Part 3 of The Resurrected Killer: Gavin MacKinnon

Foreword

     This is the final installment of this particular trek.  Thank you to all of you guys who have read this.  I'm not trying to brag about my accomplishments or make it seem common place either. I merely followed a motto from someone I respect: "Deeds, not words."  This is a path that some people may know well from a minor injury or a major set back like mine.  It's the path to recovering the life you wish to live... or as closely as you can manage to return to there.  I had something that I think most people don't have in place well enough when recovering from catastrophic injuries:  a LARGE support group... it sure in hell felt like it was the ENTIRETY of the Eastern Kingdom pulling me up when I felt like lying down and giving up.  My Haus mates, my Unbelted Champion brothers, and random people in the populace who talked to me when I was feeling down and out.  That is something that has no monetary value, there is no finite set of attributes to assign to that kind of support.  Whether it was Sir Culann, Duke Brennan, and others pulling my gear out of my hands at SRWC and walking ever so slowly with me back to make sure I made it, or it was Matthew working on me at Pennsic after getting a rib cracked in the bridges... I really don't believe I could have done this if I hadn't had this large network of support. I DO know for sure that I could never have done it on my own.  I had, rather shamefully, admitted defeat when I was lying in the hospital bed. I was done. I'd wrapped all the memories of battles and fighting into a box and resolved to not open it again... for any reason... Not even to train people anymore.  I was broken.
     The reality however... was quite a different story, and this is kind of where this'll pick up.

Breathing treatment and oxygen for
 me near the end of my stay.

Recap of Part 2/TL:DR part 2

I was in the hospital.  I was being told repeatedly in no uncertain terms that I had cheated death... and on a grand scale, not just a minor brush.  I got out and other doctors told me the same things over and over again.  I went through a downward spiral and started gaining weight and blood sugar became a problem.
Diabetes runs in my family and going to the grave from that scares me more than anything else I can think of right now.  I decided to exercise at the gym and talked with a trainer and got a routine going. after almost 4 months... NOTHING had changed at all. I put vegetables back in my diet and I had a bit more energy... this is where we'll pick up.  I'd cleaned my armor a bit and thought it was ready.

May 2016

          My first day back in armor was a Southern Region Melee Practice that was graciously hosted by the Iron Bog practice sight. I spent a lot more time standing in my armor just getting used to the weight and figuring out where the new holes needed to be punched in the straps.  I rapidly discovered with this season being uncharacteristically hot and humid that my tolerance for heat and my capability to shed heat had become a major problem.  I put myself in a 'reserve' position and did two runs of the scenario we were working on that day and then sat. I had to sit. I had no choice. I was EXHAUSTED. My stomach was feeling like it was going to purge it's contents. My legs and arms were trembling so bad, I didn't trust myself to even try a third. My chest felt like it was on fire and I could hear the blood moving through my my veins.

     I sat until I felt like I could go again.  I went back out and did another pass.  I was exhausted again and had to sit for just as long.  This went on for the whole practice.  I ended up fighting maybe a total of twenty minutes out of the four hours and I was completely drained. I was overheated, and my body felt like it had been put through a meat tenderizer.  I was dejected to put it optimistically. I had envisioned that I could at least kind of fuddle my way through an entire practice.
     The next weekend, I went to the regular Iron Bog practice which is primarily a singles practice.  I found myself evaluating who I would fight based on how likely they were to bruise me and ended up fighting a few light fights.  I overheated again after fighting 3 or 4 bouts and had to strip my armor off, go into the building and lay on the cold cement floor and soak up the air conditioning to cool myself down.  I was drinking water and it was coming out of me as fast as I was able to get it in myself. I spent about forty-five minutes moving occasionally as the floor warmed up under me and then got up and went back out and did a handful of bouts more.  I got to the point of feeling like I was going to throw up again and couldn't shake the feeling, so I called it quits.
     The next weekend was Roses. The event had moved locations, and I decided to day trip it instead of doing the camping thing.  I was fired up and nervous.  This was the first actual event I had been to since injury.  It was HOT and HUMID.  So bad in fact, that my 1 year old tacoma's air conditioner was doing very little towards cooling the truck.  I'd bought 2 large bottles of water and by the time I'd trolled in, I was through 1 of them already.  Clearly, I had not planned out my water needs properly, but as luck would have it there was a water spigot right where we'd dropped our gear.
     I got my armor on and we lined up. I ran the first and second in the front rank.  I had a greave fail and had to sit down to fix it.  I got it back together, but I was already tired.  I drank the second bottle of water and i was overheating and feeling kinda sick to my stomach again... Once again, overheating was a problem.  I realized that my armor was now skin tight and I had no airflow between the leather and my body. I needed to figure out a way to shed more heat, but I couldn't do anything about it at this point.
     I missed the next line up and then they took a break.  As soon as we lined back up though, I was back out there in the front rank.  I ran and crashed the front rank at impact and in the moment, I took a shot across the back of my thigh.  It hurt. It scared the HELL out of me too because it was REAL close to where the vein had been crushed behind my knee.  I tried to shrug it off, but the truth of the matter was I scared that I'd just started the whole mess over again. I was worried that I'd made the wrong decision. My nerve broke. I sat down.
     I sat and watched the fighting.  I watched people who'd been on the Unbelted Champion team the last year I'd been on it on the field, running and fighting.  I watched the man that was the captain of this coming Pennsic's team.  I'd just told him to judge me harder than the others. I wanted to prove that I belonged on this team and I'd been vocal on the Unbelt's list that I was coming back to get a spot on the team again.  Maybe I had been too confident, too ignorant of my true mental and physical state... maybe I had been wrong.
     I sat and watched a bit more and my mind righted itself. My leg stopped hurting and I felt fairly good.  I went to put my gorget back on and realized I hadn't unsnapped it when I'd taken it off.  I checked it... the small leather straps that connected the 2 pieces together and functioned as a hinge had dry rotted. I remember being confused about this.  I hadn't thought to check the straps for more than mold.  I bent the piece of leather and a small piece snapped off.  I wasn't going to duct tape it on.  If I hadn't been on blood thinners, then I would have done that. Armor failure leading to a broken bone or bruising is still a major issue being on these medications.  I was done for the day like it or not. I'd driven almost 5 hours to fight for an hour.
     I was depressed about how little fighting I'd done and how... non-noteworthy my activity had been.  I sat

