why does God want me to hurt more? It all makes me very very sad. I know there is no cure for CHF short of a transplant but I am not a viable candidate for that procedure. Sometimes I wish my former cardiologist (lost him when I could not pay and stopped seeing him) would have spelled things out a little better. I don't know how long I have left, but am dying (pun intended) to know.