I find strengths in so many things. A great wife and good friends are critical to me surviving this storm. I also find strength is places I never thought I would such as an online game.

All of us hurt in our own way and we think we are so very alone, but there are so many others that may not completely identify with our current problem, but can relate to the shattered pieces of our lives. When you put the mosaic of acquaintances and friends together you find that as a whole, the world understands you so much more than you might realize.

I feel like I am at the end of the line. There is nothing more I can do or want to do about my situation. I wanted nothing more to go skiing this year, as I have so many years in the past. When I finally started to feel better, when it looked like I could my leg started to twitch. Oh Shit here we go again.

I cannot count the hours I have spent waiting for a doctor to show up, driving to appointments, and the gross feeling that I am a name on a file that the doctor only thinks of two minutes before he sees me.

I want to be active, to run around and play, but I cannot. I hope one day I will. There are times when I feel nothing but pitty for myself, but most of the time I try to find some good in the hell that is thrown my way. I pay attention, observe, and learn. One day I hope to help the missing pieces of their own mosaic.

I don’t know when or if this storm will ever end. What I do know is with each drop of rain, every bolt of lightning, and all the damage that is done isn’t lost on a forgetful mind. I am paying attention, I am learning, and one day I will make this right for someone else.

Storm or no storm, whatever is thrown at me, as long as the arrow on my leg points up is a day I am still standing, and as long as I am still standing, as much as I may want to surrender, their will be fight in me. Because there is no way in hell I am going quietly, to be processed, and lost.

I will fight for a voice, my voice, the voice in my head, and it will take stage and be heard. Not for me, but for all those around me. Something is wrong and it will be fixed or I will die trying.

This world is now, officially on notice.

In the summer of 1997 at the age of 22 I began to feel a painful lump in my right testicle. I was attending my second semester at California State University Chico. I left Norther Arizona University in the spring of 1996, my fiance broke up with me a few month later in August of 1996. 1996 was a rough year for me, it seemed just when things couldn’t get any worse they did. My time at NAU was an onslaught of misery and despair. My father filing for bankruptcy caused my credit to tank, my checking account canceled, credit cards gone, all because he did not removing me from his American Express account prior to filing for bankrupcy. I had my apendics and was molested by a doctor when being examined for epididymitis. These were someone of the highlights.

Those that were with me during that storm left for higher ground. After almost a decade and a half of getting out of Simi Valley I found myself back home living with my mother. As luck would have it an old friend called me from Chico needing a roommate, though a series of ambitious steps I found myself attending CSU Chico in the spring of 97.

That summer I spent working as a camp counselor at St. Nicolas Ranch. This is when the pain in my testicle started. I thought it was the same as the pain I had a year prior, a pain that came with a lot of problems when a doctor acted wildly inappropriate and pushed me further down a spiral that only seemed to end when I had nothing left to loose. Naturally this scared the shit out of me.

As September came I was sleeping less and less. The nurse practitioner at the medical center on campus insisted on treating me for gonorrhea, something I knew I didn’t have. He tried to tell me that there are other ways of catching something that would cause an infection in the testicle than sex, we said that but I doubt that he believed it. After three weeks and a pharmacy worth of pain killers and antibiotics the lump and pain was still there. I was then referred to a Urologist.

It took the Urologist less than two minutes to make the diagnosis and to speak the words that rank among the most feared words in our language, “it is cancer.”  Followed by a phrase that no man wants to hear, “we are going to have to remove your testicle.”

Next came a task that no son ever wants to consider, especially a 22 year old college student that until recently thought his life was finally getting back on track. I had to call my mother’s work from a pay phone to tell her that I had cancer. I could hear the wind leave her lungs and not return. I could hear her feeling for a chair to sit before she fell.

I was upset for a while, cried a little, was scared out of my mind. I told my good friend Heather and she cried too. Then in a moment she looked at me and said, “so now are you going to be the uniballer?”

I chuckled and responded, “yea, a one nut wonder.”

We both laughed and proceeded to make jokes. It was then we realized crying, feeling sad or scared would not make the cancer go away so why not have some fun with it. Heather and I had a long tradition of getting lemons and trading them in for a pitcher of beer, which is exactly what we did.

