Day 12 of 100

There used to be a television commercial where a rough looking guy fried some eggs and spoke the line “This is your brain on drugs.”

That MRI tattoo on my upper arm?

“This is my brain on drugs.”

In the early 2000s, I had a marketing automation agency with a few employees, a nice base of clients, and a growing drug addiction.

I often worked from my couch watching random TV (kinda like I am doing right now), and one afternoon my right leg felt weird. I stood up and tingles shot down my leg.

“It’s asleep” I muttered as I shook it.

Later that night I went to a birthday dinner, and my leg still hadn’t woken up. It would be about five years until it did.

After a few days I got nervous. I sobered up the best I could, climbed into my car and drove to the ER.

I couldn’t feel anything beneath my knee so when I lifted my foot off the accelerator I had to guess where the brake was. Luckily the ER was close to my house in West Washington Park and I made it safely.

I don’t know if this is the same in other cities, but in Denver the cops liked to hang out at the ER. Here I was, semi-sober stumbling out of a poorly parked car making my way to the entrance surrounded by cops.

I smiled the soberest smile I could and tried to walk as I imagined normal people walked into an ER.

I found a seat inside and signed in without incident. Four hours later, now almost fully aware of how stupid it was to drive myself, I was called into see a doctor.

Taking a deep breath I explained what was going on.

“Well,” she said. “You either have a pinched nerve or MS.” Living as I was, I was pretty sure I had given myself MS.

I got some muscle relaxers and was sent home with an appointment to see a neurologist who prescribed an MRI of my back, neck, and brain.

A few weeks later, freaked out, I couldn’t keep myself completely sober and so headed to the MRI. Not sure if you’ve ever had one but it’s a pretty narrow tube that you have to lay perfectly still inside for long stretches with loud noises and lights. Not exactly optimized for a cocaine abuser who is not small.

I made it through and later when I met with the neurologist he told me that I have a birth defect in my spine that is causing the spinal cord to hit the spinal column causing the nerve damage in my leg.

“You won’t be able to walk by the time you are 50,” he told me. (Spoiler alert: I can still walk.)

And with that I dove deep into mental illness and drug addiction, because I told myself, “fuck it.”