That’s right, folks—I’m still here. My still here-ness is something that apparently continues to impress a fairly large portion of the medical community here in the Vancouver, BC area. Every few days I’ll arrive for a routine follow-up exam, as one must do in the aftermath of a thing like this. I’ve probably seen 45 different doctors or so in the last four months. When I see a doctor for the first time, he’ll spend a few minutes paging through my records in a formal, doctorly fashion. Then he’ll usually say, “You know, you’re lucky to be alive.”
You are lucky to be alive. I never know how I’m supposed to respond to this. Thanks? Yes, that seems to be true, doctor? My, that’s an extremely flattering necktie? If anyone can make paisleys work, it’s you? I’m an American living in Canada, so I’m always certain that this will be the moment that Canada has decided to present me with a super-sized medical bill that includes a kajillion-dollar fee for bring me back from “the mist-filled abyss of the nether-world.” Though I haven’t been yet.
Here’s what I do when a doctor says this to me: I make my shoulders shrug in a melodramatic way, the way a kid does when he’s explaining to his teacher why he doesn’t have today’s homework. And that’s it. That’s all I’ve come up with so far. If anyone has a better idea for what to do here, please share it. I obviously could use some help on this one.
The first time a doctor said this to me I thought, This must be what being told you’ve won the lottery is like. I should be so excited right now! But I wasn’t excited for some reason. After hearing these words a few more times, I understood why. These doctors aren’t telling me that I won any sort of lottery. A more accurate translation of what they are saying to me here is this: You came damn close to “winning” the worst lottery there is. And yes, “winning” has quotation marks around it, because it does not mean winning at all. In fact, it means losing.
**
I didn’t see this coming. I guess no one ever sees this kind of thing coming. The only tangible clue I had was that I would sweat a lot at night. I’d usually wake up in the inky hours before dawn feeling like a baked potato tangled in a damp bed sheet. This went on for maybe three or four months last winter.
As a kid I was sick a lot, which I’m certain is a key ingredient in becoming an adult hypochondriac, which, of course, I am. Any funny feelings in my body, no matter how faint, any mole patterns on my skin that resemble satan’s face, and, boom, that’s it—I’m off to see a doctor. I went to see my family doctor a few times to tell him about my “night sweats.” To my disappointment, he didn’t seem overly concerned and sent me home. A week later I went to a walk-in medical clinic in the nearby neighborhood of Yaletown for a second opinion. (You can go to walk-in clinics for second opinions here in Canada. Canada: truly a hypochondriac’s heaven.) Like my family doctor, the clinic physician listened to everything I had to say, then she too sent me home.
It was official at this point: according to the British Columbia medical community, my night sweats weren’t anything to be worried about. I’d simply have to try and get used to them. That was that.
Soon after this my head started to fog over—subtly at first, then more dramatically as the days went on. I had trouble focusing my attention on anything for more than a few seconds at a time. More alarmingly, my obsession with going to see doctors to find answers was beginning to fade.
My girlfriend at the time began urging me to go to the Emergency Room, a place that, only a few weeks earlier, I would have gladly gone to. But now it seemed completely silly to me. I reluctantly went to the ER at St. Paul’s Hospital on Burrard Street, mostly to make her happy. I hadn’t been to an emergency room since I’d gotten food poisoning in San Francisco at the Game Developers Conference a few years back.
The doctors at St. Paul’s did a few hurried blood tests. Then, like the line of doctors before them, they shrugged their shoulders, decided I was OK, and sent me home again.
Very little made sense after my first ER visit. In fact, the rest of the story is something that I’ve had to piece together like a crime scene through testimonials from friends and co-workers. I apparently outright stopped going to work shortly after that initial ER visit. I began sleeping on the couch all day. I neglected to answer the phone. Neighbors knocked on my door; I didn’t hear them. I don’t remember doing any of this—like I said, this is what others have told me.
Fortunately—and I think there always has to be a “fortunately moment” in these scenarios—in the last five years here in BC I have become good friends with a doctor and her husband. Ali and Jason live a few blocks away from me near Robson Square. The two of them apparently encountered me in my compromised state around this time, though I have no memory of this. After seeing the condition that I was in, they cajoled me into spending the night in the spare bedroom at their apartment to better keep an eye on me. I’m sure I did not want to do this but I went anyway. I had stopped eating at this point. They made me toast with jam and put me to bed.