June 2016

     Next up was Southern Region War Camp.  My armor was fixed.  I had been spending time practicing on my pelle and going to Iron bog practice.  I grabbed my gear feeling good about myself and drove the 45 minutes.  I helped set up the Royal Pavillion and wasn't feeling too winded.  I armored up.  I fought the whole first scenario and ended up delivering the blow that gave our side the 'victory' condition which affected where we'd started while simultaneously getting a nice bruise on my back from my opponent delivering a killing blow on me.
     We did the next scenario, which if memory serves, was a bridge/mountain pass scenario.  I pushed hard and near the middle of it was so winded that I was taking breaks.  I kept  them short, giving myself only enough time to stop wheezing and start breathing somewhat normally again before getting up and going back in.  We lost this scenario.
     Next up was the woods battle.  We did a timed battle with a few last man standing battles after.  I fought through the whole thing, panting like a bellows and gritting my teeth.  By the time we were done, I had nothing left.  I wasn't even sure if I was going to be able to walk back to my stuff to pack up to go home.  I focused on breathing and started shuffling up the path. I was moving slow, I know I was and it was the only speed I had left and it was fading fairly fast. I kept focusing on breathing and walking.  Dimly I was aware of people around me... passing me as I shuffled my way.
     I ended up with a small group clustered around me and had my gear taken from my hands to lighten my load and someone put a great weapon in my hand to lean on for support.  Another person gave me a cold rag and ice cold water, both of which were awesome.  I would like to thank the people that helped me out of the woods right now.  I'm sorry that I've forgotten who everyone was, but without the help, I would have been in those woods for a long time walking out.  Even as it was, it took better than 10 minutes to get out to the road again.  The walk in took less than 5.
     I made the whole day fighting though with only a few minutes of breaks total.  I still wasn't happy with myself, but I reflected on this and realized my progress over the last 3 weeks was still quite staggering.  I kept going to Iron Bog Practice and fighting as I could.  At one of them, I realized that the upper part of my armor was more cosmetic than functional and it was a MAJOR heat trap.  It came off.  The heat problem, while not solved, was significantly better for me after that.  I noticed that all the fighting had worn raw spots on my body, I bought an Under Armor shirt and put it on underneath my linen tunic.  It further helped with shedding more heat and made it tolerable.  It also had the added benefit of providing some slide in my armor so it stopped making raw spots.
 

     The next event was Northern Region War Camp.  All but 10 people had been named for the Unbelted team out of the 30 man roster.  Mine had not been read off in the 20.  There were 2 more events for people to prove themselves to earn one of those dwindling spots.  This one and GNEW.  In true fashion... I went to the Unbelted Champion's list and ran my mouth. I rode up with other people and sat in my own little world for the bulk of it.  this was my last chance to prove I belonged on the team.  I wasn't feeling it.  I hadn't done anything impressive.  In my own eyes, all I had done had been mediocre at best... and that wasn't going to make the grade.
     We got to the sight, armored up and got down to fighting.  It was field battles (Unbelts vs.), then a town scenario, and afterwards bridges.  I did my thing in the fields but didn't feel I'd done neither well nor bad.  In the town scenario, I crushed a few pockets of defenders, crashed a few lines and again, just generally did what a shieldman does.  Again, I felt like I had done nothing impressive enough to warrant one of those last 10 spots.
     The final scenario was a resurrection bridge battle.  I stood on the left side of the bridge just behind the front spear.  This was my job. This is where speed of reaction beat anything else. A quick little push and hammer the main line of the other side.  I just did it.  The first time to go, I didn't lag, didn't second guess myself.
     I ran forward and hammered their line, it buckled around me.  Shot flew in at my back and my reversed sword caught them. Blows hammered on my shield edge trying to find the angle to strike my ducked head. I kept my legs churning. I didn't stop.  I didn't feel any fatigue.  I pushed into their ranks deep... and then... my momentum broke and I was swarmed over.  I'd pushed through their lines which had held roughly three quarters of the bridge.  The sound of combat behind me was instense. My line had taken the fight in behind me.
     I did this again and again, my legs becoming rubbery and my breathing starting to get ragged.  Every pass fueled me.  I had to get through their bridge. I HAD to break the line.  Near the end of the fighting, we were all tired.  The fighting had slowed a little. I wasn't sure if we had the bridge or not. I didn't know how much time was left. I saw their line begin to lead out on the one side.
     I deliberately waited.  There was going to be a charge from that side.  They crept out a little more and I went.  I charged across the bridge, slammed into them and threw three off the bridge and then frantically turned and faced their line, throwing shots for all I was worth. I killed a few more and then got dropped myself.  I was done.  The battle was done.  The day was done.
     We all armored down and piled in the car and left.  We stopped at Dinosaur BBQ, ate, and then made the long drive home.  I wasn't sure if I had done anything noteworthy enough to make the team or not, but I was happy with how I'd done.  I felt like me again.  I had been in the thick of it when I was supposed to be, doing what was supposed to be done.  I may have been a day late and a dollar short, but I knew the next year I would earn a spot on the team for sure.
     We talked on the ride home extensively about a lot of things.  I wouldn't know for sure until the next weekend for sure when the final 10 names were read in court at GNEW.  I suppose I could have directly asked people if I'd made the team or not, but if I did... then failure would be confirmed.  At least at that moment I was in the nice and comfortable limbo of being able to hold out hope I was going to be named.
     Inevitably though... the week ground on.  I was absorbed with looking for work, but I still dreaded the confirmation.  I had convinced myself that I wasn't on the team.  Sure, I'd had a lot of ambition and heart, but that doesn't put you on a team of apex predators.  I was coming back after 18 months of doing nothing but sitting... how could I ever have considered it an accomplishable goal.  I wasn't feeling negative when I was thinking this. I knew it had been a long shot when I'd set out on the path.  I was taught by my Haus to never give up and to give my best effort.  That's what I had done and I was content.
    Sunday night I sat down in front of my pc and fired up facebook to check the final names. I got on the page and I stared.  My name was on the list of the last 10.  I was surprised and confused.  I was pretty sure it was a mistake.  There were at least 4-5 other people who were as good as I was, but I wasn't sure if they were going to war.  I accepted that my name was on the team, but held the reservation that maybe there had been a mistake.  I was still doubting myself, but I kept this to myself. I went to the last few practices I could and completely overhauled most of my gear.
     Pennsic rolled into view.  I lost some sleep watching the clock move.  That thursday, I packed my truck off, and left on friday in the late morning.  I drove out enjoying the feeling of going home.  I was going to be surrounded by all my friends and chosen family.  I took it in easy stages and drove out. My fears playing on me slightly.  I knew I wanted to do the job on the field.  I had done it in the past.  The injury I'd suffered haunted me though still.  I had pushed myself at practices and harder yet at the events.  I'd suffered some chest pains and serious fatigue the days after events.  I hadn't tested myself to the level of the Unbelted battle.  It was 150% of whatever you could muster and it was left on the field. You ran until the air was gone and if there were enemies left... you kept running until there were none.  Every shot thrown had to be a kill, no second chances.  The impact when the lines hit HAD to knock them off their feet.  ONE battle. No excuses. No redo. Failure or Victory.

