Last Halloween I was pretty sick. Lots of infection in my head.. you know, icky snot, coughing, the whole nine.

What I didn’t know was a rollercoaster ride of illness was beginning that wouldn’t end until almost the end of 2010.

I’d lay in bed (or on the couch, or on the other couch, or in my chair) most of Halloween weekend, too sick to do much other than turn the TV on some droning channel and nod in and out of sleep.

It wasn’t until the Friday before Thanksgiving that I knew, really knew, something was up.

I hadn’t went number two in at least a couple weeks. You’re welcome for those details. But they’re kind of essential for the story. I felt crummy the weekend before Thanksgiving and, finally, that Monday, I said to my wife, “I think I need to go to the doctor.” She stared at me, slackjawed, because I’m one of those people that just doesn’t go to the doc. I tough it out.

Not this time. This time, my small intestine, now infected, had swollen shut. They admitted me to the hospital and pumped me full of antibiotics for 36 hours. There were questions of cancer but then, for lack of a better term, things began to flow normally again. I was released the night before Thanksgiving and spent the next few weeks recovering.

I talk about that recovery here.

Don’t take what you’ve got for granted, people. Make it count. Make it all count.