The next morning I woke up to find the two of them hovering above me. It was still dark outside. “Jonesy, do you know where you are?” Ali asked. “Where are you, Jonesy? Where are you? Do you know what the address is?”
Of course I knew the damn address. I’d been to their apartment at least a hundred times before. But when I opened my mouth, to my total surprise, I said, “Zero, one, one.”
Zero, one, one. That was all Ali needed to hear. Her face fell. She looked at Jason and said, “You’re not going to work today. You’re taking him back to the Emergency Room.”
That’s how it all began.
Dude thanks for sharing the story. Good to hear from ya. Thought, after that one august episode, maybe you quit. Had enough of the life style etc…
How about, “Yes I am, thanks”
Cliff hangers sucks. please continue.
thanks.
Glad to see you’re back and on the mend….and as the first poster stated “yes I am, thanks” is all I say when in told that (smashed a moose with a car)
Glad to see you updated your blog, happy to hear your back on the mend , good luck on continuing getting better 🙂
Hi Scott,
So glad to receive an update from you. I feel terrible hearing what happened. To say I look forward to part two of your story feels somewhat… wrong… I want to hear what happened but on the other hand I strongly sense the horror of it all 🙁
Oh yes and I can totally, hands down, relate to being an adult hypochondriac! Boy do I ever! Damn annoying when the docs send you away proclaiming “it’s all in your head” or “just an anxious phase”. Always push for that 2nd or 3rd opinion. Sometimes the 3rd time is the lucky golden ticket *sarcasm*. Someone hits the nail on the head and finally you can proceed in the right direction.
Take your time and heal well. Can’t say we don’t miss you like crazy on the show… but would rather you be in top top shape first.
Wishing you the best!
– Huge fan & fellow Vancouverite
Sounds pretty terrible but I’m glad you were able to have a doctor friend who cared enough to observe you and knew what was going on and also that you are coming back to being full healthy ‘you’ again. Don’t rush it, you’ll get there. Take care of yourself.
Good to hear from you. That’s a crazy story. Thank god you had those 2 friends. Hope you are getting better everyday. I was so happy seing you back with Victor reviewing the Gardians of the Galaxy. Here’s hoping you will comeback full time in the coming weeks. Then again, take whatever time you need to recover, health is so important.
Take care of yourself!
You’re an incredibly talented writer. You’ve really pulled me in. I can’t wait to hear the rest of the story. I’m also suffering from night sweats and fogginess, so I’m really curious to know what it was that was causing this for you.
I went through subaccute bacterial endocarditus a few decades ago myself (and recently had more replacements done, the parts wear out eventually so don’t think this is the only time you get to go through this, it isn’t) and I totally understand. In my case my family doctor detected a “slight” difference in my heart murmur. “Whate heart murmur?” I asked of course. The one I apparently had from birth that no one bothered to tell me about that is a small hole in ones heart that things can go into and fester becoming a problem later.
There are a few things I noticed that I’ll pass along.
#1: You are alive. Don’t let your new medical reality bludgeon the person you are down. Don’t let the depression (and I don’t care if you are Pippi Longstocking or a Polyanna poster child if you think about it you will get depressed) run amok. Don’t dwell on the whole “dying twice minimum” thing. Death is, in my opinion, overrated, I’ve done it enough and it didn’t stick so I’m going to be here awhile I may as well make it worth something and enjoy life along the way instead of shutting myself down.
#2: For God’s sake DO NOT GO INTO WORK OVERDRIVE MODE. Don’t try and use work to smother what you are going through. You actually have to feel the feelings. IF you don’t it gets worse. But all things in moderation. If it helps, write a book. I don’t care if no one else ever see’s it just write it down. Let the left and right sides of your brain have a party and let whatever comes out, even if its dreck, come out.
#3: Don’t think that you can live off of skinless chicken and steamed broccoli either. Enjoy your life. It’s a gift. Sharing it with others helps more than you think. Eat a cookie, enjoy walks. Phase yourself into work. I know it’s boring not doing the things you love all the time but suck it up, you can’t yet and the reality is you may never be able to do everything you used to do to the same extent you did. Accept that but don’t let it limit you.
Scott you were missed. You are appreciated. You have a lot to offer a lot of people. Be well and have fun.
I have to correct you on a few things Scott.
