peas with honey

It feels like the first time...

Last night was, to say the least, an adventure.  First, I had to drink that solution which tasted like some type of salt-water solution.  Now, I've inadvertently ingested a lot of salt water (every summer my family spent a month on the Jersey shore and my brother and I were always in the water) and I don't remember it having this type of effect on me....  Actually...it's still having an effect (if you catch my drift).  At what point does it stop?  Yeesh.  I was fine until about midnight and then I kept having to get up and go to the bathroom.  I know that I really started to annoy Posey (my kitten) because she just couldn't get comfortable on the bed with all of my movement.  Sorry Posey....I know you're in charge of the bed and a master at sleeping and I'm just your humble subject.

This morning it was hard because I was hungry.  It was hard enough not eating anything after Mack's class last night (when I was famished) but to wake up and not eat anything was pretty difficult.  I felt very sorry for myself so, instead of watching the news as usual, I watched Saved By the Bell.  That Zack Morris....such a nut.  It was a form of protest -- of course I was only hurting myself with this protest but that is an entirely other conversation.  (Sort of like hitting your head against the wall because you're mad at your mother....)

I made it to the "check in" office of the imaging company and had to wait with a bunch of other people for my name to be called.  Finally I was called and they, as usual, mispronounced my name "Tan Jah"  (hard "j").  The lady seemed surprised when I told her that my name was pronounced "Tanya" because she told me that she thought she got it right.  I just shook my head.  (What do you say to that?)  What kind of name is Tan Jah anyway?  Doesn't it seem more logical that my name would be pronounced the same as someone named Sonja?  No.....that doesn't occur to them.  One time I was in a Macy's and the lady mispronounced my name and, after being asked, I told her the correct pronunciation.  She then asked me which one I preferred.....Hmmmmm......are you asking whether I prefer the wrong pronounciation or the right one?  Are you REALLY asking me that?  I just looked at her....words escaped me (which you know is very rare ). 

After conquering that hurdle, I was sent to the 4th floor where they actually do the test.  I was escorted back and told to take my top and bra off (yes Gerry, I wore a top this time) and my jeans and put on a gown.  I also had to put all of my stuff in a plastic basket and carry it around with me.  Why does this sound like jail?  Did they want me to take my shoelaces out too?  How do I know that much about jail?  The radiologist was an Indian lady....now my experience with older Indian ladies is that they are very much like older German ladies.  They know what they want and they are very blunt about telling you things.  (I should know, I was raised by a little 5 foot 1 inch dynamo from the Vaterland.)  This radiologist was no exception.  She took a few pictures of me and told me to hold my breath and sometimes told me to breathe again.  I say "sometimes" because she was very talkative and often she would tell me to hold m y breath, go behind the wall shielding her from the x-rays and come back out talking away without telling me to breathe again.  I learned to take her movement from behind the wall as a signal that I could breathe again.  Phew.  After the first few pictures, she went out for a while and came back in and said that she couldn't find my kidneys.  What?  She said they're in different places on different people so they're sometimes hard to find.  Yes...but they're generally in the same area ... right?....I mean....a person never has a kidney behind their left knee...right?  She took some more pictures and left again.  When she came back she started to put some liquid in two large syringes.  I asked her whether she found my kidneys and she said "oh yes."  Phew.  "There are two of them, right?"  "Oh yes."  Glad to know they're still in there.  (I mean, you've all heard about people getting drugged and waking u p in a hotel bathtub full of ice with a note that their kidney has been removed?  Maybe that happened and I totally didn't remember it and, by some miracle, didn't have a scar.  Maybe I DO have a scar because I don't regularly check out my lower back in the mirror.....Ahhhhhh.)

Next this fellow came in and started talking to me.  He was very chatty but he kept on looking at what I thought was my right breast but what later turned out to be my right arm.  Now...I was laying down and wondering why this guy kept looking at my right breast.  It couldn't be that attractive in this position (with my weight loss and gravity and all).  Finally, he asked me whether I had a "good vein."  Ohhhhhhh...he's looking at my arm.  I told him that I used to give blood with my left arm and that I've always been told I have a good vein there.  He asked me why did I "used" to give blood and I told him that I lived in Germany in the 80s, etc.  He said that was ridiculous because they can just do a test to check whether you have Mad Cow disease.  EXACTLY!  I'm glad a medical professional and former imaginary right breast-looker has confirmed that for me.

