"Men and Women for Others"

Tomorrow is June 1. Which means it has been a year since I graduated from high school. For those of you who don't know, I gave the commencement address at graduation. I've been told I did a bang up job on it. I don't remember graduation day as well as I would like; as we now know, I had a blood infection for which I would be admitted to the Cleveland Clinic less than 24 hours later. There is the video tape. My father and his mother both taped it. My dad, however, taped it with the same camcorder that he used to tape the day my sister first came home from the hospital, sixteen (16!) years ago. You know how on sitcoms, they do flashbacks and someone has a cell phone the size of a phone book and the audience laughs and laughs? Well, that's the purpose this camcorder serves. So my Nani also taped it with her nearly-new camera (Hi Nani!). And then at my graduation party she taped my infant twin cousins ... over my speech. And then she taped over that with a family reunion (Love you, Nani!). All in all, the video tape doesn't quite live up to what I would like. Ha.

Anyway, I'm a little upset that LeBron and those other guys lost. It's unbelievable; it's like magic or something. Ha. In place of a new topic, I thought I'd simply post a copy of my commencement address. Enjoy!

{I was introduced by Mr. Hassman. I thanked him, and then I welcomed everyone to graduation, but all of that was handwritten on the speech because I didn't think about saying anything like that until the morning of graduation. I still have the copy of the speech that I folded up and shoved in my pocket just in case, by some miracle, the copy I put on the podium was gone by the time I got up there. Ha.}

"Throughout the past four years at Walsh Jesuit High School, five words have been spoken more than any others: “Men and Women for Others.” The Walsh motto was engraved in our minds on the first day of freshman year. When you pull into the parking lot, the sign says “Men and Women for Others.” The Walsh homepage reads, “Men and Women for Others.” The Walsh Mission Statement ends, “We strive to be men and women for others.” When we hear the phrase “men and women for others,” we immediately think of acting with someone else’s interests in mind, with no regard for our own benefit. We imagine ourselves as a superhero flying through New York City stopping bad guys and saving good guys, or we are a soldier fighting the enemy to protect the innocent, or we are a regular guy helping an old lady with her groceries. In our minds, we are always the “Man” or the “Woman,” but we never imagine ourselves as being the “Other.” I had the unique experience of being the “Other.”

"While we listen to the administration urging us to be “Men and Women for Others,” we are usually daydreaming. I tended to daydream about senior year and how awesome it would be. When it finally arrived, it was everything I could have hoped for. I was having a blast with cross-country, my car was, well, at least I had a car, I had a low-paying job that I hated, and I had a great group of friends. I liked all of my teachers and had nearly zero homework on any given night. Homecoming came and went. The Indians made a run through the playoffs and lost. I finished all of my college applications.

"And then it happened. I don’t exactly know how, and I certainly don’t know why, but for whatever reason, at 12:43 am November 2, 2007 my life came crashing down all around me. I went to the hospital that Friday morning, I remember talking to my dad a little in the emergency room, and the next thing I know it’s Sunday morning, my stomach is killing me, and I’m in a hospital in Pittsburgh. Friday morning, it is believed that my small intestine wrapped itself around my mesenteric artery, cutting off its own blood supply. I had to have most of my small intestine removed. When I woke up, I had wires going in and out of my body and I was scared to death because I wasn’t sure what was going to happen next; but through all of that one thing gave me solace.

"Three of my best friends came into the ICU to say, “hey.” They heard I was going to a hospital in Pittsburgh, and they drove two hours to be there with me. Of course, they had to go home that night for school the next day, but a few days later, they came back, with another friend of mine. Not only did they come back, but they brought cards from my classmates, and a letter from my favorite teacher. Then they left. And a few days later, even more of my friends came to see me. I was in the Pittsburgh hospital for two weeks, and I never went more than three days without seeing someone from Walsh.

"When I finally went home, I still wasn’t anywhere near being strong enough to get back to school. Still, every couple of days a few people from Walsh would come over just to hang out for a few hours. We didn’t do anything special, I couldn’t do much more than watch TV, but they continued to come over, making sure I knew that I was still a part of the group.

