Saturday, April 30, 2011

Here, Piggy Piggy

Well, the date set for Freckles' final day has come......

........and gone. 

I didn't want to write anything because every time I write something positive, something not so positive seemed to happen.  Well, it is with guarded confidence that I announce the following information:


Freckles Warrior Princess remains on this earthly plane, apparently no worse for the wear.....and, has turned into a giant piggy, seeking all opportunities to eat whatever she can find, whether it be by begging, stealing from her sister, pretending she has to go out so she can get a treat when she comes back in.

The dog is starving.  I guess after almost two weeks of not eating and sleeping, that is understandable.

For the record, I've stopped pooping, too--so, any weight loss I may have incurred during this stressful time will soon be replaced by calories consumed from chocolate products of any and all kinds.

I won't say any more until I am sure she has had a miraculous recovery for her crisis. I am sure she will have many a medical illness to contend with as she ages but for now, her crisis appears over and she can go on with life, enjoying all the benefits that come with being a dog brought back from the brink of death:

She will be spoiled rotten. 

For those of you who know me, this will give you a laugh, as you know FWP is already spoiled rotten.  This is going to be over the top, sickening, ridiculous spoiling of the canine kind.

FWP and our family thank you for all your concern, well wishes, prayers, calls and encouragement.  If you come visit, please bring a treat. The Warrior Princess will demand it from you at the door.

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Nine Lives

The vet called this morning with the results of Freckles' liver test.  She said the exact words I was hoping not to hear: it's her liver.  As I was driving, I couldn't write down all the things the vet was saying, but I knew that this was not a very good thing.  (I think I'll call her "Dr. Dogg" from now on, as I am tired of calling her the vet.)  Anyways, Dr. Dogg indicated that there are three diseases that come to mind when she sees such results.  I don't remember the three but one was cancer (of which I am sure Freckles does not have), one was some kind of cirrhosis and the other was something something hepatitis.  None of it sounded very promising.  Dr. Dogg said she was going to contact a specialist and talk to her about the results and then get back to me. 

I was crushed.  The roller coaster ride was on a down turn again--what a ride this continued to be. Last night's guarded excitement was quickly tempered by the words "it's her liver."  End of story, literally.  Sigh.  I decided right there that Friday would be her "day."  I finished my drive to work, feeling saddened and resigned.  I was too crushed to cry.

While sitting in MJagger's office, I read my dog health book, hoping to find answers.  I learned a lot about livers. You don't want to mess around with livers. This liver thing looked mighty grim.  Grim, grim, grim. I told MJagger my plan for Friday.  There was nothing more to do.  Freckles' nine lives were up--the roller coaster had to come to a stop some time or another--I owed it to her to ensure she didn't suffer.  While we were talking about Freckles (and MJagger was trying to force-feed me potato oles), I had a brainstorm: Freckles started her life at this very agency; she would go out at this very agency.  I announced I was bringing Freckles to work tomorrow.  A swan song!  The thought made me teary and happy at the same time.  Yes, I would bring her to work one last time.

Then, Dr. Dogg called.  She told about her discussion with the specialist.  Dr. Dogg spoke about how the specialist--whom I shall call Dr. Dogg's Dog--said that the results seemed more like "abnormal normal" than abnormal.  She told Dr. Dogg to "keep looking--there is something else here.  This is not pure liver disease."

Are you kidding me? YOU JUST TOLD ME IT WAS HER LIVER A FEW SHORT HOURS AGO! IVE PLANNED HER SWAN SONG!  I've been pooping all day! I'm a wreck! NOW YOU TELL ME IT'S NOT A PURE LIVER ISSUE? ARE.YOU.FRIGGIN.KIDDING.ME?!!!! I can't take this! Happy, sad, happy, sad, happy, sad! Is it or isn't it her liver? Damn roller coaster is pulling out of the station again.  AGAIN!

Life number ten, coming right up.  

Dr. Dogg said there might be a problem with the small intestines, the pancreas, the liver, all of the above, some of the above, none of the above.  She indicated that an ultrasound would answer a lot of questions. 

An ultrasound?  Seriously? An ultrasound?  I'm now going to get my dog an ultrasound?

Dr. Dogg then said something that I found quite hilarious and ironic: "I'm thinking she might have Addison's Disease." For those of you who know me in real life, you immediately understand why this is hilarious and ironic.  Who the hell has a dog with a disease named after them?

Suffice it to say, Freckles may not have to worry about Friday. I have no idea what the hell is going on. I have no idea if she'll get an ultra sound.  I am not sure if she's sick or if she's terminal or if she's just fine. I have no idea why she hasn't pooped today.  I have no idea about much at all.  What I do know is going to go to work with me tomorrow and we are going to have a great time.  We are going to put all this behind us and enjoy life number ten. The Warrior Princess is gonna rock the office, just like in the old days.

Life number ten.  This is one complicated dog.  This is one complicated ride.

Just so we're clear: if the warrior princess needs an ultrasound, she is SO not going to be getting any birthday or Christmas presents this year.

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

 Rally Cap

Put on your rally caps, as the Warrior Princess is making a come back.