Well, the Indian lady told me how she lived in Frankfurt for a while on her adventure to become a U.S. Citizen and I told her that I was applying to become a Foreign Service Officer.  She then asked me why it is so hard for her to get a visa for her brothers in India to visit here.  I'm NOT CURRENTLY a foreign service officer.  I told her that I had no idea why.  Then, the imaginary breast-looker told me he was from Guyana.  I asked him whether everybody asks him about Jim Jones and he said yes.  He said that sometimes he has to bring it up himself because people haven't heard about his country.  I asked him if he liked grape kool-aid.  He didn't say anything.  (Fortunately, he'd already stuck me and had started to put the iodine dye in my vein.)  By the way, that stuff was cold.  I don't know why they thought it was a good idea to put it through the 7-11 Slushy machine before injecting it into me...but someone DID.  My arm was freezing cold after that.  Then the visa-question asker took a whole bunch of pictures and I was allowed to leave.  I went to the medical records area and they printed a CD with my "films" on it.

I drove them over to my urologist's office and he had me give him another urine sample.  Luckily that dye was tired of hanging around inside of me....  After waiting 30 minutes, he came back and told me that I have a few calcified veins in my kidneys.  What?  But that it was just normal for someone my age.  Yes...my body is slowly breaking down.  My stone came back and it was determined to be made up of Calcium Oxalate.  He told me that because this was my first stone they weren't going to put me on any kind of restricted diet or drugs but that I should just watch out and not eat a lot of vitamin supplements (I don't eat any per Mack), spinach (one of Mack's favorite foods and Popeye's of course) and rhubarb (NO....not rhubarb...I can't remember when I had that last...or ever).  I was also supposed to cut down on Vitamin C, drink a lot of water and don't drink any dark sodas.  Also, here's the good news.  I have a 50/50 chance of having another stone in the next 5 years.  Yahoo!  Something to look forward to.

Thanks for reading this far.  It's definitely a tribute to your determination.

ST 

Don't Hate Me Because I'm Sexy.

Last night in Mack's class we discussed "tags" or labels that people have given us and how those tags affect the way we view ourselves and how we act.  A good example was how the media tagged President Ford after he stumbled up some steps in the late 70s.  They wrote about how he was clumsy and a bumbler and, of course, President Ford kept stumbling and tripping on things.  In fact, President Ford was an all-american football star who played for Michigan.  He was anything but clumsy and a bumbler.  He just heard what the media had labeled him and, unconsciously, accepted it and acted that way.  We've all been tagged in one way or another.  You were the "smart one" or the "unathletic one" or someone told you that you "never finish anything."  These are things that you might have heard since you were little and you just believe them and then act that way.  You can change those tags! The next time someone labels you in a way that you don't like, tell them that you aren't that way.  Basically reject that label.  On the other hand, if someone labels you in a good way...accept it (don't say "no..no...that's not me").  If someone says you're the fastest runner...accept it.  Let other people live with that notion and see how you live up to it.  Am I sounding preachy?  Probably.

Well, the tag I've always believed about myself was that I'm not the kind of girl that a guy is romantically interested it, I'm the kind that is a guy's friend.  I don't remember where or when that was first said to me but I've believed it for a very very long time.  Is that the reason why I'm still single?  Probably not the whole reason.  I DO have a lot of guy friends who I wouldn't give up for the world but I really need to get rid of that tag.  I've always believed that I'm not the sexy kind of girl.  I should probably change that attitude and maybe I can convince someone that I am that person -- who, I've heard, that many guys are romantically attracted to (I read it on the Internet somewhere).  So...in a burst of misguided openness...I told the class my "tag."  Well, Mack said that it was very brave of me to tell them that (which I instantly knew meant that I might have sa id too much) and that the first step was to get it out in the open -- which is probably true (which is why I'm writing this darn thing).  Next, Mack started calling me Sexy or "ST" (which stood for Sexy Tanja).  Weird.  I guess I have a nickname now....destructo may be out.

I really should be working but I can't focus today...maybe I'm TOO sexy now....naw.

peace out,

The Sex Machine   

A crappy day ... or a day of crap.

