Friday, March 23, 2012
that's what the tweet said, but the exclamation point was disingenuous. i wasn't excited about it. at all.
still, it had to be done, and there was no need to set a bad example. or to make it seem worse than it was.
okay, drinking a quick gallon of gastrointestinal drano was unpleasant. and yes, the results were slightly alarming ("i don't remember eating that!").
doesn't matter. part of the process.
you know what else is part of the process? "conscious sedation." that's where the patient is whacked out on versed to the point that they allow a tube and a light and a camera to go where such things are not generally welcome.
most patients, i was informed, sleep through the whole thing. others remain chatty during the procedure~~though they don't remember the conversation (or the procedure) later.
apparently i was chatty. the nurse says it went something like this:
me (reading monitor): my blood pressure is 110 over 74...that's pretty good, right?
they: yes, it is.
me (still reading monitor): my heart rate is 45 beats per minute. that's pretty low, right?
they: yes, it is.
me (recalling a random point on the patient information sheet): so, i really can't have wine with dinner tonight?
they: push a little more versed on mr. miller, please...
i remember none of these things. i don't think they really happened.
but you know, as confirmed earlier, a bp of 110 over 74 and a resting heart rate of 45 bpm are pretty darn good. more importantly, the exam revealed just one small polyp~~benign.
so, to commemorate what we've forgotten, ameliorate that which we'd rather forget, and celebrate the blessing of good health...
tonight's bland, easy-to-digest dinner will be accompanied by one (1) very good glass of wine.
Sunday, March 18, 2012
they travel in the air
you can smell them when they burn
those who say the past is not dead
can stop and smell the smoke
you keep saying the past is not dead
well, stop and smell the smoke
you keep on saying the past is not even past
and you keep saying
we are smoke
the human brain is not a precision instrument.
it's a fabulous, intricate, brilliant piece of biological engineering...but it's simultaneously spectacularly flawed.
that's how i explain, to myself, the recent visit from my self. which is to say, my 25-year-old self.
it was jarring. one moment i was jogging through our neighborhood, the next i was accosted by a callow, cocky, cavalier criticizer.
i think he was as shocked as i was. and not in a good way. near as i can recall (if you care to believe anything as unreliable as "memory"), it went something like this...
25: holy shit. what have you done to us?
50: (hesitating) what?
25: this...hurts. our neck, our lower back, our knee. this is why we hate running. have you lost our mind?
50: who are you? what's happening? am i dying?
25: i don't know what's happening, but you're not dying. you're killing me, but you're not dying. yet. you're just old.
50: i know you. i had forgotten...but i know you.
25: well, i'm happy to hear that. congratulations on not being totally senile. but you are kind of broken down.
50: no, i'm not. this is just what 50 feels like. it's not so bad...
25: the neck, the back, the knee...
50: oh. yeah. i know it's hard to believe, but the running actually helps.
25: were we in a car wreck or something? this feels fucking awful.
50: you swear a lot, don't you...no we weren't in a car wreck. we did have a couple surgeries, though. the neck? started as a basketball injury. the torn acl...basketball. the back...
25: i don't like where this is heading...
25: we've always said, "there's nothing like being in basketball shape."
50: which is true, except for when it's not. we didn't notice it while it was happening, but it turns out we put in a lot of hard miles over the last 25 years. apparently it was a little debilitating.
25: the point of the exercise is to avoid feeling like this. you must've done something wrong.
50: everything i did, we agreed to long ago. all i did was hold up my end of the bargain. no point in complaining about it now.
25: yeah, but...we feel awful. you've forgotten what young and healthy feels like.
50: no, i...i still feel young. sort of.
25: no, you don't. trust me. it feels way different than this. for one thing, when we were young, our joints didn't also function as barometers. "hmm, tonight's gonna be cold, rainy, and windy." and that's without watching the weather report.
50: we live in seattle. anyone could've predicted that.
25: maybe. but i felt it.
25: this is not what i expecting. you've made a huge mess of us.
50: not entirely true. there are lots of people our age who are a lot worse off than we are. check it out...we're running a 1/2 marathon in june.
25: my god, you have lost our mind. (hesitates) sigh...what else are you keeping from me?
50: well, there's the colonoscopy the end of this week.
25: i hate you.
50: i'm not wild about it, either. but i'm thinking of it as preventive maintenance for the next ten years.
25: i prefer not to think of it at all, thanks. i'm out of here. but i want you to know, this isn't over.
50: that's a line from a movie, isn't it? but you're right...there's lots more you should probably know about.
25: i can't wait to see what happens next. wait. i take that back.
50: (whispers) too late...
sfx: (wind through trees, footfalls on pavement)
Saturday, March 10, 2012
they don't know what they're missing.
today's not half over, and i've done enough interesting stuff to keep social archeologists busy for years. and, thanks to the magical miracle of social media, i can share all of it with my friends. wait, that's too limiting. i can share it with...the world.
the good stuff, from the get-go:
mrs. spaceneedl says the dogs need to be let out to go pee. rolling out of bed...now!
since i'm going downstairs anyway, i'll take the laundry basket with me. chores starting early!
dogs let out. stop barking, dogs!
chose to do a dark load first, followed by a white load. i am the laundry decider!
dogs let back in. suppose i should feed them. poor hungry creatures!
whew. see? the day's not ten minutes old, and look how much excitement the world would've missed were it not for my ability to update my status instantaneously, spontaneously, anywhere, any time.
already wondering what you missed in the time it took me to type the last two sentences? i don't blame you! let's find out...
fed dogs. now they're waiting by the door to go outside to poop. good dogs. wait, kate, don't eat the poop!
need coffee. should i have the coconut macadamia nut, or the hazelnut caramel? can't decide!
remembered we have coconut milk in the fridge. so, went with the hazelnut caramel. i'm the coffee decider!
wife is up and around now, gearing up to walk the dogs. dogs are excited. more chances to poop!
walking to the village now. gives a whole new meaning to "go dogs, go!"
just so you know, i'm leaving out a bunch of stuff that, frankly, is none of your business. can you imagine the quantity (and quality!) of the content if i didn't have this awesome self-filter thing going on in my brain? for example, i'm completely omitting the post about picking up three bags of poop in the back yard, and the one about hosing some poop off one of my shoes. i just don't think you need to know about that sort of sh*t. sorry!
where was i?
dogs, laundry, poop, village...oh, right.
wife wants to shop at "vixen." note: it's not nearly as racy as it sounds. this is magnolia, after all!
wife playing the "retail therapy" card. where's my retail therapy card? i don't think we're playing from the same deck!
yes, dear, those jeans look very nice on you. what? they're on sale? you don't say!
funny thing about vixen: they carry nothing for men. i'll get nothing, and like it. aren't i a good sport?!
vixen trip complete. jeans, earrings, tank top: $178. great husband status: priceless!
once again, i've left out a bunch of excellent, post-worthy stuff here. the entire stop at the bakery, specifically, will remain undisclosed and up to your imagination. but trust me, it was scintillating. "hollywood wives" has nothing on "magnolia bakers and baristas." the whole place just pulses with hot, sweet, savory, fresh stuff that's none of your business. and it happens there every day, except mondays, when they're closed, probably because they need to rest up after all that hot monkey, um, bread.
so, go ahead, scoff at the social media all you want, scoffers. but this is the last time i let you peer in at the real-time reporting of breaking news, not to mention the intimate details of the dirty laundry you can't read about anywhere else.