What a roller coaster ride we are on.  Buckle your seat belts and hang on.

After a horrible, horrible night of bodily functions spewing out into the night--all night, I might add--I took Freckles to the vet this morning, sure this would be her last day on Earth.  I came to peace with that some time in the middle of the night while standing in the pouring rain as she pooped for the eighth time--I just couldn't stand the thought of her being in such misery.  As much as that thought hurt my heart and soul (and my digestive tract--talk about poop), I made peace with it.  I had cried enough.  She had been sick long enough. Nine days of not sleeping (any of us--not even Lucy has been able to sleep) and shooting blood out of orifices not made for such was too long.  I agreed to one more day of testing and that was it.  No more.  I was tired of the roller coaster ride we were on and I knew she had to be tired of it, too.  I talked to her in the middle of the night, petting her stinky, wet hair, thanked her for all the joy she has brought me over the years....with that, she finally fell asleep.

Side note: I did think about the healing rain.  If rain is healing, this dog should be bionic.  It's been monsooning here for the entire month, I swear.  Seems she finds the time she needs to go out is the time it is raining the hardest.  Well, I enjoyed that rain last night and hummed Michael W. Smith's song while standing out there.  I figured being in God's favor while letting the healing rain fall down upon us had to be worth something.


When I dropped her off at the vet this morning, she looked pathetic, lethargic and not quite "in there."  I looked pretty bad, too.  I signed the dotted line and sent her on her way for liver testing and barium drinking.  Resigned, I went to work and tried not to worry. Not that you really need to know, when I am nervous, my feet and hands sweat.  I don't mean clammy.  I mean drip with sweat.  When people say they are dripping with sweat, I can shake their hand and show them I do, too.  I sweated a lot today.


The day dragged on but finally we got some results from the vet--the barium test didn't show any blockages or tumors or what not--it just showed that Freckles digestive system was moving very slowly.  Hell, we should probably be happy it's moving at all, with all the puking and pooping she's been doing.  The three of us went to pick her up and yip with the vet, who remains quite stymied.  Believe it or not, Freckles basically came bounding out, went after another dog in the waiting room and couldn't wait to get outside and pee in the rain.  She looked like a whole new dog again.  I don't know how being force fed food for a liver test and then force fed barium can do that, but she sure looked good.  The vet took a lot of time with us and showed us the x-rays.  Really nothing to speak of besides being so slow moving.  She offered to let us keep Freckles at the vet for the evening so we could get some sleep.  It was a no brainer--she was coming home.
 
When we arrived at home, Freckles started begging immediately.  She drank water, demanded treats, waited not so patiently for her boiled hamburger, knocked Lucy out of the way, just like a big sister should.  She got pissed at me when I tried to shove the pink antibiotic into her mouth.  In other words, she was back to her old, crabby self.

Tomorrow, we will get the results of the liver testing, but really? We don't expect anything much to be wrong with her liver.  If there is, we will deal with it.  If there isn't, we will be glad she is finally recovering from the hemorrhagic gastrointestinal thing. I remain cautious.  I want to get really excited and hopeful but we've been on this roller coaster for a long time and it's hard to get off.  Just when things are looking up, they've come right back down. I can't get off until the ride comes to a complete stop.

Thank you for indulging me in the opportunity to babble about my dog.  I know many of you are dog lovers and thus you understand the angst that goes along with owning them.  If your not a dog lover, here's hoping you get a dog some day.  If the wife can become a dog lover, anyone can. 

Keep praying, put on your rally cap and enjoy the healing rain.  The Warrior Princess is in God's favor.  :-)

Saturday, April 23, 2011

Freckled
For those of you who were sick of civil union posts, you are in luck: you are now going to hear over and over about dogs.  Specifically, our dogs.  More specifically, Freckles.

After another night of no sleep and lots of what I guess you would call poop (but not poop at all--I will spare you the description), Freckles is back at the vet.  I asked them to re-hydrate her, as we can't be having a dehydrated dog for Easter.  I held her through most of the night, putting her down only when she demanded to go outside and do whatever it is you would call she was doing.  About 2 A.M., I thought about taking her to the emergency vet. Thankfully, she then fell asleep at 4 A.M. and didn't move until 6 A.M.  Of course, at that point, I could not sleep and instead lay in a semi-coma-funk worrying about the dog.  I pondered what the day would bring and thanked the baby Jesus for letting Freckles make it through the night without further incident.


When we got to the vet's office, there was a giant dog in the waiting room.  Usually, Freckles would have gone after that thing like there was no tomorrow--she's the alpha dog bitch that always makes quite the entrance when other minions of what she perceives to be her world pack are around.  Instead, she looked at the dog, didn't make a peep and wagged her tail.  Wagged her tail! I knew she was really sick when I saw that.  I handed her off to the vet tech and watched her once again go behind the door.

Side note: As I am beyond tired, I'm not sure what I have and haven't blogged about in the Freckles department--I get confused with all the blogging, emails and Book de la Face.  I apologize to you who have read about this in emails and on Book de la Face.  I promise this will contain new material, so don't be wimping out on me and not read through my babbling.

