BLESSED ARE THE WISE AT HEART,

FOR THEIRS WILL BE SAVED,

BY THE HAND OF THE LORD

 

Blessed are the poor in spirit,

for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven.

 

There comes a time in a person’s life when he or she wants to share their stories or problems with others so that they can reach out to other individuals before we realize that that time we wish to have runs out, and there is nobody else capable of telling these lifelong stories but themselves. These are the more then major things that have happened to me, but I did not know yet when or how to share them due to the intensity of some of them. (Please be aware though that these stories are not all, so to say, peachy, as they are down to earth)!

There are reasons of why I am alive today, why I can share the knowledge that I have about my serious conditions with you. My life has been a battle of ups and downs, struggles and sacrifices, schools, bullies, sports teams, you name it. But, my mentality has never escaped me as is; I WANT TO AND CHOOSE TO DO BETTER, WORK HARDER SO THAT THE TIME WILL COME WHEN I CAN HELP ANOTHER LIVING SOUL IN NEED!

 

Blessed are they who mourn,

for they will be comforted.

 

I have been pushed to my limits many times repeatedly and have not succumbed to them, all of them, along with some of the amazements that even my own doctors didn’t see coming. From absence (Petit Mal) seizures to generalized Tonic-Clonic (Grand Mal) seizures to almost being killed on a bicycle over a street divider thrown into on-coming cars and only breaking my left collateral (collar bone) when I was thirty riding to see my future wife.

 

Blessed are the meek,

for they will inherit the land.

 

This was the my first and only bone ever to be broken, and I remember these things like it was yesterday. I opened my eyes laying there on the ground, my front wheel bent, not spinning, with five cars around me. About ten Good Samaritans, almost all of them said that they had family members with the same problems (once I told them) helping me up calling for an ambulance. But they could see that there was a problem, something wrong with myself, a normal pedestrian. All I wanted was to do was rise like I always did and say thank you for the help! They said to stay down, your hurt, and we already called for help. My biking helmet still on, secure, but that was the very last time I road my $1,400 Specialized mountain bicycle, or anything on wheels ever again. I never wanted to see a bike, especially that bike, from the memory of almost being killed. But my brother Michael wanted to fix it for himself, so I let him have it, although it mostly just stayed put in the garage where he left it.  

 

Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness,

for they will be satisfied.

 

At 29yrs of age, a broken collateral can be healed on its own, depending on the damage done, but at 30, it’s a nice steel bar with 9 long screws, 6 down and 3 across, which still hurts to this day, and will forever. Any pressure placed on it, mostly by Michelle’s arm being thrown over or across my head for a simple hug is too much. I already had a VNS in my left pictorial wired to my throat, which is a piece of metal that can never be removed. When I left that hospital, I felt more and more like Robocop, as I joked about with my friends. I was alive because I was smart, if I had not of been wearing my helmet, I would have fractured my head, face and jaw. Let’s just say that I would have died! But God knows that I am far smarter than the ones you see on the road today, riding bareheaded! 

 

Blessed are the merciful,

for they will be shown mercy.

 

And then the Grander of my falls which sealed the deal of me being watched 24/7/365, and to date:

The LIRR Train Track Incident of 2012!

 

Going into details about that haunts my parents, my father mostly still today who were there to see it happen. Nightmares of that day when the three of us were standing at the Auburndale Station one late afternoon and me checking to see for a train coming any time now. Something I did for years, alone. That day I thought that I would go again, without anyone’s help. We were the only three people there at the time on that platform, and when the signs say stay back, away from the tracks, you do it, because then something like this may happen! My mother cried for months about this accident and myself when telling me stories about my father crying in bed for nights trying to understand Why?

 

Blessed are the clean of heart,

for they will see God.

 

Why his son, a 200-pound healthy man can suddenly fall dead down onto a 6 foot drop railroad track smashing the right side of his body head first, as we thought at the time. A hero, my father, jumped down, helped me up, and we walked the entire other way of the train track, slower than ever, until we finally made it to an old wooden ladder that we could climb. With no train in sight.

