Friday, November 8, 2013

A Note on my Absence

Many of you—well, some of you at least—have been wondering where I’ve been for the past month. Was I dead? Did the stalkers get me? Did I at last come to my senses and make a devout vow to keep my dick in my pants and my hands off other men’s junk and never again to kneel on a floor except in godly prayer?

Nah. I was just sick.

It started off as one of those things in which I felt fragile and slightly delicate. Like some heroine in a regency romance, I wanted to fan myself, clutch the arm of a fainting couch, and declare that I’d been overcome with the vapors. Then the next thing I knew, I was flat on my back for roughly four weeks, staring at the ceiling and groggily wishing that someone could just put me into an induced coma and wake me up when it was all over. I had the chills, I had fevers, I had nightmares. Fun stuff.

Early in the month I managed to drag myself to the doctor. He looked me over, said I was dehydrated, and then sent me to the phlebotomist for blood work. The phlebotomist was a big German woman with her hair in a bun. “Sit!” she ordered, pointing me to her chair. I sat. “Roll up ze sleeves!” I rolled ‘em. Because she really did talk like that, and I was frightened to disobey. She reminded me of Frau Blücher in Young Frankenstein.

I watched as she poked and prodded the insides of my arms. “Vhy do you have no weins?” she wanted to know. “Make ze fist! Clench ze fist! Relax ze fist!” Her expert fingers felt like they were leaving bruises as she searched for the missing weins—I mean, veins. “You are dehydrated!” she announced at last, as if I’d done it on purpose just to spite her.

“Yes, the doctor said that,” I agreed.

“This is no good! No good!” she yelled at last. In the distance, horses whinnied and lightning flashed. She untied the length of elastic from around my right arm and tourniquetted it onto my left, then scowled as if she intended to scare the veins into appearing. They didn’t. Finally she prodded around some more. “Most men, they have big strong manly weins!” she told me. “You, though! You have leetle beety baby weins! For you I use leetle beety baby needle for your leetle beety baby weins!”

I felt obscurely defensive on behalf of my little bitty baby veins. “I’m big where it counts,” I protested.

Frau Blücher stared at me. Then she let out a hearty laugh that rocked the fillings right out of my teeth. “Beeg where it counts! Hah-hah-hah!”

So at least I made a new friend there.

The doctor didn’t do much for me other than refer me to a specialist, whom I couldn’t get in to see for a good two weeks. The specialist, however, gave me some much-coveted drugs that have been, knock wood, getting me back on track. That is, at least I’m spending most of my days upright rather than imprinting the fabric texture of my sofa onto my face while I drool and blankly watch The Chew.

When I’m sick, though, I really don’t feel like writing. There were times in my youth when I imagined to myself that should I ever be struck down by some fatal, lingering illness, that I’d use my remaining time to pen some touching, insightful, and beautifully-written memoir about my malady. Nope! I now know that if that time ever comes (knock wood again) I apparently will be the first to say, “Fuck that mess.” Then I’ll lie in my hospital bed scarfing down junk food. (Sadly, my appetite was the only thing unaffected last month.)

But when it’s difficult for me to string together anything more coherent than “More aspirin, please”, it’s tough to write blog entries. There were a couple of times I hauled out my laptop and contemplated posting something brief just to allay the fears of my readers, but then I’d think about the effort I’d have to put into pushing all those little keys and it would seem like way too much work for what I could manage.

Thanks to those of you who emailed or left comments while I was out of commission. As I said, I’m feeling somewhat better, and anticipate getting back to my normal energy levels soon. Bear with me while I get back to speed, would you?

45 comments:

  1. Glad to hear that you're getting better. Just as importantly, I'm glad your illness didn't impair your sense of humor or the acuity of your observations. Your entry made my morning. Welcome back.

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    1. You might be giving me more credit than I deserve, but I thank you, Barry.

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  2. I'm glad you're feeling better and when I read Frau Blücher, I heard the horses in my mind. I love that movie ('Put the candle back' is my favorite line from the movie).

    When ever you're not around for awhile I think you're in jail and they send you to Oz where you and Chris Meloni are always naked and some how I'm there and the three of us have to share a cell and ......oh wait, that's a fantasy I have...never mind :-)

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  3. Good to hear that you are back! Take it easy, you will be up and running in no time!
    Hugs!
    Esteban

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  4. Rob, I also thought you were being stalked again. Really sorry to hear you've been
    sick. Not good. And as you say, so boring that you can only bring food to your mouth
    over and over! Get well, walk, run when you're able. Do yoga breathing. Looking forward
    to your continuing adventures. Take care, mwg

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    1. I appreciate all the good thoughts and advice, mwg.

