What's Another Year?
A year has passed since a septic bug took me to the brink. If I’d gone to the hospital any later, they would not have been able to save my life. My brain was already swollen; my organs were about to go into failure. I wasn’t aware of the severity of my condition, but I did ask if I was dying.
The first person (prick) that I asked said, ‘Not at the moment.’ The second person was the man who saved my life, Dr. Colm Kirby. ‘Why do you ask?’ That’s what he said. Before I could answer, he said, ‘You’re very ill, and we’re trying to find out what’s wrong with you.’ I could have filled the space between his two sentences by telling him his nurse couldn’t look at me without crying, but I didn’t. Nobody likes a rat, even one on its death bed, and besides, she could have been crying because her boyfriend had dumped her.
I felt like marking the occasion with a few words and a few beers. Eight Degree Brewing – if you haven’t tried their I.P.A’s, you should.
Father Ted once entered a competition as the Three Stages of Elvis. I like to think of the past year as the Three Stages of Michael.
I love all three photos, but I have a soft spot for the Ha’penny Bridge selfie. I took it on the way back from an immensely enjoyable evening with Katie and David. I love this photo. I love what it represents, for me.
I am in bonus territory. I can do nothing about my past – but I can do everything in my power to shape, determine and savour my present.
I hope with all my heart that I won’t be on my deathbed until my mid-eighties and I’m a man who used to say he only wanted to live three score and ten.
What’s another year?
It’s everything … and more.