Ahh, January. How do we love thee? Let me count the ways!!
First, there is.......
Hmmm.....what to start with. Think.....
Ok. First there is......
What can I put down for the first. Hmm....I am at a quandary here.
Shoot - I seemed to have lost my train of thought. What was I talking about? Oh yeah. January. This is supposed to be a blog on why I like January so much. How do I get this ball rolling....
Ahh - got it! Ok, here goes:
First......
Dang, lost it again.
Well, the best I can say is this. Have you ever wondered why December goes so fast and February seems to drag on forever?
It's because
JANUARY SUCKS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
There is just nothing more to it than that. You know how sometimes people refer to the month as it's closing out as that month "dying"? As in, "the boy born as the month of July dies" (vague Harry Potter reference here). Well, if it were true that a month could die, once January died, I'd do a happy dance on it's grave!
I hate January. If you could rank all 12 months on order of goodness, you would not be able to rate January because #12 out of 12 is just far too kind for that month. You'd have to allocate about 35 blank dates to give January it's proper ranking of #38 out of 12, and I feel that would be even a bit too kind.
Why is January so bad you ask? First off, I'd say "DUH!!!" But if you were really clueless, I'd have to tell you my reasoning. First off, it's cold here in January. Too cold. As in, so cold that your nose hairs start to freeze together while you are trying to walk around and actually breath like a normal human or mammal. Generally, you find yourself minimizing the time you spend out of doors because it takes so long to bundle up to the point where you don't freeze to death by walking outside. You run from your car, to get into a warm house or store, or workplace, then when the business of whatever you were doing is done, you run back to your car and cuss it for not staying warm while you were gone.
At this point, various folks begin to tell me that the real solution is to move to somewhere warm. I am not fooled by this argument. In fact, I have a stronger argument against it. You see, by moving to somewhere like this, it does indeed make January tolerable from an "outside warmth" standpoint. But in effect, you are swapping the nasty January for a nasty July or August where you can't go outside without various body parts literally melting off. Then you find yourself running from your car to your destination in hope that heat stroke doesn't set in while you are out there, then running back and cussing your car for not staying cool while you were gone. It may make January more tolerable, but I love July & August and I could never make myself hate it as much as January. Trust me, I have been in Arizona in July. 116 degrees in the shade? No thank you.
Now back to the January bashing. The other day, I looked directly at the Sun. And I stared at it for an extended period of time. "Aarggh! What were you thinking" you are saying at this point. "Didn't your Mom ever warn you not to stare directly at the Sun?!?!? You'll melt your corneas off!" Well, don't you worry your little head, dear, there was no melting (it's cold out here, remember?) No, it wasn't because it was cold. It was because there was 54.5 miles of airborne garbage for the sunlight to travel through before it made it to my corneas. By the time the sun rays made it to my eyeballs, it was a shell of it's former bad old self. It couldn't barely muster a tear from the old tear ducts due to it's complete lack of intensity. In fact, you could look directly at that blob of a sun and you could almost see the face of the sun, verging on the edge of weeping, big old bottom lip sticking out and feeling sad being repressed behind a sea of airborne gunk. I felt sorry for it. I almost wanted to shout to it not to worry that some day this horrid month would be over, and he'd be back on his feet melting corneas off like it never happened!
Yes, there is an unusual amount of gunk in the air in January around these parts. In fact, I would say of the 31 miserable days of January, perhaps 10 of them have any real extended periods of unobstructed sunlight that makes it to this part of the world. It's not uncommon to go for weeks at a time without being really sure the sun had imploded, or just taken it's ball and gone home because it couldn't play anyhow. When it finally does show up, I find myself closing my eyes, feeling the tingle of actual sun rays on my face and remembering what it was like to be summer again. Then the smog bank rolls back in, I am yanked back into reality, and have to pull my hoodie over my ears before they freeze off again.
I have heard the argument as well that I should take up something like skiing to overcome these January blahs. The rational is that going up to the ski slopes is refreshing because the sun is most always shining up there and you can go enjoy the outdoors. Really? Is it that drastic to take those measures? You see, you have to take on all the other risks associated with skiing.
Skiing. Who came up with that idea? Did someone wake up and say, "You know, I am going to go strap some wood boards on my feet, go to the top of the highest mountain, and slide uncontrollable down the side of the mountain, and hope I don't hit a tree on the way!" Of course, being the top of the mountain, the snow is around 65 feet deep, and as you are going down the luge of death, the wind chill hits -55 degrees and any exposed flesh is immediately frozen. Not to mention should the inevitable happen, and you wipe out. Then joints that aren't meant to bend in ways that get bent in such a collision begin to make you notice they are there. If you are lucky, you don't end up being hauled down off the slopes in a stretcher.
I know - it's not that bad. It just seems like a harsh thing to do to go get some sunlight in the winter. I haven't actually ever skied before, so I have to admit I am making that whole argument against it up. I could do it and really love it. If I could associate anything with cold as being something I would love to do. It would be hard to overcome the psychology of it, is all I am saying.
And so, as of today, January is dying. True, tomorrow is February who's only real saving graces are that for one thing, it's only 28 days, and for another thing, it's not January. But come, let's join in and have a moment of silence for the death of January. Then the celebration can begin!
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Water Managers
I have to admit, I am really a bit pathetic. In order to crank my rusty wheels in my brain in motion to post on my blog, I need to have an assist from Kathryn on what to write about. Usually I tap into something that begins to form, but my brain doesn't connect the dots until Kathryn interrupts me in mid-rant and says, "Sounds like a good blog post subject." At which point, my brain says something to effect, "Huh? Chicken and rice?" Ok, so that has nothing to do with it, but I digress.
To my point, and the point of my blog for tonight - Water managers. I recently read an article in the paper in regards to the water content we currently have in our snow pack. And quoted is the somewhat whimsical beast, the water manager.
Who knows what dire circumstances that brought someone to the point that they had to make a career of watching water. Granted, there is probably no substance on the face of the earth, save maybe oxygen, at sustaining life than water. And while we usually walk to the sink and turn on the water, fully expecting clean, wholesome water to flow out of the tap and into our cups, we rarely have to consider that there is a whole infrastructure in place to manage that water and make sure it's what we expect.
