Pucks 'n Pups

Growing pains

2012-02-08T21:01:00.001-08:00

Therapy was rough today. I feel drained and jittery and ... exposed. Revisited some places I never wanted to see again. It was hard, but I got through it. Apparently I have a lot of suppressed grief. I guess I let some of that go this afternoon. Right now I just want to curl up in bed and cry. Preferably with someone holding me, but that's never going to happen.

Next appointment is in a week, and I secured sessions for the rest of February. I'm resolved to do what I can to move forward and LIVE.

Words carved into stone

2012-02-07T10:00:00.001-08:00

Last week my therapist gave me homework: write a letter to my father. Pour my heart out, tell him about all he has missed.

How do you write a letter to a dead man? After 21 years, more often than not I wonder if he was only a dream. But then in an instant, out of nowhere, I hear his voice clear as day, calling my name. Mostly it's just his laugh, and I always catch myself smiling and I might even stand up to go see what's so funny. My rational mind knows that man is nothing but dust and cloth trapped in a box in a cemetery 2,000 miles away from me. My heart believes he's still in the basement, getting gumballs for me and my sister from his secret stash, and we're about to watch the Muppet Show.

What do you say to a dead man? Too much? Nothing at all? If things had Been different, this wouldn't be so hard. When we found him dead in the basement on Mother's Day, I hadn't spoken to my dad in two weeks. He'd had alcohol-induced seizures and was hospitalized in February. He stopped drinking for a while, but started up again a couple months later. I was mad at him, so I stopped talking to him. I don't even remember the last thing I said to him. The only memory I have of him before he died is of he and I watching Star Trek together.

The day of his funeral, the whole family came back to our house for food and bullshitting. My dad came from a large Irish family; there was a ton of food and even more bullshitting. One of my cousins brought my guitar and amp out of my room and started playing. My sister, my best friend and I wandered outside and stood in the driveway staring up at the sky. It was May, hot and muggy, and though the day had been sunny, clouds were rolling in and it looked like a storm was coming. It seemed fitting, since my dad loved a good thunderstorm. I have a lot of memories of him standing out on the patio during a earth-rattling storm, smoking a cigarette and cheering whenever a good clap of thunder rang out. "Get out here and look at this! The clouds are green! All the hair is standing up on my arms!" I'd be cowering at the screen door going, "Dad, you're gonna die! Get in here before you get blown to Oz!"

I guess once you've seen war, a little hail and thunder doesn't get your heart rate up much.

Standing there on that day, the clouds rolled in and suddenly we were drenched. The rain was warm and somehow comforting. I felt like my dad was there, smiling in the rain. I remember laughing and knowing it was okay and even fitting to laugh only hours after seeing my father's body lowered into the ground and covered with dirt. I could almost hear him light up a cigarette (Benson & Hedges) and say, "I'm dead, Kate. It happens to the best of us."

That was Dad, though. He taught me to laugh in the face of fear. I lost sight of that between Then and Now, but it's coming back to me. I remember how scared I'd be when he drank; not because he was abusive or violent, but because I knew what he was hiding from at the bottom of that bottle. I was scared because the man who was there to love me and keep me safe was terrified and sad and running from something that would always be right there with him. If your parents are afraid, who is going to protect you from monsters? From bad dreams?

But I also remember him making us watch scary movies with him, and he would tease us the whole time. "Ew, that guy looks just like you!" I think that's why Mystery Science Theater 3000 struck such a chord with me and my sister; it was kind of like watching Texas Chainsaw Massacre with Dad.

So what do I say? Thank you for being my dad and doing the best you could? I love you for always being straight with me? I hate you for giving up? Would you be proud of me as I am today, or would you be disappointed?

I'll never know. It's all just memory and What If's. I thought I'd come to terms with that a long time ago, but when my therapist asked me if I was close to my father, instead of saying yes, I blurted out, "it's my fault he died." Even though I knew it wasn't true, at that moment I was a little girl again, blaming herself for not helping her dad enough so that he wouldn't have to drink. I thought that if I listened to his war stories, they wouldn't bother him anymore. But a kid doesn't have any concept of what war is like except for what they see in movies. I just listened, hoped he felt better and then waited for him to pass out so I could put out his cigarette, turn off the tv and go to bed.

When he died, I said, "Thank god it's over. He's at peace now." His war had ended but I had no idea it had only just begun for me, my mom and my sister. It took a long time for the three of us to come to terms with our loss and the fact that none of us made him an alcoholic. I do know that my mom still blames herself, and nothing I say will change her mind. My whole life, my dad never said a bad word against my mom, even when they having trouble. I wish she would take comfort in that.

As for me, I don't believe there's anything after death. My dad and what made him "Him" is long gone and all that is left is photographs and memories. I never got to say goodbye to him. He died thinking (so I believe) that I hated him, that he was a failure as a husband and father(he wrote as much in some papers we found from when he was in rehab), that he had let us all down. How do I forgive myself for letting my father die thinking I hated him? How do I forgive him for leaving me?

---------------------------------
Diatribe Against the Dead
---------------------------------

The dead are selfish:
they make us cry and don't care,
they stay quiet in the most inconvenient places,
they refuse to walk, we have to carry them
on our backs to the tomb
as if they were children. What a burden!
Unusually rigid, their faces
accuse us of something, or warn us;
they are the bad conscience, the bad example,
they are the worst things in our lives always, always.
The bad thing about the dead
is that there is no way you can kill them.
Their constant destructive labor
is for the reason incalculable.
Insensitive, distant, obstinate, cold,
with their insolence and their silence
they don't realize what they undo.

-- Angel Gonzalez

Searching for those wasted years.

2012-02-06T06:45:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I drove up to Vancouver to watch the superbowl at a friend's house. I haven't cared about football since the Bears won the superbowl in '86, but I jumped at the chance to hang out with my work friends outside of work. There were six kids there, total, but you never would have guessed it. The youngest were sleeping, the girls were playing in J's bedroom and H, the oldest boy, was watching the game with us. We had a great time, despite the fact that football is boring as all get out. I don't even remember who played and which team won.

At one point, my friend's son (who is 12) said he wanted to work in radio, and I remembered how when we were kids, my parents gave me and my sister a tape recorder and we would spend hours and hours making up fake radio programs and news broadcasts. One time we had our friends' older brother be a reporter at the scene of a potential mass-suicide. We sat up on the top bunk of our bunk beds and while he was reporting, we would scream and jump off the bed, landing loudly. We were so twisted! Heehee. Sometimes we would read stuff out of magazines, but mostly we made shit up right on the spot. One time I made up a distraught character who kept calling into the radio station looking for his friend, Dave. "Is Dave there? He said I could call him here! Dave? DAVE?!" and then I broke down sobbing.

I still have the tapes around somewhere. There's one from who knows when. I think Sis and I were probably five or six at the time, but I remember it vividly. It was nighttime and we were in our old station wagon driving home from Dispensa's Kiddie Kingdom. Sis and I had both either won or bought these little worms that came in a little plastic suitcase. I have no idea why we wanted them, but we REALLY wanted them. We named them Wormy and Squirmy, and on the way home, I turned on our tape recorder and made up a song about them. I sound like a dog's squeaky toy. Were we ever so young?

Anyway, it just got me thinking about all the things I could have done if I'd believed in myself. In fourth grade, I would do standup on the bus ride home every afternoon. I had one fan. Her name was Beth. In sixth grade, I was (unofficially) voted Class Clown. When I was 13, my grandma took me, my sister and our parents on a Disney cruise to the Bahamas. It was a present for making our confirmation at church. When we got down to Florida and boarded the ship, we stood around in the lobby for what seemed like hours. Alan Thicke was there, wearing dark sunglasses and trying to look inconspicuous. My mom had gone off to find the restrooms and when she came back she accidentally hip-checked Mr. Thicke. When she got back over to us, we were like, "Mom, you just bumped into Alan Thicke!" and she was all, "Who? So what?" Heehee.

It was while we were standing around in the lobby that a man approached our parents and asked if he could use me and my sister for a commercial they were filming. Everybody loves twins, I guess. Our parents said yes, so we were taken outside with a bunch of strangers and Disney mascots and were filmed walking across the bridge and into the ship about five dozen times (embellishment). It was so fucking boring. But they shot the commercial and it's out there somewhere.

Before I moved out to Oregon, I'd tracked down a high school friend and we reconnected via online chatting. She and her husband had their own comedy troupe in Chicago, and she said she'd actually been looking for me because she wanted me to join up with them. I was shocked. I never did join, but I helped them write a couple sketches, and I went to one of their shows before I skipped town and headed West.

I think if not for the crippling social anxiety and lack of focus, I probably could have gone into radio or maybe could have written for TV or something. My sister and I have always been good with voices; imitating people, doing accents, etc. When I was editor of my high school lit mag, we all stayed late one afternoon to work on compiling that year's issue, and me and two of the other girls ended up wandering the empty halls. Looking for something, I forget what. The girls were in drama and were complaining about how they couldn't get their accents right for the play they were putting on. I broke into a New York accent and started yelling, "Norman! Answer the door! Someone's at the door!" and the two girls stopped and were like, "Holy shit! How did you do that??" I was all, "What? It's not hard." To this day, 95% of my and my sister's dialog is made up of Kids in the Hall quotes and lots and lots of movies. I still know every word of "The Goonies" by heart.

My sister says I'm a great mimic. I don't see it, but she says it's uncanny. A few months ago I caught an episode of the Cleveland Show and thought it was hysterical. I had no idea there was a Cleveland Show, so I found my sister and told her about the episode. The thing is, I did the entire thing in each characters' voice and twice as fast. I was hurrying because I wanted to get to the end where Cleveland's son says, "Don't tell me to shut up, banana slammer," which is what made me piss myself laughing in the first place. If you asked me to do it again, I probably couldn't. Spur of the moment is a lot easier than on the spot, and I get performance anxiety when I'm asked to repeat myself. If not for that, I probably could have been something. I coulda been a contender, instead of a bum. Which is what I am.

I need to get back into writing. Not that I don't love you, blogosphere, but it's not the same. The first short story I ever wrote, I wrote in pen, in a notebook, the night before I started college. Nothing like making insomnia work for you! The first and only time in my life that I ever got straight A's is when I took Lit classes at the community college. My professor was the first teacher in the nation who had Stephen King novels in his curriculum. That's why I took the class; it was a study in horror and we covered Stephen King, Clive Barker, Richard Matheson, and someone else whose name eludes me. NOT DEAN KOONTZ. He fucking SUUUUCKS and I remember being relieved we weren't going to have to read his drivel. At any rate, I was always the first one done when we were assigned essays or when we had tests. I wrote a paper about a Stephen King novel, I think it was the Dark Tower, and my professor handed it back to me (with a big read A++++) and on the last page he had written, "If I had 30 more students like you, I would forget about early retirement." He read a lot of my writing and was impressed enough to say he expected to see me on Letterman someday, promoting my first novel. That blew my mind.

Yeah. I really need to get back into writing. I have to get my computer fixed first. Argh. Ok. Time for bed.

A Togetherness of Stars

2012-01-28T07:23:00.001-08:00

Last night I brought my telescope (and a couple of backyard astronomy books) over to my friend's house and we packed up two of her kids and drove out to Crown Point to do some stargazing. Her daughter (I'll just refer to her as "P") is ten and really interested in science and nature. When I asked "A" if she knew any good places to stargaze that weren't too far outside of Portland, she immediately said, "Crown Point."

So we made plans to go out there, and she kept telling me how excited "P" was. I was excited, too, and happy to be able to share what little knowledge I have of the stars.

It was freezing cold when we got there, but I'd planned ahead and put on long johns under my cords, and I had on a long sleeve shirt, a sweatshirt, my super incredibly warm coat and thermal socks. Not to mention a hat, scarf and gloves. And I still froze my ass off. But it was worth it.

I tried to point out the constellations I knew and which stars they were comprised of. Orion, Canis Major/Minor, Cassiopeia, Gemini, Cygnus, Pegasus, the Dippers, Pleiades, Denub, Betelgeuse, Castor and Pollux, Rigel, Procyon, the winter triangle, Regulus, Polaris, Sirius and all the rest.

Unfortunately, it was too cold for "P" to stand out in the wind for very long, but I did get to show her the moon and Venus. "A" went back to the car, too, but I stayed out and did some more gazing. I saw the Orion Nebulae, which was awesome. Sirius, Rigel. I tried to get a bead on Betelgeuse, but it was too cold and I gave up. "A" had to be at work at 9:30 (we work together, I had the night off), so we headed back into the city. When I got back in the car, "P" was reading one of my library books. Inside I was all "Yay!" I don't want to squeeze out any kids of my own, but I'm happy to be a kickass auntie.

We didn't get to see as much as I would have liked, but I was still really happy to get out and enjoy the stars. Aside from light pollution, Crown Point is a wonderful, wide open place to utilize and enjoy your telescope.

I can't wait to go back.

It's going to be clear again tonight, so I'm going to take the 'scope out into the yard tonight and show my sister. Too bad I have to work. Arrrgh.

By the way, did I mention that a friend ("M") from work gave me her telescope?

Therapy is going well, though I've only had two sessions so far. I've booked appointments for the next two weeks; the next one is this Tuesday at 2:00, and then the other is on February 8th at 4:15. I'm playing around with times to see what works for my stupid night shift schedule.

She recommended I read a book called "Who Moved My Cheese?" by Spencer Johnson, so I got it from the library. It's only 94 pages, so it won't take long to read.

Next session we're going to work on relaxation techniques. That will help me a lot. I have a hard time relaxing.

I've been having a lot of trouble sleeping for almost two months now. It sucks. Nothing works. I fall asleep (with great difficulty) and wake up two hours later, completely unable to fall back to sleep. It got so bad that I sort of collapsed at work. And again last week when I was out in the yard with my telescope.

I hate insomnia with the white-hot fire of a thousand suns.