Hemorrhagic gastroenteritis.  HGE as it is called, is what the Warrior Princess seems to have.  This disgusting issue/disease/whatever is quite the nasty thing to have if you are a dog--or, a goat, per my friend, who had several baby pet goats die from this--how awful.  Anyways, as long as you catch HGE in time, all is well--keep the dog from getting dehydrated lest they die within 24 hours.  Yes, die. Although it sounds very much like I am being a drama queen, I assure you that I am not.  Google away and you'll know more than you wanted to know and that the 24 hour mark is vital.  Many an article on the always-completely-accurate internet (cough!) indicates that although dogs usually recover no worse for the wear, they will die if not attended to within 24 hours.  Sheesh. 
 
To give you an idea of what this whole thing is like, I quote Whole Dog Journal: "Owners who describe how they discovered their dogs in what looked like a slaughterhouse or execution scene aren’t exaggerating."

Here's a video of Freckles crawling, pre-illness.  How can you not love a dog who can crawl on command?

The good news is that hemorrhagic gastroenteritis is not thought to be contagious. I prefer Lucy not have an episode of HGE, as I can barely take one dog having this problem.  The thought of two sick dogs and one miserable wife makes me want to stick my head in a vat of ice cream and never come out.

There are a ton of theories for causes of HGE; I don't care about causes or theories as long as Freckles gets better and stays that way.

I'll pick her highness up later this morning and we'll be on our way, no food or fun to be had for her on this day. She'll be stuck having a blob of peanut butter with a pill in it until the raspberry jam stops shooting from her butt. I know she'll be happy again when I pick her up, as that hydration thing made a world of difference last time--it was like she was a new dog. I am guessing I'll have to take her back for further re-hydration on Monday and perhaps again in the week.  I'm all good with it as long as recovery is close at hand.

Again, I say: it is ridiculous how much I love this dog. 

But, what's not to love?

Friday, April 22, 2011

Puppy Love

This is a photo of Freckles at 9 weeks old. Notice she has freckles on her nose; hence her name.  Too bad those "freckles" were gone within the first month of her life and thus her name no longer really made sense.  Oh well!


For the record: I will never own another dog. 
Once these two move along (that being years and years away, I am MOST sure), we will not be getting another one. Although I adore dogs with all my heart and absolutely love having them, it is just too painful.

Go ahead and scoff.  Think what you will.  The wife is in total agreement with me: No.More.Dogs. Heck, we still have our two dogs and we're already talking about not having other dogs.  We just can't take it!  We'll dog sit.  We'll dog walk. We just won't dog own.

It is ridiculous how much I love these dogs. 

As you know and as I wrote in my last blog, Freckles has been sick.  I wasn't sure who looked worse--the wife or the dog--but, by Wednesday night, it was easy to say the dog looked a lot worse that the wife (and, that's saying a lot because the wife looked mighty bad).  I will spare you the details because they are very gross. Suffice it to say four days of little sleep and lots of obvious medical issues take a toll on both dog and owner.  Despite Freckles looking pathetic, I went to work yesterday morning with the plan of taking her back to the vet in the afternoon.
Here's Lucy at eight weeks old.  Humor me with the posting of dog photos. It's part of my self-therapy.  I'm feeling better already.


MJagger and I were on our way to lunch when I got a call from the wife on my cell phone.  When I answered, all I could hear was babbling, sobbing and incoherent, static-garbled words.  I couldn't understand her but I knew something was very, very wrong.  My first thought was that she had come home for lunch and found Freckles dead.  I then thought I heard her say something about an eyeball being on the floor (which, in retrospect is rather funny but not funny at all in the moment).  I then realized she was talking about piles of blood being all over the kitchen floor.  While MJagger, the lead-footed Speedy Gonzalez that she thankfully is, sped me home in record time, I called the vet and alerted them I'd be bringing Freckles right in.


I am here to say that the wife and MJagger saved Freckles life: the wife, because she came home just at the right time and MJagger because she got us to the vet in a ridiculously (and most decidedly illegal) short time.  Of course, I give a huge shout out to the vet, but that's her job, so she gets third billing in this saga.  (Props to St. Francis and my mother, who is in God's Favor.  Just sayin.')

It was awful.  I can't imagine what it was like for the wife to walk in to that scene.  The wife does not do well in certain situations and this would be an example of one of those situations. She is not a bodily fluids kind of girl.  While I wasn't as freaked out by the site as the wife was (it's a lot easier to not be freaked out when the element of surprised is removed), I was pretty sure Freckles had had her last hurrah.  I wrapped her in a towel and carried her to MJagger's car, then in to the vet. She did not squirm or try to move--she just leaned against me for the ride, bugger-filled eyes peeking out to take a gander at MJagger (of whom she loves most dearly).

I did not cry until they took her away. She disappeared behind the door, potentially never to be seen again.  I listened the best I could to the vet tech but seriously, all I was doing was trying not to cry.  They promised they will call me with news no matter what and encouraged me to call as needed.  I called the wife and alert her I was coming home without Freckles because they were keeping her.  God help me if I had forgotten to do that and walked up the sidewalk empty handed.


