reflections on the times i almost died by @ryanmega

When I was 4 or 5 years old, my cousin Shihee swang a table leg, our makeshift baseball bat, and hit me in the forehead. The scar is still visible. I leaked blood profusely for 30 minutes before I ever got to the hospital and then waited another hour for care. My mom and cousins were in a panic, but I never felt I was dying. I forget the amounts but they say I lost a lethal amount of blood. It would have sucked to die then, before life had really begun.

When I was 12 my dad told me to go under a house he was building and hold up a post that was connected to the foundation. Only after he’d corrected the issue did he tell me that with one false move, I could have unbalanced the roof and had it cave in on me. In retrospect, I was immediately pissed then upset that he picked me to “help” of my three brothers. I guess it makes sense because I listened and was not his favorite son.

When I was 16, my friend Derrick and my friend Jerald and I were caught in a public park after curfew. I stole a smidgen of weed and a bottle of backwash from my grandmother’s and we piled into Derricks new car to cruise on a Saturday night. When the cops arrested us, I was holding my wallet in my hand, per the instructions of the cop frisking me, when the other cop some 20 yards away yells “Hey, he’s got something in his hands” and pulls his weapon, steps around my friend, and takes aim. I yell “It’s my wallet you stupid muthafucka” before he shoots me in the back. I am peering over my shoulder as he raises the gun and then his partner turns into the line of fire, diffusing the situation before a bullet rang from the chamber. In retrospect, I have hated cops ever since and each interaction with them has been of a similar vein, except for I’ve been less illegal and they’ve been more assholic.

When I was in college, I was robbed. Its a long story, but it ends with me being pistol whipped in my dorm and robbed of a small amount of robable things. In the midst of the chaos, the gun goes off and a bullet grazes my head. I dive to the ground to see a hot shell casing and the coil and hammer of the gun. It broke. Apparently the back of my skull or my split ear were enough to loosen the weapons mechanisms. For that reason, the graze didn’t shoot direct, or with enough velocity to crack my skull, or so I assumed. Immediately after, I didn’t feel lucky or blessed. It felt like, “duh, of course I made it. Why would I die?” Now, I know that was a pivotal moment for my life in regards to steering it to the course I’m on now.

I had mouth surgery and was under anasthesia for the first time ever. I didn’t follow any of the presurgery rules and I was to be under the drugs for 3 to 4 hours. I feared my heart stopping or complications and they came to fruition. Halfway through, my pulse starts picking up and my body is waking, so they turn up the dope so much m heart stopped. I am still not sure how long, because the dentist wouldn’t give me full details. I feel fine though and my teeth are okay, so I’m okay. People die in surgery, but I didn’t.

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