First, its an established fact that Google is a hypochondriac’s heaven, whereas Canada is merely a hypochondriac’s playground.
Also, you fears of being billed for medical expenses are a vestige of the “scared-shitless of medical bills” state America seems to put their citizens in whenever they so much as get a cough. I’ve never heard of anyone losing their shirt because they got sick in Canada.
Your absence played out like a murder mystery in our home this spring/summer. Wild theories were conjectured. Little bits and pieces of information were carefully stitched together to form a clear and cohesive whole. By the time we heard the news of what really happened it was thought that you either had a monolithically bad case of bronchitis or genital herpes after an ill-advised weekend bender. At times, we wondered openly about how your face would appear (the elephant man?) once you finally emerge. I’m half kidding. I think.
I couldn’t believe when I heard it was a heart condition. Goddamnit you’re young, you have muscles, you look like you’ve eaten kale and yogurt within the century! Meanwhile, I see slobs on people-movers with their gut flapping in the wind as I look out my window that are as happy as… slobs in people-movers with their gut flapping in the wind. It made me consider my own health & choices and not letting shit fester and get out of hand. But who knows where these things come from, right?
Anyhow, now that the mystery is solved we’ve moved onto “so what’s your theory as to when Scott will be on regularly?” My favorite theory so far is when you’re strong enough to confront Tommy Tallarico in a final, epic battle (of words?)
Thanks for the nice words, from all of you. You’re all very sweet. I’ll keep trying to post a new piece once a week, usually on Thursday or Friday. Writing is still something of a challenge for me right now. You’ll discover why in my next post. Warning: there’s grim stuff up ahead. -Scott
You have great strength in yourself to be able to share lifes events. All we can do is take it one day at a time. Enjoy, be free and best of all be happy. Take care.
011? Does their address begin with 011? Or did you start speaking in binary?
Glad to hear from you again my man, take care and wish you a speedier recovery.
Hi Scott. Long time fan living in Toronto. We met a few times during Fan Expo and you have always made it memorable for my young son and I. Not sure what more I can say that others haven’t said yet. Glad to know you’re doing better. Looking forward to hearing more of your story. Thanks for sharing!
Mr. Jones
Good to hear from you, every so often I always check to see how you’re doing, glad to hear your back on the mend. It’s good to hear you have a support system that cares about you, lean on them in this time.
Next time a doctor says that to you start pounding on your chest and start making gorilla noises and chant \Scott am strong body and mind!!’ then go around the office acting like a gorilla smelling things. They’ll put that in your history notes and won’t say that again. warning: they might also think you’re crazy.
Best Wishes
James L.
Good to hear from you Scott, all the best in your recovery. As a cancer survivor of a rare cancer for a man of my age I understand the feeling of going to doctors and feeling like something is off, but no one knows what it is. Stay strong and all the best man, can’t wait to hear and see you back at work.
So good to hear from you Scott. I’m glad things are getting better, slow as it may seem. Thee are a lot of people, strangers by all rights, that care about your well being. Never forget that. I hope to hear the next part in your epic tale soon.
All the best Scott. Sincerely.
Hi Scott,
I am sorry to hear what you have had to go through. I am a huge fan of you and Vick as a team and hopefully that returns soon. As a physician, I sympathize with your story and it makes me think (as a physician) how quickly we brush symptoms off as if it is nothing serious. Sure, there are some presentations that still baffle us, but this story makes a point for us to listen closely and understand the full history. I appreciate you sharing this, Scott! I hope you are able to enjoy some gaming.
Hi Scott,
I’m a ROTR fan in Toronto and I’m very happy to hear that you are on the mend and it was great to see you back on the show. Your presence certainly provides so much. I hope you get all the rest and support you need and that you know how much your fans are pulling for you. Thank you for writing about your story too – it’s incredible to hear what happened!
Miss you Scott! Get well soon. Very glad you’re still here
Glad to hear you’re on the mend. I had a medical issue a few years back in which I actually died several times. Not sure what you went through in hospital but I’ve wound up with medical PTSD from my experience.
I hope you recover fully both physically and mentally. If you ever need to talk to someone who understands, you’ve got my email on this post.