"I ended up missing over 40 days of school, but when I came back, each and every one of my teachers showed me kindness, compassion, and understanding of my situation. I had incredible extensions, exemptions, and exceptions made for me, and I appreciated every single one so much.

"My life has been stressful since November 2. I’ve had to deal with a lot of stuff that I never thought I’d ever have to do. I’ve had most of an organ removed. I’ve been life-flighted to Pittsburgh. I’ve endured the pain of 7 different kidney stones. I’ve missed 42 days of school. I’ve had half credit taken off a homework assignment for being absent, twice. I left winter formal early because the bass was so loud it sent shivers down the scar tissue in my abdomen. I’ve had to stay home from a trip to London, England. And I still had to be ready for three AP tests this May. But through all of that there was one constant: support from the Men and Women of the Walsh community. Friends, teachers, the administration, even people I didn’t know stopped in the hall to ask how I was doing, offered to cut me some slack if I needed it, and never let me forget how happy they were I was OK. And I am OK. As soon as my surgeon saw my family and friends in the Pittsburgh waiting room, he told my parents that I would be OK. I would be normal again, thanks to the love and support I had all around me. When you’re feeling down, think about that. Think about your family and friends, think about how much they love you, think about how much they support you. And then thank them.

"In that spirit, I thank God and you, Walsh, thank you for everything. Thank you to my mom, dad, and sister, and the rest of my family. Thank you to all the teachers who empathized with the struggles of high school. Thank you Mr. Lee, Mr. Grescovich, and Senor Gaone for being so awesome. Thank you to everyone who sent cards and well-wishes. Thank you Matt, Andy, Steven, Katy, Dan, Kyle, Catherine, Maria, Metzger, Coffey, Kurtz, Brittany, and everybody else who made the trip to Pittsburgh. I’m going to miss all of you next year. I can only hope that I can find friends half as great as you all. So, thank you Walsh Jesuit. Thank you for being “Men and Women for Others.” Thank you for being “Men and Women for Me.” "

June 1, 2008.

-The Intestineless Wonder

Waiting for Godot

Sorry for making you wait a week+ in between posts. Mid-term week makes it tough to blog. I know waiting is no fun. And that leads me to the topic for this post: Waiting ... for a championship.

The Cavaliers went 66-16 this season. That is not a typo. They won 66 times in 82 tries. They were the best team in the entire National Basketball Association. The first round of the playoffs was laughable. The once mighty Detroit Pistons were left to watch in awe as their dynasty window slammed closed. That's what you get for trading a team player in Chauncey Billups for a me-centric Allen Iverson who doesn't enjoy attending practice (Practice? Practice?). The second round of the playoffs was uneventful as the Cavs swept the surprisingly talented Atlanta Hawks. Two rounds, eight games, eight wins. All eights wins were by double digits. King James, it seemed, was on his way to a second chance at an NBA title: a fitting end to his MVP season.

But we all forgot about one key detail: the Cavs are from Cleveland. And Cleveland teams simply don't win. They don't win when they're supposed to be bad, and they don't win when they're supposed to be good. The Cavs should have been swept by the Orlando Magic last night. If LeBron didn't have super-human basketball skills they would have been. Instead its a 3-1 Magic lead. But just as easily as the Cavs could have been swept, they could be up 3-1. Games 1, 2, and 4 all ended with would-be game-winning shots, only one going in.

So it goes. We shouldn't be surprised. Cleveland sports do no have a very kind history. In 1995, the Tribe lost the World Series to the Atlanta Braves. In 1997, the Tribe lost the World Series to the (five-year-old) Florida Marlins after having a lead in game 7. In 1996, Art Modell picked up Cleveland's favorite franchise and took them to Baltimore where they became the Ravens and won a Super Bowl just five years later. The Browns came back and lost their first game to the hated Steelers by a closer-than-it-sounds score of 41-0. All this time the Cavs were a joke.

