I was having a private message with a new friend I’d just met on Twitter. Yeah, I said friend. It’s how I think.
We were taking medical stuff and I told him I am a survivor of Necrotizing Fasciitis. He said, “jfc you’re a miracle.” (NF is also known as Flesh Eating Bacteria)
It gave me pause to reflect. It’s coming up on ten years ago. I had gotten some sort of puncture wound in my leg early December time frame.
Between Christmas and New Years, girl and I figured something was wrong. The wound didn’t look that bad at all. But the thigh muscle felt as hot to the touch as a stack of flap jacks fresh off the griddle.
I was fat and out of shape. My immune system was compromised by the crap I ate, the booze I drank, the lack of sleep I had become used to (found out later I had sleep apnea).
So eventually, I ended up in the ER. That doc cleaned it out and drew a line on my leg where the redness met my normal pale skin tone. He said if the redness goes above this line get back in here.
Next morning, girl said it’s red let’s go. I was in denial. She forced me to go back. That’s how she saved my life the first time.
To make a long story less long, what followed was a series of surgeries that started on New Year’s Eve.
About three weeks later, the infectious disease doc came in and said “I think you’re going to live.” We both cried for a few min.
I should point out that my girl figured out during this time when my blood pressure was dropping rapidly that my wound was bleeding out. She saved my life a second time.
This sounds odd to many. Had she been an evil woman, she simply lets me die. I had a $1 million life insurance policy on me. She could have lived the rest of her life on easy street. But no matter our struggles, she always loved me. When I was at my lowest point, she put her arms around me and refused to let me go.
Men have asked me why I stayed during what I now call the “Dark Years”. Perhaps it’s actions like these that spark a fierce loyalty between a husband and a wife.
NF is a condition that many do not survive Hence the miracle comment.
This event in my life was a true turning point. It wasn’t long after, I discovered Testosterone Replacement Therapy and started the unfucking process.
Miracles are events we cannot explain. Spiritual men will claim divine intervention. Skeptics call it random luck.
The fact I’m still here is a miracle and I can’t explain why. Dumb ass luck perhaps. God takes care of children and dumb animals I suppose.
I choose to take a higher trajectory forward. I believe it simply wasn’t my time.
It took a very long time after that to find my mission in life. I felt like a man lost in the desert, dropping into yet another dead-end mirage.
Given a new lease on life, I was determined to make the most of it. I pursued finding my meaning aggressively at first but eventually the search wore on me. Why was I spared? What was I supposed to do? Why me? Survivor’s guilt.
I eventually figured out a few years back, I’m here to help other men make it thru the desert. A guide perhaps? I dunno. Maybe me typing out my stories or speaking to a man face to face can allow me to be there at a time when he needs a rope to pull himself up with.
I do indeed understand a few things in life. Just a few. One of them is all men need a mission, a reason to get out of bed every day. Another thing would be that we are all walking, talking miracles.
If you look at all of human evolution, it’s simply amazing we are even here. We all have been thru many trials and tribulations in our own lives where we could have just rolled over and died. Given up. Thrown in the towel. Put the gun in the mouth and gave the world the middle finger.
But we didn’t.
There is some reason why you’re still here. Don’t give up trying to figure it out. That burning bush will become obvious when it’s time.
Maybe it’s time for you to start throwing ropes too.