I had blood that was gushing out of me from what I thought at the time was my chin. And we waited and waited and waited which seemed like forever until the ambulance finally arrived. I noticed a man and a woman with a stretcher, and the man was average in size, but the women looked like she could have been my young baby sister. I didn’t freak out, but I did ask if they were anyone else with them. I kept saying to myself “This is going to be interesting”, and I was right. Rolling me over and into that ambulance took a bit more time then I would have appreciated. And then there was the big question, “Where are we taking him, he’s epileptic!” They started with Booth Memorial, but in years past Booth has no idea what epilepsy is, not one neurologist on hand. So, my mother and I were fighting with them to take me into NYU, my hospital full of neurologists, and especially my own! But then the driver said “Where is it, how do I get there”? and he wasn’t kidding. I wanted to grab him by the throat and say, “What kind of a damn ambulance is this?”! I was obviously in no shape to. I rolled my eyes and my mother took control of things from there.

 

Blessed are the peacemakers,

for they will be called children of God.

 

Into NYU we went and my father was traveling right behind us. We were still confused, nobody had an answer, and I was still bleeding profusely. But my face was fine, it had already been cleaned from inside the ambulance. My head on the other hand, was not good and different doctors told me different stories. The facts though, first was that the blood that hadn’t stopped was from blood in my brain. The second, was that my shoulders, broader than most, hit the ground before my head hit the track, saving my life, but it wasn’t done with yet. Another doctor said that he noticed a crack in the back of my scull.

After that I spent a couple of weeks in NYU having to flush the blood build up out of that same ear, while keeping my head to its side. Draining the blood out was a job that had to be done by myself, under supervision, without doctor’s tools or surgeries, just check-ups (This had to be done at home for a long time until the blood was completely drained out, in bed. This went on for a year, and some)!       

Now, this one doctor’s assumption and observation of my fractured cracked skull could have been wrong, but he may have been right as well. This is because that first night on that bed at NYU, without a doctor or nurses visit, was healed. That morning when doctors and nurses started to pile in, testing me about the usual, Name, Day, Time, How many fingers and such. I answered all their questions correctly and then when they checked the condition my head was in, they were all confused and amazed at the same time. I was just waiting to hear what the plan was now, yet I was not afraid of what they were about to say, and then I heard them chit-chatting like all doctors and nurses do, that it’s okay, he’s good. And then telling me that my head was healed, with wide opened eyes!

The blood although, persisted, and to this day on I find blood every day in my ear and more in my nostrils. Everything that comes blown onto a rag has dry and crusty blood, more than the average gook which is expected.  

 

Blessed are they who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness,

for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven.

 

The major falls continued throughout 2012, but this time it was in my bathroom, again. An metal heater can do great damage if it is fallen on and can slice the not so fortunate up like falling on shards of glass. I had four staples shot in my head to prove it. I was very lucky to of not been severely hurt, it hurt a lot less going in than coming out. It’s not a string, and it needs to be pulled out medically with a pair of pliers. For a word of advice, make sure that there is a man in the room, or a tough woman who knows her stuff, because I had my head yanked round and round by another one that could have passed for my baby sister, again! Just goes to figure. I had enough and told the girl to find someone capable, and one, two, three, four, they popped out, with a man’s help! (my wifecushioned the heater right after to keep me protected from that ever happening again!).

 

Blessed are you when they insult you and persecute you falsely because of me.

Rejoice and be glad,

for your reward will be great in heaven.

 

Once that was all over and done with, I wanted my first tattoo to be a rather large one of Jesus Christ on my right arm with my father’s name Arcangelo Fiacco under it, scribbled in professionally as ‘MY FATHER, MY HERO’, for lifting me off those train tracks, risking his own life, like all great fathers would do, before being killed on those tracks by an on-coming train. My great parents are still alive and healthy today, just a bit slower and very much more tired than before. But, that tattoo is still up in the air until I can fork-up $5,000 or more for it, just hoping that one day I will be wearing something about him for all to see!