I don't know what bet you have to lose, or who you had to get really mad, to make you resort to being the water manager for a place like Utah. Utah is a desert, so the water here is pretty important. But what is there to say about it? It snows, the snow melts, it comes down from the mountains in rivers (or "cricks" as the good ole' native Utahns would call them), we collect it, then feed it down the pipes to our cups. What more could there be?
Well, I recall in my youth the danger in not listening to these feral water manager beasts. Way back in the day, 1983, to be exact, we had ourselves a weird water year. There was the usual pattern - snow, snow melt, rivers, etc. But this year, it decided to do it all strange-like. We had snow. We had a LOT of snow. I don't remember a year before, or since, that we had snow like we did that year. Roofs were collapsing in Kaysville, carports in Clearfield were caving in, little doggie mansions in Bountiful were bowing under the sheer weight of the snow. I recall going around as a noble varsity scout and climbing up on the roof of the widows' houses in the ward to shovel snow off them (the roofs, not the widows) to prevent them from caving in (the roofs, not the widows). Most of the rest of my youth, that would have got me in trouble, but we were doing service!
Then spring came along, but it was cold, and wet. In fact, it stayed winter-like all the way until Memorial day weekend. Then it got HOT. Like 90 degrees hot. And snow doesn't like hot much. It stops being snow and starts being water. But there wasn't anywhere for the water to go fast enough, so it started crossing streets. And it didn't even look both ways - it just went!
And in Farmington, they had themselves a good old fashioned mud-slide. I remember this vividly because the mud covered almost the entire course of my paper route. And they didn't let me ride my bike up there to deliver papers because, well, it was muddy. In fact, there were two or three porches that were then located a considerable distance from where they had been previously and no one involved with that porch seemed to care anymore that there wasn't a paper on it.
As all disasters go, mostly we survived. But it got me thinking about water up in them thar hills. The newspaper got that idea too, and ever since, the water manager has become something of a celebrity. You started to hear from some of these guys that never got any notice before, and people cared what they had to say! We didn't want a repeat of that nasty winter of '83.
So here we are, safely nestled in 2010. I recently picked up a the paper and read a story on our water situation. Basically, it sucks.
According to our water managers, we had snow. But it wasn't enough snow. And even if we got way more snow, we won't have enough snow. In fact, if it snowed constantly from now until the end of May, we are all screwed.
What will happen? Well, we won't have enough snow. And, if we don't have enough snow, then.....we won't have enough snow.
It seems almost as if these water manager people are saying that it's all our fault. You see the problem was we had a warm November. It didn't snow. And we all enjoyed it! If you had been smart, you would have been totally disgusted that we didn't get enough snow and then we might have been ok, but you were all out working in your yards, ENJOYING the no-snow condition! Now it has come home to roost. Because we didn't get enough snow then, we are in trouble!
But wait, you say. How can me enjoying the warm weather have anything to do with it? Even if I hated the warm weather, it still would not have made it snow, right? I mean, we can't make it snow! All we can do is enjoy the lack of it. But that's the problem, they say. You ENJOYED it. So the snow gods didn't let it snow because they were just trying to make YOU happy! And because you were happy, we didn't get snow! So now we are screwed and it's all YOUR FAULT!!!!!
You see, if we had a good snow storm in November, it would have made it easier to get our normal snow pack by April. But you had to enjoy that warm November, didn't you. Now even though we had almost a foot of new snow in the last week, preceded by even more snow in December (I think it has snowed straight since the 2nd week in December, hasn't it?) It just is not enough. Even if it snowed 2 feet every day until April 30th, we won't have enough snow!
So, what kind of person becomes a water manager?
Eeyore.
To my point, and the point of my blog for tonight - Water managers. I recently read an article in the paper in regards to the water content we currently have in our snow pack. And quoted is the somewhat whimsical beast, the water manager.
Who knows what dire circumstances that brought someone to the point that they had to make a career of watching water. Granted, there is probably no substance on the face of the earth, save maybe oxygen, at sustaining life than water. And while we usually walk to the sink and turn on the water, fully expecting clean, wholesome water to flow out of the tap and into our cups, we rarely have to consider that there is a whole infrastructure in place to manage that water and make sure it's what we expect.
I don't know what bet you have to lose, or who you had to get really mad, to make you resort to being the water manager for a place like Utah. Utah is a desert, so the water here is pretty important. But what is there to say about it? It snows, the snow melts, it comes down from the mountains in rivers (or "cricks" as the good ole' native Utahns would call them), we collect it, then feed it down the pipes to our cups. What more could there be?
Well, I recall in my youth the danger in not listening to these feral water manager beasts. Way back in the day, 1983, to be exact, we had ourselves a weird water year. There was the usual pattern - snow, snow melt, rivers, etc. But this year, it decided to do it all strange-like. We had snow. We had a LOT of snow. I don't remember a year before, or since, that we had snow like we did that year. Roofs were collapsing in Kaysville, carports in Clearfield were caving in, little doggie mansions in Bountiful were bowing under the sheer weight of the snow. I recall going around as a noble varsity scout and climbing up on the roof of the widows' houses in the ward to shovel snow off them (the roofs, not the widows) to prevent them from caving in (the roofs, not the widows). Most of the rest of my youth, that would have got me in trouble, but we were doing service!
Then spring came along, but it was cold, and wet. In fact, it stayed winter-like all the way until Memorial day weekend. Then it got HOT. Like 90 degrees hot. And snow doesn't like hot much. It stops being snow and starts being water. But there wasn't anywhere for the water to go fast enough, so it started crossing streets. And it didn't even look both ways - it just went!
And in Farmington, they had themselves a good old fashioned mud-slide. I remember this vividly because the mud covered almost the entire course of my paper route. And they didn't let me ride my bike up there to deliver papers because, well, it was muddy. In fact, there were two or three porches that were then located a considerable distance from where they had been previously and no one involved with that porch seemed to care anymore that there wasn't a paper on it.
As all disasters go, mostly we survived. But it got me thinking about water up in them thar hills. The newspaper got that idea too, and ever since, the water manager has become something of a celebrity. You started to hear from some of these guys that never got any notice before, and people cared what they had to say! We didn't want a repeat of that nasty winter of '83.
So here we are, safely nestled in 2010. I recently picked up a the paper and read a story on our water situation. Basically, it sucks.
According to our water managers, we had snow. But it wasn't enough snow. And even if we got way more snow, we won't have enough snow. In fact, if it snowed constantly from now until the end of May, we are all screwed.
