Wednesday, April 25, 2007

Squeeze and Pee

I'm still reeling from the loss of Heather Mills on "Dancing with the Stars." How can anyone justify kicking her off before Billy Ray Cyrus? Oh sure, he's cute and famous and he's got a great accent and he is well-known to all those pre-teens who are voting for him--but, come on! Heather only has one leg and dances circles around him--on her one leg. There is only way I could distract myself from this pain.....

....From the cartoon--can you tell where I went today to distract myself? Yeow!

There is just something wrong with having your breast SMASHED between two pieces of plexi-glass. I find it more embarrassing than painful, but I'm not sporting double D honkers, so I'm figuring it's less painful for me than those poor souls with the big ta-tas.

Before I go on any further about the mammogram, I want to share a few words about urine. (I didn't call this "Squeeze and Pee" for nothing.) I was working with a client who had to save 24 hours of urine. That's pretty disgusting and it is a LOT of pee but it is part of his labwork and part of my job, so pee collecting it was. I set him up with his own pee-holding-cooler, filled it with ice and empty jugs, placed the cooler in his room (he is a lazy guy and I didn't trust he'd use the jug unless it was really convenient) and told him 376 times what he had to do and how to do it. He indicated understanding that each and every time he HAD to pee in the jug and then keep it on ice. I explained that I would then take his 24 hours of urine to the lab the next day.

If you know me, you KNOW this story is going somewhere.....

...well, it was the TWENTY-THIRD hour of the 24 hour pee collection. All was well in the pee department. I was happy, he was happy, the nurse was happy. We could see the end, the success! We were pretty skeptical that he'd be able to do this--after all, getting a manic person to pee into a jug without trouble is a difficult task.....

....so the staff goes upstairs to his room to get him ready to go to the lab and to deliver his jugs of pee when.....he literally (and I am so not making this up or exaggerating one bit), he SPILLS HIS JUGS OF URINE all over himself, the cooler, the floor, the hall...and the staff. (Not me. I move FAST.) That is A LOT of pee. Trust me. (That's why the pay me the big bucks. I KNOW to move fast when I see pee running my way.)

Twenty three hours.....all for naught. We get to try again tomorrow......(Don't drink out of any coolers at my place of employment. Really. God knows what's been in them.)


Back to the mammogram. There is nothing I can say about it that every women on the planet hasn't already said or thought. Who the hell wants that job, anyway? No one likes you, you have to flop breasts all day and you are stuck in a dark room. (Sure, all the perverted men of the world want that job but not me. It's not all fun and games flopping boobs professionally.) Being a "mammographer" has to be worse than getting pee spilled on you, as that only happens every so often. "Hi, I'm Suzi and I'm going to squeeze the shit out of your mammory gland using this vice." Part of the fun is that they never get all the "Shots" they want the first time and so they have to take MORE x-rays. It's fast and it's actually simple but I would rather have hot pokers shoved into the whites of my eyes than do that more than once a year. (Embarrassment, not pain. I keep saying this.)


Why is it that women have to have breasts smashed in glass, legs put in stirrups and cold, metal things shoved into their parts while their legs are stuck in those stirrups....while all guys have to do is "cough" once a year while some doctor grabs his parts? Maybe a man-o-gram would be a good idea--put the man parts in the mammogram x-ray machine.

I'd let pee flow all over the floor to see that one......

Sunday, April 22, 2007

In Search of the New Hairdo

Lisa Rinna is so OUT. I mean, she's no longer on Dancing with the Stars, everyone has her hairdo and I never take the time to flat iron my hair, anyway....so, it's time to search for the new hairdo. (Apologies to Lisa. She's still hot and her hair still looks good I'm sure four billion other folks will keep asking for your hairdo.)

I am not a hair professional--that's why I pay Harry the Hairstylist the big bucks. But, I still like to torture her by making suggestions about what to do with my hair. I have an appointment with her in just a few weeks, so my research for a new do is time limited. I'm tired of the looking like I'm from the Midwest. I think I want to go with "L.A. Lesbian Chic." Who better embodies this hair than JACKIE WARNER on "Workout?"