August 7th, 2016. Unbelted battle.

     I had followed my previous night's ritual of having a water drinking party at camp.The morning was odd.  Over the years I had been on the team, Turi had been on it as well.  I am his Man at Arms, while he is normally independent and does not like me to help him, the ritual of the morning of Unbelts is one that was established a few years ago.  While I'm slowly armoring up I ask him if he needs or wants a hand about twenty times and he says no. Inevitably at some point he will ask me to do some small task.  He was not there this year even though he would have been if he could have been.

     I'm not normally a superstitious person, but I was on edge because I was nervous. I wanted the rituals, I was worried that I was going to jinx the team or myself.  I ate my normal granola bar breakfast, gathered my normal snacks and water and geared up.  The Haushold gathered itself together and we marched out to the field.  Several of us were on the team and we were given our space to get our game heads on.  I milled around, relaxing and trying hard not to panic.  I was thinking hard about giving my spot away out of simple fear.  I was afraid that I didn't belong, that I was the weak link on the team, but I fought the urges to hide myself.  The team had faith in me. The leaders who had watched and weighed each person had faith in me.

     Court was called and the age old tradition of the day began.  The Champion's tabards were handed out by the Queen.  The Unbelted Captain presented the team, man by man to the King and Queen.  As each man's name was called, he went forward to kneel before the Queen.  She spoke quietly to each one, smiling as she held out the tabard and draped it over the fighter's head and then handed them a favor.  I remember looking at each other man that was called before me.  Measuring myself against them.  Still coming up with myself as a wildcard as to whether I should be among them.  Thankfully the tent was hot and humid so the nerve based sweat that was covering my face was masked.  As the list was whittled down, I remember Angus stopping and looking around for a moment.  His eyes found me and he was smiling.  I knew he was up to something in that moment, but wasn't sure what...

    Then, he called out the next name, enunciating it clearly and loudly:  The Resurrected Killer: Gavin MacKinnon.  The applause and cheering was  thunderous.  I felt humbled and nervous.  In my head I asked myself: "Am I still the killer I was 2 years ago on this field?".  I brushed it out of my mind.  Everyone else thought so.  I've learned to trust others when trying to weigh in on myself more than myself.  I'm significantly harder and more critical on myself than I should be and at times it's blinded me to my true capabilities.

Receiving my tabard at my first pennsic after my injury.

     I approached the Queen and knelt before her.  She draped the tabard over my head and then handed me a favor.  As I took the favor, I said the only thing I could say. "In life or death, with honor."  I rose and retreated back into the comfort of the pack.  I was just another of a group of apex predators who were gearing up to do the job at hand.  Then as has become tradition, a bard that has caught the hearts of the Unbelt team, Aneleda Falconbridge, stepped forward and proceeded to sing her song for the Unbelted Champions and has also become tradition, not a champion was left with a dry eye.

     We took the field and we fought.  Unfortunately, I died on point of impact while ripping open the Midrealm's line and fell to an enemy polearm blow.  Although, I didn't live long but that is the glory of the shieldman.  I did my job, I did it well, and I did it until I died.  I did not fail the team, I did not fail myself, and my body did not fail me.  I was content... as I lay on the field tucked safely under my shield, I watched and listened to the fighting around me.  When it passed, I rolled out and moved to the side of the field and watched as our team finished mopping up the Midrealm's.

     I had come full circle. I was an OTC, I was an Unbelt, I was on the field of pennsic and fighting.  I was recovered.  I still take blood thinners and I do bruise slightly worse than I used to, but I have reclaimed the things I felt had been ruthlessly ripped from me.  I had leaned on the team, my friends, the Populace of the East.  Over the course of the war, people came up to me to talk to me and congratulate me on my return.  I lacked the words to articulate my thanks in return for everyone who had supported me.  So now, I say it clearly: Thank you for being awesome people.  This is what our Kingdom did collectively:

I am called forward to accept my tabard as: The Resurrected Killer, Gavin MacKinnon

Part 2 of The Resurrected Killer: Gavin MacKinnon

FOREWORD

This is another long text block because there weren't any pictures of me taken.  This part details the time frame from the moment I was told to the point where I had my medications adjusted so I could continue to live 'my' life.  The last part will go through the point where I put my foot on Iron Bog's practice field for the first time in almost 18 months.

Recap from post 1. (aka the TL;DR of post 1)

Part 1 recap:  Lots of little details about being injured, and how I self treated and ignored the worsening of the symptoms... which culminated in a Monday morning visit to the local ER and finding of a blood clot in my lung and right leg.