What will happen? Well, we won't have enough snow. And, if we don't have enough snow, then.....we won't have enough snow.
It seems almost as if these water manager people are saying that it's all our fault. You see the problem was we had a warm November. It didn't snow. And we all enjoyed it! If you had been smart, you would have been totally disgusted that we didn't get enough snow and then we might have been ok, but you were all out working in your yards, ENJOYING the no-snow condition! Now it has come home to roost. Because we didn't get enough snow then, we are in trouble!
But wait, you say. How can me enjoying the warm weather have anything to do with it? Even if I hated the warm weather, it still would not have made it snow, right? I mean, we can't make it snow! All we can do is enjoy the lack of it. But that's the problem, they say. You ENJOYED it. So the snow gods didn't let it snow because they were just trying to make YOU happy! And because you were happy, we didn't get snow! So now we are screwed and it's all YOUR FAULT!!!!!
You see, if we had a good snow storm in November, it would have made it easier to get our normal snow pack by April. But you had to enjoy that warm November, didn't you. Now even though we had almost a foot of new snow in the last week, preceded by even more snow in December (I think it has snowed straight since the 2nd week in December, hasn't it?) It just is not enough. Even if it snowed 2 feet every day until April 30th, we won't have enough snow!
So, what kind of person becomes a water manager?
Eeyore.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Look at me! I'm a bunny!
Ok, so that may be a bit of a strange title to a blog entry, I would agree. But it should make sense by the time you get to the end.
About 3 years ago, I went in to the doctor to get a physical. It had been a while, I admit. But I was thinking that after about 10 years of going to Scout camp and resolutely avoiding getting a physical, it was about time to acquiesce. You see, every boy who goes to a Scout camp is required to have a physical so they don't kill over and die for some unforeseen reason because of an undetected health condition. It's much better to just send them up with a nice sharp pocket knife and Bic lighter and tell them to go to town. I think that secretly, the camp staff is only trained for life-threatening Bic lighter or pocket knife injuries and that having something else, say, a retinal myocardial disease, would be somewhat outside the scope of their training. (You know, I don't even know if retinal myocardial disease is real or not. I just kind of threw some medical-ish sounding words out there to make it sound like I knew what I was talking about).
But for adult leaders, it's a different story. They do very adamantly require that all adult leaders have a physical, and I suppose it makes sense. If someone were to keel over for an undetected medial reason, it would likely be an adult leader before one of the boys. But I always approached it from the standpoint of, "What are they going to do, send me home? MAKE MY DAY, PUNK!!!!" At which point, the staff would cower in shame and admit that they really didn't have any intentions of sending adult leaders home. In fact, they would ask first if we had some sort of cell phone that worked out there in the middle of nowhere just in case reinforcements were required.
After about 10 years of scoffing at those silly Scout camp requirements for adults, I thought that I better at least get one done one year. Well, big mistake there. I would have been so much better off had I not ever bothered.
One of the many rather joyful tests they do is the blood test. (Don't worry. I won't digress into all the tasteless things that a doctor does to the poor sot who goes in and submits, and even pays, to have this regimen of medieval torture performed on them. Partially because I am too ashamed to admit having endured them or even describe them, and partially because this is a family blog site, man! You just can't say those sorts of things! Anyhow, I digress).
Now the blood test is an interesting process. You can't eat anything for 12 hours before you go in because it messes up the blood test. So you starve yourself, and go in and let them dig around in your arm for that pesky little vein that holds the door of the mother-lode. You are already a little lightheaded from not eating, then they strap this rubber strap around your arm that tangles up in your arm hair and pulls out random clumps (yes, I have that much arm hair), then make you flex your arm while your hand changes shades of white, then blue, then purple, then green...oh, wait. Those last two only happen if you do it too long.
Then they start poking the crux of your arm. (What is that thing called, anyhow? It's not an arm pit - that's up higher. Is it the elbow pit? Back off, man. I'm an engineer, not a physician) At some point, you start to wonder if you are supposed to poke back, but then they feel something there (or pretend to), and then they swoop in with the needle. Once the needle is safely poked through the flesh, the digging can begin. Usually, that is followed by some light conversation like, "Hmmm...that little sucker is sure hard to find, isn't it?" To which I would usually answer, "If you want to talk to me, quit spinning so much around my head, ok?"
After a nice course of digging, they would make the lunge and reach the happy spot. That is somewhere outside the other side of the arm, I am sure. Once they are sure that arm guts are properly churned up, they put the little tube thing in the other end and in a mighty squirt, the blood begins to flow. And it starts getting really hot in the room, and things get fuzzy, and ....no, wait! I am not going to pass out! After drawing several small gallons of blood, the technician (I guess they call them blood-digger-techs?) eyes you up and down to determine if you can walk through the door without looking like a drunk (it scares off the other victims awaiting their torture) and lets you leave with some really styling florescent pink elbow band wrapped tightly around your arm to make sure none of the inner elbow guts don't leak out.
Now, we wait. After several days, a call comes back that the lab work is done. That's when I found out the good news. Apparently, my blood is straight lard.
They say there are 2 types of cholesterol; the good kind called "HDL" and the bad kind called "LDL". Now, don't get me wrong. I am always one to appreciate a good acronym. But I am at a loss at these two for these two. HDL is good and LDL is bad? That doesn't even rhyme, man!
Oh, and there are these other things in there call triglycerides. I know of nitroglycerin. That would be cool to have some of. What are these triglycerides? Who knows.
Apparently, my blood has too little of the HDL stuff and too much of the LDL stuff. And I have too many triglycerides too and apparently that is bad. The way they describe it, my blood should come out almost congealed (a fact I know is not true because just 2 days ago, I tore off half my upper lip while shaving and that sucker didn't congeal for hours! I had to walk around most of the day with a small piece of toilet paper stuck on my lip and that certainly is not fashionable.) Also, if I don't fix this thing, I am at a higher risk of encountering some sort of "heart related event" within 10 years. That doesn't sound so good.
To avoid this nasty event, they gave me drugs. And I was good about taking them. And they didn't make me feel any better. In fact, they wrecked havoc on my system. I won't get into many details (see the reference above to the general physical), but I was thinking that I could get used to it if it made my blood better. After a while some of the side effects went away and I did get used to them.
