Monday, October 31, 2011

Shooting the Poop, Part II

(Blogs go backwards.  So, if you want to read this in chronological order, read part I first.  In the big scheme of things, it doesn't matter which order you read any of my entries, because they are so dang weird, no matter which way you read them.)

The Northeast has been socked in with an unusually early & damaging snowstorm (thinking of you, Dos Marias & Suzuki DeFranco).  Kim K is getting divorced after three and a half hours of marriage.  It's Halloween night.  Freckles has eye boogers bigger than my car.  The Brewers didn't win or even get to the World Series.  But, none of that is on my mind.  Tonight, it is all about me and my poop shoot.

I am here to give you a full report on the non-sedated colonoscopy.  But, before I tell you about the actual event, I want to tell you about something very weird that was going on in the medical building.  I assure you that what I am about to tell you is 100% true; I reiterate that I was not on any drugs; and, I tell you I have a witness (MJagger). While I was hanging out in the recovery room (which is a story in itself), children were trick or treating.   Yes, trick or treating, complete with costumes. 

There I am, in my full glory on the gurney, covered only by a ratty hospital gown and a pile of sheets, curtains wide open for all the world to see....and children are trick or treating.  Never mind the guy in the next recovery cubicle who's talking about wanting a bottle of whiskey (or feeling as if he had drunk a bottle of whiskey--I couldn't really tell-- he was full of all them happy drugs); children were trick or treating at the nurses station and they had to walk by me to get there. 

If I hadn't had a witness or if I had been on the happy drugs, I would have thought I was hallucinating.  Who the hell trick or treats in a gastroenterologist office???  It was a bit unnerving to have those little costumed kiddies staring at me.  And, I mean they stared.  This one four or five year old little chubby pirate girl stared at me for what seemed like 30 seconds.  Maybe she was waiting for me to offer her some candy. 

Damn nurse never offered ME or MJagger any candy.  (Maybe 'cause we weren't wearing a costume.)

I am very, very grateful to report that my colonoscopy was uneventful and that the results were nothing but spectacular.  The worst part besides the weirdness of trick or treaters? Getting the IV in my hand....actually, not getting the IV in my hand.  I have wimpy veins so I'm used to people having trouble with them.  Usually, I can talk medical personnel out of something that I am pretty sure is not going to work, but this nurse was having nothing to do with my gentle hints.  Several times, I said,  "uh, maybe you should try another vein," but the nurse kept digging around.  I watched the whole thing, unable to tear my eyes away from the nonsense.  She finally managed to blow out the vein.  How do I know this? Because she said, "oh! I blew out your vein."  

I left that place looking like a bad night on the Twilight movie set.

You would think getting a garden hose shoved up your patooty would be horrible, but it's really not half as bad as you would think....

....Relatively speaking, of course. A-hem.  At this point, I'd like to make the disclaimer that under no circumstance should you try the non-sedated colonoscopy unless you are as weird as I am, you actually like looking at your innards on a large TV screen and you can deal with the discomfort associated with a garden hose winding its way through your internal maze.  I do not condone this practice.  They offer amazing drugs, so why not say yes? 

The "entry" amazingly is not so bad.  I feel really weird about writing that, as THAT is an OUT shoot, not an IN shoot.  I guess I thought that the "beginning of where we are going" would be awful.  It's not.  Getting a vein blown out is way worse than that.

The "going round the mountain" part? That is quite "uncomfortable."  Those are some pretty tricky turns in there.  I remembered this from last time--the garden hose isn't good about getting around the bends and turns in the colon without some outside help.  I'd be lying if I said this didn't hurt....I'd say "in pain," but it's not like every day pain or like hitting your thumb with a hammer.  It's more like, "what the hell!" pain. I was super-glad when the doctor asked the nurse to push on my abdomen when he was maneuvering the garden hose. That nurse might have blown out my vein but she won big points from me when she used her hands to shove my bowels back toward my tailbone.  I mean she put her whole weight behind her and became my personal girdle.  I couldn't believe how that one little thing made a huge difference-- her hands mashed on my belly sent that garden hose flying right to wear it belonged.

The entire ordeal was made more "interesting" because I still had so much poop-goop, sesame seeds and oatmeal stuff in me.  The doctor had to "suck and spit" to get to where he was going--kind of like driving in a blinding rain storm at night with only one headlight.  Can you imagine what it would've been like in there had I not started my prep earlier than they suggested?