Lastly, the moon (with earthshine) and Venus.

Brief and to the point.

2012-01-24T04:28:00.001-08:00

Shit sucks. I'm not talking about feces, just everything right now. I don't want to have to worry about people anymore. But I guess that's the price you pay for loving them.

Fuck.

Baby steps to the door.

2012-01-19T11:52:00.001-08:00

I started therapy on Monday. It's "exciting" for me because this is the first time in my life I've gone in to therapy on medication and willing to do the work and make the changes. I'm not saying it will be easy, but it's going to be good for me.

Sessions are only 45 minutes which just does not seem like enough time, but I have a $20 co-pay and unlimited sessions through my insurance.

The first session was her just going over the paperwork with me. She said some things that I took issue with, but I'm letting it slide for now. I can address that later on. She said I obviously have PTSD and it seems like I have secondary PTSD, too. I didn't even know there was such a thing as secondary PTSD. She wants to do weekly sessions for now, so I booked another appointment for next Wednesday. I'm scared and excited to get started. She mainly does cognitive therapy, which I like. I really need to learn to turn my negative thoughts around and focus on the positive. It's hard.

I've decided to join a gym. I hate them in general, but I've got four races to train for this year, and I can't run outside when it's cold; asthma makes my lungs freeze up. So I found a place called Anytime Fitness. It's $35 a month to join, which I don't think is bad, but I'm not sure what (if any) contract I'd have to sign. I'm hoping to stop in sometime this week to check it out.

Went to a Winterhawks game last Friday. It was Mascot Night, which was awesome. I've always wanted to go to a mascot game, and it was a lot of fun. The Hawks won (against the Kelowna Rockets) 2 - 1. I'm trying to get ten people together for one of the upcoming promotional games; if you get a ten pack, the tickets are cheaper and everyone gets a free hat! So far I've just got me, my friend and her son, and another friend and two of her kids. We'll need four more people, but they just about exhausts my supply of friends.

Had a bit of snow the other night. Me and a couple of the girls ran out and played in the white stuff on our lunch break. Good times! Thankfully, it was all slush by the time we got off work.

Saturday I'm planning on going to the roller derby season opener. It's their seventh season and I still have not been to a single game.

That's about it for now. More later.

Run, rabbit, run.

2012-01-12T18:42:00.001-08:00

Last night I decided to do the Shamrock Run in March. I was at work last night and two of my co-workers were talking. I heard my name and when I asked what they were talking about, they said they wanted to do the Shamrock Run. I said, "Okay."

So I'm doing it.

The first thing I thought was, "No mud? No fire? No zombies? How boring." But I think it'll be a nice lead-in to the other two races I'm doing this year. And it'll still be fun, just not quite as challenging as the Warrior Dash or Run for Your Life.

Tomorrow (payday) I'm going to Nordstrom's to buy a new pair of running shoes. (My feet are two different sizes and Nordstrom's lets you buy mixed pairs. Thank you, Nordstrom's!!!)

Blurgh.

2012-01-01T23:30:00.000-08:00

Spent all of New Years Eve and a good part of New Years day puking my guts out every 30 minutes. Not fun. Luckily I'd gone up to my mom's house to make food for the potluck we were having at work (which I never made it to because I was dying), so she took care of me.

I'm feeling mostly better, though I can't stand up for very long and I hurt everywhere. Work ought to be fun tomorrow.

Well, 2012, it's all uphill from here!

Now I think I'll boot up Sims2 and see how my little families are doing.

2011-12-26T01:02:00.000-08:00

Another Christmas come and gone. We don't really celebrate it anymore. Just another excuse for my mom to make a bunch of food and for us to eat it. And that's fine; any time spent with family is good. I just hate Christmas. It was always my dad's thing, him decorating the house and putting on the oldies channel for the Christmas music. The last year he was alive, he didn't even come up from the basement to open presents with us. I had to bring his present down to him.

Over the last few years I've come to hate this time of year for reminding me of everything I've lost. This year has been particularly bad, especially these last couple of months. I've never felt so alone and helpless in all of my life. Never felt like giving up before, but I'm close. As close as I care to get. So I'm on anti-depressants, and my goal this week is to set up an appointment to start therapy. I've found somewhere to go and I printed and filled out all the paperwork. Now all I have to do is make the call.

Here's to a better 2012, for all of us.

Create and Complete

2011-12-19T06:16:00.000-08:00

I've been having a hard time lately, for various reasons, but I faced some hard truths last week and I'm just...tired. Tired of being miserable. Tired of hating myself. I went for my three month ADHD medication consult with my NP last week and I was determined to open up and tell her the truth (for once) when she asked me how I was doing. And I did. I told her everything and she said, 'Do you think antidepressants might help?" I said, "I think it's worth a try."

So she started me on 150mg of Wellbutrin XL or, as I like to call it, Gleemonex. (Gleemonex makes it feel like it's seventy-two degrees in your head...all...the...time!) My NP said Wellbutrin is usually "clustered" with ADHD meds, so I may find that it boosts my Dexedrine. I've only been taking it for a couple of days, and so far I don't feel any different. It's hard to tell from inside, you know?

I've emailed a few therapists about coming in for a consult so I can get back into therapy and fix the way I think because, let's face it, it's not working. I just want to be happy again.

Hopefully I can be.

So what does this whole story mean? The only way to be happy is to know you won't be happy every single day. Lalalalalala. It sounds better in the original Croatian.

For who can bear to feel himself forgotten?

2011-11-16T22:00:00.000-08:00

“Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.

How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.

Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.

Were all stars to disappear or die,
I should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total dark sublime,
Though this might take me a little time.”

― W.H. Auden

The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears or the sea.

2011-11-03T08:44:00.000-07:00

...or the river.

A little over the week ago, I drove out to Sauvie Island. I hadn't been there in over a year, which is a shame because it's pretty much my favorite place in all of Portland.

A bunch of my coworkers had planned to meet up at the pumpkin patch with their families and do the corn maze and all that happy crappy. By the time I got there, I was frazzled and anti-social. I couldn't get a hold of my friend, and the light was fading, so I bought a park pass and drove out to the beach to work on my wheelchair project. My partners in crime:

Reg - my Nikkormat FTn (loaded with b&w film)
Frank - my Nikkormat FT (loaded with color film)

The wheelchair has been slowly deteriorating over the years, which I've allowed to happen, and now it only goes backwards and the right wheel locks up more often than not. It was quite a trip lugging it up the stairs and down the sand dune, but I think it was worth the effort. Looking back, I wish I'd tried some different angles, but oh well. Sauvie Island isn't going anywhere.

Stop squeeming.

2011-10-28T07:55:00.000-07:00

"Have a great Fourth and I'll see you on Sunday for the barbecue."

Oh, yeah. He's a dead man.

I'm sitting in the office, wearing a robe, fingerless gloves and a beehive hat, and watching "Return of the Living Dead," Svengoolie-style.

I miss Chicago.

Summer was gone when the heat died down, and Autumn reached for her golden crown

2011-10-26T07:30:00.000-07:00

Sunday - Sauvie Island (iPhone, digital camera)

Friday - Pioneer cemetery (Nikkormat FT)

Sugar Maples (Nikkormat FT, again)

Ghosts

2011-10-10T05:00:00.000-07:00

“Time takes it all. Whether you want it to or not, time takes it all. Time bares it away, and in the end there is only darkness. Sometimes we find others in that darkness, and sometimes we lose them there again.”

Went to a Winterhawks game about a week ago; my first of the season. Portland beat Seattle 3-2 and it was awesome.

TK-16 has no patience when it comes to hockey.

JP missed the big fight because he was off buying cotton candy. Yummy...

There's been a lot going on lately, but I don't have the energy to write about it. A friend of mine died several years ago and it's his birthday on Friday. I think it's bothering me more this year because I'm stressed out about a lot of things right now and I guess it's easier to focus all of my anger and sadness onto that one specific thing.

I've just felt really lost and alone for a long time now, and I need it to stop. This morning I have contacted several therapists who deal mainly with ADHD and PTSD. Medication helps, but I'm not going to make any progress without the tools I need to function "normally." It's scary, but I'm trying to be hopeful about it. Hope is not familiar territory for me, and I feel uneasy. Haha.

Better than Christmas

2011-09-26T00:30:00.000-07:00

I splurged and had three rolls of film developed today. Two from Frank (Nikkormat FT) and one from Flash (Minolta srT202). I have no idea which or how many of my cameras have film in them anymore, so I've been trying to play around with them and see how much film wasting I have to do...

From the Minolta:

From the Nikkormat:

I want to take my Nikkormat out behind the middle school and get it pregnant.

“Sometimes being surrounded by everyone is the loneliest, because you realize you have no one to turn to.”

2011-09-19T01:27:00.000-07:00

I've had self-esteem issues my whole life, but I don't think I've ever felt as worthless and insignificant as I have over the last week and a half. With the exception of one day, my vacation was horrible. I tried to get together with friends and was completely ignored. Then there was the Warrior Dash. It was kind of a big deal to me. I'd been talking about it for months, and some of the girls at work started talking about coming out with their kids and making a little party of it. That made me happy because I don't really get to hang out with or talk to my coworkers outside of work, and I was looking forward to hanging out.

In the end, no one came. (Except for one of the girls, but we never knew for sure she was coming and with no phone reception at Horning's Hideout, we didn't get her messages until we were on our way home.) J is the only one who even called to talk to me that morning. So I ran my first race feeling like shit. My heart wasn't in it, and I was so fed up and irritated, I wanted to forget the whole thing. It was hard. Really hard. I still don't know where I got the strength to finish. I wanted to quit a thousand times, but something kept me going, and I dragged myself up and over every obstacle, despite the pain. And though I was out there with a co-worker and former co-worker, there was no one waiting for me on the other side of the finish line. I thought I would feel something at the end of my first race, but I didn't. I just felt empty. I watched people hug and kiss and celebrate and I felt about as worthless as the mud I'd just crawled through.

But I got my medal and I drank my free beer and I went home knowing that I'd put my mind to something and I'd seen it through from start to finish. I may not have done my best, but I did it. I don't often have the opportunity to feel good about myself, but somewhere deep down, I knew I should be proud. When I limped into work the next night, I got hugs and congratulations and people were proud of me. That meant a lot to me. I know that it's hard to make plans when you have kids and responsibilities (and Horning's is so far away), but I still felt like I hadn't been important enough to make the effort.

I don't speak up when I'm hurt or upset -I never have- so how can I still be upset that no one came out to support me? I guess I'm just an asshole. There were so many times last week that I picked up the phone and tried to call someone, but I couldn't do it. I can't find the nerve to say, "I'm upset and I need to talk." I guess I don't want to chance reaching out and being brushed off or just flat out ignored.

"The most important things are the hardest to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them - words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they're brought out. But it's more than that, isn't it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you've said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That's the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within not for want of a teller, but for want of an understanding ear."

Mud, sweat and beer.

2011-09-11T21:57:00.000-07:00

The dog is a gentleman; I hope to go to his heaven, not man's.

2011-09-09T18:37:00.000-07:00

Today is my baby boy's 14th birthday. I love you, Tank.

Pictures, in no particular order.

Tank - home - August 2010

Meathead and Tank - Sauvie Island - June 2008

Tank, Tonto, Geronimo, Zak and Brandi - Watkins Glen, NY - September 1998

Tank and Curly Joe - home - March 2009

Tank - home - July 2008

Maria, Tank, me and Geronimo - Fingerlakes National Forest (aka "where we camped every weekend") - upstate NY - September 1998

Tank, me, Luke, Lady - Chicago - July 1999

Tank loves his Goodie Ship. He's had it for 13 years. Home - December 2007

Tankerbell. Oxbow Lake - U.P. - October 1999

Home - September 2009

Home - November 2008

Home - August 2009

Tank, welcoming his BFF (Luke) home after major surgery - Home - April 2005

Sauvie Island - Portland, Oregon - June 2008

Me, Cat, Maria, Geronimo and Tank - Finger Lakes National Forest - upstate NY - September 1998

Meathead, Bernie, me and Tank - Chicago, Illinois - January 1999

Me and Tank - the gorge - Watkins Glen, New York - September 1998

Home - December 2008

Me and Tank - Manchester, Vermont - October 1998

Me and the old man, getting some sun - Mom's - August 2011

Old habits die hard; I like to nap on my dog - home - May 2011

Helping me test my "new" camera - home - March 2009

Luke and Tank. No homo. - home - April 2007

Tank: best foster brother EVER. He was so good with the dogs we rescued from the pound. Here he is with Ren - Watkins Glen, NY - August 1998

My beautiful boy - home - March 2009

Frolic! - home - December 2008

A watered down manifestation of my own death instinct.

2011-09-09T17:48:00.000-07:00

I'm on vacation until Monday. Not much going on, just "preparing" for the Warrior Dash on Sunday. By way of preparation I am doing a whole lot of nothing. I haven't been training. Haven't run in months. I'm not even eating very well. I'm completely unprepared and I don't care. I just want to run this thing, get my helmet, my medal and my beer, pat myself on the back and go home. Hopefully I'll be able to walk by the time I go back to work Monday night.

More to say, don't feel like saying it.

Still here.

2011-08-22T17:20:00.000-07:00

Not much to say. Rather, no time to say it. So...hi. And bye. More later.

Suicide is painless.

2011-05-03T13:58:00.000-07:00

I got a book for three bucks at Goodwill the other day. It was hard finding something good, let me tell you. Most of the books there are religious, romance or just plain fucking stupid. So when I saw this book by the same guy who'd written "High Fidelity," I snagged it.

It's called "A Long Way Down," and it's about four strangers who meet on New Years Eve, at the top of a fifteen-story building in London. They were all there to kill themselves.

"...At its heart, [it] isn't really about suicide itself, anyway....It's more about what happens when you don't kill yourself."