No one!

I figure Jackie has a team of like 35 assistants to help make her hair look so effortless, but I'm feeling like I can do the 'do on my own (as long as I have the right hair products). So, I'm gonna tell Harry to make my hair look like Jackie's hair. Of course, I'll work on my abs while she cuts my hair. (and, no--I am NOT going to EVER wear silver undie-shorts.)

Okay, so there must be some killer hair products in those locks to get them to look so tousseled. It takes a lot of time to get hair to look like you didn't do anything with it. It's Bedhead for the professional.

You know, I don't want such a big SWOOSH in my hair, but I would like it to be L.A. Lesbian Grunge-ish.

Hmmm. The more I look at these photos, the more unsure I am of this hair for my head. Maybe I should stick to working on my abs and stay out of the hair process.....

As for the weekend in the Addiverse, we attended a party in honor of our friend Sporty's 50th birthday party. We made t-shirts for the shin-dig, with each person's shirt representing an event from Sporty's life. My favorite shirt of the night:





Thursday, April 19, 2007

Killer Dog injures Wild Mama, Prostitutes entertain MJagger

Where has the blogger gone?

It's been a brutal week at work and I was in a food coma earlier in the week from a stay in the Loop, so I was unable to write a blog. This is so wrong. I apologize to you, esteemed blog reader. I shall mend my ways. My goal is to have a new post at least every Thursday.....and, to lose about 37 pounds gained while in Chicago. Someone please pass me some Rolaids.

I had two ideas for this blog--to talk about Freckles Warrior Princess almost killing my mother and to talk about MJagger's experience with two prostitutes in the bathroom while in Chicago. (Wait--that sounds bad. I mean MJagger was listening to a conversation between two prostitutes, not having a literal experience with them.) I'll start with the dogs and get to the prostitues in the next blog (I want MJagger to be a guest contributor, complete with detailed quotes.)

The dogs went to stay at Camp Grandma while the wife and I went to Chicago for the night. My only directions to Wild Mama were: feed Lucy around 4 pm or she'll throw up if she gets hungry, don't let Freckles get around any other dogs and keep Lucy awake all day or she'll lick all night and keep you up. Remember this.

So, the wife and I go to Chicago with MJagger & Officer Friendly. We met several other work types down there for a fun getaway weekend. It was a simple, shopping kind of weekend, filled with food and fun. We went shopping on Michigan Avenue, ate dinner on Navy Pier (well, not ON the Pier but in a restaurant on the pier), hopped around some piano bars, ate some more. We were dragged around town in one cab after another. We ended up in the piano bar at the Drake. That's where MJagger ran into the prostitutes. Like I said, more on that later.

While we are carousing around town, Wild Mama is cleaning up puke from Lucy (who has thrown up even tho Wild Mama fed Lucy at 4 PM), she is unable to sleep because Lucy was licking so much, and.....

...Wild Mama was almost killed when Freckles saw the neighbor dog.

Unfortunately, the mama's hand got caught in the retractable leash as Freckles Warrior Princess went tearing after the neighbor dog (who was not on its leash and wandering around in the cul de sac). When Frecks got to the end of that leash, her head SNAPPPED back (she probably now needs a doggie chiropractor) and Wild Mama's hand got a horrific rope burn. Actually two burns. One burn between two fingers, in the web of the hand. One around the pinkie, just about severing the thing right off her hand. And, let's not forget how her arm almost ripped out of her shoulder. YEOW!!

This is her bowling arm, so this is a very bad thing. It is hard to bowl when your shoulder has been ripped out of the socket and you have bandaids on your bowling fingers.

We return to Camp Grandma after our trip but find ourselves locked out of the house (not knowing anything about the dog traumas). The garage door code won't work. (Wild Mama and Taco Juan are at the bowling alley. Where did you think they were?) We swore, we prayed, we pushed the buttons fast, we tried pushing the buttons slowly, we tried everything. After much swearing and after listening to the dog's howl at us, we drive to the bowling alley only to find Wild Mama oozing blood through her band aids. We learn of Lucy's licking and puking. We are feeling really, really bad. We have ruined her bowling experience for the week.