At least there was no corn.

Before I knew it, we were done.  No polyps, no tumors, no weird growths, no problems, no worries.  Just a pretty-in-pink, healthy colon.  Thank you, baby Jesus!

As for the recovery room, suffice it to say they are not equipped to address a non-sedated client.  I sat up to text MJagger and a nurse admonished me, "My! Are we in a hurry to leave? Please lay back down!"  I guess she thought I was a crazed drugged woman trying to escape the recovery area before I was done cooking. I called out, "I wasn't sedated."  This took her by surprise; her peer acknowledged this to be true.  That got me a pleasant smile and direction to "relax and pass some gas." 

I felt like I was being held hostage.  As I was already passing gas (there is no way you can stop that from happening) and still wasn't getting anywhere, I decided it was time to kick it up a notch.  No more silent farting for me--I let them know I meant business.  I knew my plan was working when a nurse called out, "there you go!  You'll be able to go as soon as they do your blood work."  Score!  I then called in my secret weapon: MJagger.  I knew she could help speed things up for me...she did not fail me.

Now that the colonoscopy is behind me (pun intended), I've made up for all that lost time: I ate lunch at Culvers, got some fancy coffee at Starbucks, ate home-made cupcakes from MJagger, stuffed chocolate chips in as fast as I could pour them, ate some homemade some guacamole and will be moving on to other culinary delights.  I lost three pounds preparing and I plan to gain four pounds recovering.

We still don't know why I have inflamed mesentery but we do know all sorts of things that are good: I am one healthy grrrrrl with one healthy appetite.  That is way good enough for me.   I am going to focus on all the things that are "right" with me instead of worrying about this one thing that is somehow out of alignment with that thinking. As writings from the "Secret" suggests, "Fear nothing - just think about what you want. It feels so much better!"

I am thinking about what I want....and, it involves a lot of chocolate.  Suddenly, I feel so much better.
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Sunday, October 30, 2011

Shooting the Poop, Part I

Trust me when I say there is no delight quite like the infamous colonoscopy prep.  Yes, I am in the midst of shooting the poop.....and, you.are.there!

(Spell check does not recognize the word "colonoscopy."  It thinks it should be kaleidoscope or cloudscape.)

Prepping for having a garden hose shoved up your patooty is different than it was ten years ago when I first had this pleasure.  Back then, you drank--literally--a gallon of this god-awful concoction and then hoped for the best.  Since I have a very slow moving system (do you really need or want to know this?), it took me FIVE HOURS after consuming a gallon of liquid to have any "motion."  FIVE HOURS with a gallon of liquid in me.  An.entire.gallon.of.stuff.in.me.  (Plus all that poop still in there!) I was absolutely miserable.  I went to bed because I got tired of waiting for something to happen and tired of being upright while sloshing.....

This time, I had to take three laxative pills (early afternoon) and now have to drink two bottles--only 10 ounces each--of this terrible-but-tolerable tasting stuff. To catch you up to speed: I drank one bottle around 2:30 PM and have to drink another one tomorrow morning.  Over a five hour period I have to drink a 1/2 gallon of Gatorade.  I suppose it's only 1/2 less than before, but it is making a huge difference in my comfort department.  Here's a photo of what I've drunk so far. Yum!

For the record, I was supposed to wait until 4 PM for the pills and 5 PM for the bottle of "stuff," but I didn't want to end up with another "waiting for five hours at night" episode due to my slow system; thus, I moved up the time frame.  At this point, it seems genius. It also seems to be to be a great equalizer--it's kinda like how they stagger the runners in track meets to make it equitable.  I look like I started ahead of the pack but really I am with the pack.  My 5 PM is someone else's 7 PM.

I also think it's genius that Gatorade now comes in a "clear" form--it has flavor but not color.  This helps a lot...although, I am quickly developing an aversion to Gatorade, no matter what the color or flavor. 

Another development is that I can "eat" (and I do use that term loosely) jello, as long as it's not red.  Jello is NOT a vegetarian food but at this point, I'm thinking a little jello won't hurt my vegetarian ways (well, as long as I don't think about it).  If you are wondering why jello isn't a vegetarian food, you obviously do not know what you are eating when you eat jello.

I hate jello.  Never been a fan.  But, I will slurp some down if it settles my stomach or helps me with my overwhelming hunger (of which still exists despite being full of this liquid nonsense). I purchased some orange and some green jello, neither of which sound appetizing in any capacity.  But, it's there if I need it.

