Happy Easter.

I'm in week 3 of recovering from near death. Coming back from the dead in only 3 days really is kinda impressive in that context.

I've been re-watching episodes of the cable series Breaking Bad. I'm in the middle of season 3 with an episode with a scene where people are waiting in a hospital while a family member is in surgery after having been shot several times. To lessen the tension, one family member begins to recount how he had survived surgery for cancer at this same hospital and describes his thoughts and feelings leading up to his surgery. He admits to being terrified at the moment they put him under because of the possibility that he would never awaken. That's prompted me to look back.

Honestly, it happened all so quickly: the attack, getting to the ER, into trauma and into the OR. I was so fixated on trying to remain calm that it never even occurred to me that I wouldn't awake; I've been under general anesthesia before with two previous surgeries, and I was still completely conscious and coherent right up until they put me under that I was pretty sure that I hadn't suffered significant blood loss. (Afterwards, I was told I'd lost about 1/2 liter during the actual surgery.) That's only a class I hemorrhage, though they were pumping IV's into me for 36 hours until I awoke. I was urinating an average of 600 ml every couple of hours after that. I was asked about blood transfusions before they put me under. I didn't understand the significance of the question; they don't tell you that getting someone else's blood apparently has some adverse effects going forward. As it turns out, I did not receive any blood transfusions.

I don't think I've touched on this before, but I have chosen not to personalize any of this. Because of that, "why?" has never been a question that's required an answer for me. Moreover, it's been easy for me to access the absurdity that's been in a lot of the situations involving all of this and see the humor in it. People must think I'm in serious denial or something, but I'm more or less indifferent about the idea of confronting my attacker, or even meeting her face to face. I have the chance to do so next Thursday at her first court appearance.

Not much to say today.

Still kinda ramped up from last night's basketball game, where Michigan came back and beat Kansas in OT. If I had to think about it, I guess the big thing is that March is just about over. The only thing I'll have to show for the month is the scar on my neck, which is itching up a storm even as I type this.

Call from Deputy Probation Officer this morning.

More details on my attacker - 17 misdemeanor convictions and she wanted to drink my blood, but there were too many people around. First court date on April 4th next Thursday. I suppose it could have been worse if she'd been a cross between Momica Lewinsky and Lorena Bobbit. Part of me wants to cross my legs just contemplating that.

There's more; it was her clear intent not only to kill someone, but also to drink their blood, which she would have done had I been alone.

Hospital follow up.

Just got back from the hospital. They confirmed that the nerve damage is permanent. Got to meet my trauma surgeon.  A lot of blood vessels had to be repaired, including branches of the carotid. I guess I'll let that one sink in a bit. The hole from the drainage shunt looks like a bad hickey, so I'm going in next Tuesday morning for a procedure to get some scar tissue taken care of.

Went out for lunch Tuesday and ended up at one of my favorite sushi places & I decided to treat myself, ending up spending more on one lunch than twice what I budget each week for Tuesday nights at the park.  I should feel guilty about that, but I don't - yet.. My sushi chef thinks I should look into how and why my attacker was out on unsupervised probation. I don't think I should get rich off this, but he pointed out that any financial benefit could be earmarked for helping the homeless going forward. That slant intrigued me enough to call my personal injury lawyer who handled my case when a guy made a left turn in front of me and I totalled my blue Miata about 6 years ago. My lawyer's take was that the government is basically immune from liability but there might be something depending on the differences between supervised and unsupervised probation and he'd take a look at the statutes and get back to me. At this point, any sort of legal proceedings that might attract more scrutiny from official sources concerning our activities in the park is something I'd prefer to avoid.

Tuesday night at the park was earlier this evening. I shared my health situation with the group and they understood that my ability to contribute in the short term is going to be hampered by my recuperation. A number of the people who came for food made a point of asking how I was doing.

Went out afterwards to Joes in Burbank, even danced a few dances. Even though I didn't get home until recently, I don't feel all that tired. Maybe my body will make a liar out of me and I'll sleep until dinner time tomorrow, but given that I'm rather the extrovert this makes sense to me; part of the extended rest/fatigue has also meant limited exposure to the outside world. I've gone out every day for lunch this past week, but this has for the most part meant meeting with a friend or just getting take out and bringing it home. Also, asides from seeing friends, dancing and listening to live music, I spent the last two hours hanging out with the band and hanging out with other musicians felt a lot like a fish being returned to water.

slept until 3pm today, then watched the last boy scout. the movie is better than i remembered.