But then, by the grace of ping-pong balls, we had our savior: LeBron James. 18 years old and fresh out of high school, he was King. Remember when he scored the final 29 points for the Cavs against the Pistons in 2007? That sent the Cavs to their only Finals appearance ever, which they lost in four games to the dynastic Spurs. Later in 2007, the Indians tied for the best record in all of baseball. They beat the hated Yankees in four games in the ALDS (remember the gnats?). They were up three games to one on the almost equally as hated Boston Red Sox. But of course, these Indians were from Cleveland, and they proceeded to lose the next three games as the Red Sox went on to win their second championship in four years.

And then the 2008-2009 basketball season arrived. LeBron and the Cavs were untouchable. And now they face elimination. Let's face it, the Cavs are going to win the next two games to tie the series. And then they will lose. Like all teams from Cleveland, they will lose.

I know what you're saying, "That sports history isn't so bad." Well, that's just Cleveland's sports history since I was born. The entire history goes like this: Indians win a lot in the 1950s, but then lose a lot in the 1960s, 1970s, and 1980s. The Browns win a lot including a championship in 1964. 1965 brings Super Bowl 1. The Browns have yet to play in a Super Bowl. They have come close though.

The Drive: AFC Championship game. Browns are winning with two minutes left to play and the Denver Broncos pinned on their own two yardline. John Elway drives 98-yards to win the game.

The Fumble: AFC Championship game. Browns are ready to score the game-winning touchdown with seconds to play. Ernest Byner has a wide-open path to the endzone and inexplicably drops the ball before scoring. It is recoved by ... wait for it ... the Denver Broncos.

Red-Right 88: Playoffs. The Browns are in field goal range. A field goal wins it. All they need is a field goal. But they want to run just one more play: a pass to the endzone. Guess what happens? Correct, it is intercepted. Browns lose. The play they ran was Red-Right 88.

Then of course, Art Modell takes them away.

The Cavs had some great teams in the 1980s. But the Chicago Bulls had this guy named Michael Jordan. Recall The Shot. Michael Jordan hits a last-second game-winner over Craig Ehlo to send the Bulls to the Finals. Michael kept the Cavs out of it a few other times as well.

All in all, the Indians have not won a World Series since 1948, the Browns have not won a championship since 1964 and have never even been to a Super Bowl, and the Cavs have never won an NBA Championship and have appeared in the Finals just once. Cleveland has not won a professional sports championship in 45 years. Poor Cubs fans? Yea, it's been 100 years since a World Series, but come on? What about the 1985 Bears and the Super Bowl Shuffle? What about that guy, Michael Jordan? He only won six NBA Titles. Poor Clippers fans? Well ... their aren't any Clippers fans. But they had the Raiders and the Dodgers. Poor Denver Nuggets fans? Remember the Drive and the Fumble, those were against your Broncos and your precious John Elway. Poor Bills fans? Yea, they lost four straight Super Bowls, but what about this: they played in four straight Super Bowls! Sure their record in those games was 0-4, but you had 4 great football seasons.

Cleveland is head and shoulders above everybody else when it comes to Sports Suffering. LeBron will eventually win a title in his career. Most likely he will win a few. But he's a free agent after next season and has aspirations of being the first billionaire athlete. He's good friends with Jay-Z, part-owner of the Knicks, who are building a brand new stadium in Brooklyn. The Indians have for the most part the same team as 2007, yet they were 81-81 last year and are looking a losing season dead in the face this year. And the Browns ... I'm not even going to talk about the Browns.

So Cleveland fans keep waiting... And I keep waiting ... Waiting until one day we get to pack downtown for that victory parade. I want it to happen so badly that I have a stomachache every day. Well, that might not be because of Cleveland's lack of a championship parade, but it doesn't mean I don't want it!

Until next time, keep waiting. -IW

Name That Stone!

Two things for today's post.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009 was a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day. I woke up, and everything was fine. I was brushing my teeth, bent over to spit, and BAM! Like a harpoon in my back, I felt the stone lodge in my ureter. I got through my two classes in the morning, but after that, it was evident that the pain was only getting worse. I made the decision to take a pain pill. But then something happened that has never happened after taking a percocet: I vomited. I waited another two hours and took another pill, believing that a two hour lay-over would suffice considering I didn't keep the first pill down. Then a funny thing happened that really wasn't funny at all: I vomited again. I realized something must be wrong.