I thought that sounded like a pretty interesting read. And it is. I'm a little over halfway through, and don't have a bad thing to say about it. My favorite character is not the American musician from Chicago, but the 18-year old, potty-mouthed daughter of a junior education minister. She's a nutjob, but her dialog is at once idiotic, hysterical, touching and insightful.

I'm impatient to get to the end (no pun intended?), but I'm taking my time. They say that suicide is a selfish act (having children, in my opinion, being the second selfish), and I would agree. People who kill themselves, it's all over for them. But anyone they left behind, it's never over for them. They take on all that pain, and more-- because it's so senseless. It's sudden and traumatic and confusing and painful. You're left holding baggage that doesn't belong to you, baggage you never asked for or wanted, but you go through it, over and over again, and you try and make sense of what's inside.

How could you not be angry at the person who dumped that on you? How could you not hate them a little? There is maybe some envy as well; suicide is a selfish act, but it takes courage. It takes strength to go against every natural instinct and take your own life.

Some quotes from the book:

"...shit happens, and there's no space too small, too dark and airless and fucking hopeless, for people to crawl into."

"I like to know that there are big places without windows where no one gives a shit. You need confidence to go into small places with regular customers---small bookshops and small music shops and small restaurants and cafes. I'm happiest in the Virgin Megastore and Borders and Starbucks and PizzaExpress, where no one gives a shit, and no one knows who you are. My mum and dad are always going on about how soulless those places are, and I'm like, Der. That's the point."

That's about it. Suicide is painless, it brings on many changes, and I can take or leave it if I please.

Speaking of a slow death-- time for work. I'm on six days this week, by choice, and wondering if the overtime is actually worth it.

A transmission on the midnight radio.

2011-04-18T13:05:00.000-07:00

My friend Danny died seven years ago this past Saturday. It's ten years since I saw him last, the day my Grandma died. It seems like all I post about is death and loss, but it's how I've marked time since I was a kid. Good moments aren't traumatic and are therefore harder to hold onto.

I send Danny's ma a card twice a year -one for his birthday and one for the day he died- but it never seems like enough. Still, I think those little messages are more than the rest of Danny's friends can manage. I would hate for her to feel like she's alone on those days. I know it would mean a lot to me to have someone I lost remembered by someone else. A parent never forgets; it's part of the job. to be remembered (and still loved) by a friend is testament to what a remarkable man he was. And he was unforgettable.

I'm on the train to work and I can't write what I want without crying in front of strangers, so I'll end this here.

I miss you, Danny.

Love,
K

Haven't we been here before?

2011-03-22T03:44:00.000-07:00

I went up to my mom's house on Sunday, like I do every weekend. At around 8:30 Monday morning, I felt a familiar cramp in my right side. "Couldn't be," I thought to myself. "It's almost exactly a year ago that I had kidney stones."

I went to bed and woke up in agony about an hour or so later. I had my mom call my doctor because I was in no shape to talk. They had a 3:30 appointment available, and my mom said we would take it. I think the receptionist heard me groaning because she came back and said they had an 11:15. I had to have my mom put my shoes on because bending over was killing me. A few minutes into the trip, I had to pull over and have my mom drive so I could curl up in the back seat and scream. And also puke. Sorry, Sis.

I shuffled into the elevator and the woman who got in before me pressed three for me. She asked if I was okay and I said, "Kidney stones. I'm sorry about the screaming." She said, "God, don't apologize." heh. I got signed it at the office (thankfully, they take my new insurance, so I don't have to find a new PCP) and waited. They brought me into a room and I curled up on the table and groaned out my answers to the nurse. I had to sit up for my blood pressure, which was extremely high, but I spent the rest of the exam lying on the table and my doctor basically talked to my ass the entire time. I got an anti-nausea shot in my left cheek and an anti-inflammatory in my right. A nurse helped me to the bathroom so I could get them a urine sample and while I don't have blood in my urine, I do have a urine infection. My doctor went over last year's kidney chart and it turns out I had calcium stones and also a cyst on my right ovary.

Long story short, they sent me home with two Rxs: Ciprofloxacin (for the infection) and Hydrocodone (for the gagonizing pain). Oh, this is funny. The nurse gave me a barf bag which looked like a giant blue condom. They put me in a wheelchair and took me out to the van, and as we passed a group of children, I was seized by an extremely painful cramp, leaned over and puked into the condom. "herFLEHHHAAWWW!" One of the kids screamed. Another said, "Mommy, what's wrong with her??"

Did I forget to mention I had my shoes on wrong?

The pain diminished enough on the way home, so I was able to sit up and talk to my mom. I think I talked to Sis, and I know I was posting on facebook, but I don't remember getting back to my mom's house. I remember taking my pants off, but that's about it. My mom woke me up at 7p.m. and said she'd spoken to my doctor and she'd told her that, because of the shots I'd received, I shouldn't go to work. I called my boss and left her a message, and I'm pretty sure I sounded drunk. I passed out again and woke up at around 1 a.m. to take the dogs out and eat something. I watched Laverne and Shirley ("Calm down, will ya? You're giving the dog monkey nerves!") and Batman and fell asleep and now I'm up again. I've drank about seven pints of water in an effort to flush these bastards out.

Last year's CT scan revealed stones in both kidneys, though the ones in the left (where the pain was) were bigger. The stones in my right kidney, I found out yesterday, were tiny and "up high." They sure as hell don't feel tiny.

I've been scouring the internet for information on how to never have to go through this again, but it doesn't look good. There are conflicting reports about calcium stones. They're caused by too much calcium, they're caused by not enough calcium. wtf?

My friend Jason recommended drinking olive oil and lemon juice to help pass the stone. Why not? It's kind of like drinking salad dressing, right? I've been drinking water like it's going out of style. I try and drink a lot anyway, but I never seem to get enough. I always feel dehydrated. I've been feeling sort of light-headed and weak lately; feverish, too. I'm starting to wonder if those weren't warning signs.

The pain is more or less gone, though I feel a twinge pretty often. I can deal with twinges. I have a pretty high tolerance for pain, but there is something about this sort of pain that is ... unrelenting. You can't get away from it. The face-down fetal position seems to help, but only for so long.

Here's a picture of last year's stone (one of them):

I'm not bothering to try and catch the ones from my right kidney. We know who they are, we know what they want. Blah blah blah.

So here's anothe wakeup call to take better care of myself. One website recommends:

You may reduce your risk of kidney stones if you:

Drink water throughout the day. Drink more water throughout the day. For people with a history of kidney stones, doctors usually recommend passing about 2.6 quarts (2.5 liters) of urine a day. Your doctor may ask that you measure your urine output to ensure that you're drinking enough water. People who live in hot, dry climates and those who exercise frequently may need to drink even more water to produce enough urine.

Eat fewer oxalate-rich foods. If you tend to form calcium oxalate stones, your doctor may recommend restricting foods rich in oxalates. These include rhubarb, beets, okra, spinach, Swiss chard, sweet potatoes, tea, chocolate and soy products. (Nooooooooooo!!!!)

Choose a diet low in salt and animal protein. Reduce the amount of salt you eat and choose nonanimal protein sources, such as nuts and legumes. This may help reduce your chance of developing kidney stones. (No problem, there.)

Continue eating calcium-rich foods, but use caution with calcium supplements. The calcium in the food you eat doesn't have an effect on your risk of kidney stones. Continue eating calcium-rich foods unless your doctor advises otherwise. Ask your doctor before taking calcium supplements, though, as these have been linked to an increased risk of kidney stones. You may reduce the risk by taking supplements with meals.

No tea or chocolate?! WTF??? There's always carob, right? And now that I know my doctor takes my new insurance, I can go back and address some other health issues I've been having. Plus I need to see that Neurologist about my foot numbness.

Did I mention I vomited so violently that the blood vessels in my face and neck exploded?

I've read several accounts where women who have given birth to twins (naturally and without pain meds) have said that kidney stones are far worse than childbirth. Ugh.

Gonna go watch Canadian Bacon until I fall asleep.

P.S. It took me over an hour to write this because I'm so groggy I can't spell properly.

Maybe if I knew what a craw is I could tell you what was up it.

2010-11-08T16:08:00.000-08:00

Shall I sum up? Okay.

Last month I went rollerskating for the first time in about ten years. Blading, I should say. I went rollerblading. With my friend and my sister. At Oaks Park. Why am I typing. Like this?

Afterward, we stopped at the Rimsky-Korsakoffee House, which I won't even try to explain. You have to go and experience it for yourself.

Last month I also went to my very first hockey meet up, which I'd only found out about a few days beforehand. (And yes, there is an app for that.) We met at the 4th Down sports bar in SE Portland; I took the train and met my friend R there, for backup. We watched the Blackhawks game on three giant screen TVs and ate tater tots. I had a great time. The guy who organized it is really nice and a Red Wings fan (from Michigan). In fact, the majority of us are Wing fans. Go figure. Anyway, not a lot of people showed up, but that's fine. It was the first meet up.

Halloween weekend, I went to my friend's cd release party and had my very first whiskey. My friend Aed and her boyfriend drove, otherwise I wouldn't have had any. Afterward, we went to Potato Champion. At least, that was the plan. We had Whiffies (fried pies) instead and OMG WERE THEY GOOD.

The next night, Sis and I went to my friend's brother's house for a Kids in the Hall marathon. We brought the pilot episode and all five seasons (and a bag of crazy core Skittles) and got down to business. There were three kids there, ranging in ages from 12 to 3 (I think), but V and her brother weren't that much older when they first started watching the Kids, so we let them join us. Long story short, there is now a whole new generation of head crushers in the Portland area. They're not even my kids and yet, I'm so proud.

Anyway, it was great to finally watch the Kids in the Hall with people who actually loved them as much as we do. I haven't laughed that hard in a long, long time. I think we got through the pilot and Season One, and then had to call it a night (but not before J told us about the booger bed and innertubing). On the way home, we passed something called Assurety Northwest, which I read as Assery Northwest. My sister read it, out loud, as "Ass, you ready?" Incidentally, at that very moment, my sister and I had been discussing felching, nasal anal and how Kevin McDonald and Dave Foley can do stuff together that still allows them to technically remain virgins.

I shit you not.

Needless to say, we're going to have to go back for another marathon or five.

This past weekend (Saturday), I went to the second hockey meet up, this time at a place on Hawthorne. Again, I met my friend R there. This time it was the Red Wings vs Vancouver. More people showed up this time, but still not as many as RSVP'd. The Wings lost, but there is talk of meeting up for the Winterhawks game on the 20th. When the organizer told me about that, I told him about the firefighters. Normally, they play at the Mt View Ice Arena in Vancouver, but they're having a charity game on November 20th to benefit the son of one of the firefighters. For $13 you get in to the charity game at 2pm (at the Memorial), and the ticket is also good for the 'Hawks vs Kamloops game at 7pm. R said she would do both and take me out to the bars afterward , and the meet up organizer sounded like he was pretty interested as well. I'll post some info about it in a couple of days, when I have time.

At any rate, I've got to get ready for work.

Dead air.

2010-08-26T16:12:00.001-07:00

I suppose I'm long overdue for an update. I just never have the time or give-a-damn.

In June, I went to Multnomah Falls for the first time. I've been here almost ten years; isn't that sad? Last month I photographed a friend/co-worker's son's birthday party at Oaks Park. (First time there as well.) I also spent the weekend at (another) friend/co-worker's cabin on the coast -- this was the end of the month. It was me, V and three of her non-work friends, plus another co-worker who stopped by for a few hours.

I have a lot more to say but no time to say it. Here are some photos instead. Oh, speaking of which: I'm going to have ten of my stupid iPhone photos up at a some gallery in Portland sometime in the near future (me and 15 others). I should probably have some sort of emotional response to this, but at this moment in time I couldn't possibly care less. 90% of that is because I hate digital photography and don't feel like my iPhone photos are "worth" anything other than an amusing diversion while I'm on the train or whatever.

Oaks Park:
[The Kid]'s birthday cake:

One of the rides:

Me and Chipper, the Oaks Parks mascot (photo by Sis):

Rockaway Beach
Elk---

Twin Rocks

It's not just a clever name --

The gang

Taking the party down to the beach for a fire. My job was to walk Ike. Inside my backpack: three cameras and a baggie full of Stormtroopers.

Warming our toes.

Foxglove

My shoes got a little wet.

/end.

Happy Father's Day

2010-06-20T16:10:00.000-07:00

Wherever I am, you'll always be more than just a memory.

2010-05-13T03:11:00.000-07:00

JFB
June 1941 - May 13, 1990

Twenty years ago today, I dragged myself out of bed and called my best friend to see if she wanted to go to Walgreens with me. It was Mother's Day, and I wanted to get my mom a card and some candy. She showed up a few minutes later and we headed out. It was only a mile or so to the store, but it was already hot out and I was on crutches.

We bought our cards and candy and headed back home. We hadn't gotten very far when my mom and sister pulled up in our station wagon. We piled into the back and as we drove along, my mom said, "I'm worried about your dad. I haven't seen him yet today."

My dad had been laid off from the trucking company where he worked as a dispatcher, and had been doing odd jobs for friends to make a little extra money. My mom was working in the deli at the local Jewel as well as part time at a nearby print shop.

I don't remember a lot of what happened that afternoon, but when we got back to our house, my mom asked our friend if she would call her father and ask him to come over. They lived two houses down, so he was at our door in less than a minute. Mom sent the three of us (me, Sis and TK) out the back door and told us to wait there.

This is where it gets fuzzy. I remember saying in my head over and over, "I'll do anything, just please don't let him be dead," and I paced around on my crutches. None of us spoke. At some point I remember hearing my mom screaming "No!" over and over and over again. The next thing I remember is TK's mom coming over and walking us over to their house. I remember an ambulance pulling up and the lights weren't flashing. We waited there for what seemed like an eternity, and then my mom was at the front door. Sis and I walked out to the porch and my Auntie Reenie was there, along with several other of my dad's siblings. Deep down, I knew. I saw my sister sit down on the step and start crying, and I still refused to acknowledge it. I looked down at my mom who was standing on the front walk. "What?" I asked her. Her eyes were red. She looked up at me and said, "Your daddy is gone."