Yesterday, I picked up a "prep kit" for my kidney test tomorrow morning.  Apparently, I have to "evacuate" my bowels for this test.  Wha?!  This is not a colonoscopy....they're looking at my kidneys.  They're a little higher up.  I tried to explain that to the miniumum-wage prep kit distributor lady but she didn't buy my arguments.  So....starting at noon today I start "prepping" for my test.  I can't eat very much during the day and have to drink some nasty solution tonight.  As twisted as this sounds, one of the foods I'm supposed to eat is Jello...which I'm really looking forward to because it's not on Mack's diet.  I'm, of course, not looking forward to spending my night in the bathroom.  Is this too much information?  Has that ever stopped me before?  Should I tell you how it comes out?  Ha!!

Don't fear the reaper.

Mack has gotten much more tolerable...probably because he doesn't pick on me as much as he used to.  That is probably because there is new meat in the class.  Watching him pick on other people is much better than being the recipient of the scolding.  This guy and his girlfriend joined last week.  (As an aside, I don't think I would do any of this for someone else...but that's just me.)  The guy looks like he's in fairly good shape and the girl is really pretty and slim.  Well, on Saturday morning we were waiting for class to begin and I overheard the guy telling some of the older guys what he ate Friday night (some pasta and three desserts).  The classic part was when he said "I'm not cheating though because I wrote it all down."  Now...I don't know if I told you guys that we have to keep a food journal and turn it in every class.  In fact, although I've never seen this, I hear that you will get kicked out of the class if you don't turn one in.  Sometimes Mack pulls them out and reads from them to the class.  Also, if he weighs you and you haven't made any progress, he pulls the sheet out and checks out what you wrote down (it's also a way he can tell whether there was any cheating).  Anyway, I couldn't believe what I heard.  The older guy that the new dude was talking to said, "Oh...you're still cheating...you're just being honest about it."  EXACTLY.  I wish it was as easy as just writing down what you eat.  You also have to eat the right stuff.  During class I was schooling this guy in pushups (which, although I'm a total stud, shouldn't happen) and I saw Mack look at him sort of funny and pull out his food sheet.  Well, Mack saw what that guy ate the night before and all hell broke loose.  The gun fire was no longer hitting my area....life was good.  I felt sort of bad for the guy and then I thought about how I really needed to focus on my own survival.  It made me understand the lack of support I felt when I was in that same situation.  This wasn't anyone else's problem, it was my own (and his own)...I couldn't expect people to help me out of it or to stand up to Mack.  Sort of a life lesson.

Tax Day!

As usual, because I can't get my act together, my accountant has filed an extension for me.  I know, I know, I'm lame....especially because they owe me money and I'm not getting any interest on it.  I am definitely going to make an effort to get my taxes in this month.  (Famous last words...for the past two years I've barely made it by the October deadline.)  It's not that I don't need the money.  In fact, I need it badly.  Why is there this block?

I went back to my Tucson house last weekend and it was great.  I spent a lot of time weeding my front yard.  In Arizona it's funny because my mission was to get rid of that pesky green vegetation so it could all be nice and brown and sandy.  Sort of backward to what most people think of.  As an aside, the weeds in Arizona are pretty monstrous.  Besides having mile long roots, they almost universally have spikes/stickers which easily went through my leather gardening gloves.  I'm definitely an old lady though because my back and hamstrings were killing me yesterday and still hurt today.  I've had to divide my yard into quadrants (for my sanity) because contemplating doing the whole thing is enough to make me take a nap and forget it all.  I got the front area clean though so it doesn't look like my house is abandoned.

I skipped Mack Saturday morning because I needed to get to town to see my niece before my brother and sister-in-law left for an ultimate frisbee tournament in Flagstaff.  I got to hold the little "peanut" and feed her before they left.  I know I've said this before but she really is THE MOST BEAUTIFUL CHILD IN THE WORLD!  My sister-in-law, Esther, is gorgeous but I have no idea how my brother's involvement didn't mess that kid up.  Just lucky, I guess.  So, I had the weekend to myself and, being the party animal that I am, I weeded and watched back episodes of "The Wire" from my TiVo.  By the way, if you weren't watching "The Wire," you missed out on a great show.  I recommend renting the DVDs from Netflix or something to check that show out.  It was a great show.

Also, I don't know what the deal was with the I10 this weekend but it went really slow. People were driving 75 mph (the speed limit) both ways.  Is there something going on that I don't know about?

"The Office"

"When I die I want to be frozen. And if they have to freeze me in pieces, so be it. I will wake up stronger than ever, because I will have used that time to figure out exactly why I died and what moves I could have used to defend myself better now that I know what hold he had me in." --- Dwight

If you didn't see last Thursday's new episode, go to nbc's website and you can watch it. 