Imagine our horror as we learn of the weekend events for the dogs. The pups have certainly NOT earned Dog of the Year titles (despite the photos included in this blog). We want to laugh when Wild Mama tells of how she was screaming at the neighbors (who don't really speak English) about keeping their damned dog on a leash, but we are not really sure the mama is ready for any laughing. I'm thinking the dogs are going to have to give up their allowance so the mama can get some medical attention.

Dog of the year, indeed. I don't think they are going to be invited back very soon. That kennel down the street is looking like a lot safer option for all of us....

...please pray for the Mama so her bowling hand heals and that she doesn't harm the neighbors....

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

Poop for Peace: April 13th

Now that I have sufficiently recovered from my angiogram delights, I am happy to turn to a favorite annual event......

Ah yes, it's that time of year again--time to "Poop For Peace." Don't just sit there--get out there and poop. For more information on this, go to www.poopreport.com

Quite to the wife's horror....Here's how we will be preparing for the annual event:

(1) Drink Coffee.

(2) Take a nap with the dogs.

(3) Move to bigger couch. Take another nap with the dogs.

(4) Smoke a cigar.


(5) Think about pooping.

(6) Poop. (You really don't want a photo about that, do you?)

Saturday, April 07, 2007

Angio-Addi
Just call me Dr. Angio-addi, as I had the kick-ass opportunity to "scrub in" on one of my client's angiogram yesterday. (Those of you in the medical field are yawning and saying things like, "what's so big about that?" Well, for someone who works as a counselor, it's mighty big news, so don't poop on my angiogram parade.) Grey's Anatomy, here I come!

It all started because my client, Mr. Ugly Toes (he'd be okay with that nickname because he does indeed have very ugly toes) was medically hospitalized on the cardiac unit of a local hospital. That in itself is very uneventful. Cut to him, a person with a pain-in-the-ass-load-of chronic-paranoid-schizophrenia, throwing a hissy fit because he doesn't want this and that test done, he doesn't like anyone, he's very paranoid of everyone and everything and he is certainly not going to cooperate with any of these medical professional. Hence, my phone rings. (Cardiac personnel know what to do if you are having a heart attack but not if you are someone with schizophrenia. Makes sense.) They are asking I come right over as I am the only one he is agreeing to see at this moment in his not-so-happy life.