I found out I had cancer on a Wednesday, two days later on Friday I had my testicle removed. The cancer was non-sonomic embryonic carcinoma. This is really imported because non-sonomic does not respond to radiation therapy. In the best case testicular cancer scenario you would have the diseased testicle removed and then have your retroperitoneal lymph nodes radiated in case the cancer had spread.

I was now faced with two decisions. I could choose surveillance or have a surgery known as a modified Retro Paraneal Lymph Node Dissection. If a second tumor is discovered then it has the potential to be one of the most invasive surgeries one could have.

I chose to have the second surgery and the risks were considerable. I wanted this cancer gone and my life back and I was willing to do what ever it took. Of course I was looking at this through the lenses of a 22 year old man who wanted nothing more than not to have to return to Simi Valley.

Towards the end of September, less than three weeks after my first surgery I was under the knife again. I awoke to some of the worst timing I had ever encountered in my life. My mother was there with tears in her eyes telling me that they found a second tumor and I would need chemo therapy. I would have to go home to Simi Valley. At the time I could not imagine a worse fate.

Upon hearing that I was refusing to go home for chemo therapy my Uncle Chris visited me in the hospital. He was instructed by his mother to “talk some sense into that boy.” He told me not to mess around with this, it is my life, and do what needs to be done. Which is exactly what I did.

I returned home to Simi Valley the first week in October. Three weeks later I started my first of two rounds of BMP chemo. The pain from the surgery coupled with the nausea of the chemo, the painfull pimples all while living in Simi Valley, I could not imagine a worse fate.

December 2, 1997 I was officially done with chemo therapy. I had one what I foolishly thought was the war. As it turns out the victory would be one in many battles that would be waged over the course of the next twelve years.

In January of 1998 I ventured back to Chico State. I will be the first to admit that I went too soon and that I should have stayed another semester perhaps two in Simi Valley. Life was so miserable there I saw the cold freedom of Chico State to be far better than where I was currently living. My mother and I always had problems living together, especially when it was just the two of us, and I knew that this wasn’t easy for her and her behavior was more from a lack of experience than love. In the end it came down to the fact that she made it so difficult for me to live there I would rather take my chances in the only other place I was able to go, Chico. The 145 pound, bald, pale, and sick Vincent Clark moved north 400 miles away from his mother’s home in Simi Valley.

In the summer of 1998 I contracted campo bacter, a mild food poison that would present to most as a bad case of the flu. Unfortuntly the symptoms are much harsher to those who’s immune systems have been compromised by chemo therapy. I was forced to cut my week short at St. Nicholas Ranch and quit my job so I could return to Simi Valley to get better. The doctor gave me a choice to stay in the hospital to get the antibiotics or to return home with my mother. I chose three days in the hospital because I quite simply could not return home, especially when I would be too sick to go anywhere.

In December of 1998 I contracted an almost fatal case of pneumonia, a type of pneumonia only seen in elder ally patients and those that had recently received chemo therapy. This furthered my feeling that I came back to school too soon. I spent three days in the hospital. During that time the only time I heard from my family was when my mother called to yell at me for getting pneumonia and wanted to know how that was going to effect Christmas, after all my two sisters were going to be home and she wanted to make sure I would be there so we can all be a family.

Completing my classes was difficult. I was tired most of the time and the college life in the cold was not helping matters. In the Spring of 1999 I chose to finish my classes via e-mail and return once again to Simi Valley. Again, I simply had no place else to go.

Two years after my diagnosis I found myself once again living at home with my mother. My mother threatened to kick me out of the house shortly after my return home in 1997, being in her eyes “healthy” I was being threatened with eviction every other meal. Fortunately for me I found myself dating a lovely sociopath in a similar situation as me. Both of us were left in a town were we started while all our other friends had long since left.

Since my surgery I could never take a punch to the gut, I always had the feeling that I was not put back correctly. I would have sharp pains that quickly went away. I suffered from retrograde ejaculation, which is where instead of the semon coming out in went into my bladder. I was a healthy 160 pounds and alive, the rest was just cost of doing business. I knew that the pain would be a part of life from hear on out. At the age of 24, that doesn’t seem like too long anyway.

During my last year at Chico when my friends were at the bars and I was too tired or sick to join them I was at home on my Pentium I 60 mz computer learning HTML, Java Applets, and Flash. The Internet was ramping up and there seemed to be a lot of money to be made. I never joined the Get Rich on the Internet club, I knew to be successful at anything it would never happen over night.