It was time for the E.R. Fortunately, a floor mate of mine offered to walk over there with me. He offered to wait inside with me as well, but I told him that would not be necessary. Slowly but surely I went through the hospital's protocol and got the necessary pain management. My mother was nice enough (and had a schedule empty enough) to make the two and a half hour drive to be there with me. The ultrasound showed that my kidney was indeed swollen, and then the doctors told me a lot of what I already know: huge stone, follow-up with a urologist, get it removed sooner rather than later.

When I was first taken back, a doctor came to evaluate what was going on. It was evident I knew what I was talking about, and he asked if I had ever had a stent in either of my ureter. O doctor. I told him the story of my DIY stent of early April. And his reaction wasn't exactly what I was expecting. Sure he couldn't believe that something so traumatic was asked of a 19-year-old kid (kid, ha), but he was most surprised that there was even such a thing as a DIY stent. He had never even heard of such a thing. Hmm ... Sounds like a DIY stent is a highly experimental, under-the-table, "keep it hush-hush" procedure that should only be found in the "Malpractice: DO NOT PERFORM" file.

I didn't have any pain yesterday or today, so with any luck, the stone settled back in for a tasty nap until it will be unexpectedly awakened, removed, and destroyed in June. This monster is over two centimeters in diameter. Once again, for those of you who may be mathematically or metrically challenged, that is nearly an inch in diameter, which is real big. I think its size qualifies it as epic enough to require a name.

Here are a few right off the top of my head: Rocky, Indiana Stone, Al Ca-stone, Tony Stone-prano, Sammy Stone-sa, Rock McGwire, The Incredible Rock, Magic Rockson. That's all I got right now. Any ideas would be appreciated though. It needs a name, so that I can refer to it in the third person quickly and easily

And now on to topic number two. Take a look at the map on the side toolbar that shows where the Intestineless Wonder blog has been read. Do it right now. As you can see, it has now been read in 9 different countries and on 3 different continents. It is very close to qualifying as a global blog. I'd like to thank all of you for reading and for spreading it around. Keep it up! I'd like to see red dots in a few more places. So I am commissioning anyone with friends in foreign countries to tell said friends to log on to the Intestineless Wonder, if only to globalize it. If you have any friends who are celebrities and would plug it using their available medium, that would be appreciated, too. Ha.

There's only one way all short-gutters will be aware of this blog: VOLUME! Yes, yelling it is necessary. That way more people hear it and become intrigued and, therefore, more likely to find out who yelled "volume" and for what reason. That reason, of course, being to get people aware of the Intestineless Wonder.

We're also getting close to 1,000 views. That's big time. Thanks to all who encouraged me to start writing a blog and those who encouraged me to continue writing through difficult times. It definitely helped me through some tough times, and I like to think it may have helped some other people. With any luck, it will help someone in the future as well.

Once again, please, tell your friends. Get that readership into the quadruple digits, and let's make the Intestineless Wonder globally-known. Some public recognition would be fantastic, not only for the blog itself and all that that accomplishment would represent, but for those suffering through short-gut out there, helpless, not knowing what else to do or where else to turn. Maybe it helps the families of SGers too by giving a little insight into what goes through someone's mind while they are dealing with short-gut. While doctors charge outrageous fees, can be a little hit-and-miss, and often have bigger fish to fry, the doors to the Intestineless Wonder are always open. Well, as long as you have internet access.

Until next time, keep reading and go Tribe! -IW

Not Reading This Blog Would Be Highly Illogical

Lots to talk about today. Nothing huge, just a wide range of relevant topics.

First, I'd like to extend a hearty congratulatory handshake to myself for being read in seven different countries on three different continents. I believe that qualifies The Intestineless Wonder as being an international blog. I think it needs one more continent and at least double digits countries to be considered global. In due time ...

Second, to all the mothers reading this, Happy Mother's Day. I can honestly say that I would not be where I am right now if it weren't for my mother, and not just because she drove me here. Ha. She's been that rock that I have leaned on for the last 18+ months. Love ya, Mom.

