I ate a stupid rope toy and they cut me open to get it out. It happens fast. You’re alive, they shave you, you fall asleep, you’re gone. But I was lucky.
While I was on the operating table, the vet told my dad it was worse than expected, that I had a 50/50 chance of living, and should she continue? It’s a silly question if you know us. 50 is a lot more than 0, after all. He told the vet to get back in there and do her job.
I’m Monster and we’re fighters. It’s who we are, it’s in our blood. We fight.
But it comes with scars, and costs. Like the cone of shame and staples in my stomach and a few tears here and there and I’m short a foot of intestines. Who cares, it’s worth it. Fighting, life, the time we have with those we love. Even when it’s really tough, it’s all worth it.
This holiday season, I’m especially happy to be alive. I wasn’t ready to say good-bye to you all just yet, and hope you weren’t ready to say good-bye to me yet, either.
PS do me one favor: no matter how much you love life, don’t eat the rope toy, those things can kill ya.