The summer of 1999 I spent most of it my mother’s garage on my now upgraded 200 mz Pentium computer with a wopping 16 megs of Ram and a generous 2 meg video card. It was a great computer when it wasn’t catching fire blazing a hole in my mothers carpet, hence why I was outside. When I was not painfully searching the web on a 56k modem I was learning JavaScript, HTML, or Flash. I knew that it would be these three technologies that would launch my career.

The dotcom boom was in full swing and I was not dumb enough to think that this wave would last much longer. I knew that I wanted to work with computers and the Internet seemed to be an appealing new field full of potential and opportunity. I also knew that if I wanted to get into the field with no experience or formal education I would have to act fast and make a name for myself. I was originally hired to integrate Disney’s D-Cards but I proved to be gifted at Flash and found myself being assigned to special projects.

As the dotcom world crumbled and a virtual blood bath ensued the web and all that worked on it I found myself protected by the knowledge I gained during those late and lonely nights in which I could hear my classmates parting in the streets, too sick and too tired to go out on that night.

Together with my friends I built one of the first Web 2.0 applications, which was the first for Disney or any other entertainment site, it was also the first all Flash website of its kind. At the time the scale of the project was unrepresented. We tied in personalization and account information in a new never before seen way. The subscription product known as Blast was not Disney Online’s first attempt to an online subscription based site, however it is a site that forever transformed Disney Online. The drive and determination of this ragtag group of 4 individuals layed down the foundation for the Blast Technology team. This was Disney’s first technology team centered around Flash. This team developed into a full blown engineering team ultimately replacing Application Technology the engineering group at Disney Online.

Over the course of the next two years we continuously blazed a trail on the World Wild Web. In 2002 we once again broke new ground in Flash Application development creating the first all Flash e-commerce site for kids in which kids were able to play games earn points and purchase digital downloads.

For almost three years my life seemed to consist of late nights, lost weekend, and a turbulent relationship. As 2002 came to an end my less than stable girlfriend who was also my best friend parted ways. This was not a mutual decision. After almost two years of helping her through her masters degree Brownwyn had her fill of me. As the winter set in so did the winter pain, something at the time I did not recognize. Work was not going well. We had succeeded so much that those who impeded our progress for the previous two years now wanted a piece of our success. Once again my world was crumbling around me.

In 2003 I regrouped, still in good standing with work I had left Blast to join the application technology team, before it was merged into the Blast Technology team, which would be renamed to the Premium Product Technology team.

Sometimes I feel the reason why people don’t write about this time in history is because one can go mad trying to remember was is called what.

In the beginning of 2003 I weighed 170 pounds at its end I would way 230 pounds.

In October of 2002 I had taken up tap dancing and was forced to quit it when I began to develop a great amount of pain in my groin and side. After a few weeks the symptoms went away. As 2003 progressed and my weight increased I found myself in another spiral of cause and action. As the weight increased so did the pain. The doctors would discount the pain in my abdomen and focus on the lower back. They would find a degenerative disk budging in my lower back, however the failed to take it seriously since where I was pointing was inconsistent to what the MRIs showed.

The storm was brewing once more

The hardest part about starting any story is finding that point in which it begins. This is something that sounds far easier than it really is. Two Perfect Cents is the story of how my wife saved my life and all the bright beacons of light, love, and joy she brought to my darkest days.

Given the fact that Jennifer and I are two very unique individuals it should not be too much of a surprise that our story would be told in a unique way. In this book I will give some back story to how Jen and I became a husband and wife, however that is not the focus of this book. Nor is the story of my survival of testicular cancer.

This is the story of an absurd promise the two of us secretly made with ourselves in which we pledge to save one another and how we did just that. This is the story on how our world came tumbling down around us, and how our stubborn ways made giving up not an option. Throughout a spiritual holocaust the two of us found love and beauty within each other giving us the strength to see the light of the world once more.

Everyone in this world needs someone to believe in them when they loose faith in themselves. For someone to loose faith in themselves something awful needs to happen, something terrible, something that would be life changing if it is not life ending. When the storm comes the acquaintances leave, then some family,then work friends, old friends, siblings, good friends, and then a mother. The longer the storm stays the more people venture away in search of brighter skies. It is always easy to rally support when the storm first hits, it is a little more difficult to get the help needed to clean up the mess left behind, it is even harder to get the help to rebuild long after the storm has left. That one person that sticks around, that person that never loss site of the home that would be built on the ruins left by the unforgiving storm, you hold that person close and tight and you never let them go.