January 5, 2015. Virtua Hospital ER

     The doctor kept talking, but I was lost for a few minutes as what he said was happening to me sunk in.  Medicines and monitors and hospital monitoring and food restrictions and other things went largely past me... but I came back around as he was saying that the clots had to have come from somewhere and  ninety percent of the time, it started in the legs, so they were going to do ultrasounds of the veins in my legs and see what was going on in them.  I nodded numbly and sat on the bed, still reeling from this.  He was the first one, and definitely not the last, to tell me that if I had been sent home that I would probably not have seen tuesday's sunset... indeed that I probably wouldn't have seen the sun rise the next day. At 5pm Monday evening, I was between 24 hours maximum and as few as 14 hours from having died.
     I asked questions, I'm not doctor and a lot of the names of the veins and arteries still elude me.  So in the most basic of terms, this was the situation I was facing.  The clot was what they called a saddle embulous.  There is an artery that runs from the heart to the lungs and at a certain location, it splits to go to the left and right lung.  The clot had formed directly at that split and it was restricting blood flow into my lungs to carry oxygen to my body.  In a very real way, I was suffocating.  The vein going into my heart had dilated in an attempt to protect my heart from the slowly increasing back pressure so far that they were concerned that it would rupture before too much longer.
     I got hauled off to the room to get the ultrasound.  The ultrasound in my left leg was fine, no problems at all.  The right leg... virtually no blood flow in the vein running down the inside vein behind my knee.  It had collapsed. The knee brace I was using to stabilize the knee... right where the vein had been damaged in the hit I had taken from the strap of the very device worn to protect me from life threatening injury.  I talked with the ultrasound tech, who stressed that they were only looking at the image as it was. That they could only interpret what they were seeing, not guess on what caused it. I pinpointed it on my physical body. No doubt at all that it was the strap of my knee cop on my greave that had done this.
     They wheeled me back to my ER 'room' and I waited and told mom to go home that there wasn't anything she could do for me at this point.  It was getting to be close to 6pm and it was getting dark and I didn't want her to have to drive home alone in the dark.  The doctors informed me that there were no empty beds and there wouldn't be until quite some time later after the cleaning crews had cleaned the locations of departed patients.  She made me promise to call her and let her know where I ended up when I got there.  I called her the next morning.  I wasn't moved out of the ER until close to 1am.
     After she left, a nurse came in with a clipboard and an IV bag.  She then explained I was going to be put on heparin (spelling?).  She hung the pouch up on the stand and began asking me questions about any surgeries, bruises, scabs, recently healed wounds that required stitches, etc.  She then told me that I would be weighed, the auto-dispenser for the medication would be set, verified by another nurse, then I would have to sign some papers before I could be connected to it.
     At this point the nurse explained that the paperwork was a legal thing that was a verification that they explained to me the significant risk of being dosed with this drug posed.  In a nutshell: even if they did everything 100% right there was a chance that freshly sealed wounds could open up, scabs would fall off, internal bleeding could occur, and possibly death.  It wasn't much of a choice.  Dead in 24 hours or die leaking blood from every location my body could allow blood to escape on the table.
     So, I signed the paperwork and told them to do it.  I waited and they brought in what appeared to be a small industrial scale.  I noticed the stickers and decals all down the front pillar and was curious as to how accurate it could be if it was that old... then I noticed... the stickers all looked fairly new.  A tech came in and calibrated the scale right in front of me.
     I would lie to say I didn't panic at this point and thought seriously about just making my peace with the power that be and take my chances dancing with the reaper.  Common sense prevailed though. I was NOT going to get better without intervention. The last 2 weeks had proven that. So, I stoically waited for the nurse to come in to weigh me.  It was metric. to the XX.XX kilogram.  The dosage chart turned out to be about the same thickness as a shoe box... I was near the back of the book. I was weighed that morning and had been 281 pounds... not terribly skinny for a 75 inch tall guy, but not too bulky either.  I was a comfortable size 38-32 jeans size.
     One of my oldest friends, possibly my oldest friend (hard to remember who I met first 20+ years ago) had been following my posts and he and his wife drove down that night to visit with me in the ER.  Visiting hours ended at 8pm technically, but if people were quiet, they were allowed to stay longer.  I guess they ended up staying for about 2 hours.  While they were there... being me... I idly wondered what would happen if I waited until a nurse came in to check on me and just slumped over mid sentence.  The glare I got was clearly not approving... although there was laughter at the concept.
     Eventually they left, and I was finally moved to a room.  Another friend came down that afternoon of my first day in a room and did me the major favor of running over to my house and picked up my laptop, headset, and phone charger and then spent several hours.  He also downloaded several audiobooks for me to listen to while I was laying there doing nothing... and that's how I first heard of the book 'Ready Player One'... it's a good book and I think anyone that was alive through the 80's would enjoy it.
     Over the next few days, most all of my oldest friends from school came to visit me in the hospital.  One drove down in an ice storm... and waited until he was at practically at the entrance to the hospital before he sent a message saying he was still coming down, another smuggled in some 'old-fashioned' Dunkin' Donuts unglazed donuts... and they tasted AWESOME.. especially since the hospital's dietary restrictions seemed to update to exclude everything on the list as I ordered it... for no apparent reason.
     I spent a lot of time sleeping and listening to doctors tell me how lucky I was that it was caught, that most people didn't survive the initial clot breaking loose and travelling, how close I was to having the artery seal off and how that point would have been too late to do anything, and other such things.  I was healing at this point.  They had me on breathing treatments to open my lungs to get the blood flow increased to get oxygen to my body, and near the end of my stay, they talked to me about Warfarin Sodium and how vitamin K interacts with it and how most every green vegetable has high amounts and should be avoided.  I was also put on a blood pressure pill to help alleviate the strain on the right side of my heart, and sent to have a sleep study done.  Apparently having sleep apnea puts additional strain on the right side of the heart.. which was already under so much duress from having tried to cope with the increasing pressures from the blood clot.
     Then.. the day of my release and dozens upon dozens of doctor visits for bloodwork, pulmonologists, hematologists, and general check ins with my new doctor.  During this time, my company didn't realize I had to file for state disability, and I filed through the disability insurance that the company offered.  I was granted a 4 week disability and the whole time totalled a whopping 48 bucks.  I drove in to work, wheezing and panting and aching chested, to try to figure out why I was getting about 2% of my weekly salary when I believed I should have been getting more like 80%.
     There were phone calls made... things were found out.  I had to file for the state disability.  It required paperwork from my job, my doctor, and myself.  The doctor's portion was completed the next day, my portion as well.  The company sat on their portion of the forms that only required them to write my weekly salary twelve times and then sign and date it for almost another month.  I had originally started out by being about two weeks past the thirty day deadline for filing from the date of the original hospital admittance.  I was now almost a month and a half past due and had to file an appeal with the initial claim.  I threw the company under the bus for sitting on the form for so long and then stated further the other details about not knowing and sent it all out for judgement.