I will spare you the "real" details...which is really, really hard for me.  It's early in the game and I've already seen some amazing things from long ago.  I just saw remnants of last Tuesday's bagel (I kid you not) and I am awaiting arrival of corn.  If I see corn, I'm taking a photo of it because I can't even remember the last time I ate any corn.

I will not post the photo of the corn.  I will just email it to MJagger and call it a day.
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Stay tuned for a report on the actual procedure.  I know you can barely wait.
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Saturday, October 29, 2011

Warm Up

I'm hot.

















Just sayin.'

Anyways, I look a whole lot better in the photo above than I do when dressed as Severus Snape:
















I do think I captured his essence and I do indeed think I did quite the admirable job, thanks to my mother, who secured the cape and wig for me.  I am here to tell you, tho: do not wear a compression shirt all day under your costume because you will be suicidal by the end.  I thought it part of the costume to wear a high necked white shirt, as described on various websites when making a Snape costume.  The only white high necked shirt I had was an Under-Armpits compression shirt.  Oh.My.God.  By the end of the day, my hands were blue and my goiter was flat.

I'd like to write a lot more but I have a mission I will be documenting tomorrow and thus want to save my witty banter for the duration of the 24 hour "event."  It will be more of a photo journal than a written entry as I don't want you to miss one second of the event.  Think of this blog as a warm up, an opening band, an appetizer for tomorrow's main course. Use this as your reference point:

















Starts at Noon tomorrow.  Be there, aloha.

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Arg! I'm a One-Eyed Shih Tzu, Matey!

Poor Freckles. Although she's been doing amazingly (incredibly) well since her brush with death many a month ago, she's been dealing with a booger-y eye for several weeks.  It's been really gross.  I'll spare you the details--suffice it to say it's been gross to look at and it's been even grosser knowing that she eats her boogers.

Just sayin.' 

So, today when I took her and her sister for their annual check-up, I pointed out the booger-y eye (not that it needed to be pointed out--it's insanely obvious).  The vet agreed that that was one booger-y eye ball.  She took a gander and did all sorts of things--even measured the amount of tears in her eye.  She poked at the eye, she wiggled her finger in front of the eye, she motioned back and forth in front of the eye.....the vet looked a bit perplexed and then said, "I think Freckles is blind in that eye."

Ah. Confirmation of what I already knew to be true:  Freckles is a one-eyed shih tzu.

I've been watching her for the past few months...she's been having trouble going up and down the stairs when the lights aren't on, she's been refusing to come down one specific set of stairs, no matter the bribe, she didn't move when I would sneak up to clean her booger-y eye.....I was pretty sure she was blind in that eye but it's not like she could tell me the status of her eye sight.

The vet was very nice, noting that there are surgeries and treatments for the blindness.  I could tell she didn't think these were necessary or even good ideas--she was just doing her job, giving lip service to services available.  She noted that such treatment would be very expensive. It was at this point I made fun of how much money I had already spent on Freckles this year. 



You know it's been a long year when the vet refers to your dog as "the money pit."

As the eye and blindness don't hurt her and it's not like she's going to take a driver's license test or anything, I asked that we focus on the boogers and not worry about the blindness. The vet was very agreeable with this and thus gave me two medications to put in Freckles' eye. She did mention the medication is expensive....but, I assured her that the cost was fine, as the money pit deserves a booger-free eye, blind or not.

I wasn't disturbed at all about having a one-eyed dog but it really seemed to bother the wife.  She is not doing well with the dog's aging process.  I'm just so glad that Freckles is still alive that I don't really think about it.  To me, she's aging appropriately, getting lumpier and stinkier every day.  I can make her a pirate for Halloween.  What's not to love about that?

I am here to tell you that it is MUCH easier to put eye drops into a blind eye than into a seeing eye.  It's almost wrong how easy it is 'cause the dog can't see it coming. Gives a whole new meaning to turning a blind eye.

I'm looking forward to a booger-free dog. 
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Thursday, October 20, 2011

I Heart My Gyne

I am in love with my gynecologist.  I am in love with him and I am going to take brownies to his office so I may properly profess my love. 