And every 3 months, they would have me go in and repeat the medieval torture routine to see how this medication was working. The general consensus back from the doctor was that my body was adjusting to the medication, but it was irritating my liver a bit much. Irritating my liver? I don't think I like irritated liver! But the doctor assured me it would get better with time and it was worth it in the overall scheme of things.
After about a year we sat back and assessed the results. Well, the LDL went down. My overall cholesterol went down. My HDLs stayed the same or got worse. Triglycerides didn't change.
Some would consider this progress, by my doctor did not. He said that it was good to get the LDL down, but by not moving the HDL, I was still just as likely to kick off as I was a year prior.
So we changed some medications. Same results. We changed them again to something completely different. I was taking a "statin". Then I changed to a "fibrate". My doctor told me that statins and fibrates don't like each other and really irritate the liver, so I had to make sure I got all the statins out before the fibrates started. After a while, we got the results back and everything was the same, except my LDLs went back up. So he wanted me to then take the statin and the fibrate together.
Wait a minute! Don't statins and fibrates not like each other? And don't they have their fight in my liver? I am no doctor, but I am guessing a statin and fibrate cage match in my liver is not one I want to do!
So I got frustrated and bagged the whole thing. This process sounded an awful lot like a crap shoot. He (my doctor) seemed to have no clue on which way to go - he was just throwing stuff at me in the hopes that something may work. That's fine when you are trying to fix a car or something, but I only have one liver.
I just went back after about a year or so and got checked again. And it's worse. I did some research on how to raise HDL and lower LDL and triglycerides. Beyond doing the Russian Roulette medication route, here is the best I can hope to do:
1. Keep my life insurance policy paid up and hope for the best. Kathryn really hates it when I suggest this plan, however. She threatens to beat me up, so I guess that may not be the best course of action.
2. Give up any sorts of food that I remotely like. I have to start eating carrots, and twigs, and ferns, and bushes, and anything that may grow alongside the road of life. No more meat, no more butter, no more substitute food. Just throw out the lawn mover and send me out back with a fork and knife.
3. I must become a marathon runner. I hate running, but the only way I can survive for more than 10 years from now is to become a runner.
In short, I have to become a bunny.
About 3 years ago, I went in to the doctor to get a physical. It had been a while, I admit. But I was thinking that after about 10 years of going to Scout camp and resolutely avoiding getting a physical, it was about time to acquiesce. You see, every boy who goes to a Scout camp is required to have a physical so they don't kill over and die for some unforeseen reason because of an undetected health condition. It's much better to just send them up with a nice sharp pocket knife and Bic lighter and tell them to go to town. I think that secretly, the camp staff is only trained for life-threatening Bic lighter or pocket knife injuries and that having something else, say, a retinal myocardial disease, would be somewhat outside the scope of their training. (You know, I don't even know if retinal myocardial disease is real or not. I just kind of threw some medical-ish sounding words out there to make it sound like I knew what I was talking about).
But for adult leaders, it's a different story. They do very adamantly require that all adult leaders have a physical, and I suppose it makes sense. If someone were to keel over for an undetected medial reason, it would likely be an adult leader before one of the boys. But I always approached it from the standpoint of, "What are they going to do, send me home? MAKE MY DAY, PUNK!!!!" At which point, the staff would cower in shame and admit that they really didn't have any intentions of sending adult leaders home. In fact, they would ask first if we had some sort of cell phone that worked out there in the middle of nowhere just in case reinforcements were required.
After about 10 years of scoffing at those silly Scout camp requirements for adults, I thought that I better at least get one done one year. Well, big mistake there. I would have been so much better off had I not ever bothered.
One of the many rather joyful tests they do is the blood test. (Don't worry. I won't digress into all the tasteless things that a doctor does to the poor sot who goes in and submits, and even pays, to have this regimen of medieval torture performed on them. Partially because I am too ashamed to admit having endured them or even describe them, and partially because this is a family blog site, man! You just can't say those sorts of things! Anyhow, I digress).
Now the blood test is an interesting process. You can't eat anything for 12 hours before you go in because it messes up the blood test. So you starve yourself, and go in and let them dig around in your arm for that pesky little vein that holds the door of the mother-lode. You are already a little lightheaded from not eating, then they strap this rubber strap around your arm that tangles up in your arm hair and pulls out random clumps (yes, I have that much arm hair), then make you flex your arm while your hand changes shades of white, then blue, then purple, then green...oh, wait. Those last two only happen if you do it too long.
Then they start poking the crux of your arm. (What is that thing called, anyhow? It's not an arm pit - that's up higher. Is it the elbow pit? Back off, man. I'm an engineer, not a physician) At some point, you start to wonder if you are supposed to poke back, but then they feel something there (or pretend to), and then they swoop in with the needle. Once the needle is safely poked through the flesh, the digging can begin. Usually, that is followed by some light conversation like, "Hmmm...that little sucker is sure hard to find, isn't it?" To which I would usually answer, "If you want to talk to me, quit spinning so much around my head, ok?"
After a nice course of digging, they would make the lunge and reach the happy spot. That is somewhere outside the other side of the arm, I am sure. Once they are sure that arm guts are properly churned up, they put the little tube thing in the other end and in a mighty squirt, the blood begins to flow. And it starts getting really hot in the room, and things get fuzzy, and ....no, wait! I am not going to pass out! After drawing several small gallons of blood, the technician (I guess they call them blood-digger-techs?) eyes you up and down to determine if you can walk through the door without looking like a drunk (it scares off the other victims awaiting their torture) and lets you leave with some really styling florescent pink elbow band wrapped tightly around your arm to make sure none of the inner elbow guts don't leak out.
Now, we wait. After several days, a call comes back that the lab work is done. That's when I found out the good news. Apparently, my blood is straight lard.
They say there are 2 types of cholesterol; the good kind called "HDL" and the bad kind called "LDL". Now, don't get me wrong. I am always one to appreciate a good acronym. But I am at a loss at these two for these two. HDL is good and LDL is bad? That doesn't even rhyme, man!
Oh, and there are these other things in there call triglycerides. I know of nitroglycerin. That would be cool to have some of. What are these triglycerides? Who knows.