Take care Scott
There is nothing that makes a nurse happier… Then seeing the beautiful smile of a former patient.. He walks on the floor, says hello& he just stands there with a massive grin& simply shines. No, this is not the same fella I saw months ago in the hospital bed. The spark in his eyes is far more alive & I think… Wow! He’s back! But back from what?!? I didn’t know him before. But there is no doubt in my mind.. He was a force to be reckoned with…
… And I can’t wait to see what Scott-C does next.
U made my day!!! Thank you for coming by. .. U don’t need to say ‘thank you for the exceptional nursing care”. If anything, I say thank you for being just being ‘you’.. Even when u were at ur lowest – this humble, kind, (somewhat?!?) sarcastic smart ass, would put on his sassy pants– even on the crappiest of days, and still try to get you to smile &laugh !
Even though I wasn’t part of the early journey of this fiascal …. I’m glad I got to witness the end part !
🙂 thank u scott
Miss Rach
I never knew you were such a fantastic writer. You really pulled me in and I thank you for sharing your thoughts and your situation with all of us. I always look forward to going on reviewsontherun.com and seeing you & Victor go back and forth. I could listen to both of you talk for hours. You two bounce off of each other so well and I always look forward to that. You are going through so much madness and great pain. I’m grateful you were lucky enough to have caring people around you that want to help you and find out what is going on with you. I thought you were just on vacation, taking some well deserved time off. I look forward to reading more about you and your story. I’m happy you’re still here.
Sorry our medical system failed you Scott 🙁 I’m glad your friends saved your life and I’m glad you seem to be on the mend. I hope you to see you back on the show when you are healthy and ready to go and not a moment before. Best wishes until the.
Sometimes the worst things happen to the livelyest of people. Stay strong Scott, you are on the thoughts of many and missed by the masses. As for the doctors; keep a bundle of roses up your sleeve and a rabbit in your hat. The best often comes out of the worst, or at least a good story to come :p
Hi Scott, it’s great to see you’re writing again. I really hope you’re through the hardest parts and that you can get back to doing things you enjoy.
All the best in your recovery. Your presence writing, reviewing and opining has been greatly missed.
Hey Scott,
I didn’t realize how you’d become a solid part of my day until you’d disappeared from EP Daily. I saw you giving the Thor movies a sound chafing, so I initially assumed your absence was a result of some divine/Hemsworthy retribution. But I was so sorry to hear of your illness!
Vic and Marissa and the gang have been soldiering on quite bravely, but you have a presence that I honestly have been missing in every episode of EP since (and quite badly from Vic’s Basement audio podcasts).
Here’s to a smoother recovery road for you. You may be a marvel to 45 doctors (why did I just think “30 Helens Agree…), but you’re appreciated, too, by random folk like me. Thanks for your story, Scott.
Doc: You’re lucky to be alive.
You: Well you see doc, that’s the reason I’m here. I think I’m running a little low and was hoping you could refill my prescription for some more luck.
I told that to a doctor once. I eventually got surgery and was all healed.
Good thoughts. Great drinks. Best wishes.
Keep writing and keep fighting, Jones.
We’re all lucky to be alive. The reason you have no better reply to such a comment is that it’s a dumbass thing to say. Not that I blame the docs either. Death (and near death) tends to bring out the dumbass in the best of us.
Wow!
I am glad to see your still here. That sounds like a scary surreal experience. All the best in your recovery.
Thanks for sharing what’s been going on; it sounds like it was very scary. I can’t have been your only fan who was worried about you. Does it feel weird to have complete strangers be fans of yours and care about how you’re doing?
I hope you continue to mend. Dealing with a major medical issue is a life-changing event and it takes a while to get used to the changes. I found that I needed some therapy to deal with the long-term impact of my own medical issues. I also never know how to respond to people who tell me that I’m lucky to still be alive (which is similar to being lucky to be alive). Usually I just say thank you or mention something about modern medical technology.
Stay well.
Just sending you some love and good wishes, my friend. You need anything, you call!
ScottC, My god! So glad to find you. Totally enjoy your thought process. Keep it coming. Keep busy. Encourage your body to repair itself and then feel it happen. I, too, was told there’s nothing wrong…for years…then I found a doctor [through my pharmacist] who knew exactly how to investigate and ‘poof’ I began my journey to improvement. Yay. It’ll happen for you. Stay around, please. We need more ScottC and ScottC + Vic.
A possible reply: “We are all lucky to be alive, I’m lucky to be not dead”. Look forward to seeing you back on the show.
Take care and all the best. We miss you.