This past weekend was pretty fantastic. I went home for the weekend. My parents and I went to the Tribe game on Friday, where they proceeded to lose 1-0. On Saturday, I hung out with a few friends. We went to see the new Star Trek movie. It was unbelievable. I mean, absolutely fantastic. Everything I could have ever hoped for and so much more. I definitely recommend giving it a shot. Not going to see it would be highly illogical. Bam! Spock reference right in your face!

Then we went downtown for the Tribe game (yes, two in two nights). Our plan was to hit up the Winking Lizard for some dinner before the game because it's about two blocks away from the stadium. We walk in to the Lizard, and the maitre'd asks, "you fellas have your I.D.s?" My response: "For all the not alcohol we're not going to order?" As it turns out, you have to be 21 to eat food and not drink at the Winking Lizard after 5 p.m. on the weekend. So after about fifteen minutes of wondering where to eat (because I thought the Winking Lizard was less of a bar than anything else around us), my father brilliantly suggested walking into the Marriott and asking for a suggestion. They suggested the Irish Pub down the street. I have to admit, I was skeptical, but sure enough, they welcomed us with open arms. It was glorious. I went with the blackened grouper sandwich followed closely by a Gas-X. Then we went to the game where we got our free Cliff Lee Cy Young Award Bobbleheads. We sat in the bleachers and had a grand ol' time. But yet again, the Tribe was shut-out, 4-0.

Late Saturday night, I watched Saturday Night Live, one of my favorite programs. For any loyal SNL viewers, you know that Justin Timberlake has become somewhat of a legend. Well, he was the host on Saturday, and he certainly did not disappoint. Somehow J.T. successfully transformed himself from a teen boy-band member who I hated to a hilarious celebrity who makes me laugh loud and long. You may remember the infamous SNL Digital Short that he was in last time he hosted. This week he and Andy Samberg reprised their roles for the sequel: "Motherlover." In this one, the two are released from prison and have forgotten that it is Mother's Day. They proceed to brainstorm and come up with a gift for their respective mothers that will give them not only a great Mother's Day but also a great Mother's Night. Ha. Hilarity ensues. I suggest giving it a quick once-over. Viewer discretion advised, though.

On Sunday, the fam and I went to the grandparents' house and spent the day there. It was a good Mother's Day.

And that brings us to tonight: the season finale of House. All I can say about the last three episodes is that they are a brilliantly written masterpiece which is far and away the best series of episodes in the entire series. I cannot get over how mind-blowing it was.

Anyway, I think that's about it for right now. I am four and a half weeks away from summer vacation and returning home for good. Which of course means no more campus food, no more campus people, and no more living in a ten by fifteen cell. It can't come fast enough.

Until then everybody, live long and prosper. -IW

Freshman Fifteen: Consider Yourself Jinxed

Five weeks from today is my last day of exams for this quarter, my last at Ohio State. Five weeks until I get to come home for good. Five weeks until my freshman year of college ends.

Preparing for college, colleges and their students sent countless letters and e-mails to me and all other high school seniors with pieces of advice for enhancing the college experience. One of the most-talked-about topics was the ominous Freshman Fifteen: the inevitable weight-gain that every college student encounters during their first year away from home due to the ease with which one finds fatty or sugary foods.

Last summer, when someone would give a short speech about avoiding the freshman fifteen, I thought to myself, "O God, please, please let me gain the freshman fifteen. You know what? Forget the freshman fifteen; let me gain the freshman forty-five!"

With five weeks left in my freshman year, I have successfully avoided the freshman fifteen. But the thing is, I would like to gain the weight. So with time running out, my only option is to jinx my weight. Unfortunately, I doubt that Sports Illustrated is going to put a picture of me shirtless on a scale on their cover, so I must take matters into my own hands.

"I don't have to worry about gaining the freshman fifteen anymore!" Don't anybody knock on wood. There it is, I jinxed it. By the time I wake up on the morning of June 12, I should be fifteen pounds heavier. That's all there is to it. This better work though, nothing else seems to.