     I got the notification that it had been received. I got a notification stating it had been rejected due to the delay in between the injury and the expiration of the eligibility time and when I had physically filed.  I got the notification my appeal was being revealed.  All on the same day in the mail.  I had just given up on getting anything, when it was approved and was granted a back amount.  I promptly used it to pay some of the seven thousand dollars in doctor's bills that had accumulated.  Fun fact: an insurance company can reject your blood work claims at the hospital your admitted in if they have a location you are supposed to go to for blood work that is free of charge.
     After one of my blood drawings, I got a call from my normal doctor.  His nurse told me I was to reduce my warfarin dosage, be rechecked in two days, and avoid doing anything more than walking if I could help it... preferably not even walking.  My blood had been so thinned that there was a real risk that any clot material that was left in my chest or leg could have been broken down to the point where it would come loose in a clump.  I was now at risk of having a blood clot travel to my brain or into my heart and kill me.  This was fixed over a two week window
     I was cleared to go back to work near the end of february... about seven weeks from the date of my ER visit It was tough. I had problems. I was in the ER again.  One morning, I woke up and was shuffling around doing the usual morning prep to go to work.  I was on the floor before I even realized I was feeling the pain.  It felt like someone had driven a 3 inch diameter icicle had been stabbed directly into the right center of my chest at about heart height.  It was cold and hurt A LOT.  I gathered myself up... wondered what it was and filed it under things to ask my doctor that afternoon at my appointment.
     At this point... I have to thank the SCA heavy list for my discipline and pain management ability.  I was driving into work and a couple of blocks from the turn off to the hospital it happened again. I lurched forward and my arms spasmed and I started to veer off the road.  Grimly, I locked my hand on the steering wheel and straightened the car out. It hit again and I didn't veer this time, I'd locked my arms and rode the wave of pain out, but I did turn at the road to the hospital.  I explained to the doctors what I'd felt, what my medical situation was and they went (surprise here, I'm sure) HEART ATTACK!
     They tested me twice.  Once right after I was triaged in, and then again about 4 hours later.  The tests showed nothing that there were elevated enzyme levels that were indicative of muscle breakdown... they were not high enough to be consistent with a heart attack. At this point, they listened to what I had to say... and agreed that it was probably simple muscle atrophy from my prolonged recovery situation.  I was diagnosed with.. dyspnea.. a fancy word for 'cannot breath properly'.
      In the end of March, I was cleared to return to work and struggled to do a simple task like push a broom for a day.  To my boss's credit, he gave me the EASIEST tasks that one can be given in a production plant, but I was still seriously sensitive to fumes and odors.  Strenuous activity caused my chest to hurt and more than one occasion I had to sit and just ride the waves of pain in my chest.  I was kept far away from the welders. I swept floors, drove the fork lift, took out garbage, and occasionally drilled some holes or ran a tap through a hole.  In time, I returned to normal and fumes and odors didn't phase me, so I got more and more back to the usual work day.
      April came along and I went to Balfar's Challenge just to visit my SCA family.  I saw people, watched the fighting, got sun burned, and went home.  I was depressed.  I'd taken time off from fighting in the past, but they had always been voluntary breaks... and would return.  The doctors were telling me my days in armor were done, that any bruise could be lethal to me, a small cut could cause me to bleed out, that any slight bump could cause me bleed internally.  I realize they were semi-scare tactics to get me to understand how dangerous the drug that I would be taking for the rest of my life could be.  I understood.  Elastic in my normal socks caused bruising... I still wear diabetic socks because of this... but also.. because they actually stay up unlike normal socks.
     I had taken to eating to console myself and I paid for it.  Blood sugar levels began to get high. I Diabetes runs in my family. It is the ONLY thing I fear in life. I put on weight.  I hit 325 pounds and had to buy size 44 pants.  I started to have severe problems with water retention and circulation in my legs from all the sitting I was doing at night after work and on weekends.
     There were many nights were I sat and read facebook.  People getting elevated that I knew and wanted to be there but wasn't cleared to do the cramped car ride or feeling up to the trip.  Events I normally fought at and couldn't. The thought of not putting armor on crushed me. I cried so many nights, feeling like the only thing I ever have truly enjoyed had been taken from me in as crushing a way as possible.  I knew I could have called any one of my friends at any given time and talked with them, but I couldn't.  It was too personal to me... the grief, the pain, and most all my friends at this point were in the SCA and I didn't want to hear the attempts at alleviating my depression.  I wasn't ready.
      At 9 months past the injury date I had the option of being removed from the blood thinners.  All 3 doctors recommended heavily against it, but the hematologist convinced me to stay on them.  He carefully explained to me that if it had just been a clot and there had been no travel involved, he would not have any problem with removing me.  He further explained that I fall in a small group of people with a very high risk because the clot breaking loose is a very uncommon thing, but the majority of people who have this happen and remove themselves from the blood thinners, that there is a VERY HIGH likelihood that if there were to be another clot... that it would almost definitely break loose and there would be none of the interim stuff between it travelling and me ending up in a coffin.
     I was sold on the concept of staying alive. we struck a compromise because my elastic based welding gear was bruising me constantly and that was a problem that needed fixing.  A normal person has an INR (clotting time) of 1.  A person on blood thinners is supposed to be between 2 and 3. My INR this whole time had been solidly at a 2.5 on a 6mg dose.  The hematologist said that he would go as low as 1.8 as an allowable minimum, that it should help with the bruising and bleeding since getting cut is an inevitable event working with metal and reduce the internal bleeding risk from being hit.
     I was also still tossing around the desire to get back in armor. I was told I was crazy by all 3 doctors, but none of them could fault me for not wanting to go the path of morbid obesity and diabetic coma and amputation if I didn't start fighting.  I'd been going to a gym and NOTHING had changed for me in regards to my overall health, weight, and breathing.  I laid out my position and asked for opinions, and in true friend fashion, I got many generic responses which said that they'd like to keep me around for as long as possible which were appreciated but not answering the dilema I had.  I wanted thoughts from the outside that weren't as biased as my brain was.  I had been reading the Unbelted Champion's unofficial facebook page pasts and I missed being 'there'.  I had to fight again.  Especially since I had just received my OTC directly after a crushing Eastern Unbelt victory by a King and Queen whom I respect very much.  I had reached a point where people had noticed I did things on the battlefield and seen fit to give me an award that only the people in the group could give, I had to demonstrate to them that I was worthy of their decision...  I got my armor out and started cleaning it up.  Leather gets fuzzy if it sits to long in a damp environment.  Mine wasn't fuzzy, but it definitely needed a vinegar/bleach bath.
     I'm going to cut this part here.  The last part will cover the time from my first practice back to the beginning of this past Pennsic... a total of 20 months from injury to my return on the combat field of the Unbelted Champions.