I definitely didn't have the energy to attend the Victorian ball last night (only the 2nd I've missed since 1997), but I did attend a ballroom dance and got to see a number of people I haven't seen since the attack. I managed to dance a foxtrot, a salsa and a west coast swing and spent the rest of the time socializing. A fellow ballroom dancer who (I didn't know this before) was a former coroner took a look at my neck and told me I was pretty lucky to be alive.

Someone who used to come out to the park with us got married today. Drove out there with a couple of other people from Tuesday nights. On the way home I started to bring up the El Cid thing, and one guy changed the subject almost immediately. It was like they didn't even want to hear it. I guess I was right after all.

I had a dream last night that started with being trapped in some sort of maze with some other people where it suddenly becomes a free for all which I somehow manage to escape only to end up in some sort of house with a lot of high tech equipment and everyone else in the house is an expert with this stuff, and I still need to fight my way out. (end of run on sentence here)

I don't remember my dreams so I can't say with any degree of certainty that I don't have many violent dreams, but I can say that I count the number of violent dreams I can remember on the fingers of one hand. We'll see if this means anything I guess.

Full day - saw my chiropractor whose diagnosis was only soft tissue damage (vs. cervical misalignment) as the cause for my continued pain/discomfort in the back of my neck. She's also known me for a good 15 years, and her observation was that the attack would have essentially intensified my El Cid tendencies. She's probably right. It makes total sense given my cultural heritage; while I was born and raised in the U.S. my parents were immigrants from China, and I can readily recognize how the community emphasis of the culture permeates my values and thought process. It may not seem obvious, but it's emphasized even in everyday conversation in how you greet another person - there is a specific unique term to use: even a different Mr. or Mrs. depending on who is the elder of the two. There are specifc terms for every possible family relationship:  sibling (older/younger) grandparent (mother's side/father's side) , aunt/uncle (mother's side/father's side AND whether they are older or younger than your parent). This reinforces the idea that one is part of something bigger than one's self, and you are supposed to be always aware of your place within that entity.

Had rehearsal tonight. My throat pain is almost gone. I got through about halfway through rehearsal tonight before my voice gave out. I probably would have been OK if I brought bottled water to keep the voice box hydrated. I was kinda stressed about this, so it's a relief to see that there's a visible end in sight to this discomfort.

El Cid.

I had lunch with K. today. I had asked K to come out to the park for my first day back at the park after the attack. He made an astute observation in that while I had been very successful in presenting a positive image that perhaps I had done too good a job, and as a consequence, people who had pledged to help in certain ways had yet to follow up because they also got the impression that I was pretty much back and ready to go.

Have I been channeling El Cid? While I do believe that my attitude is real, the flip side of the coin is that I'm pretty beat up physically, and I also still need to time to decompress and process what's happened here, and maybe it's cost me something to behave more or less like business as usual.

The bottom line here is yeah, I'm moving forward as best I can, but I might need a little more help to do it than you might be imagining.

Went to the park last night. We had an unusually large crowd (50+) considering that it wasn't the end of the month yet. Word has apparently begun to circulate about what happened and a number of people who showed up made a point of approaching me and expressing their condolences and complimenting the pork chili verde (which was pretty good IMO as I had three bowls of it before I left the house I blogged the recipe here: http://secretasianmanfood.blogspot.com/2010/09/crockpot-pork-chili-verde.html). I don't consider myself a hero by any stretch of the imagination, yet it brings me comfort to imagine the kind of message being received by some of these people that despite nearly losing my life doing it,  I want to continue helping them - because they matter. As C.S. Lewis once observed, it's one of the most difficult things to believe about oneself - that we do in fact matter.

In a few hours, it will be exactly 2 weeks since my attack occurred. I spent most of today cooking and napping.

I admit to still being surprised at my level of fatigue. I managed a trip out for lunch, then a trip to the store to get groceries for tomorrow's dinner around 8pm..Really haven't given much thought to anything of substance.