This is a short post today. There isn't a lot happening right now. Just counting down the days until my next trip home (tomorrow). I am currently fighting through back pain ... again. It's the same type of soreness that I have grown intimately familiar with over the course of the past few months. It's not quite as sharp as it usually is though; it is just really sore and uncomfortable. It will probably get worse for this weekend, that would be just my luck. The fam and I have tickets to the Tribe game tomorrow night. Although it might just be a trip for Pa and I, since Shellster has a softball game scheduled against archrival Archbishop Hoban. On Saturday, Subak, another kid, and I are going to the new Star Trek movie and then heading up to the Tribe game. That's right, two Tribe games in two nights. Then Sunday, of course, is Mother's Day, which I will be spending with my mother.

So, I suppose I will talk with all of you later. Adios muchachos. -IW

I Am Ironman

Tomorrow is May 2, which marks 18 months since I went from being a naive, arrogant senior in high school to a bitter not-yet-18-year-old adult, well-schooled in the inequities of the real world. 548 days since I didn't have a stomach ache. When I went to the E.R. that fateful Friday morning, they asked what I had eaten in the last forty-eight hours, or at least I told them what I had eaten; most of that weekend is blacked out from my memory. But anyway, here is what I had eaten.

Two days before, on Wednesday, it was Halloween, which to most of my age group means Chipotle will give you a free burrito if you show up with a tin foil costume. So there was the barbacoa burrito with white rice, black beans, tomato and corn salsa, and sour cream wrapped up in a gigantic white flour tortilla with a free soft drink. I watched that week's House episode that night with a friend.

Thursday began, and I had a bowl of cereal. Surprisingly, I cannot recall which manufactured sugary treat I ate that morning. I left with that same friend to do some volunteering. We had Thursday and Friday off of school, and National Honor Society required so many hours of community service hours from each member. The friend's sister worked with mentally challenged students at Solon Middle School, so we spent the day helping out there. It was easy service that looked good on paper. We went to lunch at an Hibachi restaurant. I had the steak. It wasn't very good, and I blamed this meal for a long time for what happened. I hate Hibachi restaurants. Sitting at a bar-like table with people you don't know. Having to watch a chef prepare your food. Come on: kitchens are in the back of restaurants because people don't want to see their food being cooked. I mean, people get upset when they get seated too close to the kitchen. Why would I want to sit at the stove and eat? But alas, my friend really liked Hibachi restaurants, and I really like my friend. Obviously, I caved (and paid).

Then came dinner. Thursday night was leftover night. That meant it was pretty much a free for all. So I had a big plate of speghetti and meatballs. And two soft shell beef tacos. I had a bowl of ice cream later that night. I went to bed around 11:00 and slept for about an hour and a half, waking at 12:43 a.m. writhing in pain. And the rest, as they say, is history.

Last May 2nd was a memorable day as well. It was a Friday. The last day I ever went to Walsh Jesuit High School as a student. Senior breakfast, senior mass, the senior walk-through, and just like that, it was over. It rained that day.

It was also prom day. Most in my group had dates. By that time, my friend was long gone, so I went stag. One of my friends' dad was at the senior breakfast, heard that I was going stag, and asked why I didn't just ask some girl to go with me as friends to have a good time and all. I had already thought of a brilliantly worded response and had been waiting weeks for someone to ask me that very question. Some of the group was gathered around too, so they were there to hear my response. Here is what I said: "Six months ago today, I got real sick. I missed two months of school. I had to watch my friends go to freaking London while I stayed behind. My girlfriend broke up with me, citing my lack of effort at getting well. I've been on a 12-hour I.V. every night since then, and tonight my doctors have decided to begin to try weaning me off of it. This is my first night of being somewhat normal again. The last thing I want to do is worry about whether some random girl is enjoying her senior prom!" I got a few laughs, a slap on the back, a few handshakes, and an immeasurable amount of respect from those within earshot.