 


This love fest is brought to you by the Addiverse Medical Mystery.  Since July,  I've seen my gynecologist, my primary care physician, a nurse practitioner and a surgeon (for the non-hernia hernia), all in an effort to identify the cause of my medical mystery. I also got a referral to a gastroenterologist and got a cavity filled along the way, but the tooth decay having nothing to do with any of this--I just threw it in for fun. 
(NOTE: I left the previous sentence as originally written...however, as Spotted Owl astutely pointed out, the gatroenterologist did NOT fill my cavity--ha ha!  Those are two separate events, combined in one poorly-written sentence--the cavity is tooth related and involved a dentist.)


During the time between various medical appointments, I spent lots of time researching my symptoms, trying to determine if I have a problem or not.  As I've lamented before, you have to be your own best medical advocate.  A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, but no knowledge is worse.  As we all know, the Internet is a very good and very bad thing.  Yes, you have access to all sorts of information; bad thing is that you have access to all sorts of information.  (God only knows how much of the information is or is not true/accurate/based in reality.   But, that's a whole different blog.)



Armed with my internet symptom-checker results, I marched back to my doctor, freaked out and sweaty. I explained that the issue was still happening and that I can now "put more words on" the pain.  I had all sorts of descriptors by now.  He ordered a CT scan and told me to make an appointment with my gynecologist.

I had the scan--complete with tampon in place--and was sent on my way by the tech, whose only words were, "the doctor will have your results this morning." For the record, I asked if they wanted me to take the tampon out for the duration of the test.  It was really hard to ask that question--how embarrassing!  They said it was fine right where it was.  Who knew you could have a tampon in during a CT scan??? It was NOT an o.b. ultra tampon, I am sorry to say.    The test results would be done this morning? That REALLY freaked me out.  The tech agreed that it usually takes 3-5 days for people to get their results but the doctor has ordered it STAT, so he'll have the results by the end of the morning.

When I called my doctor's office, the nurse confirmed my results were there. She then she asked, "oh my, how ARE you feeling?"  What? I bark back, "I'm FINE!" I am confused by her.  I ask her about the results but she hems and haws and finally tells me the doctor will call later in the afternoon.  She does nothing to build my confidence.

A nurse, not the doctor, calls me back.  Her words are--literally, I quote--"Something is wrong," "there is inflammation" and "you need to see your gynecologist as soon as you can."  As this is all awfully vague, I ask quite rudely, "can you tell me WHAT is inflamed?" She named two organs, one of which I certainly didn't want listed.  She offered no further information or explanation.  She dumped that on the gynecologist.

By the time I got to the gynecologist this morning, I was a hot mess, scared out of my wits.  The wife sat in the corner, ready to take notes. When asked why I was so scared, I explained the phone interactions and that I had no idea what the actual report indicated.  I blubbered out how my symptoms and the nurse's comments had me so freaked out that I could barely function.

God love that man.  My gynecologist pulled up a seat and read the report word by word with me and the wife.   He explained what each statement meant and then would make a comment like, "well, that's nothing to worry about."  He seemed perplexed, as there was nothing troubling in the report.  While it didn't identify the problem, it sure ruled out my biggest concerns. He then talked to me about how the nurse should not have been the one to call me or make those statements.  I daresay he looked quite irritated. To calm my fears further, he did a thorough (and, I do mean thorough) exam.  (The wife went flying out of the room during this part.  She says she doesn't even want to be there when it's for her own exam, so she really didn't want to be in the room for someone else's exam.)  The doctor named all the parts he was squeezing/touching/fondling/examining and then announced all was well.  He decided the gastroenterologist was a good idea and took time to explain why he thought this a good idea.   I was no longer scared.  I still had the symptoms but I was not scared.

The wife returned in to the exam room, relieved to hear the good news that all my parts were in fine working order.

He then did the nicest thing a doctor has ever done for me: he hugged me.  What a man!  I can't say I ever imagined I would get a hug from my gynecologist. 

And so, I am in love with my gynecologist.  He didn't solve my problems but he answered my questions and gave me so much more than most people ever get when dealing with the medical system.  He gave me his time, his attention, his interpretation of a report, his support, his expertise.  I especially appreciate that he gave me eye contact when he was talking to me.  Eye contact. Such a little thing that means so much.

If that doesn't rate a batch of brownies, I don't know what does.

Saturday, October 15, 2011

LLLock Out


We are at the LLL, aka the Love Loft, with ten dear friends.  For those of you not in the know, twice a year this gaggle of friends gather for foods, friendship and fun.  We've been doing this since 1993. We go shopping, play games, go on walks, eat food, we even go get tattoos. 

