Call meJeffrey

I’m not the smartest person alive, and if you look into my past you’ll find all sorts of evidence to support that claim. What I am, however, is extremely lucky – and I find it’s to my advantage to be acutely aware of that. Here’s a story…

In 2003, a little over 2 years into my 5-year battle with ulcerative colitis I decided to begin two large tattoos on my arms to express coming to terms with my mortality, which came about from almost dying at the end of 2001. I had the whole thing figured out, and did everything you’re “supposed” to do to get ready to get tattooed (research your artist, decide on a meaningful concept, wait a while after you decide to make sure you still want it, etc).

While my intentions were good, my timing was not and I overlooked a pretty big detail. What I failed to realize is that getting tattooed while on a massive, ongoing dose of immunosuppressants to battle my UC wasn’t very bright. I spent a total of 10 hours getting tattooed over the course of two weeks.

About a week after my last session my right arm started to get very sensitive all over, from above my elbow down to my wrist. This followed by redness and swelling which continued for a full week. My doctor prescribed me antibiotics to tide me over until my appointment the following week to check it out. I never made it to the appointment.

On the Saturday before my doctor’s appointment, I woke up to find my arm so swollen I couldn’t bend it. It felt as if my skin would tear if I bent it too far. This was also a day where I needed to get up, get showered, and drive to Indiana to watch my friends Jake and Shondi get married.

While I was at the wedding ceremony some really awful stuff happened to my arm (I’m skipping over the gory details). I stayed at the ceremony until it was over, apologized to Jake and Shondi for having to leave in a rush – promising an explanation later – and drove home as fast as I could.

I headed to the emergency room after I got home and soon after I got there, the attending physicians rushed me into getting an ultrasound to see how deep the abscess that had been brewing in my arm had gotten (I did say the details were gory). It showed that the infection was mere millimeters away from reaching my bone. As they explained, once the infection gets to the bone, the limb is lost – from above the infection to the end of the appendage. I’ll never forget asking the surgeon who came to talk to me about my chances of avoiding surgery, and him telling me things weren’t looking very good.

They started me on a massive dose of antibiotics which I responded to extremely well, and long story short, my arm was saved. I spent a total of 3 days in the hospital and was released to recover on my own. I told you I was lucky.

For those who know me, I obviously finished what I started, though it took me a few years to build up the courage to get work done again. And when I did finally finish what was about 30 more hours of work, it was under the direction of a doctor who aided me in the safest possible way to keep from getting an infection.

The result of my bad timing and missed details in 2003 was almost losing my arm, missing most my close friend/business partner’s wedding, and almost ending the career of my tattoo artist (he said in all seriousness that if I had lost my arm he’d never have tattooed again).

There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t see the tiny scar on my right arm and remember that my life could be a lot more difficult. Even with the best of intentions, overlooking a single detail of a decision, or being impatient as to when to make a move can end in disaster. The fact that I’m typing this with two hands instead of one is one of the main motivators to go after what I want, but also reminds me to have patience to wait for it to come.