Part 1 of The Resurrected Killer: Gavin MacKinnon

FOREWORD

     This is going to be a 2 or 3 part topic, first will be the set up of my injury, second will be the after effects physically and mentally, and finally will be the wrap up.  I don't generally like to talk about myself as a 'hero' or 'special', but on the last night of Pennsic, someone I respect immensely in and out of the Society told a story of a warrior whom suffered a grievous injury after hard years of practice and how they made a come back that is viewed as truly epic.  It does sound heroic and it is special... but it is only half of the story.  It is the part of the hero... but there is another part.  The story of the regular man.  This is a special part. This is the part I saw, that I don't think I let anyone else see. The part that makes me say to myself, "I am no hero. I am what I think my friends are. I am a regular guy doing what I think a regular guy does in this situation."
     Those sections that I concealed or weren't openly visible to others... they are the parts of the story that he did not tell and are the parts that need to be told because it is something that only a person who has directly been through a life altering injury and had to fight the emotional portion of that injury that many people don't see or go through... the things and people that rip them down and make them cry, the people or things around them that build their will and fuel their desire to build back up. Only the visible path taken to the achievement is seen, not the internal battle.  I would like to share that internal battle... not to brag or make myself more than I am, but because I realized: I stand in a group that may, just possibly, be even smaller than the small brotherhood of warriors that Easterners call "Unbelted Champions".
     I would like someone who may be walking the path that I have walked this past 2 years to know that they are not alone. There are other people who have walked this path. There will be others who will walk this path... and each path is uniquely the same and different at the same time, but we are here walking it with our own scars, fears, and dreams.

--the Resurrected Killer, Gavin MacKinnon

     As many people know, this past week was Pennsic War.  Traditionally, this is my vacation. It is a week where I go and live in a tent and forsake technology that is anything more modern than a grill or porta-john... most of the time I even leave my glasses behind. I dress in my funny clothes, meet a bunch of new people, walk around , listen to or watch performers singing or juggling or what it is they do to entertain, and browse at various baubles, armors, weapons, and clothing.  Some-times, I even buy things.
     I also fight. This aspect is what drew me into the SCA originally and outside of the friendships that have come through the years, continues to be the major draw for me some 15 years later.  I strap on armor, pick up weapons made of rattan and wrapped in duct tape, stride onto a field boasting some 1,000+ combatants and become a warrior of yore for a few hours each day.  Of this group of combatants, some small number (ranging anywhere from 60-90) each year, are given the honor of representing the primary kingdom of 1 of the 2 armies in attendance. These fighters generally distinguish themselves through the spring and early summer events as being 'stone cold killers' on the battle field and, if they go to Pennsic, may be named to the Unbelted Champion team of their kingdom.  It is a great honor and a hard road. The feeling is indescribable and the day is so intense that in its own way defies explaining.  This is what I try for every year, to be named to this team so I can serve the Kingdom of the East to the best of my abilities with the skills I have learned from my betters over the previous year. To pour the energy of my entire being into a 90 second battle and demonstrate that their teachings have not been in vain, to give glory to my King, my Queen, my brothers on the team, and to the populace... and least of all.. to feel like I have not sat idle for the past year.

August 7, 2016. Morning of the Unbelted Champions Battle at Pennsic

     I stood, silently waiting for the moment when the Captain of the Unbelted Champions team would read the names of the people who would be taking the field this day.  This was my fourth time standing here awaiting this honor so I was no stranger to it, but this time was different, I reflected on the road that had led me back to this point. This post is a time line of just about everything that happened.. and in a way, that reflection as I spent the moments awaiting Angus to read my name... and the shock of hearing what he said...

August 2014, Morning of the Unbelted Champions 2 years prior

I stood listening for my name to be called by the Captain of the Unbelt team. This year was 'real'. It was East vs. Mid Unbelts, no alliance. My name was called, the tabard put on, our song was sung, the Queen demanded victory. We, loyal subjects to the man, delivered. Crushing the Midrealm team with brutal levels of efficiency. I was called onto the field for a mini-court in front of The King and Queen and receieved a very special award.  I was inducted into the  Order of the Tyger's Combatant. War was a blur to me and the next few months as I redoubled my training efforts to avoid losing any momentum in my skill gains... I was now an OTC and an Unbelt... by some accounts, the pinnacle of a non-chivalric warrior. I was honored that my brothers felt that I was at such a level to be given my OTC and did not want to sit on my accomplishments.