Apparently, my blood has too little of the HDL stuff and too much of the LDL stuff. And I have too many triglycerides too and apparently that is bad. The way they describe it, my blood should come out almost congealed (a fact I know is not true because just 2 days ago, I tore off half my upper lip while shaving and that sucker didn't congeal for hours! I had to walk around most of the day with a small piece of toilet paper stuck on my lip and that certainly is not fashionable.) Also, if I don't fix this thing, I am at a higher risk of encountering some sort of "heart related event" within 10 years. That doesn't sound so good.
To avoid this nasty event, they gave me drugs. And I was good about taking them. And they didn't make me feel any better. In fact, they wrecked havoc on my system. I won't get into many details (see the reference above to the general physical), but I was thinking that I could get used to it if it made my blood better. After a while some of the side effects went away and I did get used to them.
And every 3 months, they would have me go in and repeat the medieval torture routine to see how this medication was working. The general consensus back from the doctor was that my body was adjusting to the medication, but it was irritating my liver a bit much. Irritating my liver? I don't think I like irritated liver! But the doctor assured me it would get better with time and it was worth it in the overall scheme of things.
After about a year we sat back and assessed the results. Well, the LDL went down. My overall cholesterol went down. My HDLs stayed the same or got worse. Triglycerides didn't change.
Some would consider this progress, by my doctor did not. He said that it was good to get the LDL down, but by not moving the HDL, I was still just as likely to kick off as I was a year prior.
So we changed some medications. Same results. We changed them again to something completely different. I was taking a "statin". Then I changed to a "fibrate". My doctor told me that statins and fibrates don't like each other and really irritate the liver, so I had to make sure I got all the statins out before the fibrates started. After a while, we got the results back and everything was the same, except my LDLs went back up. So he wanted me to then take the statin and the fibrate together.
Wait a minute! Don't statins and fibrates not like each other? And don't they have their fight in my liver? I am no doctor, but I am guessing a statin and fibrate cage match in my liver is not one I want to do!
So I got frustrated and bagged the whole thing. This process sounded an awful lot like a crap shoot. He (my doctor) seemed to have no clue on which way to go - he was just throwing stuff at me in the hopes that something may work. That's fine when you are trying to fix a car or something, but I only have one liver.
I just went back after about a year or so and got checked again. And it's worse. I did some research on how to raise HDL and lower LDL and triglycerides. Beyond doing the Russian Roulette medication route, here is the best I can hope to do:
1. Keep my life insurance policy paid up and hope for the best. Kathryn really hates it when I suggest this plan, however. She threatens to beat me up, so I guess that may not be the best course of action.
2. Give up any sorts of food that I remotely like. I have to start eating carrots, and twigs, and ferns, and bushes, and anything that may grow alongside the road of life. No more meat, no more butter, no more substitute food. Just throw out the lawn mover and send me out back with a fork and knife.
3. I must become a marathon runner. I hate running, but the only way I can survive for more than 10 years from now is to become a runner.
In short, I have to become a bunny.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Frustrated Inc.
The title of my blog for tonight happens to be the same as a popular song. I quote it, not because I particularly like that song, or could even tell you who sang it, but because it seems of late that has been the way things go.
I was looking back on my blog and read my entry on "Fuzzy Math" from back in February. To prevent your (obviously) overwhelming desire to go back and read it, I was venting on the apparent lack of math skills of one certain contracting officer I was being forced to deal with on a contract for work. Alas, that contract is still being mulled about and has not been awarded. I identified the need for that project about 3.5 years ago. I applied for funding for it about 3 years ago. I got the money about 2.5 years ago. I started working on the contract then. After the elongated pre-contracting junk we had to do, we got the solicitation out on the street in June 2008. It was awarded in September 2008. Then one of the losers (and I use that term as nicely as I can) protested the award. Then our Fuzzy Math guy got involved and it went all to crap.
Protests usually get resolved in about 2-3 weeks. October 8th was the 1 year mark of the protest. It still is not resolved. Sadly, I still have to work with this goomba to get this thing on contract. I have quit holding my breath long ago. The future working with him is not so bright (just as he himself is - not so bright).
Then I have been trying to keep up on the "comedy of errors" with my brother and his kids. I would say comedy of errors, if there was anything funny about it, but there isn't. His experience with his now ex-wife has been a model case as to why our system is so broken. At one point, his ex hit him with her car. That's right - you didn't read that wrong. She watched him walk in front of her van, turned the wheels into him, and punched it. It screwed up his knee. He had surgery to fix it about 3 months ago. The cops were there when it happened. Know what they did? They arrested my brother and charged him with domestic abuse!
You may call me jaded because he is my brother. But that is exactly what happened. He had to be bailed out or would have spent the night in jail. The cops took the kids and give them back to her. Not bad, huh? Hit your ex-husband (on purpose), they haul him off to jail, then give you back the kids. Not bad. No charges against her. Nothing.
Then, after months of working through the courts, my brother gets custody of the kids. She comes down and takes them without my brother knowing it. Isn't that technically kidnapping? On top of that, she is driving on a suspended license. She holes up in her apartment. The police intervene. Get the kids back to my brother, and what do they do to her? That's right. Nothing. I guess we should be glad they didn't arrest my brother and give the kids back to her.
Then I hear a story of my neighbor who is going through a divorce. They caught the guy going into his ex-wife's house looking for his kid's hat. They threw the book at him. He narrowly avoided jail time, and got like 2 years probation. His ex-wife even went and testified that she didn't want him to go to jail and they still nailed him. What's the real crime here? The same as my brother - he is a man, not a woman.
In Utah, apparently you can do anything you want in these situations if you are a woman. You can assault your ex-husband and they will arrest and charge him - her recourse? Nothing. You can kidnap your kids in direct violation of a court order, abuse them physically,verbally, and emotionally. DCFS has a case file a mile long on it. You can hold them hostage in your apartment against their will and what is your recourse? Nothing.
Amazing. Frustrating and amazing.
What is wrong with our justice system? I realize that men are the majority of the problem in most of these cases. But if it's 99% of the time the man's at fault, what about the 1% when it's the woman? Do those ends justify the means? And the real victims here are the kids. They are being neglected, abused, and traumatized. But she can do no wrong in the eyes of the law.
Ahh, there are so many frustrations. I could go on with more, but I would sound like I am whining. This post really is kind of a drag, but what can I say? I had to say it.