Epic Food Fights.

I'm sure this is a surprising topic for some of you...however for my classmates from West Point this is NO SURPRISE AT ALL.  Recently one of our classmates sent an email asking for confirmation of a food fight that happened during our yearling (sophomore) year in the mess hall.  As a threshold matter, I don't know why this guy asked for "confirmation" other than he must have some sort of memory disorder -- because there is NO WAY ON EARTH anyone could forget this food fight.  (Perhaps his request for "confirmation" was rhetorical...I would love to rhetorically confirm things in my personal life..."Can you confirm that you're being a dick right now?"  Ha!)

Now let me first tell you about the mess hall -- which is not what most people picture when they think of the term.  It is a beautiful Gothic building with vaulted ceilings, stone walls, slate floors and either portraits or murals hanging from the walls.  It is called Washington Hall and there is a large statue of George Washington in front of the mail entrance.  (Gen. Washington picked the location, where West Point is today, to build a fort during the Revolutionary War -- later Pres. Jefferson signed a bill authorizing the Academy at that location.)  Anyway, it's an impressive place.  They feed 4400 cadets there simultaneously every lunch and dinner.  So....basically a prime place for an all-out epic food fight.

During Army/Navy week, the school goes a little nuts....as does the administration.  In the fall of 1984, the "powers that be" decided that they would serve something they called "goat stew" to the cadets (I guess thinking that it would be appropriate for the upcoming football game).  Well....it looked like some sort of rejected sloppy joe mix -- it had chunks of some kind of meat (I've heard that it was buffalo) and reddish, oily sauce in a metal tub.  I believe they gave us rice or something with it.  In sum, it was inedible.  I didn't even try it and was already thinking about the pizza my roommates and I would order after the meal.  I don't know where exactly it started but suddenly (I mean as fast as a flash) food was flying.  I remember seeing whole waves of the "goat stew" flying over my head.  I quickly hid under the table and watched with fascination as the fight ensued.  I mean...this was one of the funniest things I've ever seen.  In my opinion, a good spat of mashed potatoes on the side of my brother's face is funny but watching waves of rice and punch and reddish meat product fly is the stuff of legend.  [As an aside, I don't know why food fights are so hilarious but I was barely able to breathe because it was so funny.  This may be a poor reflection on my personality but I still love a good food fight...although they happen less and less often.]  This fight continued until there was nothing left to throw.  It probably didn't last more than 5 or 10 minutes.

The aftermath.  First, the smell.  You know when your mother told you that it didn't matter that the peas touched your meat because "it all ends up in the same place anyways?"  Well...I saw what that place looks like and now I INSIST that my peas don't touch my meat.  Sometimes I think about the mess hall after that food fight and I have to hug myself and go to my "happy place."  I guess a garbage dump would be a good comparison but this was somehow wetter and grosser.  Maybe because there weren't any paper products to get in the way.  Anyway, the smell was horrible and, of course, it only got worse with time.  I could barely keep myself from vomiting (although no one would have noticed if any vomit was on the floor because...well...that's what it looked like...only a few shades redder and darker).  Also, the floor was so slippery.  Slate floors and a mix of "goat," milk, rice and punch are not very good for traction (store that one in your memory banks for the future).  Also...there is nothing worse than slipping and falling onto a substance that resembles vomit -- take it from someone who knows.  I don't know where the slime-quality came into play (whether it was originally part of the "goat" stew or whether that was a property chemically created by it's mixture with everything under the sun).  This slimy mixture was EVERYWHERE!  All over the walls and the paintings too.

We went back to our barracks and basically had to be "hosed down" and, not surprisingly, wrote off our uniforms.  I don't know how quickly the word came down but we were ordered to put on our "gym A" and report back to the mess hall for cleanup.  "Gym A" was basically our exercise uniform which was a white shirt with our name printed on the left chest area over a school crest and polyester black shorts with yellow piping.  Very attractive.  Oh yeah...we had to tuck our shirts in too.  Which, only added to the awesomeness of that 70s-reject outfit.  The mess hall was disgusting (as I've mentioned) and I couldn't stay in there very long.  In other words, I didn't do any of the cleanup.  During my brief time in the mess hall, I remember seeing that crap all over the walls and the paintings.  Bad.