For the most part.people have seemed to be more outraged for my own sake than I've been.In a lot of ways that makes sense to me so I haven't given that much thought. My initial perspective has been that this was a completely random act of violence, but given that my assailant apparently came to the park with the intent of murdering someone from a church group regularly serving the homeless it seems that I do need to analyze the potential for a personal element, and to what possible degree. My assailant apparently has an address that places her within a couple of miles of the address of my church. It seems to me that if there's an animus directed at my church specifically this puts things in a very different light. I've left a message with the police investigator assigned to the case hoping he'll return my call and be able to shed some light on that.

This also prompts a closer look at the cost of commitment. But first, let's make it clear that it's really not all that much a burden in terms of effort; I have a creative bent, and I enjoy cooking, and what I do allows me to exercise that creativity especially within the confines of a budget. But the cost up to now has only been a commitment of time/effort and a minimal amount of financial resources.Personal physical risk has not been part of the equation. I don't think anyone expects the threat level to rise dramatically, but one of our regulars did point out that the park where we meet can draw a wider spectrum of people because of the park's proximity to the METRO line. I don't see myself giving this up but I can respect that someone married & with kids has more than their own safety to consider might have different feelings about it.

Thus ends St. Patrick's Day. I didn't sleep all day as much as nod off throughout the day wathcing episodes of the sopranos on my desktop. but I did get out for a late take out lunch and groceries for dinner.

I've had a sore throat this entire time. Some of it was due to having that chest tube forced down my throat, and I seem to have aggravated it trying to sing last Thursday at rehearsal. My throat *really* hurt the next morning. Now I seem to have some sort of nasal drip which has left my throat irritated. I'd be less worried about it if I didn't have other problems which might not go away. My right ear remains numb/tingly and last Thursday I learned that it could be a consequence of nerve damage I suffered either by the cut or when the surgeon did the exploratory to make sure that my esophagus hadn't been damaged. Parts of my head and neck also remain tender to the touch. I guess I'm not going to be as good as new. While they treated the wound, I'm not so sure that they did anything at all in relation to my getting clocked in the back and side of the head. I should probably go see my chiropractor to make sure my neck/spine are still in alignment.

Now it's just not healing - it's waiting to find out what won't heal. It goes from watching paint dry to hoping the paint color doesn't change necessitating another paint job.

This weekend I contacted the few remaining close friends hadn't heard yet that don't do Facebook. (There are people on FB who are posting stuff with their usual abandon but have yet to contact me. Not sure what to make of that.) One was my best friend from high school who now lives in Thailand. We traded a few emails before he called me using Skype. That was pretty cool. Another was a volleyball buddy who's since married and become incredibly domesticated. It was good getting caught up with him. But other than that, it's pretty much been just me for the last 48 hours. But I've either been sleeping or watching a movie/show just to help the time pass; I've gone into a different mode somehow. Maybe it's necessary.

The process of letting people know about all this even now has been comment worthy. One of the single most stressful things about this entire ordeal has been informing my mother and father about this. There is no good way to spin: "A psychotic person tried to end my existence by stabbing me in the neck with a box cutter prompting me to spend 3 days in ICU at the hospital." especially when the dynamics include parents who were raised in another country/culture speaking a different language on top of a worrywart mother whose behavior in the past has trained me to expect that sharing one's burdens with one's mother only results in increasing the level of stress by a geometric factor. And it would have been even worse if she'd tried to hop on a plane and fly out to CA from Ohio. After asking just about anyone who came into my hospital room, including some housekeeping people who apparently didn't speak any English, the consensus was: "wait until the day you are discharged before you call your mother". However, a distant relative commented via social media (in this case Facebook) on my situation, I realized that I couldn't hold off any longer and risk someone else contacting my mother first, so Friday night, I called home. My dad answered. His English has never been so good, and so I got through "accident" & "hospital" before he asked me if I wanted to talk to my mother, who then took the phone. I chose to describe things as having had an accident, gotten hit in the neck and having had to go to the hospital but that I was going to be fine. I think I managed to reassure her by pointing out that it happened during a church related event and that the church was going to try and cover any and all medical expenses not covered by whatever insurance I had (which is a MAJOR BLESSING). Who's going to try and kill someone else at a church function, right? My long term plan is to travel to see my parents this summer and tell them the entire truth then face to face.

