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The problem with suffering a severe concussion: the medical staff can’t dish out too much morphine since it can cause you to stroke out and never regain consciousness or lose your shit altogether. By that, I mean, lose your life forever and ever, amen. To make up for it, they’ve been feeding me “safe” sedatives to make me sleep. I don’t sleep, I don’t heal or so the doctors and nurses keep stressing.
Whatever the case, I’m the talk of the medical center’s sixth floor. They’ve even nicknamed me Lazarus, which isn’t the worst thing in the world. It makes me feel like I’m a bit of a celebrity. Even the local press has inquired as to whether or not I’m up to giving an interview. Something I might do in a day or two. Anything to help with book sales.
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