The poor wife!  Sleep deprived and in constant, high intensity pain, it was just too much.  In fact, that was a direct quote--it was all just too much. Who knew she loved our dogs that much? She is not a dog person.  I guess we will now say, "she didn't used to be a dog person," because she has proven that she most certainly is.
Poor Lucy couldn't figure out what the hell was going on.  You could just see her thinking, "Where's Freckles? Why is everyone crying? Why is there blood on the floor?" In order to get everyone's mind off of the emergency situation before us, I took the wife and Lucy to Sonic so we could eat something really bad for us and then we went to my place of work so Lucy (and, the wife, of course) could see some old friends.  You have to realize Freckles "grew up" at this place of work--they even threw her a puppy shower.  So, they understood our angst and fear on a more personal level than most.  They KNOW Freckles!

At 6:30 PM, the vet's office called and thus I had to decide if I wanted to bring the ol' Warrior Princess home for the night (and bring her back in the morning) or leave her at the vet's office. Bring her home?  A miracle must have occurred! She was still quite sick but would be able to leave if I wanted to bring her home. While the vet tech was talking to me, I heard Freckles barking in the background.  The vet tech laughed and said, "she's very demanding.  She's been barking at us.  I think she wants to get out of here!"

Was there even a question?  With port in arm and poop on her butt, I brought her home.

It was a long, sleep-limited but happy night.  I slept on the floor with her, Lucy at our side.  (I sent the wife to her own room, directing her to get some sleep so her pain would be less--she thankfully obliged without much fight). Although Freckles still looked quite miserable, I could tell she was beginning to perk up. 

At 1:00 AM, Freckles starting barking.  I jumped up and put my shoes on, thinking that she once again had to go outside.  But, I didn't see her standing at the door......confused, I looked around.  I found her standing in the kitchen..... 

....she was barking at the treat jar, demanding a treat, not barking to go outside.  She then drank some water.  You have no idea how exciting that was.  I gave her the treat.  Hell, I wanted to give her the whole jar of treats, but I remained rational.  Since we were already up and awake, I took her outside and stood in the rain. When we came back in, her majesty demanded another treat.  Thank you, St. Francis!


I do not know what today will bring but I'm feeling optimistic.  We'll go back to the vet and see what transpires.  We'll do laundry.  We'll wait for the wife to come home and then I 'll go to work for awhile. We'll take it one treat at a time. 

In other words: we'll love our dogs with a ridiculous amount of love and be "those dog people" other people make fun of....and, THAT will be the perfect way to spend this day.  One treat at a time, one treat at a time.
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Tuesday, April 19, 2011

The Summer of Unrelenting Standards

First the dog; then, the wife.

Poor Freckles Warrior Princess ate something disgusting on Sunday and has been puking, peeing and pooping ever since.  How do I know she ate something disgusting? Because the first time she threw up there was some unidentified stringy objects included in the projectile vomit.  I also saw her eating something on the lawn and remember screaming at her to stop it, but since she never eats anything weird, I didn't do anything but yell.  Well, I guess I should have taken a closer look at what tasty tidbits she found to snarf down, 'cuz now I have no idea why she is sick. Suffice it to say, she has been miserable ever since--I swear she even screamed Sunday evening when the wife and I had thought about going out for dinner.  We put up the gate, started out the door....and, then there was this blood-curdling dog scream.  We stayed home and watched her spew bodily fluids instead of going on a date.

That's how we roll in the Addiverse.

Freckles kept me up all Sunday and Monday night.  I stayed with her on the couch, trying to get her to sleep.  Instead, she paced around the room and demanded to go out every 15-30 minutes.  This wouldn't have been a big deal except we literally have to go outside with her, as we don't have a fence and our usual system of letting the dogs out on a long, retractable leash doesn't work because we replanted grass seed (read: the front area is a ball of mud).  Even this wouldn't be a big deal except the weather has been horrific--nothing like standing outside in your pajamas in 30-something degree pouring down rain.  It's quite the ritual: dog paces, dog barks, dog dances.  I swear, put on shoes, put on robe, put leash on dog, go outside stand in rain.  Watch dog pee, watch dog run around back and forth, watch dog squirt out some diarrhea.  Wait 15 to 30 minutes, repeat.

We took her to the vet today, as she had stopped drinking water.  I didn't care that she wouldn't eat anything except peanut butter (there is something wrong when your dog spits up peanut butter flavored bile) or that she continued to pee and poop and puke. I only got really concerns when she stopped drinking water, as I know that's a bad sign.  So, we get to the vet this afternoon, get an x-ray and an exam, talk about my concerns she isn't drinking water....

.......and, then watch her drink an entire bowl of water.  Figures.  I told the vet she cured Freckles without doing anything.

Well, besides giving us a bill.

It will be hard to tell if the shot the vet gave her will help, as I whacked her in the head with the car door when she walked by.  I mean I cracked her noggin.  Sigh.  Now she has a concussion to go with her gastro-intestinal issues.

