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