Eh, why not. Reports of my death were greatly exaggerated.

Still, it reveals a serious problem with the media in general, not just the Internet. I was shot on a Wednesday night at about ten PM eastern time. By midnight I was dead, and by six AM Thursday I was alive. I'm glad things happened so quickly and the correction was allowed to be made, but that doesn't change the fact that the mistake happened to begin with. Is this the price we all have to pay for being public figures? Don't answer, I already know that it is. But I'm glad for the fact that my people in this hospital have, so far, followed my instructions and not let anyone in that I haven't wanted to see. All you people who want to get pictures of, and interviews with the Psycho Bitch that can't even stand, screw off, you'll print what I tell you to print, when I tell you to print it.

But I want to make something very clear to you all right now. Most of the work I do for professional wrestling is done so at my own expense. I don't get paid to write this column. I don't get paid to go to photo ops. I don't get paid to give interviews. I don't get paid to hang out at the arena until well past midnight with all of you. I do it because I love being in the arena, I love writing, and I want to show my appreciation to you all for supporting the show in general and myself in particular.

When I'm in or around the arena, I'm Poison Ivy. Treat me as such, ask me for an autograph or a photo or a few minutes of my time if I can spare it... as long as you're not rude to me or I don't have some kind of pressing appointment I do my best to comply. When I'm outside the arena, walking down the street, checking into a hotel, eating a meal or having a drink, I'm Ivy Lillian McGinnis. Understand that I might not be in the mood to speak to someone I don't know, but don't let that stop you from approaching me. Have the decency to wait until I'm finished eating, but the worst thing I'll do is shake your hand and politely ask you to come back another time. I'm a big believer in manners and I'm happy to say that with very few exception, my fans have all been ladies and gentlemen, and I've responded in kind.

But now that I'm holed up in a hospital trying to heal, I'm pulling the primadonna card. Don't try to sneak into the room. Don't try to sneak into rehab. Don't try to pretend you're my brother or some long- lost relative. I've given you nine years of my life, the least you can do is give me a little piece of dignity. I promise I'll be back in the fray before you can even miss me.

Or maybe not.

Y'see, I've given my life to this business, and the business took it. Nearly took it all. I stared at the ceiling for hours, in and out of morphine-induced delerium, and wondered what I would've had to show for it if I didn't make it? She gave her all to her profession, but died alone, without someone special in her life, without a child to call her own, without owning her own home or learning to drive or see the Sphinx or a hundred other things that I have to do before my number's up. Is a life with nothing to it but work really a life at all?

I had the perfect soulmate, but I wasn't smart enough to realize it until it was too late. You know who you are... if you're reading this, I'm sorry, for everything I did and everything I didn't do. And I know you're going through some trouble right now, I want you to know that I don't believe the accusations, and I want you to know that I'm here for you in whatever capacity you need me.

To everyone that HAS come to visit me - EJ, Merritt, Amy, Shep, and the Garden... thank you. To all the fans who have sent me cards and letters and get well wishes, thank you. And to a special little girl in Sweetwater Texas... thank you ten times.

This is Ivy.