The rest of that day is a blur. We went back to the house and Sis and I sat in the kitchen while people poured in. The pastor from our church came to see if we were ok. My Auntie Mickey couldn't stop crying. She just stood there, repeatedly tucking my hair behind my ears and saying, "You girls are so beautiful. Your daddy was so proud of you. So proud." My mom gave us each half a valium, so I wasn't feeling much. I couldn't understand how I was going to go on with my life knowing I'd never see my father again. We went and stayed with my Auntie Sylvia that night. I had a doctors appointment the next day, and after that I think I remember going to pick out a casket.

The wake and funeral were the worst part. I had been to a few funerals in my childhood and though they had been hard, they were nothing compared to attending one for my own father. I didn't want to see him there. I didn't want to remember him that way. I wanted to remember him smiling, the way he would clap his hands when he laughed.

Twenty years is such a long time. I still don't know it's possible. I was 16 years old when he died. He has now been gone from my life longer than he was in it. I sometimes feel like I barely knew him. He was my best friend. He was the one person in my life who was always straight with me, no matter what. He was a quiet man with a wicked sense of humor. All my life, I never heard him say a bad word about anyone (except Molly Ringwald. He hated her.). He was my anchor. Whenever things got bad, he was always there to keep me safe.

For reasons I won't get into here, I stopped talking to my father two weeks before he died. The last conversation I remember having with him was about Star Trek. We were watching a TNG episode in which Data gets shut off (or something) and Brent Spiner fell over without blinking or wincing or anything, and my dad kept going on and on about what a great actor he was for pulling that off. That's all I remember. He was wearing jeans with a hole in the left knee and a light blue shirt with white stripes.

I never went to bed at night without telling my dad I loved him. I stopped when I got mad at him, and sometime in the early morning on Mother's Day in 1990, my dad passed away in his sleep. He died alone, in the dark, thinking I hated him. I never got to say goodbye. I never got to say I'm sorry. He would have wanted me to forgive myself a long time ago, but I can't see that I ever will. I don't deserve forgiveness.

On days like this, I believe I would trade every good thing in my life just to have him here for one minute. That's all I would need to make things right. I'll never get that chance and until the day I die, I'll believe I am owed every shitty thing that happens to me because I turned my back on someone I loved. I haven't gone back home in ten years. Haven't seen his grave. I don't believe in heaven or hell, that there is any part of him left under that cold grey stone. But I still found comfort there. I would sit in the grass with the sun on my face and talk to him. I'd tell him everything I needed to and it would help for a while.

I got a card in the mail yesterday. It was from the mother of a good friend of mine who died six years ago last month. (I send her a card every year on his birthday and for when he died.) Inside the card were two pictures of her son (who was like a brother to me) and a note that said, "Thank you for the lovely card. It's such a comforting feeling that I'm not alone remembering that day."

That's the worst part, I think. Being alone. After my dad died, my mom, sis and I just sort of retreated to our own corners. It was not the right way to deal with what had happened, but that's what we did. I'm still retreating to this day. I have a hard time telling people when something is bothering me, or when I need help. When I break down, I go somewhere where no one will see me. But what I wouldn't give for a card. Just a note that says: You are not alone.

It's hard for me to write all of this and will be even harder to post it. Twenty years is a long time to live with this loss. I guess what I'm trying to say is, it's not worth it. Things can change in the blink of an eye, and you don't get a second chance. If you've got something to say to someone, say it. If you're angry at someone, don't shut them out. The silence is unbearable.

Bad Day at Black Rock

2010-04-13T13:34:00.000-07:00

I'm on the train to work, watching the city lights twinkle along the Willamette river, hoping no one can tell I'm crying.

I've been having the worst panic attack of my life for the last seven hours. It's never been this bad before and I'm freaking out.

I suspect there are a few reasons for this, one of which being the impending "anniversary" of the death of the man I considered my brother. i'd give anything to hear him laugh one more time.

I don't know how I'm going to get through the next eight hours.

Happy Zombie Jesus Day.

2010-04-04T19:13:00.000-07:00

I'm not religious and I don't eat eggs, meat or dairy, so this is just another Sunday to me. I'm up at my mom's (because she does celebrate this stuff), farting around with iMovie. Here's what I've come up with so far:

It was hard picking the music for this. I almost went with "God's Gonna Cut You Down."

Still waiting on Stone #2, but I'm going to call my doctor tomorrow and see about getting another CAT scan. I'm sick of sitting at home, not working. It seems silly to me that I feel fine now but am not allowed to go back to work. So I'm going to call tomorrow and see about getting a work release.

Stonewatch 2010

2010-03-31T10:43:00.000-07:00

Just went to see my doctor. I gave her Stone #1, and she said she would contact the ER for a copy of my CAT scan. After reviewing it, she may refer me to a urologist, which I believe I was supposed to call one after I got out of the ER. Yay for ADD.

So no work for me. It's driving me nuts.

Oh and I have to go pick up drops for the pink eye. My doctor just looked at me and said, "You poor thing. Kidney stones are bad enough on their own!"

So that's that.

Doc is sending my stone off to be analyzed. Will be interesting to find out what kind it is and how to NEVER GET THEM EVER AGAIN.

Firefighter hockey tonight, but I can't go unless someone drives me. I have no friends, so there goes that.

Tonight's gave seven versus Spokane will determine whether or not the Winterhawks move on to Round Two. Fingers, toes and kidney stones crossed.

Kidney stones: about as cool as honeymoon hand jobs.

2010-03-26T06:00:00.000-07:00

Well, I've had an exciting week. I had three days off the week before last, and was sick for all of them. Worked Saturday, woke up Sunday morning with a weird, agonizing pain in my left side. I woke my sister up and asked her what appendicitis felt like, but it was the wrong side. I went to see my doctor on Wednesday who told me it was constipation and advised me to get some magnesium citrate and Dulcolax. Or something. I tried that and felt well enough to go to work on Thursday. When I pulled into the parking lot, the pain in my side returned. I managed to stick it out for two hours before I went to my supervisor, who, once I told her I was having horrific abdominal pain, sent me home immediately.

Longest drive home, ever. I pretty much screamed the entire time (40 minutes). I had to pull over twice to puke my guts out. I was home for about an hour before I decided I'd had enough. An ambulance was called and they took me to the ER. It was my first ambulance ride, and my first time in an emergency room as the main event. The ambulance ride was fun. I was surprised when they had me lie down on the gurney. They put a blanket over me and buckled me in and I felt like a tool. My shoes were muddy from walking through the front yard and driveway, and I was worried about dirtying up the gurney. I forgot about all that when the pain intensified, and I just sort of rolled back and forth, clutching my side and going, "UUUUHHHHHGGGHHHH..." The EMT tried to distract me by asking where I was from and where I worked. When we got to the hospital, I expected to just go sit in a wheelchair or something, but they just yanked me out in the gurney and wheeled me up to a room. I scooted off the gurney and climbed onto the other bed.

So then I just curled up into a ball and moaned for a while. A nurse came in and got my info for the billionth time, and I gave her my I.D., insurance card and debit card for the $50 co-pay. Lay there and moaned, lay there and moaned. Another nurse came in and got my vitals. I didn't have a temp but my BP was high.

Lay there and moaned, lay there and moaned. There was a baby crying somewhere, and then the guy in the room next to me started wailing like a fucking banshee. It freaked me out and made the pain worse. Gad, it was awful.

Some guy (male nurse?) came in and asked if I could give them a urine sample. I said I would try, so I went into the bathroom and peed in a cup. "Looks dark," I thought to myself. I put it on the table like the guy told me and someone came and picked it up.

The admissions nurse came back in to return my cards and found me curled into a ball and moaning.

Nurse: Have they given you pain meds yet?
Me: Uh uh.
Nurse: Do you have an I.V.?
Me: Uh uh.
Nurse: Has the doctor been in to see you yet?
Me: Uh uh.
Nurse: ......Huh. Excuse me.

A few minutes later, the other nurse came in to put in an I.V. You know that scene in The Exorcist where they take Regan to the hospital and stick the needle in her neck and blood squirts everywhere? That's what my arm did. I didn't see it because I was --- say it with me --- curled in a ball and moaning. Shortly after that, she said she was giving me some anti-nausea meds, then some pain meds. She was still messing with the I.V. and cleaning up my arm when I realized I was moaning for no reason. The pain had diminished greatly.

In between visits from various hospital people, I had been texting my sister and my friend/co-worker. My sister took the liberty of saving bits of our conversation:

After the pain meds did the trick, I passed out for a while. I was woken up by the nurse when she said, "I was going to ask how your pain level is, but I guess if you're sleeping, it can't be that bad!" I said, "Oh, it's so much better. Thank you." Except my mouth was all mushy so it probably sounded like, "Ozmish budder, tenku."

Passed out again, woke up when the doctor came in and asked me if I'd ever had kidney stones. I said no. He told me that they'd tested my urine and there was a ton of blood in it. My kidney values were good but there were a lot of white blood cells floating around. He told me he suspected I had a kidney stone and that they would see if I could pass it. "You're still a young woman. I don't want to have to take you for a CAT scan, bombard you with radiation if I don't have to." I said, "That's fantastic," and passed out again.

Woke up again when the nurse checked in on me, then again when a tech came in and said he was taking me for a CAT scan.

I started to freak out a bit because the thought of being trapped in a tube is just ... AAAAAAAAAAHHHHH! Luckily, it wasn't a tube. It was a doughnut. I scooted onto a different gurney and the tech told me to lie with my arms above my head. "The machine is going to scan your belly three times. It'll tell you when to hold your breathe."

The bed rolled in, the machine said "Breath in, and hold," blah blah blah. The tech wheeled me back to my room, I scooted back onto the bed and fell asleep. Woke up when the doctor came in. He told me I have two small stones in my kidney, right near the bottom. Long story short, he sent me home with three Rxs: one antibiotic, one pain killer and one muscle relaxer to help push the stones out. He said if the pain meds did nothing or if I had trouble urinating, I should come back in immediately. Blah blah blah. I was given a jar and two strainers and told that I had to strain my urine, put it in the jar and bring it back in so they could analyze it. FUN! I asked the doctor if I could go back to work and he basically said, "You're going to be taking narcotics, so...no." I asked if I could have a note to give to my supervisor and he said he would put it in with my release papers.

So basically I'm on vacation until I pass these mothers.

I've had spinal taps, a double hernia and had my leg stretched three inches; I have never been in this much pain in my entire life. It fucking blows, people. Don't get kidney stones. Trust me on this.

I've been straining my urine like a good girl, but so far no stones. I took my meds yesterday morning and slept for over ten hours. I just took another pain pill and it feels like I'm being punched in the head with a pillow. So I'm gonna go to bed. My sister has friends visiting next week and we've got a lot of work to do on the house. Plus, we're working on our sweet pea garden! I wish I had taken good pictures the one year we successfully grew a whole shitload of them. They're so pretty. Our goal is to sell them at the farmers (possibly Saturday) market, along with maybe my photography and my sister's knitting.

Anyway. I'm woozy.

My peeps.

2010-03-16T18:53:00.000-07:00

As usual, I don't have time for a proper update. I just wanted to say that birthdays aren't really a "YAY!" event for me, and I was dreading it this year. But then my friends at work surprised me with yummies and, when I slept too late for the Winterhawks game, Aed went to 3D black light pirate mini golf with me and Sis instead and then took us out to dinner.

Yesterday, I received a gift that ... I can't even begin to explain how much it meant to me. My friend Ed sent me some DVDs. Big deal, right? Well, he sent me Chicago Archives: Best of Chicago Television.

After I wrote to thank him, he told me that our friend Andy, when making him a copy, suggested he make one for me as well, if only for the Chicago Blackhawks footage. Bozo's Circus, Garfield Goose & Friends, Creature Features (!!!!fave!!!!), Riverview, the Chicago Blackhawks, Lake Shore Drive footage (back when it was still actually Lake Shore Drive) -- the music made me cry, Svengoolie, Captain Kangaroo, Son of Svengoolie, Dispensa's Kiddie Kingdom and much, much more. If you didn't grow up in Chicago, this means nothing to you, but it means everything to me. I love living in the Northwest, but I miss home. A lot. .

There's more! Ed also sent me four more Svengoolie episodes!

Captain America
Death Race 2000
Revenge of the Zombies
Night of the Living Dead

I almost shit my pants. ZOMBIES. Ed had no idea how much I love zombies, yet there they were! I can't wait to watch. I'm going to bring my mom over and play the Chicago DVD for her. She'll be so excited to see Riverview.

In closing, my friends are wonderful. Thanks, guys. I love you.

Confutatis maledictis, voca me cum benedictis.

2010-03-12T13:02:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, I took my sister to see The Boondock Saints on the big screen. It got a very, very limited release (five theaters) ten years ago. I saw it in 2000 when I was in Florida with my ma. I rented it, on VHS, at Blockbuster and it quickly became one of my favorite movies ever.

Anyway, they re-released it (one night only) for the 10th anniversary, and I made damn sure my sister and I had tickets.

It was playing in two theaters: one in Portland, one in Beaverton. I chose the Beaverton one (though I hate Beaverton with the white hot fire of a thousand suns) because I figured it would be less crowded. When we got there, the place was packed.

It was a great crowd, though. Seemed like there were a lot of fans there, quoting the movie and cheering in all the right spots. The sound went out right before the weapons scene and almost immediately, a guy yelled out, “I’ll have a Coke, then.” I guess you had to have been there (and also seen the movie); it was pretty damn funny. Then people kept yelling out, “Get some rope!” Heh.