I was looking back on my blog and read my entry on "Fuzzy Math" from back in February. To prevent your (obviously) overwhelming desire to go back and read it, I was venting on the apparent lack of math skills of one certain contracting officer I was being forced to deal with on a contract for work. Alas, that contract is still being mulled about and has not been awarded. I identified the need for that project about 3.5 years ago. I applied for funding for it about 3 years ago. I got the money about 2.5 years ago. I started working on the contract then. After the elongated pre-contracting junk we had to do, we got the solicitation out on the street in June 2008. It was awarded in September 2008. Then one of the losers (and I use that term as nicely as I can) protested the award. Then our Fuzzy Math guy got involved and it went all to crap.
Protests usually get resolved in about 2-3 weeks. October 8th was the 1 year mark of the protest. It still is not resolved. Sadly, I still have to work with this goomba to get this thing on contract. I have quit holding my breath long ago. The future working with him is not so bright (just as he himself is - not so bright).
Then I have been trying to keep up on the "comedy of errors" with my brother and his kids. I would say comedy of errors, if there was anything funny about it, but there isn't. His experience with his now ex-wife has been a model case as to why our system is so broken. At one point, his ex hit him with her car. That's right - you didn't read that wrong. She watched him walk in front of her van, turned the wheels into him, and punched it. It screwed up his knee. He had surgery to fix it about 3 months ago. The cops were there when it happened. Know what they did? They arrested my brother and charged him with domestic abuse!
You may call me jaded because he is my brother. But that is exactly what happened. He had to be bailed out or would have spent the night in jail. The cops took the kids and give them back to her. Not bad, huh? Hit your ex-husband (on purpose), they haul him off to jail, then give you back the kids. Not bad. No charges against her. Nothing.
Then, after months of working through the courts, my brother gets custody of the kids. She comes down and takes them without my brother knowing it. Isn't that technically kidnapping? On top of that, she is driving on a suspended license. She holes up in her apartment. The police intervene. Get the kids back to my brother, and what do they do to her? That's right. Nothing. I guess we should be glad they didn't arrest my brother and give the kids back to her.
Then I hear a story of my neighbor who is going through a divorce. They caught the guy going into his ex-wife's house looking for his kid's hat. They threw the book at him. He narrowly avoided jail time, and got like 2 years probation. His ex-wife even went and testified that she didn't want him to go to jail and they still nailed him. What's the real crime here? The same as my brother - he is a man, not a woman.
In Utah, apparently you can do anything you want in these situations if you are a woman. You can assault your ex-husband and they will arrest and charge him - her recourse? Nothing. You can kidnap your kids in direct violation of a court order, abuse them physically,verbally, and emotionally. DCFS has a case file a mile long on it. You can hold them hostage in your apartment against their will and what is your recourse? Nothing.
Amazing. Frustrating and amazing.
What is wrong with our justice system? I realize that men are the majority of the problem in most of these cases. But if it's 99% of the time the man's at fault, what about the 1% when it's the woman? Do those ends justify the means? And the real victims here are the kids. They are being neglected, abused, and traumatized. But she can do no wrong in the eyes of the law.
Ahh, there are so many frustrations. I could go on with more, but I would sound like I am whining. This post really is kind of a drag, but what can I say? I had to say it.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Father's Day
Kathryn, Emily, and I got roped into speaking in church today. They gave us topics to speak on, but I decided to kind of do my own thing. I made a list of "Things Dad Can't Do", sort of. It's a list of stuff I figured out on my own as a dad, and about other dads in my life.
It's based on that book called, "Things Dad Can't Do". It has things like:
1. Dads can't cross the road without holding a hand.
2. Dads need lots of help putting up the tent when you are camping
3. Dads aren't good at finding you in hide and seek
4. Dads aren't good at hiding when you play hide and seek.
You know how it works. Anyhow, I came up with a bunch of my own:
1. Dads can’t dig holes in the back yard without an audience
2. Dads can’t do anything without having to explain what he is doing, again, and again, and again…..
3. Dad’s tools are far more fun than any toys.
4. Dads like to work with tools, but they really like it when they aren’t where he put them last. They like to find things like tools.
5. Dad’s tools can turn on and off the rain.
6. Dads like it when you find great places to hide his keys. Particularly when you are about ready to leave on vacation.
7. Dad’s tie on Sunday is a great practice harness for future water skiing careers.
8. Dads need to be identified. We need to point them out any time they are passing the sacrament or sitting on the stand.
9. Dads don’t like it when you squish the cat, even though you are only trying to hug her.
10. Dads really need to have you sit in his lap when he’s working on the computer. He also needs lots of help hitting the keys.
11. Dads need to have someone watch them play games on the computer.
12. Dads don’t sleep much. They put you to bed and they are gone when you wake up. It’s really important, however, if you wake up in the morning and Dad is sleeping, that you wake him up as soon as possible.
13. If Dad is lying on the floor, at least one person must jump on his back, but the more the better.
14. Dads really love to plant pretty flowers that you can pick and scatter all over the front porch.
15. Dads want to make sure you look pretty for church.
16. Dads try to do your hair, but it usually doesn’t look as pretty as when Mom does it. But at least Dad tried.
17. If anything is broke, Dad can fix it.
18. Dads have a hard time coming up with the right words to say sometimes. He may hit his thumb with a hammer, and even though he seems like he has something to say, he just doesn't say it out loud.
19. Dads think you really love tickles
20. Dads think you really need to know how many ribs you have, and help you find out how many you have very often.
21. Sometimes when Dads count your ribs, they lose count really easy.
22. Dads are really good at remembering embarrassing stories. They are even better at knowing the worst possible time to tell them.
23. At dinner, a burp may escape on you. Moms like to teach you manners by telling you to say “Excuse me”. Dads like to teach you gratitude by telling you to say, “Good Cookin’ Mom!” Moms don’t appreciate it when Dads do that.
24. Dads have a built in GPS locator in their brain that can tell you where Mom is at any time.
25. Dads call you annoying nicknames like, “Cute Bug”, or “My little buddy”, or “Goofy”.
26. When Dads shoot the basketball, they aren’t very good shots
27. Dads really can’t block your basketball shot very well. They are tall enough, but just can’t seem to get there to block your shot.
28. Dads like to watch soccer games on Saturdays. And baseball games. And basketball games. And dance recitals.
29. Dads don't really like to dance much. Unless its for your dance recital party
30. Dads don’t mind sharing their birthday (Savanna and I share a birthday). When that happens, they are ok with having a princess cake.