I hope others will read this story, but this story is not for them, this story is like a house, a nice house in which I hope to invite, entertain, and inspire. This house, this story, is written for only one person, the most important person that has ever been in my life. It is written for the woman that is not just my reason for living, but my cause of living, she is someone that who if I never met, I would quite simply be dead.

Jennifer, this story and all the ones I write are for you. I love you more than words can express so I will use actions and shout them from the mountain tops.

No McDonnies Softserve! Barabdoucie in Paradise, Barba Barba, and the Barba is waiting for you!

This is an episode I would like nothing more than to have my family watch it. The story is about a man that has been suffering from chronic pain for 2 1/2 years and is finally at the end of the rope. The writing here is simply brilliant since it examines chronic pain from the perspective of not only House and the patient suffering, but that of his son, wife, and doubting doctors.

Though this story is not a word for word account of my ordeal, it does show very well the impact of unexplained pain has on someones sanity. The episode also shows how doctors view people that are in constant pain starting with their first interaction as well as their continuous interaction. The first thought that goes through one of the doctor’s mind is that he is a drug seeker, this is quickly refuted when it is brought to his attention that he has at home a pharmacies worth of narcotics.

If you have already watched the episode or would not mind spoilers continue to read more about how I relate to this episode. 

At the start of the show we see the patient suffering and he wants nothing more than to end his pain, after 2 1/2 years of suffering and seeing doctors he still has no explanation, the medication has become less effective, and the pain is getting worse. The patient sees no other alternative than to end his own life. This action infuriates one of the doctors causing anger and hostility towards the patient. The doctor could not understand why a man with a wife and son would be a coward and try to kill himself because he is in pain. The doctor cannot understand why this man could not just suck it up for the sake of his family.

The son makes a notable observation when he says, “That isn’t my father, just please let him die.” When the wife wants to take him home with the obvious but not verbalized intention of allowing the character to end his life House agrees. House, who is suffers constant pain of his own empathizes with the character much more than the rest of the staff. This is something that only someone has felt constant pain for an extended period of time can understand. 

In my journey through the past couple of years I found the only one that could truly relate to what I had been going through was my uncle. My Uncle Joe, who was very badly wounded in Vietnam, told me that only someone that has been in a similar situation can relate to the pain that I was suffering. Only my wife Jen could really see the day to day impact that this pain has had on me as well as the impact of doubting doctors and family members. 

In the end we find that the patient suffered from eplisy, however the seizures were in an abnormal place, his testicles. The character lived virtually every day feeling like he was constantly kicked in the groin. This is something that men can relate to far better than women can, however only to a certain point. To truly relate to the character a man would have to be kicked in the groin multiple times a day for two years. Then while suffering this intense pain imagine being treated like you are a drug seeker and or as weak for not being able to “suck it up.” Though the doctors rarely if ever say that to the patients face, those that suffer from persistent unexplained pain know when a doctor thinks that. 

In my situation despite being in intense pain the wait to see a doctor was ridiculous to me, however the doctors felt that if I have had it for a month then what is a week, it isn’t cancer so there is no hurry here are some pain killers. When one month turned into two, two to four, four to eight, the sense of urgency for me to be bumped to the front of the line was all but lost on 99% of the people involved. When surgery was inevitable and we were looking at an extra week before the surgery was to be performed the insurance refused to hospitalize me on the grounds that I had been suffering for so long, what is an extra week? This would make sense to anyone that was not in the pain, or having to watch their husband or patient suffer the way that I did.