December 21, 2014. Iron Bog Heavy Fighter Practice

     I noticed my authorization card was about to expire, so being the generally rule abiding fighter of the SCA that I am, I decided to get qualified to continue being allowed to fight on the SCA fields at events. I go to the practice, and have marshals watch me fight with sword and shield, then 2 swords, pole arm, and finally spear against another opponent and then proceeded to do pick up fights - general fights simply for getting practice.  During a great weapon fight, I took a step in to throw a shot and my opponent ducked and spun out of the attack.  Their weapon caught me behind my right knee and pulled me off my feet. I fell down, took a second to gather myself up and we went back and did a few more bouts. No big deal, right? Right. The Knee was feeling a bit beaten up.. but it was just hit with a stick so no surprises there. It wasn't the first time and sure wouldn't be the last time.

December 25, 2014. Christmas Day at my Mother's House

     The house I live in is small and 7 people were packed into the same room as the 400 degree stove. We were all awaiting the head of our family, my 75 year old mother to finish making her final touches on the food before announcing our dinner was ready for eating.  I was sweating, because that's what big, burly fighter types do in that type of setting, so I had opted to wear shorts. We ate at 1pm, did up the dishes, and opened the presents.  While sitting there my mother looked at me and stared at my legs for a few moments and then said something close to, "I think there's something wrong with your leg.  The calf looks really swollen."
     I shrugged it off and explained the hit I took and that I it was simply because it was irritated. I have arthritis and have had water retention issues in my knees for years because of being as big as I am, so I was working on the belief that the hit had simply irritated things like so many other hits had done in the past.  Plus, I worked in a factory and I was on my feet for 8+ hours a day.  I got the evil mom eye and nothing more was said. because arguing on Christmas day is forbidden in my house out of respect of the memory of my father who passed on in 2006 (undoubtedly from being nagged to death by my mother... although the doctors said it was lung cancern that did him in).

January 2, 2015. My Job at the time

     I was still wearing my knee brace because my knee was bothering me. It was still swollen and sore. Mom had made it her mission to mention the swollen calf again and again ever since she had noticed it. I was at work doing the hustle. Like all bosses the world over, my boss was never happy unless you were moving at full speed and sweating.  I was breathing hard and I kept not quite being able to catch my breath.  The work wasn't overly difficult, but given the pace, I wasn't too concerned.  I coughed occasionally and it seemed that my breathing would even out for a few minutes.  I believed I was getting a cold. They always settle in my chest and I always walk around work coughing and wheezing for a week or two.

     I noticed a coworker with a bag of hall's and bummed a few from him for the day and they seemed to help. That night I stopped at the local CVS, picked up my over the counter treatment aids consisting of Advil, Dayquil, Nyquil, and Halls drops, and drove home to start self administering my treatment... BUT... I called around and found a local doctor that was accepting new patients. I set up an introductory appointment and arranged to have my medical files moved from my retired family doctor down to the new one.  I'm not 20 years young anymore, and I figured eventually I would need a doctor nearby that knew what the score was when I finally started to wear down and decided I needed to go to one a bit more regularly.

January 3, 2015. My 'shop'

     I had a metal working project or 5 and was feeling kinda good, so I went out to work on it. I dished out 2 footballish shaped metal plates to make the top of a helm.  Normally this task took only a matter of an hour or so, but I couldn't catch my breath.  I'd swing the 5 pound raw hide sledge a few times and I'd be at the point of blacking out, gasping for air like I'd just been hauled up out of a pool and my lungs were burning. I felt like I was going to throw up and black spots danced across my vision.  My chest felt like my heart was going to plow through my rib cage at some point.  I had stabbing pains occasionally when the whole thing would hit the climax... and I'd sit there and breathe and after a few minutes I'd return to feeling normal.

     I realized something was wrong.  I began to think about things.  The congestion hadn't occurred like it normally did when I got sick and yet I still wasn't able to breathe when I was exerting myself. When I was sitting I felt like I was just shy of breathing normally... I wasn't out of breath, but I was constantly feeling like I was walking up a flight of steps and my breathing wasn't quite at a 'resting' rate. Mom was now mentioning that she didn't like how I was breathing and my calf was still a pretty common 'random' comment every few hours.

     Something was wrong and I knew something I could do to try and figure out what was really going on.  I sat down at my pc and started searching for my symptoms... result #1: heart attack. Nope... it was NOT a heart attack. I KNEW it wasn't and at that exact moment I would have bet... indeed, unbeknownst to me, I DID bet my life on it that it wasn't a heart attack. Some more fishing returned chronic ailments that I was able to rule out because they either involved a family history or life long ailments.  Asthma?  possible... it sort of fit the bill... but the only 'trigger' I was having seemed to be exerting myself. It didn't quite fit at an instinctual level though.
     After searching for about an hour, my eyes skimmed the passages involving walking pneumonia... shortness of breath... more acute when exerting one's self.  Potentially no other symptoms.  I thought about it and decided that I wasn't a doctor and would just keep a close eye on myself and if things went south, I had my cell phone and a car. I could call 911 or be at an ER in 20 minutes either with myself or my mother driving.

January 5, 2015. My house, Urgent Care Center, Virtua Hospital

     I got up. I had sat in my computer chair all night. I wasn't able to catch my breath by just sitting and resting any more. Laying down was not an option. My lungs completely closed up laying down. I wasn't congested in the usual sense of the word, no symptoms other than not being able to breath. Something was definitely wrong and it was time to get a medical evaluation and some type of treatment plan formulated.

     I got up at 5am, ate my breakfast slowly, got ready for work slowly.. panting and wheezing my way around my house as I got myself together. I felt too crummy to go in, was too tired... but I didn't want to admit that I couldn't do it. I was determined to get to work at 6am, and when I realized it was 545 and that I hadn't even made it to my boots yet... I acknowledged defeat. I couldn't put my boots on. I didn't have enough air flow to lace and tie them. I picked up my phone, and sent a text to my boss since talking wasn't an option.

     I sat back down in my chair and watched the time pass slowly as I dozed and waited for the doctor's office to open.  At 9am, I called and was immediately put on hold.  20 minutes or so later on, someone finally answered and I talked with them. Told them I hadn't had my initial visit, but was in trouble and they went and checked for openings... to see if I could be fitted in at any point during the day.