31. Dads teach you how to play sports so that someday you can look into the camera and say, “Hi Mom!”
32. Dads like to kiss Mom when you are watching to gross you out.
33. Dads don’t like it when you fight.
34. Dads get really upset when you are not nice to Mom. They say strange things like they know what Mom went through to bring you here to earth. Dads prefer it when you tell Mom you love her.
35. If you are fighting in the car, Dads stop and make you walk. Usually with the person you were fighting with.
36. Sometimes Dads volunteer you to speak in Church
37. Dads don't even tell people how much you complained about having to talk in church (not Emily)
38. Dads volunteer you to do other service projects, even if you don't want to do them. They don't let you get paid for them sometimes so you can learn service.
39. Dads read the paper sometimes and worry about you and what could happen to you.
40. Dads don't get scared too easy. But sometimes you get lost and Dad gets really worried and scared that he might not find you again. He tries not to let you see how scared he gets at those times.
41. Dads get to deal with the mice
42. When you get a cat, Dads get to deal with the litter box
43. Dads aren't so good at changing stinky diapers.
44. Dads have a hard time remembering things like appointments and what's going on during the week
45. Dads know lots about life and things. They know about trees, and rocks, and everything
46. Sometimes you find out later that Dad was making some of that stuff up
47. Dads do things they don't like to do. Like go to work early in the morning, or on snowy days, or bad days. They do it because they want to take care of your family.
48. Dads don’t take sick days. Even when they are sick, they still work.
49. Dads have cloths that fall apart, but they don’t complain as long as you have nice cloths to wear.
50. Dads are good to talk to. They understand you somehow and know how you feel. Even when you don't want them to understand, they still do
51. Dads let you write letters to them about how hard of a time you are having on a mission. They give good advice and promise not to tell Mom so she won't worry about you
52. Dads probably can't help telling Mom anyhow
53. Dads can talk to you about how you feel lonely and wonder if you'll ever find the right person. They always say that you will, even if you don't believe them.
54. Dads make you feel better and say the sorts of things that reassure you that feeling lonely doesn't last forever.
55. Dads are usually right about you finding the right person.
56. Dads can give you blessings when you feel bad. They know what to say to make you feel better
57. Dads sometimes take care of your Mom when she forgets how to do it for herself. He makes it so Mom can live the last days of her life with dignity.
58. Dads sometimes have to live without your Mom. They feel lonely and wonder if they can make it without her. Then you get to try and make them feel better and reassure him that feeling lonely doesn't last forever
59. Dads are your hero when you are young. They are your hero when you are a teenager. They are your hero when you are on your mission. They are your hero when you become a Dad. Sometimes you wonder how you could ever be as good of a dad as your dad is. Then someday, you become a dad and you realize that what makes a great dad is that he loves you more than anyone in the world.
60. Dads really love being your dad.
It's based on that book called, "Things Dad Can't Do". It has things like:
1. Dads can't cross the road without holding a hand.
2. Dads need lots of help putting up the tent when you are camping
3. Dads aren't good at finding you in hide and seek
4. Dads aren't good at hiding when you play hide and seek.
You know how it works. Anyhow, I came up with a bunch of my own:
1. Dads can’t dig holes in the back yard without an audience
2. Dads can’t do anything without having to explain what he is doing, again, and again, and again…..
3. Dad’s tools are far more fun than any toys.
4. Dads like to work with tools, but they really like it when they aren’t where he put them last. They like to find things like tools.
5. Dad’s tools can turn on and off the rain.
6. Dads like it when you find great places to hide his keys. Particularly when you are about ready to leave on vacation.
7. Dad’s tie on Sunday is a great practice harness for future water skiing careers.
8. Dads need to be identified. We need to point them out any time they are passing the sacrament or sitting on the stand.
9. Dads don’t like it when you squish the cat, even though you are only trying to hug her.
10. Dads really need to have you sit in his lap when he’s working on the computer. He also needs lots of help hitting the keys.
11. Dads need to have someone watch them play games on the computer.
12. Dads don’t sleep much. They put you to bed and they are gone when you wake up. It’s really important, however, if you wake up in the morning and Dad is sleeping, that you wake him up as soon as possible.
13. If Dad is lying on the floor, at least one person must jump on his back, but the more the better.
14. Dads really love to plant pretty flowers that you can pick and scatter all over the front porch.
15. Dads want to make sure you look pretty for church.
16. Dads try to do your hair, but it usually doesn’t look as pretty as when Mom does it. But at least Dad tried.
17. If anything is broke, Dad can fix it.
18. Dads have a hard time coming up with the right words to say sometimes. He may hit his thumb with a hammer, and even though he seems like he has something to say, he just doesn't say it out loud.
19. Dads think you really love tickles
20. Dads think you really need to know how many ribs you have, and help you find out how many you have very often.
21. Sometimes when Dads count your ribs, they lose count really easy.
22. Dads are really good at remembering embarrassing stories. They are even better at knowing the worst possible time to tell them.
23. At dinner, a burp may escape on you. Moms like to teach you manners by telling you to say “Excuse me”. Dads like to teach you gratitude by telling you to say, “Good Cookin’ Mom!” Moms don’t appreciate it when Dads do that.
24. Dads have a built in GPS locator in their brain that can tell you where Mom is at any time.
25. Dads call you annoying nicknames like, “Cute Bug”, or “My little buddy”, or “Goofy”.
26. When Dads shoot the basketball, they aren’t very good shots
27. Dads really can’t block your basketball shot very well. They are tall enough, but just can’t seem to get there to block your shot.
28. Dads like to watch soccer games on Saturdays. And baseball games. And basketball games. And dance recitals.
29. Dads don't really like to dance much. Unless its for your dance recital party
30. Dads don’t mind sharing their birthday (Savanna and I share a birthday). When that happens, they are ok with having a princess cake.
31. Dads teach you how to play sports so that someday you can look into the camera and say, “Hi Mom!”
32. Dads like to kiss Mom when you are watching to gross you out.
33. Dads don’t like it when you fight.
34. Dads get really upset when you are not nice to Mom. They say strange things like they know what Mom went through to bring you here to earth. Dads prefer it when you tell Mom you love her.
35. If you are fighting in the car, Dads stop and make you walk. Usually with the person you were fighting with.
36. Sometimes Dads volunteer you to speak in Church
37. Dads don't even tell people how much you complained about having to talk in church (not Emily)
38. Dads volunteer you to do other service projects, even if you don't want to do them. They don't let you get paid for them sometimes so you can learn service.