And then there's been the use of social media, in this case Facebook. Even now, there are people in my friends network who remain unaware of what's happened even though it's now been over a week and a half since the attack took place. I've had to examine my own feelings about some folks apparently just blathering on (even though I've long since categorized them as narcissists) in their wall posts & pics and just as in the attack, choose not to personalize apparent indifference.

Apparently the most effective way of getting the word through Facebook is to update your profile picture to a pic of you in a bed in ICU with tubes coming out of all different parts of one's body. Fortunately, I had the presence of mind to ask someone to take a few pics for that very purpose! When  I figure out how to include them in this blog, I'll add them.

When I got home about a week ago, even a reduced but otherwise normal schedule has caught up with me; I've probably slept over 50 hours out of the last 72 and I'm still feeling somewhat fatigued. I think that this more than anything else has prompted a string of thoughts about the lines of mortality and acknowledging the toll that's being exacted on me not just physically but also mentally and emotionally. But there's been plenty of other stuff to think about.

I've since learned more about my attacker: I choose not to reveal her name at this point, but I will say that she was convicted of misdemeanor assault involving two homeless men in January and had been released on unsupervised probation. I initially described her as appearing to be a relatively husky person, but according to people who identified her later, she's actually a relatively small person who was wearing very baggy clothes. As far I know, she remains incarcerated with bail set at $500k, though it was initially set at $1 million. Not sure what to make of that. Initially described as psychotic by the officer who talked with me in the hospital ER, a subsequent conversation with the lead investigator with the Pasadena police has given me a little more to think about. Every news article I've managed to find has described me as sitting at a picnic table with friends, However, even with the apparent mental instability, it seemed clear to police that my assailant came to the park with the clear intent to kill someone that was part of a church group. I was initially worried that my home church had been specifically targeted, but someone pointed out that there is a grapevine of sorts amongst the homeless about where services are provided and the source thereof. I'll probably clarify this with police if possible, but for now, one of the thoughts that sits with me is that I've suffered for my faith. I'm not sure where this is going to go.

Since the attack as been classified as a first-degree (premeditated) attempted murder, sentencing starts at 15 to life imprisonment, and while I don't fully comprehend the nuances, her use of a box cutter, ups the minimum sentence to life plus four years. Apparently the extra years factor into how soon it would be for her eligibility for parole if parole was a possibility based on her sentence, if I understand this correctly, her minimum sentence if convicted would be 19 to life, and be eligible for parole in 19 years. Of course this assumes a conviction; she may well manage to negotiate a plea of some sort or use some sort of insanity defense which greatly increases her chances of being released back into society in a relatively short amount of time though her two recent misdemeanor convictions will come to light.. But I shouldn't really worry about that at this point.

There was no way I was going to miss being back at the park the following Tuesday night. I don't think most of the people we served that night were even aware of what had happened the previous week. Most of them had already left by the time I was attacked the week before. But I noticed that one person who I will refer to as D, who has a rep for being rather sarcastic and snarky in conversation kept close by over the course of the evening and when talking with me, kept sweeping the park behind me with his eyes. That reinforced my resolve to continue my efforts on Tuesdays.

This blog is tied to my other current blog in that it's somewhat food related - but only in origin.

Today is March 16th. On March 5th 2013, I was in Central Park in Pasadena CA with a number of other people who've decided to get together to serve food to homeless people. We had finished serving when someone attacked me from behind and stabbed me in the neck with a box cutter with the intent of taking my life.

I remember getting struck on the head from behind, and when I turned to see what was behind me, I saw an apparently husky figure of someone retreating back across the park to a waiting cab which they entered and left the park. I was unaware that I'd been stabbed; the person sitting to my right said something to that effect and grabbed something and held it to my neck. It wasn't until I touched my neck and then saw my bloody fingers that I realized the potential seriousness of the attack. Someone suggested calling 911 & I'm pretty sure that I suggested that it would be better if someone just gave me a ride to the hospital only a few blocks away. Someone had the presence of mind to ask me for my car keys so my car could be moved for which I am grateful. At that point, the main thought going through my mind was to try and stay as calm as possible; I knew that adrenalin kicking in would only result increasing my heart rate and any potential blood loss.