Please don’t laugh. If you do laugh keep it at a sniker. She is making me posted
In a vacant room of an unnoticed building in the middle of the street
a soul sits and waits for something it has long forgotten
as the soul wonders if he is haunting the room he remembers that he is merly visiting
void of furniture the soul presses against the crevice of two walls converging
as the soul scans the divisions of the room
the east wall
west wall
north wall
south wall
all fitting so nicely together
the spirit sees patterns of east and west, north and south
as the soul sits and waits fpr the door to open
the spirt has long forgotten who or what he is waiting for
the yellow paint is all but faded to the man
the colors have never been more vivid to the child
the man sees the holes where pictures used to hang
the child wonders what pictures he could he use to fill the space
the man sees a carpet that is old and is in need of replacing
the diry carpet goes unnoticed by the child as he wonders what is making the ceiling sparkle
the man’s foresees the building demolition
the man sees all being laid to waste
the child imagines the man that designed
the child imagines the men who built it
while the man images the work needed to patch the holes
the child is thankful that he can easily fit a nail in to hang his favorite pictures.
with a grin the child imagines what the room could be
with a tear the man struggles to forget what it could have been.
A single window in the middle of the room brings in a ray of light let loose by the storm’s cloud
the light shines on the imperfections the darkness was hiding
only the man notices the imperfections for the child knows not what perfection is
while the man gazes out the lone window he sees an alley without much room
the child gazes through the glass and sees a playground full of a multitude of grand adventures
like the two walls converging the direction is obsecured by perception
the man sees a corner
the child see a corner
but the two are not the same
the child pulls the man to his feet
the man picks up the child
it is only a vacant room they both try to convince each other
the child knows the man is lying 
the man knows the child is not buying it

I would like to say Katinka was a road sign, but that would not do her role in my life justice. I would like to say that she was an angel that gave me a gift of hope, but that would not do her role in my life justice. To say that she was a beacon left by God to guide me, would not do her role in my life justice.

Katinka was Katinka, and until you were to spend a moment with her you would never understand what an amazing person she is.

knowing katinka is vital in the story of knowing vince.

The first, go over the edge. This show has to end sometime, ever act gets pulled. I have no doubt in my mind that I cannot live my life like this. This is not a pain that I want controlled by mind numbing pain killers.

After my last nerve injection my doctor extended my leave by a week, then told me that I should talk to the long term disability service and then doubled my pain medication. Nothing says, “I give up” quite like that.

I have put up with a lot of crap from doctors in my life. I wonder what I would have been like if the doctors did not mess up as they did. I first went to the medical clinic at Chico State with a lump in my testicle since mid August 1997. Despite not having sex for close to a year I was treated for Chlamydia for three and a half weeks. Two types of oral antibiotics and three injections of very powerful antibiotics, but this STD I knew I didn’t have didn’t go away. I think this is because it wasn’t an STD. Though the not having sex should have been the first sign, the second sign is the lump was near but not on the epididymis.

After weeks in pain, I was referred to a urologist. If the pain was not so severe there is no way I would have gone to one. Only a year prior during an examination by a urologist certain things occurred that prompted me to file a police report for sexual abuse against the doctor. The officer that took the report as well as several advocates wanted to see this guy fry. Unfortunately the detective didn’t even interview the doctor and told me that if you go to a urologist you have to expect things like that to happen. I know very clearly where the line is, and I know it was crossed.

After abandoning my speech scholarship, dropping out of school, and splitting up with my fiance I was finally getting my life back together. I knew that if it weren’t for the pain I would have rather died that go to see the urologist. It took me almost a month of scoping out a nurse practitioners and doctors to find one that I trusted enough to tell them about my testicular pain. I never really blamed the nurse practitioner for not uncovering the obvious tumor as much as I did the people that trained him and the complete lack of education about testicular cancer. Chico State had a full site on breast cancer. The in depth information on a cancer that would not affect the female population for another 20 – 40 years dwarfed the single page that dealt with the most common type of cancer among college males.

I thought about suing the school and was approached by a couple lawyers, but I knew where that money to pay me off would come from. Classes such as ballroom dance would be cut and the ability to have lectures such as She-mo Perez and Ice-Tea would be lost. I could not do that to my classmates, so I did the next best thing, I raised awareness. I openly talked about my experience. When I gave a presentation or speech I can tell that this was my way of correcting the injustice, not by taking money away from the school.

The doctor that discovered the cancer was a surgeon. I was 22 and things were happening very fast. I was 500 miles away from my family doctors and decisions had to be made quickly. The doctor advocated the second surgery and the option to have chemo was never entertained until the second tumor was found. I lost the ability to conceive a child naturally and eleven years later I am still feeling the after effects of an unskilled surgeon gutting my insides. I probably could have got a settlement from his malpractice insurance, but there was no way I was going to sue the man that save my life.

The string of misdiagnosis and neglect from insurance companies and lazy doctors did not end there. After having chronic back pain a degenerative disk was found and my vertebrae was beginning to herniate. The neurologist said that surgery would help it, but that is a last ditch no where to turn measure. I knew how sensitive the nerves in that area are and it wasn’t a risk I was willing to take just yet.