As for the wife, she is pretty miserable, too--although she is not peeing, pooping and puking on the rugs.  (Not that I know of, anyways.)  This back injury is driving her bonkers--and, I'm not talking about the physical pain.  I'm talking about the pain caused by an inability to maintain perfectionism in the Addiverse. Her frustration is oozing out of her pores.  Perfectionists do not like others to do what they can do better.  Of course she can do better--she's a perfectionist!  I am going to work on her, saying things like, "progress, not perfection" and "good enough is good enough."  

How long do you think it will take before she slaps me silly?

I mowed the lawn on Sunday.  No, it didn't need it and yes, it snowed the next day.  The wife insisted the grass needed to be mowed and since she and her injured back can't mow it, I volunteered.  It was quite interesting, as I couldn't tell where I had already mowed--if not for the mower wheel lines, I wouldn't have had a clue.  The lawn literally looked the same after I mowed as it did before I mowed. 
 
Welcome to "My Summer of Unrelenting Standards Hell," where I will be held to the unrelenting standards of the wife's obsessive compulsive, perfectionistic ways.  Her idea of an appropriately-cared for lawn is Augusta National right before the Masters tournament.  My idea of an appropriately-cared for lawn is if I can still see the dogs, it's good enough.

I've already told her she'll need to lower the bar a few notches.  It's going to be a long summer.

Here's what I will tell the wife:
"The lawn is not going to be perfect.
The dog is going to puke on the carpet.
The cars will not be shiny clean and waxed on a weekly basis.
The laundry will be slower.
The floors will be a wee bit dirtier.
I will do the best I can but it will be nothing in comparison to your unrelenting standards."

I will then run quickly and hide....

.....if there is one thing I can still do better than her, it is that I can outrun her.
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Saturday, April 16, 2011

Mug O' Nuked Cake

With the wife out of town, the crappy weather (SNOW in April is just plain rude) and all my on-line courses completed for the day (there's only so many of those you can do before you become delirious AND the before governing bodies start to get suspicious of how the hell you did all those courses in one day), I decided I needed a snack.  As I'm feeling a need for something warm and comforting but simple enough that nothing will go wrong while the wife is away, I decided on the "Healthier Cake in a Mug" recipe.

You've probably heard of a Cake in a Mug--it's an amazing thing that takes three minutes to make in the microwave.  Well, this is the same thing except somehow it is supposed to be healthier, or so says Pot Holder Grrrrrl.  I don't care if it's healthier or not; I just want some warm cake with a scoop of vanilla bean ice cream on it and not have any baking disasters while making it.

Note to the wanna-be vegan in me: That scoop of ice cream and one egg in the cake is so screwing up the vegan intentions.  Ah well, my drive-through breakfast yesterday was nowhere near vegan and there was a witness, so I can't deny it: I was on the cell phone with a co-worker doing on-call business when it was my turn to order.  I asked her to hold on and then proceeded to order my not healthy-not-vegan-at-all breakfast.  When I got back to my co-worker, I said "Sorry about that! Thanks for waiting."  To which she replied, "THAT didn't sound very vegan."  I don't think she heard me order the cookies but I know she heard the egg product and extra cream in the coffee.  The road to hell......paved with good, vegan intentions.

I digress.  Back to my Mug O' Nuked Cake.  If you've never made a cake in a mug and you are too lazy to go to the store and buy a cake (or, heaven forbid, actually bake a real cake), you should try it.  You make it from scratch, which makes it all the more fun.  I wouldn't make a cake from scratch but I will certainly make one in a mug from scratch.  (There are a ton of recipes on line for mug cakes.  Google for one that suits your mood and needs.) Anyways, I have all the ingredients assembled in the cupboards, as I can't be messing around looking for things when the mood for a mug of cake comes along.  This time, I actually had dark chocolate morsels on hand AND real vanilla bean ice cream in the freezer, so I knew it would be a banner cake.  I mixy-fixied the ingredients (kinda sorta measuring--I've learned in baking I have to measure), plop it in the microwave, wait three minutes and Wa-la! Cake!

I was going to take a photo of the cake getting nuked for blogging purposes, but I was too lazy to do so....you'll have to settle for stock photos gleaned off the net.  Mine didn't look nearly half as pretty as this one and I didn't involve powdered sugar, but you get the idea.

It is an amazing thing, this nuked cake is.  It puffs up over the top of the mug but doesn't run down the sides.  It's mighty tasty in a pinch.  It slides right out of the mug (an event I still do not understand)......you don't even have to take it out of the mug--you can eat it while it's still in the mug.  Genius!

Okay, okay--if you are looking for a scrumptious piece of home-made cake, this is NOT the way to go.  It does have a weird texture.  It is an insult to "real" bakers and it's not going to put any bakers out of business.  It's not something you are going to serve at your next birthday party. It looks like a giant turd when you pour it out of the mug. But, it's perfect for an "It's Snowing in April" kind of blustery day.  I sucked that puppy down, all two servings of it, smiling the whole way, ice cream dripping delightfully down the sides of the warm turd before me.