I get to his hospital room, only to find him surrounded by various medical personnel. He is in a not-so-quite voice telling them what they can do with their angiogram. He looks at me and yells that I am only there to talk him into all this. I smile and agree. I am most certainly there to do just that. As I am a smooth-talking-tidbit-of-a-beloved-counselor, I have him calmed and cooperating in a matter of minutes. Of course, he continues to call me a horse's ass, but I am okay with that. I talk to the surgeon and offer to go with during the angiogram in an effort to keep Mr. Ugly Toes on the table and full of cooperation. I have not one shred of belief that they will allow this, but it can't hurt to offer. To my complete surprise, the surgeon says yes. Doogie Howser has nothing on me!
I spend the next several hours filled with glee. How cool is this? (Well, brain surgery would have been cooler, but I'll take what I can get.) When it's his time, they roll him down the hall with me in tow. They take him in to shave his parts and direct me to find some scrubs. SCRUBS! Woo Woo! Counselors never get to wear scrubs! I look at the rows and rows of scrubs and don't know where to start. Are these unisex sizes? Do the tops have to match the bottoms? Is it better to pick the bluer scrubs or the blue-greener scrubs? I make my choice of matching medium blue green scrubs and put them on. As I don't have a locker--oh my god, I'm standing in a staff locker room, just like on Grey's Anatomy!!--I put my clothes in a heap and carry them back to where Mr. Ugly Toes is getting shaved. The nurse in charge (who thankfully has been alerted to why the hell I am there) tells me to put my clothes under the gurney where Mr. Ugly Toes is perched. She then whishes me off to the control room so I can learn more about this procedure.
I found this photo on the internet and can I say it looks JUST LIKE the cath lab I was in. In fact, it looks like the same doctor and it's certainly the same set-up. I suppose all angiograms are basically the same. Anyhoo, they assign me to "Nurse Aorta," who promptly asks if the site of blood bothers me. I assure her it does not. From then on, we are best of friends. I think Nurse Aorta was excited to have someone actually care about what she does for a living. She did seem confused about why I was there, though, so I explained about Mr. Ugly Toes' schizophrenia. This intrigues her (almost as much as the upcoming angiogram intrigues me) and thus we talk of mental health and physical health.
*****
After that, there was no time to talk. Angiograms go FAST! No time is wasted. The incision is made, the J hook is in then out, the L hook is in then out, the Pigtail is in and out, the stitch is in, the doctor is gone. Whoosh! It takes nine billion percent longer to prepare for the angiogram than to perform it. It's all high-tech, too. Nurse Aorta was surrounded by five computer monitors. FIVE! This was Addiverse heaven: computers and surgery. Yum!
*****
Good news for anyone wondering: Mr. Ugly Toes has a beautiful, unclogged heart and I didn't have to do anything as his counselor--he was a true champion. I thank Nurse Aorta for her help and follow the gurnee back to Mr. UT's room. I look down at my scrubs and smile. I am SO not going to return these! I have earned these scrubs and I am SO taking them home! Mr. UT turns to me from a Valium funk and announces that I look good in scrubs. Hey, how did he know I was thinking about that? He has affirmed my belief that I must keep these hospital-issued-delights. I take my street clothes from under the gurney and hide them in my briefcase. I'm wearing these scrubs for the next three weeks of my life!
*****
Suffice it to say, watching an angiogram does tend to momentarily motivate one to take better care of one's health. I guess I'll have to cut down on my chocolate and caffeine intake if I don't want to end up like my father, who had surgery when...when....oh my god, I am just about the same age he was when he had his heart surgery! Someone bring me a salad! Get me some oatmeal! Doesn't anyone have a baby aspirin?!! I am quite unnerved by this and think I best not get that whipped cream on tomorrow's Frappaccino....
*****
I say it only momentarily motivates one to eat in a healthier manner as evidenced by what I saw the hospital staff eating in the cafeteria. No one was eating veggies and salads--they were eating FRIED COD AND FRENCH FRIES, oozing with grease. I'm not exaggerating. I'm in line waiting for my Boca-burger and everyone else is taking the fried foods, grease soaking into their paper trays. They slop on the mayo and keep moving. Don't these people look at all those clogged arteries and think about their own arteries? I suppose not. I take my Boca-burger and smile smugly because I am wearing scrubs and because I got to be at an angiogram and because Mr. Ugly Toes is going to be fine. Maybe I will have that whipped cream on tomorrow's Frappaccino tomorrow....but, I'll chase it down with a bowl of oatmeal.....

Tuesday, April 03, 2007

Freckles Warrior Pee-er

Doggone it! Freckles has kept up her "I'm-naughty-and-I'm-gonna-pee-on-your-rug-for-no-known-reason" behavior. This keeps me and Freckles in the dog house at home. (Don't you just love the photo of that dog peeing on a laptop?! If Freckles does that, she will SO be on the street as coyote food.)

Here is a photo of a dog peeing on the rug. It's not Freckles but I bet this dog is in trouble for urinating on the carpeting, just like Freckles is in trouble, just like I am in trouble for Freckles being in trouble.

So, I take Freckles Warrior Princess (FWP) to the vet. I figure she's got a goopy eye, so we can talk to the vet about two problems at the same time. I'm thinking that the potty problem is purely behavioral but would feel like a real schmuck if it turned out to be something medical. (By the way: FWP has learned to eat her eye boogers. It's disgusting but works well. She uses her paw to wipe the boogers off and then licks them off her paw. Better than me having to do it.)