The doctor gave me some muscle relaxers, physical therapy, and told me to see him again in three months. As a cost cutting measure I was not approved to follow up with the neurologist that ordered the MRI that spoted the bulging disk, but I was referred to pain management. I have always has this mystery problem with my neck the doctors could never figure out. Doing the type of exercises PT required caused great pain in my neck. The doctor then ordered a lumbar injection. The following days after the injection were a nightmare. Jen had to take me to the emergency room it was so severe.

As it turns out, the doctor order the injection without first view an MRI and apparently gave the injection in the wrong location. This most likely had nothing to do with my pain, but the fact that the doctor did that made me skeptical about pain management.

When the pain in my side went critical at the start of the year Jen certain things had happened that made Jen urge me to use her insurance. At first, as with any courting, it looked like Kaiser had their practice down, and they were going to find out what was wrong with me.

The referred me to a fertility specialist that thought it might be cancer so an oncologist had to rule it out. I was then sent to the pain clinic. There the ambitious doctor proposed a series of nerve blocks for a differential, however, as time went on I began to suspect that 6 weeks between appointments and nerve blocks is not how a differential should be done.

I could write more of the same, but I am not going to. Twenty four hours after my nerve block I have been in critical pain, I spent all day on the couch, moving was torture. Jen tried all day to get a hold of my doctor, who was out of the office. The pharmacist doctor finally returned her call at 4:30. This was after I spent an hour trying to get a hold of my GP or someone in his office. The advice nurse gave her useual advice, go to the emergency room. I told her that I would go if it was life treating, but I am not going to put myself through hell to get a quick injection and sent on my way.

Today I was pushed to the edge, and I admit, jumping crossed my mind like a marquee. Unfortunately, that is not my style. Tomorrow, I am going to start to push back. I know when I get better, there will be a lot these doctors and this system needs to answer for. This isn’t a cost issue, but laziness of doctors that do not want to be burdened with googling RLND to see what kind of surgery their patient had, the very surgery they figured caused the pain in the first place.

I am angry. I know I am not the only one. That makes me even more angry.

This pain needs to be resolved, I cannot live like this. This is my last stand, this is my Alamo.

Wish me luck

I will your foot ran over and then try to chase the person that did it. Your foot is broken, so this is going to hurt, however, I cannot help you until you can tell me what the make and model of the car was, the license plate number, who was driving it, and then I will give you some forms so I can quickly input it into my forms that I am required to do before I jump out of the office right as the clock hit six.

The good thing besides spending all weekend combing through a year of pain logs for my appointment I will post pone thinking about how my weekly pay check much shorter than it should of and after staring at it for at least an hour, I know I figured it out. The bad part of it, it will have been the first of the month and some important automatic drafts will most likely get annoyed which set me back even further.

But why complain things are great here. Granted I am having fun learning how to make hdr images at 9:30pm at night, which is made possible by a visit to the Urgent Care, which I avoid more than rabid bores when relativly ok. The nurse took pitty on me, first time I cried at the doctors office. Not mentioning that you do that, it is quite huliating. But I finally got pain medicine.

During the onset of the incident that started the 18th I called the pain management doctor, you know the whole, getting pain medication from too many doctors bothers for me. When he called me back, he told me that he was not seeing me for my back but my side. I had told him that my back, neck, and side all seemed to me to be related. Since the last never group he numbed was in my back right next to my spine, I thought he had agreed. I understand differentials better than anyone, but I am confused on why you would give an injection to someone to see if it works over the course of two day and give them a month between appointments.

While we are on the subject of the pain management, it turn out the nerve that hurts the most is the one in one that goes from my back, through my side, in my testicular, and down my leg. Even more strange, this is not the nerve suspected and is isn’t even on the list of nerves that were or will be blocked.

I know what I am suffering from. I know what needs to be done. I don’t have all the answers but I have somewhere to look. I personally think it is bull shit when I can desin a better course of treatment than these doctors, and I know that with one week in a hospital this can all be figured out and I would be back at work in 6 weeks.

The reality, buracracy must be serve and the world has Vincent Clark layed up on a couch.

I think that is the worst part. I can be fixed in a week, sedate me, give me a lap top, private room, internet access, capable doctors, and I will be as good as new.

That will never happen, because, it has never been like that before.