Mainly, we eat food. 

You'd think after almost 20 years, we would have experienced almost everything. Well, today we had another first: we got locked out of the place we are renting.

It was one of those weird events that cannot be explained.  Somehow, the screen door locked from the inside.  It's not a lock with a key lock on the outside--it's one of locks on a screen door that manually locks from the inside.  Perhaps it was the ghost of the Farmhouse, as none of us can figure out how you lock a screen door from the inside when all of us were on the outside.

As the owners live at least three hours away (and, as they didn't answer our cell phone call), we were left to our own devices.  Having to pee and knowing that all those snacks were awaiting our consumption motivated us to get it.  We circled the premises many times to ensure we weren't missing an obvious open or unlocked window or door.  Nothing....

So, we took turns using various creative modes trying to open the door.  We tried pulling on the door, shoving credit cards and other various implements in the door, we tried to open the screen window without damaging the screen. That seemed the best option...had there not been a storm door window in the way, this would have been awesome.  

At this point, you might ask yourself, "how many lebetians does it take to unlock a screen door?"  You would think it would only take one, maybe two at the most.  We had six staring at the door and discussing game plans.  We also had one or two engaged via cell phone.  It must take eight.

We determined the only way we were getting in was to take the hinges off the door.  This required some creativity and expenditure of brain power, as we only had a few assorted tools, none of which were designed to get a door off its hinges.  After digging in my trunk, I found some pliers, an old towel, a socket wrench and some little cheap-ass knock off Swiss Army knife.  (I also found an extra pair of underwear, some electrical tape and my Jack Campbell success book.  I left those in the trunk.) 

Did you know you can use a socket wrench as a hammer?

Thankfully, the hinges came out without much effort.  Oh, there were a few tense moments but really, it was quite uneventful. Once the hinges were off, the rest was a piece of cake.

Cake? Did someone say cake? I love cake.  Get that dang unhinged door out of my way--I know there are snacks in there.

I am pleased to report that we got in without damaging the door and without any injury to persons involved. In victory, we have already peed, eaten and turned on college football.  I am pleased to report I immediately went to the frig and snarfed down some leftover pizza and a huge slice of triple chocolate pie.  As you need salty to go with sweet, I crunched down some sour dough pretzels to balance the pie.  Since you need sweet to follow the salt, I had some dark chocolate to balance the pretzels.

Life is good.

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P.S. As for the door getting locked on its own, we're going with the ghost theory.
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Saturday, October 08, 2011

Brewin' the Crew

Last night, the Brewer's clinched their division.  Now, if you are like me, that doesn't mean much--it means that the wife's team won an important game.  If you are the wife, it is like the baby Jesus swooped down upon her and bestowed sainthood on the family.

I thought she was going to implode while watching the game, as it was the last game of the series and ended up going into extra innings.  I was fearful for her well being.  Thankfully, MJagger stopped by and distracted the wife from certain doom.  (Due to MJagger's presence, the wife did not cry as she usually would.)

Right after the game ended, the wife began fretting about tickets for the Sunday home opener.  To me, this was a no brainer--she loves going to baseball games, this hasn't happened since 1982, she has been super-excited about the season--well, all season.  I guess I am a "what are you waiting for?" kind of gal" and thus if it were me, I'd buy  the ticket and go. What's to think about? Well, the poor wife hemmed.  She hawed.  She fretted.  She spoke aloud.  She paced.  She hemmed and hawed some more.  She looked miserable.  She studied the internet. She checked out seat availability and prices.  She had three browsers open at the same time.  As she couldn't read the small print on the stadium map (time for bifocals, young lady!), she had me pointing out sections on the map as she called the numbers out.

Meanwhile, I fired up my computer and make a few clicks, bought her a ticket.  There was no way I was gonna let her miss the game.  It's history.  It's exciting.  It's her people.  She has to be there.

No brainer!  There can't even have a rain out, since the stadium has a roof.  It's  meant to be.  SHE.MUST.BE.THERE!

Suffice it to say, she now has plenty to worry about. What to wear. What time to get there.  Who to ride with. Take her rally towel or leave it home. How to keep track of the Packers score which overlaps with the Brewer game. What to do when they win.  What to do if, heaven forbid, they lose.