As for the wife, she took her ruptured disk for a road trip to celebrate her mama's marker birthday.  I'll be kind and not identify which birthday it is.  (I highly doubt they are eating cake in a mug at the festivities.)  The wife had an MRI yesterday and it showed a ruptured disk big enough to see from St. Louis if you were standing in Chicago.  Next week, she'll have to mosey on over to a neurosurgeon; but, for today, she'll party in the Cheddarlands.

The wife is very relieved: "See? Now people will believe me!"  I don't know who she thought didn't believe her--well, besides the moron doctor that told her two months ago that "this just needs to run its course."  Now that she's seen it and can show tangible proof to other people, she seems incredibly relieved.  The pain is still intense but there is some psychological component that seems soothed....so soothed that she didn't even think twice about making the trip north of the Cheddar Curtain.

Had she stayed home, I would have made her a nuked mug of cake.  Why, here's a photo of said ruptured disk demanding one of my nuked confectionery products.  Never mind that she is eating delicious, home-made food products that send my salivary glands into overdrive just thinking about them.  Those Cheeseheads know how to cook....

But, I bet they've never made a cake in a mug....and, I've heard Cake in a Mug can cure almost anything.  I'll see if I can cure the wife. 
Cured my veganism, that's for sure.
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Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Static
For the record, the Decorah eagles are doing fine, despite the stormy spring weather.  On Monday, I was too afraid to look if they were still there or not, as a horrible storm had ripped through their town--I had watched The Channel of Weather right before going to bed and saw that a storm was right in the nest vicinity--a big blog of red screaming through their neighborhood, tornado warnings howling, baseball sized hail angrily falling from the sky. I had to wait for my boss to look and give a report--thankfully, all was well in the land of eaglets.  Dad was hanging around keeping an eagle eye (pun intended) on the tots when I checked in yesterday....but, then......

....he flew the coop, leaving the peeps unattended, as evidenced in this "photo" I took.  Bad dad.  (He returned about a minute later, empty billed.  Those babies gave him a lot of grief--they must have been mighty hungry.)

As for the wife, she is limping more than ever, pain oozing every which way.  Yesterday, she went to the doctor and he said, "why did you wait so long?"

I am glad I was not there because I would have gone ballistic and ended up being arrested.

The wife has been there how many times now?  And, has only heard things like, "This has to run its course" and "no, you can't have an MRI--we'll do an x-ray."  So, why the doctor had an epiphany yesterday is beyond me.  He prescribed an MRI and physical therapy (as well as offer pills, which the wife refused).

The problem?  The doctor forget to order the MRI and now the wife can't get it scheduled.  He managed to order the physical therapy, so you know he didn't forget to do the whole thing.  Asswipe.  Add to that the fun of dealing with insurance companies and you've got quite the stressful mess. (Why DO we have insurance? You shell out all this money and then you can't use it.  Or, when you can, it only covers part of the bill.  Or, your premium goes up because you just used what you paid for.) When I got home, the wife was in a puddle of emotion.  That doctor's office best get it right today or I will go there and get her an appointment.  In person.  Loudly.  With no regret.  Both of us realize that an MRI will not cure the pain or the problem, but at least someone might actually be able to figure out the physical component of the problem.  Sigh.  Western medicine sucks.

As for "the others," we have had response....kinda sorta....and, it is exactly what I anticipated and predicted.  Actually, I thought the result was "better" (and I do mean that as a relative term--better like when you stop banging your head on the wall, your head feels better) than I originally figured. Unfortunately, it is overwhelmingly painful for the wife and hence the pain in her back (and the pain in her ass) just intensifies. She had hoped for better.  She did not get better--not a better response, not a better back.

It takes everything not to get in my car, drive to the homes of "the others" and open up a can of whoop ass (and end up getting arrested--boy, I'm in a violent mood this morning).  That wouldn't help the wife and wouldn't change the others, but I'd sure feel better.  (Talk about feeling powerless.  I can't relieve her pain and I can't relieve her pain.) 

I call all of this nonsense "static."  I don't know why that word came to mind, but it did, so I'm going with it.  After I made that little static visual, I realized that static and sciatica have a lot of the same letters.

Clear the static, clear the sciatica?  (Change the channel?  Open the channel!)

As this is getting way too serious, I thought I'd post a hair do of mine from the 1980's.  A little humor goes a long way in the Addiverse. A little humor must've gone a long way with my hair dresser, because there is no way she was serious when she gave me this "Til Tuesday Modified Mullet" hair do.  Imagine that little tail, which grew to be almost a foot in length.  Yum!

See? Aren't you feeling better already?  I know I am!

I miss the 1980's.  I miss the bad hair, the ridiculous outfits, the music, the naive-ness of my being.  Perhaps I could once again rock this hairdo, just in time for the civil union festivities.....it would certainly distract the wife from all the nonsense in her life....it would give "the others" a LOT more to think about.....I do love being blonde........