39. Dads read the paper sometimes and worry about you and what could happen to you.
40. Dads don't get scared too easy. But sometimes you get lost and Dad gets really worried and scared that he might not find you again. He tries not to let you see how scared he gets at those times.
41. Dads get to deal with the mice
42. When you get a cat, Dads get to deal with the litter box
43. Dads aren't so good at changing stinky diapers.
44. Dads have a hard time remembering things like appointments and what's going on during the week
45. Dads know lots about life and things. They know about trees, and rocks, and everything
46. Sometimes you find out later that Dad was making some of that stuff up
47. Dads do things they don't like to do. Like go to work early in the morning, or on snowy days, or bad days. They do it because they want to take care of your family.
48. Dads don’t take sick days. Even when they are sick, they still work.
49. Dads have cloths that fall apart, but they don’t complain as long as you have nice cloths to wear.
50. Dads are good to talk to. They understand you somehow and know how you feel. Even when you don't want them to understand, they still do
51. Dads let you write letters to them about how hard of a time you are having on a mission. They give good advice and promise not to tell Mom so she won't worry about you
52. Dads probably can't help telling Mom anyhow
53. Dads can talk to you about how you feel lonely and wonder if you'll ever find the right person. They always say that you will, even if you don't believe them.
54. Dads make you feel better and say the sorts of things that reassure you that feeling lonely doesn't last forever.
55. Dads are usually right about you finding the right person.
56. Dads can give you blessings when you feel bad. They know what to say to make you feel better
57. Dads sometimes take care of your Mom when she forgets how to do it for herself. He makes it so Mom can live the last days of her life with dignity.
58. Dads sometimes have to live without your Mom. They feel lonely and wonder if they can make it without her. Then you get to try and make them feel better and reassure him that feeling lonely doesn't last forever
59. Dads are your hero when you are young. They are your hero when you are a teenager. They are your hero when you are on your mission. They are your hero when you become a Dad. Sometimes you wonder how you could ever be as good of a dad as your dad is. Then someday, you become a dad and you realize that what makes a great dad is that he loves you more than anyone in the world.
60. Dads really love being your dad.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Avoiding Chopping Off My Left Hand
I have decided that I am not half the blogger that Kathryn is. I must bow at the altar and worship the queen blogger!
Obviously, there are plenty of reasons to have such hopes. I am sure most people would share such hopes. I mean, without a left hand, you can't eat a hamburger while driving a car (well, maybe you can hold the steering wheel with the stump of your hand), your "flipping the bird" hand is confined to the right hand (not that I really do that "flipping the bird" thing anyhow); I have never tried, but I would imagine that picking your left nostril with your right hand would be really difficult. (Come on! I bet you tried just to see if you could!)
After all, if I lost my left hand in some sort of accident, what would I do with all those left handed gloves?
Ok - so here goes for today. I have made a major moment of enlightenment as of late. I have determined that I had yet another reason to hope against all hope to never experience some sort of industrial-type accident that results in the severing of my left hand.
Obviously, there are plenty of reasons to have such hopes. I am sure most people would share such hopes. I mean, without a left hand, you can't eat a hamburger while driving a car (well, maybe you can hold the steering wheel with the stump of your hand), your "flipping the bird" hand is confined to the right hand (not that I really do that "flipping the bird" thing anyhow); I have never tried, but I would imagine that picking your left nostril with your right hand would be really difficult. (Come on! I bet you tried just to see if you could!)
But now I have one more. I have discovered (much to my chagrin - you like that word? It's my unique word of the day!) that Ethan has a new pass time. He seems to like rummaging around with my tools and scattering them to and fro. I have found screwdrivers in the back yard, I have found my crecent wrench on the front lawn, my shovels in various places around the yard, screws and bolts everywhere.
Where am I going with this? Well, the other day, I went out to work in the yard. As is my normal ritual, I tried to locate my work gloves. Now, I have to say I have acquired a large quantity of work gloves. Being an engineer, I have seriously wimpy hands. Not to say I haven't worked much, I just haven't spent a lot of time in my career exposing my hands directly to serious manual labor. Ok, I have wimpy hands. If I don't wear work gloves when I am working, I seriously screw up my hands.
As I hunted my gloves down, I found many gloves. Actually, I found a pile of one glove from each set. The left hand from each set.
After all, if I lost my left hand in some sort of accident, what would I do with all those left handed gloves?
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Brief Update
Ok - so it's been a while. I wonder how many blog posts start this way? Well, one more, I guess.
This last few weeks have been hectic. We went to the Grand Canyon and to Flagstaff earlier this month. It was really nice. I thought it would be kind of a pain because of how much driving we had to do in such a short period of time, but it turned out to be pretty good. Some of the area we drove through is really beautiful and it was awesome to see some of the Grand Canyon. I think that it would be a lifetime experience to hike through it someday. I wouldn't mind doing that at all. Of course, it wouldn't work out well with the kids as young as they are, but someday we can all hope to make it.
Last week we prepared for and ran our booth at the Dutch Oven Society Convention. It was awesome, to say the least. I was working the order taking portion and I literally was taking orders constantly from 8:30 am to 12:30 pm. We did far better this year than we have ever done. I didn't even get a chance to go around and sample the awesome cooking like I usually do because business was so brisk. Not that I am complaining.
I have some ideas for future posts. I know this was was kind of dull, but there it is.
This last few weeks have been hectic. We went to the Grand Canyon and to Flagstaff earlier this month. It was really nice. I thought it would be kind of a pain because of how much driving we had to do in such a short period of time, but it turned out to be pretty good. Some of the area we drove through is really beautiful and it was awesome to see some of the Grand Canyon. I think that it would be a lifetime experience to hike through it someday. I wouldn't mind doing that at all. Of course, it wouldn't work out well with the kids as young as they are, but someday we can all hope to make it.
Last week we prepared for and ran our booth at the Dutch Oven Society Convention. It was awesome, to say the least. I was working the order taking portion and I literally was taking orders constantly from 8:30 am to 12:30 pm. We did far better this year than we have ever done. I didn't even get a chance to go around and sample the awesome cooking like I usually do because business was so brisk. Not that I am complaining.
I have some ideas for future posts. I know this was was kind of dull, but there it is.
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