I feel like a fraud.

I recently posted about my imminent death, and everyone was so kind and sweet about saying nice things to and about me, for which I will be as eternally grateful as I am.

The thing is, I was assured by the infectious disease doc the infection I had, the one that did not respond to the massive amounts of IV antibiotics, the one my overstressed and weakened immune sysyten had no chance of fighting off, would require extensive, multiple surgeries to combat.

And even all that pain and risk could only get me a few months before another infection moved in.

So I elected to go home under hospice and wait out the days. Lots of pain drugs, say goodby to my family, and slip away in "peace and comfort."

That didn't happen. It looks like my immune system didn't hear no bell and actually fought it off.

I'm not out of the woods. There is no scenario where I survive this thing, but today was not the day the strength of men failed.

On the other hand, just so I can get through the day my hospice nurse just tripled my drug load, crashing my appetite. I'm living off two kinds of morphine, lorazepam, a couple bottles of ensure a day, and the occasional weed gummy (not enough to see Marge Simpson.)

I hate feeling like you all might think my previous post was grubbing for upvotes or attention. I am very sincere how much you guys have gotten me trough the last few years. Particularly the all stars like Metapathos, Sigrid Rides, Patrick Bates, and so many others I can't bring to mind just now.

I'm still dying, I just got a little bit of a stay of execution. And I love you all.