.....don't worry, Wild Mama--I'll wait until after the family portrait....or, maybe the entire family could get this hair do just in time for the photo op....that would REALLY give "the others" something to think about!
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Saturday, April 09, 2011

A Penny Saved

Today while walking, I saw a penny in a puddle.  I always keep my eyes glued to the ground when walking, just for times like these.  I am all about finding money during my strolls around the neighborhood.  (Last walk, I netted twenty-one cents.  Score!)  I saw the gleaming penny and stopped....it was in a rather dirty, pretty big puddle.  I thought about not sticking my hand in the muck but then decided this was a test from the Universe--would I or would I not look that gift penny in the mouth?


You bet your bippy that I bent over and plucked that copper cent out of the puddle.  All time low, maybe.  One cent richer, for sure. Thank you, Universe!

I'm not sure what it would take for me to not pick up money.  Probably bodily fluid....I don't think I'd pick a penny out of a used toilet, so it's good to know that I have some boundaries.

 After proudly finishing the dreaded "honey-do-list from hell" (including but not limited to walking the dogs, spreading grass seed, drinking golden arch coffee, cleaning my various piles around the house, vacuuming and bathing the dogs), I announced to the wife that it was time to get the civil union invitations made.  I figured the best place to go would be Ex-Kink-o-Fed, as they make a bazillion copies every day and I needed copies.  I triple-checked the two-sided, full color flyer/card and was quite pleased with my tacky rendition of an invitation.  Spelling looked good, information looked correct, tackiness certainly in place, wife approved.  I copied the invitation to a CD and off we went to the land of copies.

I am here to tell you two-sided, full color copies are a little more expensive than I had ever anticipated.  Okay, I admit--I hadn't really thought about it at all.  I don't think about those things--that's why I have the wife.  She thinks about those things.  Me? I just thought, "copies--easy!"  When the lady handed me the bill, I was rather stunned. I'll let you do the math--each invitation cost about $1.50 each.

Thank goodness I stopped and picked up that penny.

Our new mantra is: "we're only doing this once, so it's worth it."  We've been really reasonable in our efforts to celebrate in a fiscally prudent manner--I'm really proud of us!  Compared to a "real" wedding--we are barely spending a penny compared to the usual hemorrhaging of money by the bride and groom.  I'd rather the wife have a a new car or we go on vacation or we buy a boat or we get body suit tattoos than drop all that money on one day.  I know, I know--that is SO unromantic of me, but seriously.....no offense to all you brides of the world.  Sure, I've been to some awesome, kick ass weddings and have enjoyed every minute of them....but.....that tattoo body suit seems so much more intriguing to me....  

....Thank goodness we don't have a daughter who needs a dowry and that the wife is on the same page as me.  If not, I'd be looking for a lot more pennies AND digging them out of used toilets.


On a very, very, very happy note, the caterer has been secured.  I'm so excited!  The price was incredible, we got what we wanted, the set up and serving (with two staff) is included, I personally know the caterer and love her food (she makes a hummus that makes you want to weep). The entertaining part of the whole thing?  The caterer is from my previous place of employment.  What poetic justice--homophobia-ville is going to cater our civil union!!

I do so love the Universe's sense of humor.  

For the record, the caterer was always supportive when I was at the place of which I still do not speak, so I am very happy we will be working with her. She will make amazing food, for an incredibly reasonable price.  In an effort to express my thanks, I think I will give her one of the invitations and the next penny that I find. 
A penny saved is indeed a penny earned, a penny plucked out of a puddle is a free gift from the Universe, a penny given to the caterer is a penny well spent. 

Penny for your thoughts?  To the wife: we're worth every penny.  'Nuf said.

Thursday, April 07, 2011

Look Busy

Jesus is coming.....look busy.

I left my laptop at work today by accident--I grabbed the wrong leather bag as I was heading out the door--thus, I had to knock the wife unconscious and steal her computer so I could write this blog.  Nothing is off limits when it comes to my readers.

(It's hard to make it through an evening without my laptop.  No eagles, no Book de la Face, no email, no search engines.....whatever did we do before the computer was invented?)

I have lots of things floating around in my brain--a lot of this, a little of that.  Hatching of the third eagle egg, more tampons in the mail, finalizing the civilization invitation, intriguing Grey's Anatomy episode, oozing of love over my "like new" cell phone (can you even believe I just said that after all those months of professing my hatred for my phone)?, how the wife REALLY needs a new lap top (I'm not sure it was worth it to knock her unconscious for this outdated, slow-as-molasses piece of poo), the wife's continuing saga of rinding the perfect sciatica cure...little chunks of thoughts, swirling around like the chunks of brownies swirling around in a Chocolate Extreme Blizzard.  Yum!

If you missed Grey's Anatomy (and, trust me, I've missed like the last three or four seasons of the program), you really should take a hulu at the episode from last week, "The Song Beneath the Song."  It's not often you get to see TV doctors sing as part of a serious story line.  It's almost as good as Xena and Gabrielle singing in "The Bitter Suite," but I'm pretty sure I have a much better chance of getting you to watch an episode of Grey's than an old Xena episode.  Word to the wise: I think hulu only keeps the last five episodes posted, so look fast, else you'll have to wait for reruns/scour youtube/call Blue Eyes to watch it on her DVR.  If nothing else, watch Callie sing "The Story."  Pow.Er.Ful. Who knew Sara Ramirez could sing?  Not me.
http://www.hulu.com/watch/228990/greys-anatomy-callie-sings-the-story --OR--  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x8xeIgAinQc


For the record, I have no conscious idea what the Jesus thing is all about in this blog.  I think it's in preparation for Easter but maybe I am just in a mood for a little Jesus.  Actually, I think it's because of Glee's rerun this week, featuring the Baby Cheesus.   I wasn't a big fan of that particular episode but I love the idea of Cheesus showing up on a George Foreman Grill.