Well, the entire corps of cadets ended up getting charged for that food fight.  Our next pay stub said something like "mess hall clean up" or maybe just "clean up" and I think it was a charge of about $1 or so.  Pretty fair because most of us participated and the clean up couldn't have been cheap.  I'm sorry to say I didn't really participate .... I couldn't stop laughing though and felt it was worth every dime.  They put plexi-glass "shields" over the paintings afterwards too.  Good times.

I guess we hadn't gotten it totally out of our systems because at the Army/Navy game that year (yes...the exact one that we got served the "goat" stew for), we had a food fight at the stadium in Philadelphia.  It wasn't nearly as gross because the food involved (sub sandwiches) wasn't nearly as gross.  There was a brief concern that the flinging of mustard packets would escalate but that never really happened.  I don't think it got caught on national TV but...I sure wish it had.  All I had to do after that one was brush a few wrappers, stale bread and meat-substitute stuff off my uniform.  We cadets sure knew how to party back then...

I think I should explain the mustard thing.  In case you don't know this (my family does...very well).  I HATE mustard.  I hate onions too but I REALLY HATE mustard.  I don't like touching the container that holds mustard and I will never eat anything (knowingly) that contains mustard or even used to contain mustard (no...you can't just scrape it off the bread).   

Update on my stone (aka Vernon).

I went to the urologist this morning and he doesn't know why I had the stone yet.  They need to analyze it first and that will take time.  He told me that I now have a 50/50 chance of having another one though.  Great.  Also, these things run in the family.  So...I called my brother and gave him that cheerful news.  The Dr. is not certain that everything has "passed" so I'm getting another xray done with "contrast" this time (heck...pump some dye in me...I'm still trying to get over the vicodin).  We'll see.  I still have a little pain on my side and I sort of feel like I layed an egg.

Also...in case you didn't know this...DO NOT iron anything while you're on vicodin.  I have a serious burn on my arm from the iron and it looks like hell.  I'm trying to keep it clean but it doesn't look good.  I know that people generally think they can iron anything while on vicodin but FIGHT THAT URGE!  Your health is in the balance!

Why I love "The Bachelor."

I don't love this show because it's quality TV (by any means), I love it because it is a cautionary tale for any person seeking love.  Anyone who would go on that show is a certified idiot and it makes me feel great to see that there are so many idiots out there and that the "pool" of available people has been diminished by that amount.  Schadenfreude?  YES.  Last night, for example, a woman couldn't think of what else to say and she decided to show the "Bachelor" her breasts.  Incredible.  If this is what I'm competing with in the singles market, I'm golden!  To top it off, this woman couldn't believe that the Bachelor didn't want her after that.  I must admit that it is a rare bachelor who wouldn't go for that but this guy has TV writers telling him what to do and ABC IS owned by Disney (at the end of the day).  There is no current universe (that I know of) where a woman who shows her breasts (when there is a lull in conversation) is considered a "keeper" by any man.  I'm sure several guys would consider "using" her now and again but is not girlfriend material.  (Also, those guys are likely creeps too.)  Earlier, a woman slipped a pair of panties in the Bachelor's pocket.  What makes you think that's alright on any planet?  Maybe I'm just jaded and old but I can't believe what I'm seeing these days.  This show is great because it should be seen as an example of what people will do to be on TV and it should demonstrate what women should NEVER NEVER do if they are looking for a mate.

My favorite part is the beginning where, after an hour, the Bachelor eliminates a whole bunch of women. There is ALWAYS a woman who cries because she felt there was some sort of "connection."  Wha?!  I don't even know what to say about that one.

Also, the extreme level of narcissism that a person must have to consider being a Bachelor or Bachelorette.  Sure, it's great to have a bunch of people fawning all over you but...how do you sleep at night and how many showers do you have to take?  You're just an ass.  In sum, I find this show incredibly amusing.  It doesn't make me mad, it makes me laugh.  What will these idiots do next?  Rather, what will the writers tell these idiots to do next?  I can't wait to see. 

A night in the ER...