After the end credits, they ran a retrospective with interviews and clips/behind the scenes from the sequel. It was interesting, but mostly blah. I think a lot of that has to do with Julie Benz and Clifton Collins Jr. or whoever the fuck he is. I haven’t seen the sequel yet and it has everything to do with them. I’d never seen or heard of Junior before this movie, but I’ve seen Benz in a few things and I fucking hate her. Not her personally; I’m sure she’s nice and all. I just can’t fucking stand her as an “actor.” She sucks out loud. She sucked in her one episode of Supernatural, she sucked in whatever Buffy episodes she was in (I fucking hate that show, too. I watched most of the first season because a couple of friends asked me to give it a chance; I’m still itchy from it.), but she wasn’t half bad in Dexter.

From what I’ve seen of the trailer, it seems like they brought in Benz and Junior to replace Smecker and Rocco, which ... no. Add characters for their own sake, not because you want to the sequel to match the first movie ALMOST EXACTLY. It’s fucking stupid.

I’m still going to watch the sequel someday. I’ll probably have to eat a bunch of Tums beforehand.

The interviews were mostly good, pretty much just most of the guys sitting around, drinking beer and talking about the movies. I was disappointed not to see Detective Alapopskalius.

More to say, no time to say it. Deja vu? I still have to write about 3D black light pirate mini golf, don’t I?

Tomorrow, hopefully, I'll be seeing K.M.R.I.A. Right now, I've got to see someone about a five dollar haircut. Though I like having my hair long again, it's been over a year since I've had it cut, and I'm starting to look a bit homeless.

Testing?

2010-03-07T23:59:00.000-08:00

I finally figured out how to add another blog to this iBlogger application I've got on my phone.

Have I ever mentioned how much I hate the words "blog" and "app"? I want to download the DeLorean app, go back in time and kill the hipster asshole who coined the terms. No. I'll go back to the beginning and sterilize his ancestors.

Mom, sis and I went to dinner at EXTREME PIZZA tonight. They didn't have Red Bull on tap, but they did have a giant TV with downhill skiing on a loop.

Ma had a coupon, so we basically got one giant veggie pizza, one small pestotato (?!) pizza and two pops for ten bucks. Good food but I could barely choke down a single slice.

More to say but not here. I'll save this APP for when I'm bored on the train to work tomorrow night. I'll keep you all updated on how many tweakers get on in the free zones, ask me for money and then jump off right before we hit the pay zone again.

Right now, it's time for yoga.

We're saved.

2010-03-04T18:36:00.000-08:00

Can you smell the sarcasm?

I had my yearly review on Monday. I got the highest "marks" the lab boss would allow. In other words, my supervisor wanted to give me a four but the big boss assured her that three was sufficient ("really, really, really good employee"). Whatever. As long as my direct supervisor is happy with my performance, that's all that matters. I got a raise, too. It doesn't make a dent, but I guess it's better than nothing. I got praised for maintaining eye contact when we have staff meetings, which kind of threw me. My whole life I've had trouble looking people in the eye, not because I'm shifty but because I'm afraid of what I'll see in their expression. I've felt like a freak my entire life, and I don't want people to see that and judge me. I know. I have issues. Eh, there was other stuff, how I always get to work a half hour early and I hit the floor ready to work. In summary, I'm awesome but I'll never get paid accordingly because the economy and the giant corporation I work for SUCK.

Some of the girls brought food to work last night as an early birthday treat (for me). Rene got Voodoo Doughnuts for dessert. There were two vegan ones in there, which I took home for me and my sister.

I'm hoping to get tickets to the Winterhawks game tomorrow. I thought I heard about a deal where, if you go to the box office on game day, you can get two tickets for $16, plus a hat. I'm all over that shit. That is, unless I dreamed it. They're going to announce the rookie of the year and MVP, etc. tomorrow night. I think either Chris Francis or Nino should get the MVP, but what do I know?

I'm in a horrible mood. I need to call my therapist but I can't bring myself to waste $50 when I know I need to get Curly Joe's liver meds (which are $80) in a couple of days. I feel bad enough wasting money on hockey tickets, but it's my birthday on Sunday and all I want is to see one Hawks game. I haven't been to any this year, if memory serves. It usually doesn't.

Rise again, little fighter

2010-02-28T21:34:00.000-08:00

Come on. It's a good song.

I missed out on just slightly less than 100% of the Olympics this year,which just about killed me. I fucking love the Olympics. Especially the winter Olympics. I got to watch some skiing and some skating, but no hockey. I take that back, I caught the last five minutes of Canada's game against ... someone. I forget who. I didn't get to see Sweden or Russia or even Team USA, though I did get The Game recorded on DVR. Have yet to watch it.

So I made sure to get up early (for a night shifter) and watch the gold medal game. Sadly, the US went home with silver, but that's nothing to fucking sniff at. I know virtually nothing about hockey (the puck goes in the goal, right?), but I know our boys played their little hearts out, and I'm proud of them.

Speaking of proud, the Winterhawks did well tonight with a 3 - 2 win over the Prince George Cougars. Series sweep, anyone? I'm excited about Friday's game, for no particular reason. I haven't been to a Hawks game since early December. I'm hoping to drag my friend J along. She's not a nut like me, but she's from Florida and has been to her fair share of Lightning games. It'll be interesting to see what she thinks of the WHL.

It's no secret that I hate digital photography and its whore mistress, PhotoShop. I realize it's hypocritcal for me to say this because I use a digital camera. However. I use digital for the shit I don't really care about (or for the shit I'm now allowed to use real cameras for, such as hockey games). I've taken some really cool digital shots that I don't give two shits about because they're easy. But I digress. I was browsing an anti-digital group on Flickr tonight. Someone was complaining about the museum mode on digital cameras and here's what someone had to say about it:

I guess what bothers me is that cameras are becoming as submental asmicrowave ovens. Press "beverage" to heat up your coffee; press "museum mode" if you want to shoot a snap inside MOMA. In my mind, photography is supposed to be a craft. You don't dumb down a craft.

YOU DON'T DUMB DOWN A CRAFT. Thank you.

That's all I'm gonna say about that.

I had a nightmare about Tank the other night. It was doubly horrible in that my father was there, too. Not that that's a bad thing. It's just that when I wake up, I miss him that much more.

Anyway, I forgot most of the dream, but I'd come home (to our house in Chicago) and my sister told me Tank had gotten out of the yard, and when they tracked him down, they found him dead in the field. They'd put his body downstairs, so I ran down to see him. He was mostly covered in blankets and when I knelt down beside him, I saw that he was shaking. He kept shaking and shaking and eventually woke up and came over to put his head on my shoulder. When I woke up, I was completely freaked out that there was something horribly wrong with my dog.

Ech. I hate dreams. Been having a lot of night terrors lately, too. That hasn't happened in a long time.

This afternoon I decided to start the Couch-to-5k running program again. I've only gotten as far as Week 3, but I was really dedicated and ran three days a week without fail. Then shit happened and I stopped working out six days a week and turned into a schlub. Ahem. So I was running around the block, listening to the Cto5k application on my iPhone (you can use your own music) when I got a text from a friend:

"thny gotta quit givin me weed man'
i have a golf ball size nuggie that keeps trying to engage me in conversation."

It's actually pretty hard to run and laugh at the same time.

And now for something completely different: a swinging chicken.

Most of the time when I'm walking the line, I'm looking at the ground

2010-02-28T05:26:00.000-08:00

I haven't shot black and white in a while, so I brought my camera along a few weeks ago when my car died and I had to start taking the train to work. They came out a lot better than I expected, and I'm actually sort of proud of them.

This one's my favorite.

Portland airport.

Self portrait (eating oatmeal at work).

Children shouldn't play with dead things. (Creepy doll at an antique store in Silverton.)

I'm excited about finishing up the roll in my Nikkormat; I took pictures when we went to Slappy Cakes last month. The Stormtroopers came along.

The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had.

2010-02-27T07:38:00.000-08:00

I took the Max to work every day but one this past week. Wednesday morning, I hurried to the train; not because I was running late but because I wanted the exercise. It was dark and I didn't see that the sidewalk buckled. I was going pretty fast when my shoe caught on the cement and I flew forward. I landed on my knees and hands. As I fell forward (slamming my chin into the ground), my glasses flew off my face and my water bottle sailed overhead, landing about ten feet away. Then my backpack hit me in the back of the head. My first concern was that I'd broken my glasses. Fortunately, they were fine. I made it to the station in time to catch my train, but on the ride home, my knees started to ache and I realized I'd scraped up my palms pretty good. When I got home, I was in a lot of pain. When I took off my clothes to get ready for bed, I saw this:

I hit the ground hard enough that that happened, despite the fact that I was wearing long johns underneath my jeans.

I woke up the next morning in excrutiating pain. My chest felt like I'd been doing push-ups all night, something in my right knee kept shifting as I walked, and I couldn't (and still can't) lift my left arm without horrible, icky pain. My sister thinks I may have torn something and insisted that I call my doctor. Unfortunately, she can't see me until Tuesday. So I'm mainlining Alieve, even though it doesn't really help.

Thursday morning my sister and I had some Legal Things to take care of. I'm not going to go into specifics because it's not my story to tell, but the outcome was not in our favor and it has devestated my family. By the time I limped into work Thursday night, I had been awake for almost 30 hours. We were short staffed because one of my co-workers was on vacation, so there was no way I could go home. My supervisor let me leave early, at 4:30, just in time to catch the first train out of Portland. Unfortunately, Tri-Met got their online schedule wrong, and I waited in the freezing rain and wind for over 20 minutes. When I got home, I got on my phone and downloaded a free application called PDX Bus. Very helpful.

Lunesta is doing better. The other morning she jumped out of the chicken hospital cubby we made for her and demanded to be let outside to join her feathered family. She's been running around with them ever since. We're still keeping a close eye on her, though.

The geese and ducks have decided to start laying their eggs on the front porch. Thanks?

Thursday night when I got into work and drank my third cup of coffee (total, in 35 years) in order to stay awake, the lab manager walked in and told me she was teaching her baby to breakdance. Then she told me that her husband had invited me to play D&D with him and his buddies. I was surprised -- because that is my usual reaction when someone expresses an interest in spending time with me -- and excited. I haven't gamed in .... shit .... 15 years? Longer? My mom used to fly out to Florida for a week or two to visit my grandma, and my (then) boyfriend and his friends would come over. We would spend the entire time gaming, playing cards and eating pizza. If it was winter, we would get the sleds out of my garage, jump into our cars and drive to Kasey Meadow to go sledding (or to this suicidally steep hill behind a church). We would have sled wars in which we would pair up on sleds and then race down the hill while trying to knock each other off our sleds. Totally sober, too. Good, clean fun. I used to sleep on the floor with my sister and my boyfriend's buddies while my boyfriend slept in my room because he was a big girl's blouse.

Anyway, gaming was fun. Probably still is. I had some of the best times of my life during those campaigns. I miss that. So I'm happy to have been invited, though the thought of walking into a house full of strange men makes me want to shit my pants and die. I'm shy, is what I'm saying. I do know one of the guys, though. He worked as a tech the first week I started at the lab. He was filling in for the lab supervisor, who was on maternity leave at the time. Cool guy. They mostly game at his house, though sometimes they meet at K's house. I'm hoping to end up at one of those games because then I can play LEGO Guitar Hero with K afterwards.

Did I mention? I GOT MY JERSEY.

Yes, my face really does look like that. I was cursed by a gypsy.

I should have asked for a medium, but I apparently have body image issues and still think I'm tremendously fat. I reckon I could return it for a smaller size but I won't. I don't care if it's huge. I can pretend it'll fit over actual hockey gear someday.

I haven't watched any Olympic hockey, but I've got the big USA game recorded on DVR. I'll be watching the game on Sunday, though.

Aw, KGW just played a brief interview with Ryan Malone!

The Winterhawks are playing the Spokane Chiefs this Friday. My (and my sister's) birthday is on the 7th, so I'm planning on going to Friday's game. As a present to myself. Cam Neely is going to be at tomorrow's game. He was a Hawk for the 1982-83 season and got the hat trick that won them the Memorial Cup for the first time in the team's history. I can't afford to go to both games, though, so Friday it is. Hopefully.

One of my co-workers keeps saying she's going to bring me a piece of vegan chocolate cake for my birthday, but I hope she doesn't. I don't "like" it when people to nice things for me. I find it hard to accept, mostly because I'm not used to it.

Well, I'm going to cut this short (haha) and go to bed and try to get away from this pain.

Vitamin D. What's the "D" stand for? "DAMN, I got a lot of sun yesterday!"

2010-02-22T04:46:00.000-08:00

My mom is returning from Florida next week. Right now, I'm up at her house, hanging out with her cats and doing laundry. She has three cats. Mr. Willoughby is high strung, but he enjoys my company and lets me pet him now and again. Flea hates me with the white hot fire of a thousand suns. Mary, too. I have no idea why Flea hates me, but he really, really cannot stand me. I don't mean that he's standoffish. I mean that, when I walk into the room, he openly loathes me. I can see it in his eyes. He'll just give me this look of utter disdain. I can't figure it out.

But I digress.

I got four hours of sleep yesterday so that I could get up early and enjoy the fucking sunshine for a change. It was sunny and in the upper 50s. I got up before or at 10:00 (I forget) and took the dogs out to play in the yard.

KILL! KILL! KILL!

Trilogy of Terror

My baby boy!

I feel like you're eyeballin' me, dawg! I don't like punk bitches eyeballin' me! You got beef? You got beef? You want some of this?

Then my sister and I went out and ran a few errands, which mostly involved returning a shitload of pop cans so we could buy food. I get paid Friday, but I'm going to take the train to work this week to save on gas. I can't afford to put $10 in right now.

If you'll check to the right, you'll see that I've entered a picture of Tank as part of a photography contest to benefit the Human Society's Spay Day 2010. Vote for him, won't you? I also put up photos of Jackson, Curly Joe, Freddie and my boy Luke, who died of cancer several years ago. Vote for them as well and I'll love you forever. Or at least as much as my cold, dead heart is able to.