     The polite lady on the phone told me that they simply could not get me in. They were severely overbooked, and that they recommended an urgent care facility near me... which turned out to be twice as far away as the hospital.  So, since the word 'poor' is an apt financial descriptor of my wealth... I drove over to the urgent care center.  I went in and the walk from my truck to the front door, (some 10-15 car widths total) took me almost 10 minutes and my chest felt like it was going to burst on me.
     They jumped me to the front of the line, no paperwork.. right to a machine and vitals were taken.  The tech looked at the machine, got up and walked out. A moment later, another tech came in and looked at the machine again and told me that they were calling an ambulance. I was 'having a heart attack'.  I KNEW I wasn't. I stressed that I wasn't in any way shape or form having a heart attack. No chest pain, no radial pain... nothing. I just couldn't catch my breath and if given a few minutes, I would even out. I refused the ambulance and told them I would drive my truck back to the hospital.  I saw the numbers. I knew I was headed there, but it would be under my own power.

     I went out to my truck and called my mom, told her I was headed to the ER.  The urgent care center had called ahead to make sure they knew I was coming in.  I'm sure they told them I was having a heart attack.  I made the drive over to the hospital and parked my car and then made another long walk to the registration desk.  They took 1 look at me and took me right in the back.  Set me up and checked my heart with a quick EKG.  They then listened to me and gave me a dose of prednisone and hooked up a nebulizer.  I did 2 quick treatments and my air ways felt like they'd opened up. I was left there for a while and then the process was repeated.  They kept monitoring my blood's O2 levels and kept discussing it.  While resting I wasn't getting much above 80 and when I'd stand up and move around it'd dip to as low as 40. During these low dips, they seemed to be surprised that I wasn't collapsing.  At these low points I wasn't able to do much more than shuffle slowly because I simply didn't have the airflow.

     Next came the X-rays of my lungs and the wait for them to be read and for the doctor to make the time to tell me what was found... my breathing started to worsen and I was given more nebulizer rounds. Hours drug by. I had checked in around 1030 and now the shift change at 5 pm was coming.   The doctor came in and told me nothing had been found in my X-rays. My lungs were clean. They were sending me home and only had the release paper work keeping me there at this point and as soon as it was done, I could go home.  The customary warnings were given about if it worsened or new issues started to manifest to come back and check back in. I sat and waited. Mom had gotten there and sat there quietly.
     A different doctor came in, rambled on about being the shift change doctor and he'd reviewed my day's info. Then he said: "Just for shits and giggles, I want you to get a cat scan of your chest before you go."  I agreed, figuring it wouldn't make a difference, but at this point.. insurance would be paying a large chunk of this rather expensive bill... and it would give me peace of mind since nothing so far had been found.  So, a few minutes later I was rolled down the hall, given the injection, tossed into the machine and baked for a few minutes and then rolled back to my bay and prepared for another ridiculous wait.

     The ridiculous wait turned out to be 5 minutes.  The doctor himself was breathing kind of hard when he came into my little area and looked relieved when I was still sitting there in my hospital gown.  His next words were crushing and I doubt I'll ever forget them: "You aren't going anywhere. You have a blood clot in your lungs. We're moving you up to cardiac ICU."...

This post is already super long, but I don't want to break each section into multiple parts. Giving myself this 'maximum', I can limit the tale to the truly important things related to the story and keep on topic easier.  The next section will cover the time in the hospital, and the 17 months between the initial injury and making the decision to put armor back on.

Allow me to introduce myself. I am Gavin..

     The photo to the left is of me in 2012. It was taken by a photographer that has taken many photos of the Unbelt team over the years and I would like to give credit where credit is due. This photo, and odds are many of the ones I use involving my SCA posts will most likely come from her. In the Society, she is known as Duchess Caoilfhionn inghean Fhaolin, mundanely know as Meredith Balin Hull. They are all her work and her property, I have used them with her permission... because I felt it is proper and right to ask before simply using something, even though she shares them with us on facebook.  Her instincts serve her well, and I feel that many of her pictures capture the spirit of the people and events at SCA events do in ways that some of the bards capture the feelings with word and verse.  Sorry if the photo of me scares you. The photo itself is a goodp hoto... it's one of the better ones of me... I really am just that ugly. :)

      In the SCA, I am known as Gavin MacKinnon, a member of the Household of Von Drachenklaue, a warrior of the Eastern Kingdom, and rather occasionally as an armorer.  Mundanely, I am known as Andrew Williamson.  I am a metal worker and welder that loves to put on armor and beat his friends with sticks as well as painting Warhammer 40000 minatures, video gaming, reading books, learning new stuff, and hanging out with friends.

     I've always been the type of person that likes keeping my thoughts and beliefs to myself.  Recently though, I've been getting more and more vocal about things... and I've read some blogs and some facebook posts that I felt I wanted to respond to, but that facebook wasn't the correct place.  So, by creating this blog, I have created a spot, where I can take my time and coalesce my thoughts into solid, conherent thoughts, and then possibly have some positive and hopefully constructive discussions through this forum of social media.

     Maybe it has to do with having almost died in January of 2015 to a blood clot that traveled from my knee to my chest that I acquired from participating in a hobby that I've been active in for almost 20 years now. It was a very touch and go situation and it's been on my mind almost constantly since it happened. So much so that I recently realized that I mention it about once a week in a facebook post or reply to a post.

     My friends can attest to my inevitably bad luck.  It's been an ongoing joke through most of my life about my own personal black cloud that follows me around and makes sure I never have a smooth moment in my life.  I still laugh and joke and press on. My friends are the key to this. They're all good people in a general sort of way and I take comfort in seeing their lives progress and their happinesses. My ideals of my perfect, happy life are quite different than theirs, but I still see and enjoy the happiness that marriage, children, and success bring them. They pick me up and keep me laughing when it all goes wrong and my next bit of misfortune comes along. Thanks guys.

Anyway, that's about all their is to this. Just figured that maybe you guys would be interested in knowing a bit about who the man in the computer chair is.