The truth of the undead
Approximately six weeks ago, I died. For roughly two minutes, my heart stopped working. My right lung collapsed. Somehow, my surgical team got my heart going again and brought me back. I wasn't aware of anything. I remember going to sleep as the anesthesia did its job. Then I came out of anesthesia in the recovery ward with my doctor, trying to understand what had happened. I didn't understand everything, but I knew I was being sent to the ICU, where I spent six days. My lung reinflated, but the other one developed pneumonia. I was oxygen dependent the entire time there, though we were lucky that I weaned quickly. I know that I was pumped full of antibiotics and other medications. I received blood thinner shots twice a day on my belly, so many that it looked like a bat had gone across my body by the time I got home.
Six weeks of trying to wrap my head around this. I was awake, then I died, then I woke up. It's a head trip. I've changed. My perspective on life and death has evolved, and I have a clear vision of where I want this second chance to end up. I've never been a great planner, but I have a three-year plan in my head and the ganas, as we say in Spanish, to go after that life.
So THAT'S why I went MIA.
The books are coming.
Have patience with me.
Despite the renewed energy, my recovery is going much slower than I'd like. I can barely walk a third of a mile, I get tired walking the stairs in my house, and I use a walker when I leave home. Personally, I think the whole thing is bullshit. It's annoying and distracting. I have better things to do.
The books are coming, many of them.
Now that it's functioning relatively normally, my brain is overflowing with ideas and storylines. Get ready for some paranormal romance, an obligatory academy/college magical series, more Vespers, and an urban fantasy thriller. I can't promise release dates with this stupid recovery's unpredictable nature, but you'll see a lot.
In the meantime, here's a giggle for you.