I've hit the 40 lb mark in weight loss, so I bought a belt yesterday. Unfortunately, I misjudged my gut and selected the wrong size. I'll have to return it today for a smaller one.

I could swear I had something interesting to say, but I guess I must've dreamed it.

The Firefighters are playing the Battle Ground Boys this Wednesday, and I'm planning on going. It's free and sort of on the way to work, so why not?

The Winterhawks are playing the Prince George Cougars on Sunday. I would very much like to go to there. A friend of mine plays on two mens league teams, and she's got a couple of games coming up as well. I have yet to see her play, and I've hesitated asking about it because I only know her from the internet hockey world, though she lives about 10 minutes away (and was nice enough to record some Wings games onto DVD for me last year); I didn't want to be all stalkery. I finally asked and she let me know which teams she was on and linked me to their schedules. Woo!

Ok. Shutting it down.

Chicken nurse

2010-02-19T12:07:00.000-08:00

One of our chickens, Lunesta, hasn't been feeling well. We're pretty sure she is (or was) egg bound, so we brought her inside, made a little nest for her in the cubby where we set up our cats' drinking fountain and fed her lots of yummy food and privacy. She has started to perk up and is looking better, but tomorrow we're going to find a bird vet to take her to, just in case. If an egg broke inside of her, she could get an infection. I can't really afford to treat a sick chicken, but my sis and I will be damned if we'll let anything happen to her while we just sit by and watch.

This morning, at my sister's urging, I soaked Lunesta in a pot of warm water, to get all the crap off of her bloomers. She really fowled up that water, har har. Afterwards, I dried her off (as much as one can dry off a feathered being), wrapped her in a towel and sat in front of the fire to watch Golden Girls. I'm 98% sure I heard her laugh when Dorothy called Stan a barf bag.

'I have work tonight and tomorrow night, and I'm up three hours past my bedtime. Why am I so mean to myself? At least I did yoga, though.

I got e-mail from Andrew, one of the folks from the Forgotten Miracle site. He put my jersey in the mail today! It's unnumbered because he didn't want me to have to wait six weeks for it. Squeeee!

In related news: February 16th was my two year hockeyversary. That's right, two years ago that I saw my first NHL game at the Ice Palace in Tampa. The Bolts vs the Caps. The Bolts lost the game but hockey won my heart.

After the game, we wandered around town and were accosted by some pirates. Tampa's fake pirate festival was going on, you see. I wanted to take a picture of this snockered pirate and when Indi went over to ask him if I could, he made her and Acie post for a picture with him. While this was going on, a sea wench (what do you call a female pirate?) came over and put some beads around my neck. And I didn't even have to flash my boobs! Wrong town? Oh, well.

Eleven days later, I saw my second game - Bolts vs Wild. Again, the Bolts lost, but I had the pleasure of being there for Mike Smith's first night as netminder for the Tampa Bay Lightning. I felt bad for him, standing out there in his Dallas pads. I hate Dallas, btw. Stars, Cowboys, fuck 'em all.

I had a lot more to say, but I really need to get my fat ass up to bed. Wake me up at 5:30, okay?

I will spend half the day in twilight sleep and then I will go home to watch the Lifetime movie 'My Stepson Is My Cyber-Husband.'

2010-02-14T05:14:00.000-08:00

Happy Anna Howard Shaw Day.

On February 4, 1990, my mom drove me to the Shriner's Hospital for Crippled Children in Chicago, Illinois and checked me in for surgery. On February 6th, I underwent surgery on my right leg. Doctors jammed six pins -Kirschner wires, a bit thicker than bike spokes- through my tibia and fibula; three on top about an inch below my knee, and three on the bottom just above my ankle. They attached the pins to two circles of metal and then attached four rods to these rings. Around the rods were four ... turny things. Dials, I guess you would call them. They put four different colored stickers on these dials: red, yellow, green and blue. Four times a day, these dials were turned -at the same time- to a different color. Each turn equaled a quarter of a millimeter, so at the end of the day, my right leg was one millimeter longer. My goal was three inches. The procedure is called the Ilizarov.

A little history for the newbies: I was born with a disorder called Hemihypertrophy. Or, as it is apparently now called, Hemihyperplasia.

Hemihypertrophy is characterized by unequal (asymmetric) growth of the cranium, face, trunk, limbs, and/or digits. Hemihypertrophy can be an isolated finding, or it can be associated with certain malformation syndromes. Isolated hemihypertrophy refers to hemihypertrophy for which no cause can be found. The degree of asymmetry is variable and very mild cases can go undiagnosed. There are three categories of hemihyper-trophy, depending on the body parts involved. The size difference can involve only a specific part of the body

such as a finger (called simple hemihypertrophy) or an entire half of the body (called total or complex hemihypertrophy). It usually involves only one side of the body, but can involve both sides (called crossed). There is also hemifacialhyperplasia , which involves one side of the face. Usually multiple organ systems are involved, i.e. the skin, vascular system, internal organs, or bones. In complex hemihypertrophy, the right side is more often involved than the left.

Hemihypertrophy may involve not only the part of the body that is visible, but also the underlying internal organs. Enlargement of one kidney, adrenal gland, testis, and ovary has been reported. The enlarged area usually also has thickened skin, more sebaceous (sweat) glands, more hair, may have pigmentary abnormalities, and the bones may be larger or may be deformed. In persons with facial involvement, the asymmetry can include cheek, lip, nose, ear, eye, tongue, jaw, roof of the mouth, or teeth.

The nervous system may also be affected, causing unilateral nerve enlargement or sciatic nerve inflammation. Occasionally a part of the brain is affected causing mental retardation (15% to 20% of cases). Many cases of hemihypertrophy have hamartomatous lesions (birth marks which involve blood vessels) or abnormalities of the genito-urinary system.

As with other overgrowth syndromes, there is an increased risk for childhood cancers in people with isolated hemihypertrophy (about 6%), particularly cancers of the kidney (Wilms tumor, 3% of individuals), adrenals, and liver.

The entire left side of my body is involved. Lucky me. I have 14 scars on my leg and no feeling along the top of it. And also arthritis. And a bad back. Three cheers for deformed freaks destined to die alone!

But I digress. I had a pretty normal childhood, except I had to go to the hospital every six months to have spinal taps and ultrasounds and other weird tests to make sure I wasn't carrying around any nasty tumors or whatever. I also suffered excruciating leg pains. The only thing that helped dull the pain was to lie on the couch and have someone sit on my legs.

My right foot is almost two sizes smaller than my left, so shoe shopping has always been the bane of my existence. So much so that I have never walked out of a shoe store without crying. A few years ago, I found out that Nordstrom has a policy where you can buy a mixed pair of shoes, as long as your feet are more than a size in difference. So I went there and bought my first pair of running shoes. I walked out of there with tears in my eyes, but they were happy tears.

Anyway, when I was a kid, I wore a lift in my right shoe. I don't remember this at all, but my mom insists it's true. When I hit my teens, I apparently stopped wearing the lift. This I do remember -- I used to walk around with only one shoe on. I'd take of the left one so that my legs would be even. It didn't really help, and I started getting really bad back pains, so my mom took me to a cobbler and had them build up the sole of my right shoe. When we got them back, I cried because my right shoe looked like it belonged to Frankenstein. I refused to wear the shoes.

Not long after that, my mom read an article in Parade about the Gavriil Ilizarov and his limb lengthening procedure. She asked me if I was interested; I said yes, and she took me to see a doctor. This was the day we got lost and ended up in Cabrini-Green. I never forgot that day, not because of Cabrini-Green, but because I was so humiliated. I was evaluated by a doctor to see if I was a good candidate for the procedure. That was pretty standard, but then I was led out into a bigger room with low windows looking out over the 'L tracks. There was a long platform down the middle of the room, and I had to walk up and down it for an eternity while a team of doctors watched, made comments, poked and prodded me. I was so ashamed; I never felt more like a freak in my entire life.

At the end of the ordeal, the doctor said that while my "condition" was substantial, the Ilizarov procedure would be considered cosmetic surgery. I guess my crippling leg and back pains weren't significant enough. He said that I had two options. Three, I guess.

Do nothing.
Have the Ilizarov surgery and stretch my right leg three inches.
Have three inches of bone removed from my left leg.

I was 15 years old and 4' 11" at this time. My mom said the decision was all mine; she wasn't going to push me one way or the other. My height and the fact that the doctor said that removing bone from my leg was a more involved procedure, bloodier and more painful, made me opt for the Ilizarov.

There was no way we could afford the surgery, and that is where the Shriners came in. Long story short, I went in for a consult at the Shriners and was scheduled for surgery on February 6th.

The night before the surgery, a doctor came in and wrote "NO!" in Sharpie on my left knee. "So we know which leg to work on tomorrow," he told me. Jesus christ. The morning of my surgery, my mom and sister showed up to hang out. They'd brought me a goofy balloon with streamers for arms and legs. In the pre-op room, they put me on a gurney and gave me some fun drugs. I don't remember it, but apparently I had a long conversation with the balloon. The last thing I remember is the anesthesiologist putting a mask over my mouth and nose and telling me to count backward from ten.

When I woke up, I had another mask over my face. I opened my eyes but couldn't see clearly. There was condensation on the inside of the mask, and it bugged me. When I tried to rip it off my face, a nurse came over and put it back, telling me I was in post-op and had to rest. So I fell back asleep. I woke up again in the elevator, then again in my room. It was dark. The curtain was pulled around my bed and one overhead light was on. I was dying of thirst and in incredible pain. My mom and sister were there and they fed me ice chips. They told me I was on a morphine drip and could hit the button every two hours. My leg felt weird, but I was too afraid to look down at it.

The morphine got me through the first couple of days, but then they wheeled it out and I was left with whatever pain was leftover. Besides the pain, I'd also developed a bad case of woe-is-me. The first thing I said to my mom when I woke up from the surgery was, "I made a mistake. Tell them to take it back." Hahahaha! So young. So, so stupid.

After a week, the nurses got sick of me moping so they dumped me in a wheel chair, pushed me out into the hall and told me to go join the other kids in the mall (the common area). "Oh, that's nice. You're just going to leave me here?" No answer. I'd never wheeled myself around before, so it took some getting used to. I had to keep my right leg elevated, so when I ran into things, my sensitive and aching limb took all the impact. I was only 15 but my dad was a truck dispatcher and I had (have) quite a mouth on me. I made my way out to the mall and mingled with the other kids. We played wheelchair basketball and bingo and one day had a pizza party in the conference room. There was a paraplegic named Nick who roomed a few doors down from me and my two roommates. The other girls and I all had a crush on him and would fight over who got to feed him pizza. There was a girl named Tina there who had Down Syndrome, and she really had a crush on Nick. For some reason, the nurses would wheel her bed out into the hall at night and there she would lie. Five feet from my door. Yelling. All night. "Niiiiiiiick! Niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiick! NIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICK!" I would lie in bed, defeated, waiting for the snack cart to roll it at midnight so I could drown my sorrow in chocolate pudding and Stephen King novels. The man in black fled across the desert and the gunslinger followed...

The week after my surgery, I started physical therapy. Normally, stretching isn't painful, but when you've got a broken leg and bike spokes jammed through your muscles and bones, it's a shrieking agony. They let us bring our own music to listen to during our sessions. Megadeth's So Far, So Good...So What! was on heavy rotation those days. My PT hated it, as did Tina, but this bitch didn't give a rat's ass. I was in pain, I was tired and I was angry.

From the wheelchair, I was upgraded to a walker. When my family visited, my sister took a lot of pleasure in helping me limp around the mall, mostly because she got to walk behind me, holding onto a strap tied around my waist. It was like walking a lame dog. From the walker, I upgraded to crutches, all the while enduring my rage-fueled physical therapy.

In addition to the physical therapy, I also started extractions a week after my surgery. This was the term for turning the dials and stretching my leg four times a day. Something about the procedure affected blood pressure, and I had to check mine four times a day. I was also encouraged to walk as much as possible, since it stimulates bone growth. I also had to do pin care twice a day. This involved removing the gauze squares from around the pins and the foam pieces wrapped around the pins (their purpose was to keep my skin pushed down so that it wouldn't "adhere" to the metal) and cleaning the sites with Qtips and a saline solution. This was to (again) keep the skin from sticking to the pins, keep the sites clean and stave off infection.

Once I got the ok to go home, I continued my physical therapy (and extractions) on my own. My doctor told me to drink a lot of apple juice, and to this day I'm still addicted to it. It was important for me to do my exercises because if I didn't, my joints would fuse. I wasn't diligent enough, I guess, because I lost some range of motion in my right ankle.

In July, five months after my surgery and two months after my dad died, I went back to Shriners to have the Ilizarov removed. I was a little alarmed at first because the doctor said they were only going to give me a local anesthetic and I would be awake for the procedure. Thankfully, they changed their minds and I was once again given the good drugs. This time, when I woke up in my room (same room, same bed), I had a navy blue, hip-length cast on my leg. And there it remained for the hottest month of the fucking year. Oh, I was in agony.

After the cast was removed, I was fitted for a walking brace. I had to keep that sucker on for six months, but I didn't really mind. I was glad to be rid of it all and walking normally again. Toward the end of my Ilizarov days, I was walking without the aid of crutches, but it was an awkward walk, since I had to stick my right leg out a big; the lizard (as we all came to call it) was bulky.

And so that was my experience with the Ilizarov. I had no idea what I was in for, but if given the choice, I'd do it again in a heartbeat. Sure, I got arthritis when I was 27, but the doctors told me I would have gotten it anyway, given how uneven my body has been my entire life.

Anyway, that was 20 years ago. TWENTY YEARS. How am I this old?

No, really. How am I this old? The other day, my co-worker said, "How old will you be next month? 38, right?" BIIIIIIIIIIIITCH.