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  5. I have been a reader of yours for quite some time now. Typically a lurker,but I had to tell you that you were missed. Recover soon *hugs and a grope*

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    1. Thanks for unlurking and for the good wishes, RD!

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  6. I´m glad you are better and back!

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  7. welcome back. We missed you. Loved your description of the German woman. Not sure I would want to meet up with her.

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    1. To be fair, it was the most painless blood draw I've ever had. Even with the baby needles!

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  8. Just yesterday I was going to write you and ask if you were ill and today this appeared. While I am very sorry to hear that you were not well, I am certain that we are all glad to have you back with us. Take you time.

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    1. Thanks, Richard. I need to go at my own pace.

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  9. Glad to hear you're on the upswing -- take care!

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  10. "He vould have an enormous schwanzstucker!", was probably what she was thinking. I hope that you recover fully soon!

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    1. I wish I could've pulled that one out of a hat. (The quote, that is.)

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  11. Yes, I noticed your absence, but haven't yet inquired. Now that you've surfaced, you were/are quite vague about what knocked you out for a month. I'm more curious than ever. (Bi-curious? My co-worker always asks whenever I use the word curious. If he only knew!)

    Do you care to elaborate? Did you indeed succumb to "the vapors?"

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    1. Sharing my sex life is one thing, but oddly I don't feel at all compelled to put my medical history on the internet for total strangers.

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  12. Get well soon. We missed you and were worried. We send our wishes for a speedy best recovery.

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  13. Glad to see you here. It would have been so nice of the German woman to demand proof of your being big where it counts, but you wouldn't have felt the mood to write about it anyway, I suppose. I hope you make a full and speedy recovery, my friend.

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    1. That would've been a whole 'nudder entry!

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  14. Like everyone else, I am sorry you have been "under the weather" and not over, under or in anyone else. I am also very glad that you are back and have not lost your sense of humor. Continue to get better and provide us with salacious entertainment when you have the strength. You have been missed.

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  15. Hey Sexy,
    I was just searching for your email and noticed your entry this am. I have a new pic I will send later today that I hope will make you feel better. Still looking for to sucking your big cock!
    BlkJack

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    1. You know I love the photos, BlkJack. :-)

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  16. Man, you can make ANYTHING sound funny. I was imagining a much larger Frau Farbissina(from Austin Powers), and laughing my ass off. Having said that, I'm sorry that you were so sick, and I'm glad that you are on the mend. Thanks for the update!

    Another Rob

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    1. Groovy, baby. Thanks for the good wishes, Rob!

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  17. Rob, after a while your extended absence grew scary. I, along with all the others, am so glad to know you are well. If you ever get incapacitated again (and I hope never), just send us a few words to prove you are alive and well.
    Now contact the Landscaper and tell us about it.
    Friskypop

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  18. Rob,

    Although I'm sorry to hear you were sick, I'm glad that you didn't vanish due to crazy stalkers. Although I didn't write to you, I did check the Journal every day to see if you were again regaling us with your adventures. I'm sorry your latest adventure was not of the type we're used to from you, it was good to see that your voice is intact. Thanks for the update!

    Paul, NYC

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  19. Rumors were that you were sighted in London.

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  20. Put me down as one of the "oh Christ he's being stalked again" crowd.

    I have been a faithful reader from the beginning and have commented maybe two or three times but, I have always been a huge fan. I do hope you are getting better and am very glad you took the time to tell us what was going on.

    Feel better,

    Alex S

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  21. I'm glad to hear that you're feeling better now. I though you were on vacation during your month long absence. Wishing you a fast recovery so you can write more blog entries!

    Luigi

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  22. I am relieved to hear you're feeling better. I hope you get to enjoy Thanksgiving! Hmm...wouldn't brownies be nice for Thanksgiving?

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  23. Glad to hear you're OK and on the mend, buddy. I really did assume one of the crazies had done something to make you "go to ground" for awhile. I know dehydration, not to mention the heartbreak of having little weins, is nothing to sneeze at, but I'm relieved to hear you're OK. Much love.

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  24. Glad to see you back. I know the feeling about getting sick and having it hang on. I'm in my 3rd week now!

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  25. I hope you are feeling 100 per cent

    Cheers

    Jamie

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  26. Thanks for educating me to the value of my manly "weins," even though I'm just of normalsize "where it counts." Glad to know that you're better, and that your ability as a raconteur is still intact.

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  27. i literally laughed out loud when i read your account of having blood taken. it reminds me of one of the nurses who drew massive amounts of blood from me last year before starting chemo. and i think i had what you had in early october. the fever and the chills and the shakes were worse than i've ever experienced. glad you're back buddy.
    aaron

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