The dance itself was terrible. Everything about it was terrible. Except the steak. The fillets they served were enormous, well-cooked, and delicious. After that there wasn't one redeeming thing about it. At that time it was pretty clear that all but one of my previously loyal-to-the-end friends was ready to move on to a less morbid life style, whatever the consequences. The friend who didn't had a date to attend to.

The music choice represented everything that I hate about my generation. That was when Soulja Boy was well past his peak of underserved popularity yet they still played the song twice. They did play "Don't Stop Believing." But it was the type of "Don't Stop Believing" that makes you stop believing in all of humanity. It was a nameless rapper's lame attempt at popularity by playing a popular anthem's chorus and then rapping indecipherable sexual innuendos in between choruses. I nearly left right then when they played it.

The group went to someone's house to change for after-prom. Guys went to the basement to change out of our tuxes and into street clothes. I began changing without thinking, then when I was halfway through removing my shirt, I remembered that nobody had ever seen a Hickman Catheter and, although they knew I was on a nightly I.V., had probably never thought of how I get the I.V. into my body. So I said, "Want to see something you've never seen before?" And off the shirt came. For one night at least, I was Ironman. Again, respect through the roof, but for some reason most of them seemed a tad uncomfortable. I don't have any idea why; they all had their shirts off too. Ha.

After-Prom wasn't much better. The creatively named fair-like get-together at our high school had a bunch of blow-up obstacle courses and such activities, some casino activities, and the same lame d.j. as the dance. After half an hour they corraled the entire student body into the cafeteria. Someone had discovered beer bottles in the bathroom at the country club where prom was. Which meant everyone needed to be breathalized before returning to the festivities. Everyone got up and got in line (except for one table of conspicuously unenthused prom-goers). When I got to the front, Mr. Dodds said he didn't want to waste his time or mine and told me to just get back to the party. Good thing, or else I might have missed standing around watching other peolple have fun. I wasn't confident enough physically to partake in any of the blow-up activities, and that was all my group of friends wanted to partake in. So I loitered. For three hours. Then we went to a friends house and had a "good time" the rest of the night. Subak didn't come. I was unbelievably let down, but eventually got over it.

Morning came, and I drove home to watch the Kentucky Derby with the fam. The horse I picked to win didn't win. And the lone filly, Eight Belles, had to be euthanized on the track after the race. Once again, this weekend is the Kentucky Derby. "The most exciting two and a half minutes in sports." My pick this year is Hold Me Back, mostly because I like the meaning behind the name. It's how I feel a lot of the time when I think about what happened last year between me and some of my friends. I thought about picking I Want Revenge, but it sounded a little too vindictive. So Hold Me Back, currently 15-1, is my winner. He's being jockeyed by Kent Desormeaux, who, if I'm not mistaken, jockeyed Big Brown to victory last year.

Eighteen months. I can't believe it's been eighteen months already. It seems like I got sick just a few weeks ago still. And yet, it's been the longest eighteen months I could have possibly imagined. But one year ago I had my first night off TPN. No small step, as anyone who has ever been on TPN can tell you. And I spent my first night off TPN away from home. I'm not sure how my parents agreed to letting their son spend his first night with no I.V. driving all over northeast Ohio all night. But then again, I don't know how they could have not let me go. I had already missed out on so much, they kind of had to let me go. You only get one prom. And before you go to your prom, you think it's supposed to be the greatest night of your short life. Looking back, it's just another over-hyped stepping stone. But being the six-month anniversary of getting sick, my first night off TPN, my senior prom, and the night after my last day of high school, it was more than just prom. It was the day I realized I had grown up. The day I realized that I had become an adult nearly over-night and my friends were still kids trying to act grown-up. The day I realized how much stronger I was than everyone around me. The day I realized I had endured and overcome so much more than any of them most likely would ever have to. The day I realized that I was Ironman. And so it ended.

One year later, I can say that May 2 was indeed a turning point. Just not the turning point I had been hoping for. Everytime I reach a turning point, it's supposed to be when things start getting better. Shortly after prom, though, I contracted a blood-infection, only I didn't know it until four weeks later, graduation day. But that story will be left for the June 1 post.

Until then, you stay classy, San Diego. -IW