In other news, I won a replica 1960 Team USA jersey. I SHIT YOU NOT. I woke up, read the e-mail, went back to bed, woke up and wondered if I'd dreamed the whole thing. Excited isn't a good enough word to describe how I felt and still feel. I never win anything. The way things have been going lately, this really helped cheer me up. You can win one, too!

In other other news, my friend J and I are planning on taking hockey lessons. I learned to skate when I was a kid. Growing up in the midwest, you get really cold winters. There was a pond not far from our house, and every winter it would freeze over and somebody would shovel a bunch of snow out of the way so folks could skate and play hockey. The last time I touched a pair of skates was 12 years ago, when I was living in upstate New York. My roommate had to tow me around the rink because I couldn't stay on my feet. After about an hour of that nonsense, I limped off the ice and sat on the bench. A guy in hockey gear skated over and told me to rent hockey skates next time. "They're sturdier and have more support in the ankles. You'll be able to stand up in them." I was really glad he'd watched me make a fool out of myself for sixty minutes before deciding to give me that little tidbit of information.

Anyway. First we have to take skating lessons, then we can take hockey lessons. And then I will be free to bash the hell out of people. Ok, maybe not. But I can try.

Day Zero

2010-02-10T06:34:00.000-08:00

Today I start my list: 101 Things in 1001 Days (aka Day Zero). I'm still working on getting my list up, officially, on the site, but my first goal (tentatively) is to start my 100 Strangers project by (wait for it) taking a photograph of a stranger. I had planned on taking the train in to work tonight and selecting a victim from one of my fellow passengers, but I found out at the last minute that the Portland Firefighters Hockey Club is having a game tonight. It's the first one of the season and it ends about an hour before I have to clock in at work, so I'm absolutely going to that. Can't miss it!

Today is Curly Joe's 2nd birthday, so I did up a post for him. Hadn't updated since summer, hello ADD!

What else? I've officially lost 37 pounds in less than a year. I never thought I'd say it, but thank gad for ADD. My sister comments daily on how much thinner I am, but I still don't really see it. Then I realize I can't walk around with my iPhone in my pocket because it makes my pants fall down. I've gone down about five or six pant sizes, I think. I hate fashion and shopping for clothes, so I'm not really sure how the sizing goes. I do know that I refuse to buy new jeans, so I'm just going to have to get myself a belt. I haven't worn one since I was 11.

I've still just been doing pilates, though not very often. I do maybe 15 minutes of it twice a week? I did 20 minutes on the elliptical last week, as a warm up for the pilates. My sis got this CheLean? workout that our friend LaShea suggested. She's been doing it for a month and has some wicked guns in the works. Very motivating.

I try and go about this weight loss in a healthy way, but most of this is due to the Dexedrine. I have no appetite and rarely have time to eat anything significant. If my doctor knew, she'd be pissed. Mostly I'll have an Odwalla bar on the way out the door to work, then my typical work lunch (rice, some sort of fake meat, big salad with sunflower seeds, tomatoes, cukes, etc). Later on in the night, Rene and I will trot into the break room and have some Skittles. Then I go home and have a piece of bread or nothing, feed the animals and hit the hay. This week I've been trying to eat more, so I have oatmeal when I get home. Both my and my sister's cars are dead, so I haven't had the means or money to go out and buy provisions. I don't have any salad fixings, so I've just been eating brown rice with Braggs amino acids for lunch. Last night I caved and got an 80 cent bag of Fritos from the vending machine at work.

When Rene couldn't drive me to work last week, I took the train. AND I LOVE IT. One night I got off at the stop before mine and stopped in a Starbucks for a soy chai latte. I felt like a hipster asshole, but I got in an hour and a half early and my badge doesn't work until 9 p.m. So I sat there and read for a while, drinking my tea and thinking about how strange it was to feel like a normal human being. Things you guys take for granted (like figuring out train schedules and riding public transportation by yourself) are like little miracles to me. I still can't believe I did it.

At around 9:00, the Starbucks people said they were closing, so I packed up my stuff, put my water and my tea in the drink thingies on each side of my backpack and hoofed it to work. It was a bit cold and rainy, but I had my boonie hat and my Midwestern hide. At a brisk walk, it took me 20 minutes to work. I felt good, though. I sit most of the night at work, so any chance I can get to stretch and move my legs, I relish.

Anyway, my point is, now that my sister's van is more or less fixed, I'm going to just drive 15 minutes to the transit center and then take the train to and from work. It takes an hour, but I don't care. I've fallen in love with just sitting and not having to worry about traffic or filling up the gas tank.

Ok, shutting up now. I've had to pee for the last half hour.

~~Oh! Before I forget, I'm going to roller derby this weekend! The High Rollers vs the Guns n Rollers.~~ Nevermind. The bout is sold out.

I've thought a little bit about what I might call myself if I got into a league. Bitch Cassidy has a nice ring to it. That's another thing on my 101 Things list: try out/join a roller derby (and/or dodgeball) team.

P.S. Last night I processed a histo for a hermaphrodite dog. I called it a hermaphrodog. The genitals were in histo jar, but the formalin was too murky for me to get a good look at things. Could have been testes. Could have been something uterine. It all added up to ten kinds of awesome. And then there was the cat leg I had to pack up. But first I had to drain all the bloody fluid out of the bag. I haven't eaten meat in 20 years, and what I was working with looked like raw chicken with a paw attached. I came very close to yacking several times. Oh, and did I mention I also had to process a spleen roughly THE SIZE OF MY HEAD? I swear to fucking god, the only time we ever get random limbs and little jars of horror are the days I have the histo rotation. WTFBBQ?

I've been 10,000 miles in the mouth of a graveyard.

2010-01-25T05:21:00.000-08:00

Finallly getting around to watching Dear America: Letters Home from Vietnam. It's a Netflix movie, and I've had it for almost two months. I don't like war movies; they bring back too many memories of my dad. When I was a kid, he would tell me all about his time in Vietnam. They weren't really the sort of things you should tell a kid but, young as I was, I understood that he needed to talk about it. An alcoholic, he once told me, "I drink to keep the nightmares away." I must've been 11 or 12 years old. I responded that I'd read somewhere that if you don't dream, you go crazy. "I know," he said, and when he reached for his pack of Benson & Hedges, I could see that his hands were shaking.

Documentaries are the worst, and that's what Dear America is. Actors reading letters from soldiers, while video clips from the war are playing. I've been crying a lot while watching this, as I expected to. I don't want to watch this, but I feel I have to. I feel that I owe it to my father to hear these letters and see the video and know (a little bit of) what it was like for him over there. I keep his medal in my desk drawer. My sister has the American flag from his funeral, still military folded, in a special case, hung on the wall of her office. The first painting I ever bought was Lee Teter's Reflections. It hangs on the wall above the front hall closet, and is one of the first things you see when you step through the front door.

My dad's best friend was killed right next to him. Somehow, none of the bullets struck my father. There is more to the story, but I don't have the heart to tell it. My dad was a hero that day, but he never thought of himself that way. He was quiet in everything he did, including his death.

The year of his death, 1990, the folks from Dignity Memorial created a three-quarter-scale traveling replica of the Vietnam Memorial Wall. It must have been several months before his death, because I remember it coming to Chicago, and I remember standing there with my dad, helping him look for his friend, Don Gene Stallard. 17 years later, the Wall came to Portland, Oregon. Fittingly, on Memorial Day. My mom, sister and I went. We found Stallard's name again and made rubbings. We also found the names of the servicemen whose POW/MIA bracelets we wore.

For Christmas, my dad and his friends drove through the villages and gave potatoes to the children there. He had a dog in Vietnam. Just a little mutt running around his camp. He didn't see him for a day or two, and one night at dinner he asked if anyone had seen the dog. The cook told him that he'd killed the dog and that is what they were eating. My dad got up and beat the shit out of him. Because he had dirt on a commanding officer, my dad was able come home from Vietnam with his uniform and two rifles. He kept them in cases above the wardrobe in our basement.

When he came home from Vietnam, there was no one there to greet him. My mother, his family, but there was no fanfare. Nobody to say "Thank you for what you've done." It haunted him for the rest of his life. He never understood that the protesters were against the war, not the soldiers.

"I would rather to have had you for twenty-one years and all the pain that goes with losing you, than never to have had you at all."

May 13th will mark the 20th anniversary of my father's death. I have not been home, or seen his grave in almost ten years.

Rodents Of Unusual Size? I don't think they exist.

2010-01-16T08:12:00.000-08:00

As part of my job at the lab, I work with tissue. Organs. Tumors. Horse fetuses. Sometimes brains with the eyeballs still attached. And sometimes? Legs. Take last night, for instance. My coworker was complaining about how many histos she'd had to do the night before. It being my turn last night, I patted her on the shoulder and said, "Cheer up. The night is young. Maybe somebody'll bring in a leg."

Sure enough, I was slaving away at my station when D, our crazy Romanian driver, walked over and said, "Ketty, look at dees!" and started waving a two foot leg around like a baseball bat. I turned to my coworker and said, "See? Things are looking up already."

Curious as to what sort of creature used to be attached the leg, I scurried over to take a peek at the req form, and was surprised (and delighted) to see the species listed as "rat."

"Holy shit," I thought. "R.O.U.S.'s do exist!"

My hands crept over to the leg and started squeezing it gently, like a long, slightly rigid and in no way sterile roll of Charmin. Then I started reading the patient history and saw that the species was listed as "rat," but it was actually a wallaby named Wally. For those of you who don't know what a wallaby is: I suggest you eat a bowl of hair, because you are a dummy.

They're like tiny kangaroos. See?

Look! An albino ~~cave Hoek~~ Wallaby!

S'up, bitchezzzz?

Awwwwwwwwwww!

And I'm done for pictures. Googling just brings up shots of wallabies getting eaten by snakes, strung up by hunters or run over by cars.

Ok, gad. Wait. Ok. If you put "adorable" before "wallaby," it spits these out:

(I actually used to do this with ducklings.)

The end.

Sometimes, when I'm stuffing a leg into the box for shipping, I feel like Goldie Hawn in Overboard. You know, that scene where she's trying to cook a whole chicken in a pot, and she can't get the legs to cooperate? Like that.

I haven't eaten meat in 19 years (dairy in 15), so I find it amusing how often the jars of tissue in the lab resemble what my co-workers eat for lunch. My sister and I once discussed the difference between the two (dead tissue for eating and dead tissue for dissecting), and I think the conclusion was "cause of death." As in: there is no difference, except that the stuff in the jars is fixed in formulin so that a smart person can cut it up and find out what went wrong with the animal. The stuff between the hamburger buns is the same as the stuff in the jars. So when people make the "ew" face when someone mentions tofu, my eyes involuntarily roll skyward. Yeah. Bean curd is way more disgusting that the rotting flesh of a dead animal.

Ok, I've got to hit the hay. Lots to do before shipping Mom off to Florida tomorrow.

Icy balm

2010-01-13T07:59:00.000-08:00

The Wings lost 6 - 0 last night. Owwwwwwww, my heart.

The best remedy for *cough*bad*cough* hockey is ... more hockey. So tonight before work, I'm going to the firefighter' last regular season game. They're up against 3rd Rock who, by some amazing coincidence, are third in the standing. I imagine they all look like John Lithgow.

I dropped my iPhone at work last night and now the screen is fucked. I can turn the phone on and click around, but the screen just stays grey. Or blue. Or light purple. Sooo ... shit. Guess I have to give AT&T a call. I don't like not having a phone. I feel safer knowing help is only a phone call away at any given time. Ergh.

R got us all Voodoo Doughnuts last night, and was kind enough to get two vegan ones for me. I ate half of one on my break because I hadn't eaten since lunch the day before.

On that note, I've been playing around with my Dexedrine spansules. I've been taking 20mg at once and it worked pretty well for several months, but a friend of mine takes 15mg and then 10mg an hour later (I believe), so I thought I would try that. I had to get my Rx refilled yesterday, so I took one spansule when picked them up and another an hour and a half later. I picked a great time to experiment; things have been picking up at work, and we were really overwhelmed last night. I was able to focus really well and get a lot done. I was still a half hour past my scheduled time, but oh well. I need the overtime. Too bad the company forbids it. I think if any of those pigfuckers in Corporate had to work night shift, they'd seriously reconsider that little rule.

But I digress. I do tend to get hyperfocused a lot at work. You wouldn't normally think that's a bad thing, but if my supervisor and or/co-workers didn't remind me, I'd work straight through my lunch. I've lost 30 pound since being diagnosed with ADHD almost a year ago (January 24th). I started taking the instant release Dexedrine in February and switched to spansules in May. Needless to say, I wouldn't have lost this much (or any?) weight if it hadn't been for the meds. As if literal peace of mind weren't enough, they help me not stuff my face with food every time I'm stressed out. I have found that, when I take a day or two off from the meds, I'm still able to eat reasonably.

Anyway, the dogs are staring at me, so I'd better feed them before they eat one of the cats. I let them out when I got home and Curly Joe wiped out trying to run up onto the porch. From where I was standing, it looked like somebody threw him at the house; I laughed so hard, I woke up my sister.

Oh! Wait! Some lovely hockey news:

Winterhawks Place 5 On NHL's Top-100 Draft List
POSTED: 11:46 am PST January 12, 2010

PORTLAND, Ore. -- The NHL's Central Scouting Bureau has released its mid-term draft rankings, and five Portland Winterhawks players are among the top-100 draft eligible skaters. Forward Nino Niederreiter is ranked No. 14, center Ryan Johansen is ranked No. 16, defenseman Troy Rutkowski is ranked No. 43, forward Brad Ross is No. 69 and defenseman Taylor Aronson is No. 90. No other Western Hockey League club has more than three skaters among the top 100. The NHL Draft is scheduled for June 25 and 26 in Los Angeles. The Winterhawks visit Kamloops on Wednesday.

My baby hockey is better than your baby hockey! Thhhhpppphhhhtt!

Gad, I hope I can get my phone fixed.

