Big Action

ACT 1: The Call and the Collapse

1. Big Action
   Our protagonist flatlines into a hospital bed and wakes up marinated in morphine, staring down mortality. A Halloween night lands him in the ER, and life says: “Tag, you're it.”

"The Big Action: My Journey from Bedpan to Brilliance"

It all started on Halloween night — and no, I wasn’t dressed as a pirate or a ninja. I was rockin' out at a party, feelin’ like the king of the undead to “Dead Man’s Party,” when BAM! This cough came outta nowhere and rattled my ribs like a haunted maraca. My buddy Sara took one look and said, “You’re going to the ER whether you like it or not.”

And lemme tell ya, when your lungs sound like a washing machine full of gravel, you don’t argue.

So there I was, admitted to the hospital, tubes and beeping machines everywhere, feeling like the prize in a medical raffle. I had surgery — something about infection and fluid in the lungs — but I woke up to a nurse telling me, “It went fine.”

Ha! "Fine" is what people say when their dog eats the couch. I felt like someone had tried to turn my insides into balloon animals and given up halfway.

The food looked great, but my stomach clocked out early. I was living off of hospital Jell-O and drugs with names that sounded like wizard spells: Tramadol! Oxycodone! Laxativicus Maximus! (Okay, I made that last one up.)

There was one day — eight hours in the bathroom. Eight. I came out looking like I’d fought a grizzly bear in there. That’s when I started asking: “What’s the purpose of all this? Why me? Is there a prize for Worst Patient of the Year?”

The doctors poked and prodded. They drained thirteen bottles of gunk outta my chest. I looked like a science experiment and felt like a balloon slowly letting out air.

But here’s the weird part: stuck in that bed, I started thinking. Like really thinking. No TikTok, no pizza, no distractions. Just me, my guts, and the sound of my IV beep. Somewhere in that mess, I found something glowing deep inside — I called it my Soul Kernel. (Not to be confused with Colonel Sanders.)

It whispered, “This ain’t the end, buddy. It’s the start.”

When I finally kicked the narcotics (and trust me, they don’t go quietly), I saw everything clearer. That pain? It had a purpose. That horrible Halloween? It was my call to action. I didn’t survive just to survive — I had to do something.

So I started the Gaia Core — a weekly project where I reach out to people like me, stuck in their darkest moment, and I help them turn crisis into clarity.

Because now I know my Big Action. And you wanna know the lesson?

“Pain’s just life’s way of handing you a microphone. Speak wisely.”

Or as my grandma would've said:
“When the bathroom’s your battlefield, make your comeback your legacy.”