Thursday night, during the first part of Mack's class (when he was giving his motivational talk), I started getting a very intense pain on my left side.  It felt sort of like a very severe and sharp cramp and there was nothing I could do to feel better.  Mack eventually noticed that there was something wrong with me and he pulled me out of class and made me go get a drink of water and lay down on the floor of the women's locker room.  (It's air conditioned in there and the floor is nice and cool.)  This very nice lady, Alex, came with me to make sure that I was alright.  Apparently I looked pretty bad because everyone seemed pretty alarmed when they turned around and looked at me.  I suddenly felt very nauseas and ran to the bathroom -- where I just dry heaved.  (This is turning out to be an awesome class by the way.)  Alex left me alone in the bathroom and I tried not to vomit/dry-heave again.  I ran back into the bathroom and, wouldn't you know it, that's when Mack came in and called for me.  He talked to me about the pain and he got some ice for me from his restaurant and I put in on my side.  I had no idea what's wrong with me.  [In my mind, I already think I have cancer though....]  I've never felt pain like this before.  It sort of takes your breath away and there is no relief.  Mack had me sit in a chair and put the ice on my side and I slowly started to feel better.  After a while, I put the ice aside and went back to class.  One of my friends had been taking notes for me on Mack's lecture (such a sweetheart) and I rejoined the class and actually worked out with the rest of the class during the physical (torture) part.  After class, everyone was asking me what the problem was and I told them that I must just have had a cramp.  I felt really stupid though because I REALLY overreacted if what I had was just a cramp.  I've definitely had my share of charley horses and this was nothing like that at all.

I went home and ate dinner and, unfortunately, the pain started up again.  I put a bag of frozen peas on it but the pain wouldn't go away.  I tried all different kinds of positions but the pain just got worse and worse.  I started feeling like I had to urinate but I couldn't get very much out.  [Too much information...sorry.]  As much as I hate ERs and the interminable waiting times (due in large part to the amount of uninsured and illegal people waiting there), at 1 am I could stand it no longer and got out of bed, put on a bra and some jeans and drove to the nearest hospital I could remember.  It turned out to be this weird hospital called Banner Good Samaritan.  Well...the name sounds good.  I went in and the triage nurse got me first.  She took my blood pressure (which was 145 over 120...pretty bad) and asked me a lot of questions about the pain.  She then asked me to give a urine specimen.  Now...the instructions on this box for the urine specimen were EXTREMELY complicated and they, honestly, required a team of people.  I had to wipe myself with 3 different wipes and remove tops and place lids near certain protective layers...yeesh.  All at 1 in the mornng!  Anyway, after making it through that harrowing ordeal, I had to find a place in the waiting room that didn't look like it was going to give me some other ailment.  I settled for a plastic chair (I didn't want to think about what was soaked into the fabric chairs).  There were 3 tvs on the walls which all were showing an infomercial on nutrasystem.  Really...is that what people in a waiting room want to see?  Several people were actually watching it though...so you never know.  There was one lady with a baby who had a fever or something (she was beside me at the triage station -- even though she only spoke Spanish, I got the gist).  A woman sat near me and proceeded to have a conversation on her cell phone.  Come on.  I don't want to hear your stupid conversation.  She also didn't seem like she was sick...get out of here and stop slowing up the line.  There was a woman in a hospital gown holding onto a rolley thing with an IV attached.  Aren't people like her supposed to be done with the waiting room and on to the hospital part?  This place is extremely depressing.  I tried to read some of the Economist I had in my purse but it's hard to read when you're in pain.  The longer I stay here, the more likely I am to catch the plague or something...

After about 45 minutes, a young intern-looking fellow called my name and I was taken back through different corridors named after colors (i.e., purple, green and blue) and put in a room.  He told me to put on the hospital gown.  I put it on but kept my jeans on.  (No need to expose my butt for no good reason -- as if there's a good reason -- actually, there COULD be...).  This "doctor" came in with a clipboard to ask me questions.  I put quotations around doctor because this guy looked like a fat slob.  He also had a cast on his left arm.  He asked me a bunch of questions about the pain and I seemed to answer every one of them wrong.  Do you ever get that feeling with a doctor?  Where you never seem to answer the questions right?  I don't think I told him that the pain was in the right location and my explanation about first feeling the pain at Mack's class definitely threw him.  This guy is going/went to medical school?  Our health care system is in VERY BIG TROUBLE (for a variety of reasons).  Anyway, after the failed interrogation, this dude examined me and I watched as he tried to put a latex glove over his hand that was in the cast.  Very entertaining.  He poked my stomach a few times.  I don't think he had any idea what he was doing.  Afterwards, he left and I heard him talk to the "attending" about my case.  Do these doctors think we can't hear beyond the curtains or something?  I was glad that a real doctor was going to see me.  When the attending came in, I was relieved.  He was a smart looking, very handsome Indian fellow who was all business.  He asked me the same questions (I didn't seem to answer them wrong this time) and he told me that he thought I had a kidney stone.  Wha?!?  Blood was found in my urine specimen and I was going to get a CT scan to confirm his diagnosis.  He asked me whether I wanted something for the pain....OF COURSE!  I don't know if you got that from this post so far but...it hurts...A LOT!!  Like someone threw a javelin and I caught it with my left kidney.  I'm sure there are more painful things in this world...but I can't think of any right now.  Also, I don't feel like an idiot any more for being in such pain in Mack's class.