P.S. Watch this. Repeatedly.

Fire and ice

2010-01-10T08:09:00.000-08:00

I was determined to start out 2010 with some hockey, and what do you know? Last Wednesday I went to a hockey game. What's better than hockey? Free hockey! I've been going to firefighter games for almost two years now, but I haven't gone to many games in the last year because I started working the graveyard shift. Wednesday's game started at 6:30, so I was able to attend and still have plenty of time to get to work by 9:30. The Mountain View Ice Arena is not even 15 minutes from my work, just over the river in Vancouver.

I got to the arena just as the second period started (long story, don't ask). The Portland Firefighters Hockey Club was tied 1 -1 with the Pylons. I have no idea who they're affiliated with, but they looked a lot like the Flyers.

There weren't a lot of people in the "crowd," but as far as I can tell, that's the norm. I was one of less than a dozen people parked on those frozen benches. I was smart, though, and brought the blanket Rene made me for Christmas. My butt was warm, but everything else was cold.

Anyway! I'm exhausted, so I'm going to make this one short. Portland ended up winning, 9 to 1. It was pretty freaking sweet. Here's some (crappy) video:

The game ended a little before 8:00. I had some time to kill before work, so I farted around Target for a while, waiting for my friend to get done having her hair did, as we had plans to meet for dinner. It took longer than expected, so I just headed to work and ate the extra salad I'd packed.

There's another 6:30 game coming up this week, and I'll be going to that one as well. If they win this one, the firefighters get the number one seed going into the playoffs. Very exciting!

Okay. Bedtime for Bonzo. I took some expired Tylenol PM, so this might be my last update. Forever.

The snows they melt the soonest when the winds begin to sing.

2009-12-12T08:23:00.000-08:00

The news has been going on and on about Wintergeddon, and here it is, 12 hours past the predicted snowfall and .... no snow. They say it's tricky to track snow here because of the Gorge, the mountains and the Pacific, but I think Oregon is just chock full of panic mongers. I'm scheduled to work tonight, and as much as I'd love to stay home, I really don't want to have to miss $$work$$.

I've been to five Winterhawk games this year. If I counted correctly. That's a lot for me, but not nearly enough! Did I mention I met some of them as well? A couple of weeks ago, they were at the Fred Meyer in Oregon City, signing autographs. Good kids, the lot of them. Aed went with, and I asked her to get a poster signed for Indi, which I will mail to her one of these days...

The last game I went to was against the Spokane Chiefs on the sixth. We went into overtime but lost in the shootout. Had a lot of fun, though. Afterward, R and I took the Max back over the river and walked to the Red Cap for dinner and drinks. Well, R had dinner, I had a drink. Just the one, but it had vodka in it, so about five sips in I was feeling pretty toasty.

Plenty more to say, no time to say it.

Cheers.

Just can't win.

2009-11-24T12:38:00.000-08:00

I had an appointment with my NP this morning. She is the doctor I see in regards to my ADHD and ADHD medications. I had an appointment at 10:00 and my sister (who also sees her) had an appointment at 10:30. We were going to carpool. I woke up at 10:15, just in time to see my sister leaving the house. I've left several messages for the NP and her assistant (plus an e-mail to the assistant) with no word back. The funny thing is, the doctor joked to my sister, "We need to tweak her meds!" That's exactly what I made the appointment for; 20mg of extended release Dexedrine work well, but I can tell that going a little higher would be beneficial. So hopefully I can get an appointment set up soon. Being on vacation this week, I'm trying to live normal hours as much as possible before going back to work Saturday night. [Update: Heard back from assitant (e-mail). DocMeds is out of town for the rest of the week, so I'm trying to see what she's got available next week. I'll be out of meds until then, but I only have to work Saturday, so I'm not going to freak out.]

In other medical news, I just heard back from my (regular) doctor.

The good: I'm no longer vitamin D deficient. The doc wants me to take the supplement every other day, rather than once a day.
The bad: I am low on vitamin B12 and iron.

Doc wants me to take a multivitamin and recommends the one they sell at the office. It's $22 for 90 capsules, which...GAH. Or I could take an OTC one. I do take a multi-vitamin every day at work; I take the Cholestoff, the garlic pill, the omega pills and the B vitamins (plus the multi) on my 11:00 break every day. If I remember, I take my sublingual b12 supplement on my second break at the end of the night.

I'm hesitant to buy the supplement from my doctor because the nurse told me it was more easily absorbed; I know that animal-derived iron is more easily absorbable than non-animal, so I don't want to take that shit. Instead, I'm looking at foods that are high in iron. One website lists enriched breakfast cereals, cooked beans and lentils, and pumpkins seeds as excellent sources of iron. Good courses are: canned beans, baked potato with skin, enriched pasta and canned asparagus. This same website lists as iron absorption enhancers: orange, OJ, cantaloupe, strawberries, grapefruit, etc. Broccoli, brussels sprouts, tomato, tomato juice, potato, green and red peppers, and white wine. As iron absorption inhibitors, it lists: red wine, coffee and tea, spinach, chard, beet greens, rhubarb and sweet potatoes, also whole grain, bran and soy products.

So it seems like no matter what foods you eat, something's fucking something else up. I could have sworn that spinach was a good source of iron. Ironically, I have spinach, soy and whole grain products every day, and I hold back on the citrus fruit because it tends to negate or lessen the efficacy of my ADHD medication.

She didn't say anything about my cholesterol, so I'm assuming that's no longer a concern. I also forgot to ask about my thyroid. Grubs says that her concern over my thyroid (and my low iron and B12) is because I never eat. I have seen myself adopting the stance that it's better to miss a couple of meals than to add extra meals, and that's not good. It's good that I'm not overeating, but by missing meals, I'm afraid I might possibly move into eating disorder territory. All I really need to do is figure out how to eat well and get enough exercise to where I can eat lots of good food and still lose weight. My doctor might be concerned about my thyroid because of how much weight I've lost. I don't think I've lost enough, but perhaps she thinks it's strange that it came off so "easily." She does know I'm on Dexedrine, but maybe she doesn't realize or remember that it kills your appetite.

At any rate, I'm really happy that my D is up because I know realize how bad that is for you.

I have vowed to eat more oatmeal, though, and I think that has helped. I have found that added chopped walnuts to it makes it more palatable. I love oatmeal, I just can't eat very much of it. I figure I'll just get some plain soy milk and add a bit of that (I make oatmeal with water), as well as some cinnamon or maybe carob powder and some walnuts. That's a good breakfast. Plus, I need to start drinking my smoothies again when I get home from work. That way I get get a good dose of vitamin C without having to worry about it effecting my meds.

Ok. A little research. For iron, I just need to eat cashews, rice, tofu, lentils and garbanzo beans. I thought rice was an inhibitor, though? Anyway. I figure I'll just decrease the amount of spinach I put in my salad and throw in garbanzo beans as well. I reckon I just need to put some effort into my meals. My biggest meal is what I have for lunch at work every day, and that is a big salad of mixed greens and spinach (with sunflower seeds sprinkled on top); followed by brown/long grain rice with some sort of wheat meat thrown in. Or it'll be jasmine rice. That's pretty much all I eat. When I get up, I usually just take my meds and let the dogs out and then forget to eat. By the time I remember, I don't feel like eating. Or I'll just have a piece of bread. When I get home from work, same thing. So I need to be smart and eat for my health, not for convenience. This sounds really good...

HOCKEY WITH R TONIGHT!!!!!

You won't die of a thousand fakes or be beaten by the sweetest of dekes.

2009-11-23T10:37:00.000-08:00

This is some shit up with which I will not put. (Mucha traded to Kamloops.)

Okay, so I have no say in the matter. I’m still not happy. My only comfort is that I was able to witness the most amazing hockey game ever, and Mucha was between the pipes for all of it. I am, of course, referring to the Winterhawks’ November 7th Dash for Cash game against the Seattle Thunderbirds. Granted, I haven't seen a lot of (live) hockey, but I stilll know what great hockey is. And this was great hockey. No goals for either team in the first period, then Seattle scored a few minutes into the second. Chris Francis (the hero of this particular story) tied it up with a power play goal at around the 11 minute mark. Seattle got two more goals in the second, but Francis got his second goal of the night in the third period.

With less than a minute on the clock, a lot of people around us started to pack up and leave. "Can we go now?" my sister asked. I was horrified.

Me: No!
Grubs: Why not? It's almost over.
Me: It's not over until that clock hits zero.
Grubs: *scowls*
Me: Unless we score soon and tie it up. Then we go into sudden death.
Grubs: And after that?
Me: If nobody scores, we go into a shootout.

The final faceoff was in the Seattle end with less than three seconds on the clock. Francis got the puck and shot it right into the net, not only sending the game into overtime, but pocketing a nifty little hat trick as well. There was a couple sitting next to me who had been rooting for Seattle the entire time, and the chick had been pretty smug when Portland got called for a no-goal in the third. So when I started screaming along with the other Hawks fans, she got real quiet. HAHAHAHAHA.

For your viewing pleasure:

Neither team scored in overtime, so it went into a shoot out. Jacob Berglund (who is quite the little Datsyuk) scored after Seattle and Francis once again saves the say with the second and final goal. The crowd went insane and the Seattle fans next to me got up and left without a word. Heehee. Oh, it was such an amazing night. I'm so glad I was able to be there for it, especially now that we've lost Mucha.

The game was at the Rose Garden. I got us seats in the 200 level, which turned out to be pretty good. I've seen hockey games in four different arenas: the Ice Palace, the Rose Garden, the Memorial Coliseum and the Mountain View Ice Arena, and while the hockey out here is not quite the same as NHL hockey in an NHL arena, it's still wonderful in its own right. I've only ever sat in the nosebleeds of the Ice Palace, and am perfectly content with that. I don't really think there's such a thing as bad seats at a hockey game. Just being there is enough. But the nosebleeds at the Rose Garden and the Coliseum are more like chin bleeds, and the seats at the Mountain View in Vancouver is just one small section of benches on one side of the tiny rink.

The 200 level seats I got at the Garden were really nice. Here are some shots:

*sniff*

*SNIFF*

This gives you an idea of what the view was like from our seats. I really like this section because you can see the goal pretty well, but when I chose these tickets, I thought they were near the players' bench. Good to know for next time! I like to watch them think about what they've done when they get sent to the box.

Much to my sister's (and, if she were there, Julie's) horror, Tom-A-Hawk showed up. He managed to get the Seattle fan next to me to go over and pretend-fight him, except the Seattle fan got a little too into it and punched him in the beak. I almost pissed my pants from laughing so hard.

Kurtis Mucha and captain Brett Ponich:

As I said, it was a pretty amazing game, and I'm so glad I was there to see it. R and I are going to tomorrow night's game vs the Regina Pats. Expect more pictures and updates in the days to come.

I must toddle off now. I'm taking my mom swimming tomorrow morning and I really should track down my bathing suit.

Russian machine never scared.

2009-11-21T22:26:00.000-08:00

I'M ON VACATION.

The last two weeks have been pure, undiluted hell, but I'm on vacation for the next six days.

I saw my doctor yesterday and she said I'd lost and kept off 20 pounds since my last visit and that it was a huge deal. "Keep it up," she said. "But do more cardio."

Took my blood to check my vitamin D. It's been really low despite the supplements I took, so she put me on drops in addition to the supplements. In August, my vitamin D was at 19. It should be 50 or higher. She gave me capsules to take but not until we get the latest results. She's also going to check my thyroid. She kept asking about it, about my family medical history, but I told her I'm adopted and don't really know anything. So she said she would run some thyroid panels, too. Now I'm all paranoid that I've got a thyroid problem.

Anyway, we're watching Paranormal Activity, so I'm going to down the rest of my Russian Imperial Stout and enjoy the shit out of this motherfucker. Aed does not like scary movies.

Aed said: I would not be tryin' to fuckin' film it. I would be fuckin' movin'.

It only hurts when I move.

2009-10-29T09:36:00.000-07:00

Not much to say, as I'm off to bed in a few minutes. Late, as always. Night shift sucks, but beggars can't be choosers. Got out of work before five this morning, which worked out because I was planning on stopping at Home Depot on the way home and buying some pellets. (We don't have a pellet stove; we have a wood burning stove for which we bought a pellet basket.)

I got there at 5:30 and there was no way in hell I was going to sit in my car for a half hour until it opened. So I went home. Rather, I went to the other Home Depot, about 10 minutes from my house. I figured by the time I got to that one, it would already be open. And I was right. I bought two bags of pellets and some starter gel and went home.

Once I'd lugged both bags to the front porch and gone inside, I let the dogs out and then prepared to do yoga. It's a new thing for me, this yoga, and I went into it grudgingly. I hate yoga. I have ADD. It's hard for me to just sit or stand and do nothing, but I've had a lot of back pain lately and I know that yoga can help. For the last two weeks, I have been doing pilates (Mon, Wed, Fri) and yoga (Tues, Thurs, Sat), and I think it's helping.

Ironically, the day I get the foot stool they ordered for me at work, the back pain comes back full force.

Anyway, did the yoga (only a half hour, since I was running late), inhaled some oatmeal and now I have to feed the minions and go to bed.

The Wings play the Oilers tonight; pretty sure the game starts at 6:30 here. I hope to catch some of it, though apparently the hamthrax has infiltrated Edmonton.

The Winterhawks are playing (who own) the Chiefs on Sunday, and I'm hoping to go. I work this Saturday and probably won't get home until 3 a.m., but the game doesn't start until 5:00. I'll just take the Max in and not have to worry about parking. Speaking of the Winterhawks, check this out:

Awwwwwwwwwwwww. The dog right at the very end looked like Curly Joe before he transformed into a hell hound.

Annnnd....goodnight.

Greetings.

2009-10-28T04:54:00.000-07:00

This will be the place in which I will discuss things like life, hockey and dogs. But not right now. Right now I have to go do some yoga.