Bring on the racing sausages, boys and girls.  The wife is in the playoffs.

Wednesday, October 05, 2011

 
On WIN-sconsin

The wife is in her absolute glory: she is in sports nirvana, thanks to the Cheddarlands sporting world.  For those of you not paying attention to the great state of Wisconsin and/or to the world of manly-men playing games in polyester uniforms, the Packers won the Super Bowl earlier in the year and are off to a tremendous start this season; the Badgers are crushing other teams like bugs; and, the Brewersare in the playoffs.  Three teams, three delicious opportunities for victory. Suffice it to say, the wife spends much of her time watching sports news on TV, listening to sports talk radio in the car and watching game scores on her iPad or iTouch.  Every once in awhile, I’ll wake up in the middle of the night (usually to pee or to slap one of the dogs because they are licking loudly and it’s disgusting) and catch her reviewing stats on her iTouch.   

Seriously.  I wake to a subtle blue light of the box scores.

At times, she isn't sure what to do.  It is quite stressful when two sporting events are on at the same time; for instance, last Sunday featured both a Packer and Brewer game at the same time.  Talk about trauma.  Thankfully, the wife was able to flip back and forth between channels.  Had this not been possible, I would have lost the wife to the world of the sports bar.

I am very glad that the Packers and Badgers will never over-lap each other, as there is not even a remote chance of their schedules overlapping.

Deciding what to wear is also rather traumatic.  Should she wear one team uniform at a time? Combine them? Change clothes several times a day?  You know someone out there has designed a shirt/uniform/jersey that featured all three of the colors/logos.  The color scheme is a bit over the top, but this is the state where you can wear camouflague to a wedding, so I don’t think many Cheeseheads are going to worry about color schemes. 

I’ve been to three Brewer Games this year and I went to one Packer game last year during their Super Bowl season, so I feel I’ve done my part.  I do love a good veggie dog at Miller Park and I must say there is nothing like going to Lambeau Field.  I enjoy watching a game or two in person.  I don't mind a road trip to the various corners of the Wisconsin universe. I own and wear team gear....

Side note: Did I ever talk about my last visit to Miller Park, where we had free seats in the “Beer Pen?”  The bleacher seated-beer-fest where you get a free t-shirt, free beer and the chance to sit with 300 of your closest, drunken friends?  Talk about the place to watch a game.  People my age were so drunk they were falling out of their clothes (well, actually women falling out of their team jerseys).  Beer spilling, swear-word hurling 40 year olds, that's who surrounded us. The wife turned to the guy sitting next to her and asked how he got tickets for the “Beer Pen.”   He slurred out that “I’m here with the Tavern of the Year.”  Says it all.  But, I digress—back to the victors of the north.  I’ve got a 2011 hot dog bobble head doll and some kind of player-related terry-towel to swing around the room.  I’ve got my Beer Pen t-shirt.  I’ve got ticket stubs.  I guess I am ready for the Win-sconsin World Series.  

Side side note: I met the when the Brewers were last in the World Series.  For those of you who don’t have any reason to know what year that would have been, it was 1982.  They didn’t win but they were at least in the World Series. Can’t say that about the Cubs.  She proudly displayed her Brewers pennant in the dorm like the true cheesehead she is and proudly wore her powder blue jersey for any and all occasions.

Things are out-of-control in a good way for Win-sconsin-ites.  I’ve never seen the wife quite like this.  It’s overload.  I am so afraid her head is going to explode or that she will need anti-depressants at the end of the seasons.  This is a lot of excitement for her.   This is a lot of excitement for Wisconsin sports enthusiasts. This is a lot of cheese, a mountain of green & gold and red and blue. 

Too bad the wife is being held hostage in the flatlands, where no one truly understands her giddiness.  We in Illinois are bitter people when it comes to sports.  Just listen to Chicago sports radio--FIBs (as they call us in Wisconsin) are always disgusted with the teams, the coaches, the games.  There is no home field advantage in the flatlands.  We don't own our team like the Cheeseheads do with the Packers.  Hell, we don't even have parking at Wrigley Field.  

Here's to the wife during her year of sporting glory. Here's to the stress of being in the Super Bowl, World Series and Rose Bowl all in the same year.  Here's to cheese, beer and brats.  Here's to finding "her people" while suffering through the trials and tribulations of living south of the Cheddar Curtain.

Here's to green and gold and red and blue.