At 5:00 am this morning I went in to check on my mother as I regularly do every couple of hours or so. My mom is 78 and was diagnosed with Dementia last year, and her health had been in steady decline the past few months. She was lying in bed very still except for her labored breathing that pumped her bony chest up and down and sounded like a car engine being strangled. I asked if she was having trouble breathing. She didn’t respond. I asked if I should call 911. Again, she didn’t respond, but the look in her eyes said, “Yes!”

This was the third time in 3 months that I have had to call 911 for a medical emergency. After the paramedics had taken her out to the ambulance, I calmly turned off all the lights before I followed outside with a cup of coffee in hand. It was becoming routine. A much too familiar, horrible, routine. I followed the ambulance in my car to the hospital, as usual, and sat in the waiting room until they called my name. I went back to the ER and explained what happened to the doctor whom I had met before, signed the usual forms, and again sat and watched for an hour for as they probed and pricked my mom over and over trying to pop one of the tiny veins in her fragile arms to insert an IV line.

The nurses explained that perhaps it was time that I put her in a nursing home because she needed 24 hour care that I was not able to give. After they ran a series of tests another doctor, whom I had met before, told me that she needed sergery to have a G-Tube inserted into her stomach. Mom had come to the point where she wouldn’t/couldn’t eat or drink enough to get the nutrients and fluids that her body needed to stay healthy, so they wanted to insert a feeding tube into her stomach so that she would get the nourishment that she would not get otherwise. When the doctors and nurses had approached me before about the feeding tube and the nursing home my answer was a flat, “No!” But as I stood in the ER this morning holding my mom’s hand and looking down at her frail and weak shell of a body, I was forced to face reality and admit that maybe they were right about everything.

At any point during this entire time did I ever stop to think about the fact that I was “still” a Virgin at 41 and that I needed to get laid? Absolutely not!

Welcome to the first day of my blog: an online journal about the life and times of a real life 40 (one)year old Virgin.

This blog is my answer to the film the “40 year-old-virgin” and other films like it that popularize negative stereotypes about adult Virgins. I wanted to do this blog because I am sick and tired of society saying that if you have not had sex by a certain age you are a freak and your life has no purpose. As a real 40 (one) year-old-virgin I am here to show that this is not true. I may be different but I am just as normal as anyone else and there’s more to me than what I am sexually not doing.

I cannot guarante at this point that I will post an entry every day, because as you can see I am dealing with a lot right now. But if you click the “subscribe” button at the bottom of the “about me” page you will be notified by email of any updates I make. I really appreciate those of you that are here for this very first entry and I hope that you will return. I think my 41^st year on earth is going to be a real roller coaster ride.