Getting admitted was almost a comedy of errors. My friend stopped at the first set of doors at ER, which happened to be for trauma, and they were locked. My friend's frantic knocking prompted someone to open the locked door, and upon entry into trauma, staff asked what we were doing and how we'd gotten there. We explained that we were looking for ER because I'd been attacked. So we got told to go to the admitting desk. Fortunately,. the person at the admitting desk immediately grasped the seriousness of my injury and told me to go right back to trauma, where they immediately put me into an available room. Somewhere during this process a policeman told me that they'd caught my assailant and that she was psychotic. (I learned  later that a friend had pursued my attacker across the park and though he had been unable to prevent my attacker from leaving the scene, my friend flagged down a nearby cop who was able to apprehend the cab.) I also apparently had the presence of mind to call someone to let them know what had happened, but I don't remember doing so. A trauma team had assembled at this point, and when they removed the makeshift dressing to take a look at the wound, apparently we had a pretty good spurt prompting someone to say "WHOA!". I think I responded with something along the lines of: "hey! i'm trying to stay calm here, and you can't go around saying "WHOA!" without me starting to panic." Somebody responded by trying to jam their finger into the wound and out the other side of my neck. I then said, "OW! I know you're trying staunch the bleeding, but that kind of pain is probably going to kick in my adrenalin as well." We got me to the OR from trauma without other mishap, except for them insisting on cutting off my new pair of jeans while I kept insisting that I could lift my hips on the table. And yes, I had on dirty underwear.

I woke up around 8 am with both arms strapped to the sides of my bed, IV's in both my arms, and a chest tube, NG tube, drainage & catheter inserted in me. The dry board on the wall said March 6th while the wall calendar said March 11th. Turned out it was actually Thursday morning Match 7th. I had been out for 36 hours, and while I was out incommunicado any and all attempts to ascertain any news concerning my status had gone for naught; as the victim of an attack, I had been registered under an alias/pseudonym for my own safety, and the switchboard operator must have tired of telling everyone who called on Wednesday that as the victim of an attack, hospital policy is to register such individuals under an alias. So if I had been the victim of an attack, I would have been registered under an alias and that I would need to be contacted so I could give them my alias name. 

Around 9am, they pulled the chest tube (which was about as unpleasant an experience as you might imagine) and upon request, handed me my cell phone. At this point, it's still only Wednesday to me and my only thought is try and cancel an appointment set for 1pm that day (in actuality, 20 hours earlier). I see that I have multiple texts & voicemails but my cell also emits one of the those "battery is about to die" beeps. I'm horrified, and I frantically call the person who i suspected had my keys, but I get their voicemail. Argh! I call the person who gave me a ride to the hospital and iI just kept repeating: "My cell phone is about to die. I need to have someone get my charger which is in my left top desk drawer." while he kept repeating: "How are you? I just want to know how you are!" Some time during that exchange my cell phone did in fact die around 9am.

I have never felt so helpless in all my life. I still had the NG tube in my nose, both arms strapped to sides of my bed, and my only connection to the world at large was in my hand but with a dead battery. Around 9:45am, someone came into my room and told me that a Michael G. was downstairs and asked me if I wanted to see him. I mumbled/blurted out: "Does he have my cell phone charger?" to which she responded yes! Michael came up with my charger, plugged it in and proceeded to fill me in on details. It was Michael who'd chased after my assailant and whose flagging down a policeman had brought my assailant to justice.

Apparently the cab had already left the park, so when police apprehended the cab, they also arrested the driver and put him in handcuffs in case he'd been an accomplice. Poor guy.Once my alias had been disseminated (Gustavo Perez, of all names), I didn't lack for visitors for the rest of my time in the hospital. I don't know how else to describe it, but I was very aware of feeling like I needed to be aware of what each visitor seemed to need, and that I felt I needed to adapt accordingly. Some people wanted to fill in all the details I didn't know, others wanted me to fill them in on everything. Some came to cheer me up, while others were clearly upset by what had transpired and I was very aware that if I had any sort of negative energy it would have a geometric impact on them.

That Thursday night, I prayed.

Friday the 8th, someone brought me one of my laptops, and I re-established internet contact with the world - which included someone posting a pic of my neck wound and including a link to a news story detailing the attack. Friday night, they moved me out of CCU, and Saturday morning I was discharged from the hospital.

I'll try to get caught to the present in the next post.