I am here to tell you: if you have never seen a vet assistant try to get a urine sample from a dog, you have not lived. The vet assistant asks if FWP has peed recently; I tell her, "yes, twice before we even got in the door." (A real macho dog, that FWP is--always marking her territory.) We go outside and try to get a dribble or two, anyway. (Just like when you or I go to the doctor--they tell you to pee in a cup and you just peed because you didn't know this was coming and now they are demanding a urine specimen and they are not going to take no for an answer.) The lady has this little paper plate thingy and is following FWP around. I'm saying "go potty go potty go potty" and FWP is thinking "I want to go potty but this lady is chasing me" and the lady keeps following the dog's butt. FWP squats for a pee and then FREAKS when the vet lady tries to slide the paper thingy under her unmentionables. The dog walks away, gets ready to squat, sees the lady coming and thus sits down. When the lady got a bit closer, Freckles literally laid down in the grass. I think I'd sit down if someone was stuffing something under my parts while I was trying to pee....

Incredibly, the lady manages to get a few dribbles and thus deems this to be a success. She carries the little paper plate to the lab and all is well in the world.

Let me tell you--going to the vet is NEVER cheap. It's a minimum of $100 just to walk in the door, I swear. Well worth it, but a good chunk of change for something that is ruining your carpeting. The vet is concerned and I answer the questions. They are all the questions I have answered for myself about a zillion times. Yes, we walk her daily. Yes, she's on a schedule--AM, Noon, Dinner, PM. No, she's not drinking more than usual. Yes, she is eating well. No, she does not do it when we're home (well, there was that one time but that doesn't count). Yes, she was completely potty trained. No, there haven't been any major changes in the household. Yes, she tends to be an anxious dog but this is a bit better. No, she doesn't pee in the same place every time. A kidney problem can't be ruled out at this point, as the dribble of pee didn't really give a good sample for testing--but, there's no blood and there's not protein problems and there's none of this or that--it's just something about the pee being too diluted and that another pee test will be needed when she pees first thing in the morning.

Oh great. Now I get to chase her around and use a pee plate.

Next comes the eye tests. Shih tzus are known for their eye problems, so I wasn't too surprised when her eye boogers surfaced. (Thankfully, it's in just one eye. One boogery eye is enough.) The vet, who is very high tech (only the best for the pee-ing one) uses these strips to test the "wetness" of the eyes as Shih tzus tend to get dry eye. They are called "Schirmer Tear Test" strips and it's rather interesting. Only thing is, FWP's eye "water" is off the scale to the good. Guess that's not the problem. Next comes the "shine-this-light-into-your-eye" test, just like we when glasses-wearing people go for an eye exam. Then comes the "stain-the-eye-yellow-and-use-a-brighter-light" (better known as the "Flourescence Dye") eye test. Ooooooohhh! Ahhhhhhhh! FWP is diagnosed with having a history of some kind of pigment problem that has now scarred and healed. That's not what's causing the problem but it does stand out during the eye peek. Even I could see it and I don't have a special light. I am handed a vial of some triple-antibiotic opthamalic ointment and sent on my way to save FWP from terminal boogers.

Side note: FWP gained a pound. That is TERRIBLE for her, as she only weighed 14 lbs and now weighs 15 pounds. That's a huge increase in such a little dog. I feel a diet coming on. Less treats, more walks! The wife says I give the dogs too many treats. Heck, I only feed them when I feed myself.....

As for the peeing, I am supposed to try using behavior modification. Trust me, I've been all over that. I think I gave the vet a "how stupid do you think I am I'm already doing that" look. I'm already watching Caser the dog whisperer and doing all the things I think I should be doing....it's worth it to try again.... If that doesn't work, we'll try bloodwork to rule out medical conditions. If that doesn't show anything, we'll try Puppy Prozac. If that doesn't work, I'll take the prozac. If that doesn't work, I'll give the wife the prozac and we'll get hardwood floors......

....I just had a thought.....wouldn't it be something if has been LUCY peeing on the carpeting and not Freckles? After all, we don't catch them in the act.......now we'll have to be on "Pee Patrol" to make sure we've got the right culpret!