Nothing that exciting ever happens when I am frying up a veggie burger.

As for the civil union, we have kept things in check.  We are awaiting a final caterer bid and the wife has given her blessing to the invites--meaning I need to get a move on--those tacky, tasty tidbits need to get to the printer so we can invite the masses.  (I know, I know: you can barely sleep at night, waiting to see if you are a lucky recipient.)  The straight girl contingency continues to flood me with ideas but I am holding firm.  They keep asking me questions about outfits (are they kidding?), food choices, music, color themes (seriously?).  I have no idea what the hell they are talking about, so I smile and nod and concentrate on getting those invitations mailed and securing the caterer.  Once I do that, I figure I can take a civilization break.  Or, so I foolishly think.


Uh oh! Grey's is starting, Pia just got the boot on Idol and I think the wife is regaining consciousness, so I best get off her computer....

....and, I best look busy.


Very, Very busy.

Saturday, April 02, 2011


Bling bling, she fixed my ring!

Readers of the Addiverse might remember that just a few short weeks ago, my ring pooped out one of its diamonds and thus looked like a toothless smile.  I thought about what to do, then promptly put the ring in a box, stuck in a drawer.  Yesterday, my wife hands me my ring-- polished, shiny, dings gone....and, a sparkly new diamond!  The wife rocks.

AND....Readers of the Addiverse will be tickled pink to hear that I am going to get more tampons in the mail this week.  My peeps take care of me.  How can you have a bad week when tampons are coming to you in the mail?  You can't.

When I am not staring at my ring or dreaming of tampons in the mail, I am watching the Decorah Eagles hatch some babies (eaglets, I suppose).  Me and 140,000 others were watching yesterday, hoping for a bird's eye view (pun intended) of a pip and hatching.  Here's a link to a ten-minute video collage of the first egg hatching.  You'll need a little patience, as the first sleek peek at a beak peaking out is at 4:48 in the video--how about that sentence?--and, the first good look at the newly-hatched bird really doesn't happen until eight minutes into the video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8U_pme0dPhs 

At first, I think the wife thought I was crazy, watching the proud parent eagles all day long--"Is that all you do all day long?" Then, I noticed she was watching, too.  I just shrunk the site to a manageable size, put it in the upper right hand corner of my screen and worked on my computer while watching the eagles taken turns sitting on the eggs.  As I mentioned, I wasn't alone, as evidenced in this Tribune Story (which I know you won't read until you've finished this blog, right?): http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/chi-ap-ia-exchange-eggstoha,0,5461544.story
  
This photo to the left gives you an idea of what I've been staring at for days.


It's actually quite amazing, if you ask me.  The eagles take turns sitting on the three eggs, spend much time fluffing the next and turning the eggs.  They use their giant, scary beak and big-ass claws to move the eggs around, and then do this humorous rocking back and forth as they settle in.  I personally love the dead bunny on the left hand side of the screen (you can't see it in this photo, but trust me, it's there).  Well, one has to eat.  Interestingly, since the eggs were laid on three different days, they hatch on three different days.  Who knew?  I also learned (from my hours on the site) that pooping out an egg is hard work; in fact, I was very surprised by the difficulty in this endeavor.  I guess I just pictured chickens dropping eggs on a daily basis.  If you have a burning desire to watch an eagle give birth to an egg, go here (you don't really see much until the eight minute mark; then the labor begins): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L99UropoY3w

The wife says she has never seen an eagle in real life, but I know she has, as one flew over our head while we were driving down a local road in December 2008--I remember because it was right before her surgery and I remember thinking about what a good sign that was.  I pointed it out to her and she saw it.  Alas, no memory of it in her memory bank.  I've seen eagles on several occasions, most notably while seated at my desk at my last job; most impressively, while in Colorado with two friends (staying in some hot-springs commune or whatnot, of which I dare not speak)--two eagles were perched in a tree, right in front of us.  They were HUGE, like toddlers sitting on a limb.  I took a photo of them, but in my excitement took a picture of my camera strap instead of the birds (this being the days before digital cameras).  When I got the photos back, all I had was a photo of a tree with a huge black stripe down the middle.  Oh well, I have the memory etched in my mind.

I am now waiting for egg number two and three to hatch.  Right now, the channel is off air (why, I am not sure--maybe so viewers go out and get something to eat and take a potty break or so they have time to stare at their newly-fixed ring), but I know it'll be back soon and I'll have my eagles perched in the upper right hand corner of my screen.  Since I can't see eagle eggs hatch in person, this is the next best thing.  Pip, pip, hurray!
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