This nurse guy came in and he was extremely chatty.  He told me all about getting certified as a nurse in Arizona (he came from Florida).  I don't really remember asking him about that though...  He put an IV in the top of my right hand (very expertly, I might add) and took some blood and put some anti-nausea medicine and something to relax my kidneys (I don't know exactly what).  Anyway, after a while it made me feel better.  I got wheeled to the CT machine (which looked like it had been through a few war zones).  It's weird to be wheeled around a hospital on a gurney.  You feel sort of nervous as corners approach because my feet were hanging over the edge.  I didn't want the guy to think I didn't have faith in his driving abilities but I was a little concerned about knocking my feet.  Anyway, I made it there and I got put on this machine.  I had to put my arms over my head and hold my breath as the machine scanned my body.  The first two scans were relatively short but the 3d scan was very long.  I couldn't hold my breath that long -- especially without warning.  Thanks for the "heads up" dude.  Anyway, I got wheeled back (and my feet survived).  The chatty nurse guy came back and gave me a blanket and turned the lights down so I could get some "rest."  Yep.  I actually started to feel a little comfortable (for the first time since before Mack's class).  Then, the real doctor came back and told me that the CT scan had confirmed that I have a kidney stone and it's only one stone that's about 3 mm.  He told me that was pretty small and that it should pass on its own but that I should drink a lot of water and put lemon juice in the water to help break down the stone.  OK.  When do I get out of here.  He left and a different nurse came in and told me that there were still waiting for the lab results of my urine specimen -- didn't they already find blood in it?  They did a quick test with a strip or something but sent it to the lab to make sure there wasn't something else wrong.  I had to wait for that.  Alright.  20 minutes later I got the OK on that test too and I was discharged with prescriptions for Vicodin, Ibuprofin and something to fight nausea.  Of course, it was almost 4 in the morning and I had no idea where any 24 hours pharmacies were located.  So...I just went home and slept.

I had to get up the next morning because I had promised to cover a Behavior Health Examiners Board meeting.  The meeting was pretty tedious and it lasted until almost 11 am.  Then I called work and told them about my kidney stone and that I was going to go get my prescriptions filled and go home. 

That was the official start of my Vicodin-dream weekend.  I wasn't sure that the vicodin would help with the pain but it did.  Of course, I'm such a light weight in that department that it put me to sleep right away.  I basically work up every 6-8 hours, drank water and lemon juice and took more pills.  I'm pretty sure I watched some TV in there but I can't remember what it was.  I had to pee through a strainer to try and catch the stone.  That led to several comic episodes where I missed the strainer and hit my hand...no end to the high jinx when you're on drugs and peeing through a strainer (just like they always say...).  Friday...no stone.  Saturday...no stone.  Late Sunday evening...STONE!  Actually it came out in 2 pieces and it was a dark brown or black color.  The first piece didn't make it in the strainer but the second piece has been preserved.  I don't know why but I thought it would be whiteish.  I guess it's actually "crud" so I shouldn't be surprised that it was a dark color...and of course, there was blood involved so it sort of makes sense.

Oh, by the way, during a drug lull, I went by Mack's restaurant to pick up some food and he was there.  I told him about the stone and he told me that it was because of all the soda I drank before I came to him.  He really is a ray of sunshine.  Thanks for the encouragement.

Well, now I'm still at home because the pain actually hasn't gone away.  I'm not on vicodin anymore but I feel like I've been in a kung fu fight and lost pretty badly (and the guy kicked me in the left kidney repeatedly).  I didn't have anything scheduled at work today so I took another sick day.  I still feel twinges of pain in my kidney but that's to be expected, I guess, after the trauma my little organ went through.  I hope that's to be expected...

I think I'm going to do something crazy now...like take a shower.