Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Em. Are. Eye.

Yesterday, I had an MRI done on my knee.  If you've ever had an MRI, you know they (1) shove you in a big tube; (2) are noisy; and, (3) tell you to hold still no matter what.  I had an MRI done on my neck in the very early 1990's, so I had a good idea of what to expect: tube, noise, don't move.  Although technology has come a long way, I figured not much probably changed.  I was right--tube, noise, don't move.

Before getting shoved into the noisy tube, I had to fill out a form.  They want to make sure you don't have any weird metal things inside of you--shrapnel, clips or clamps, pacemakers, etc.  I quickly went down the list: no, no, no, no, no, no....then, I got to the last question, which inquired if I had any tattoos.  Tattoos? My first reaction was why the hell would it matter if I had tattoos?  My second reaction was, "oh shit, I am covered with tattoos." My third reaction was, "they didn't ask me this last time," but, then I realized back then I didn't have a tattoo so I probably didn't pay any attention to the question.  I circled "yes" and hoped this would not delay my testing.  My final thought was, "there are a bazillion people with tattoos that must need MRIs, so I'm not gonna fret about this." When the lady came to get me, I handed her the form and then asked about the tattoos.  Her question? "Where your tattoos done in the United States?"

Huh?

She explained that tattoo inks used to be made with metal flakes in them; thus, those old-school kind of tattoos could technically heat up during the MRI process.  She said this might happen in recent times if I had gotten my tattoos in foreign countries.  Now, this sounded ridiculous, so I asked her if anyone had ever experienced this "heating of the tattoo."  I didn't care about hot tattoos--I just didn't want ugly-from-the-test tattoos.  She said no but added that in theory this could happen.

I am SO going to do research on this--both the metal flakes and flaming hot MRI tattoos.

She took me to the room and showed me where to put my belongings.  I was confused by this as I was standing in a wide open hallway.  Last time, I had to take every stitch of clothing off and they wrapped me up in hospital gowns.  I was like, "I am not taking my clothes off while standing in this hallway."  She must have realized this and said, "oh, just take off your jacket, jewelry, glasses and shoes." I got to keep my clothes on. Oh sure, I had donned my bestest, prettiest, newest undies for the event and no one got was going to get to see them.  She didn't check anything. The only thing she confirmed was that I wasn't wearing a watch. I must have given the lady a worried look--after all, how did she know I wasn't wearing an under wire bra or a chastity belt? I tripled checked my jewelry and started to walk to the room when she stopped me and explained I'd have to leave my glasses.

Lady, I don't leave my glasses behind for nothin.'  I can't see a thing without them.  Those of you who think I am exaggerating need to look through my glasses.  I honestly can't see a thing without them; in fact, I need my glasses to find my glasses.  I have actually dropped my glasses on the floor and had to call the wife to help me find them.  I keep a spare set in my car.  So, when someone asks me to leave my glasses behind, I get mighty nervous.  I told her I can't see without them.  She assured me I should just follow her.  Um, okay.  I just told you I can't see.  Thankfully, she was wearing bright blue and the MRI room was basically white, so I could see a blue blob moving in front of me.  Follow the blueberry, follow the blueberry....

Before you have a tender moment of sadness about my inability to see without my glasses, don't waste your time--not being able to see when having an MRI is wonderful.  If I were claustrophobic (and, I'm not, but if I were), it wouldn't matter as I really couldn't see much of the tube at all.  It's a huge bonus. When I had my neck MRI done, they shoved me in the tube head first and it was not an open MRI.  I didn't care as I couldn't see what the hell was going on.  They explained it would be very normal to feel closed in.  I didn't feel anything at all--just curiosity about the process.

I was ready to be all mummy-fied, as last time, they really wrapped me up and strapped me in.  I couldn't have moved if I wanted to.  I mean, they had my head strapped in place, my legs mushed between these pillow barrier things, my arms across my chest, placing a panic button in my hand.  (I guess if you freak out during the testing, you push the button and you shoot out of the tube.  I kinda wanted to push the button just to see what would happen.) This time, all the technician did was put this plastic thing on my knee and told me not to move,  She sent me into the tube, legs first.  So boring.

It was a rather uneventful event except for one thing....

...I've been desperately trying not to get the cold the wife has been enduring for the past week.  I have willed myself not to get sick.  In an effort to help myself, I've been sucking down Vitamin C and zinc lozengers all week long.  If you've ever taken those zinc things, you know they can make you rather nauseous, especially if you eat them on an empty stomach.  Well, I had THREE of them on the way to the MRI facility.  (I told you I have been working hard not to get sick.) I hadn't eaten in five hours, as I planned on eating right after the test.  Well, three zinc drops on an empty stomach is not a good idea.  How do I know this?

I am laying in the tube, listening to bad country music when a wave of nausea came over me.  It was awful.  It was that zinc-on-an-empty-stomach nausea of which is not pleasant.  I felt like I was going to throw up.  I stopped and actually about this and realized....if I throw up, it is going to go straight up into the air and then rain down on my face.

It was right then and there that I decided I would NOT be throwing up.  After all, who wants to vomit rain down onto their face, even if it is ones own puke?  I did everything I could to think about anything that didn't involve my nausea.  I concentrated on my non-hot tattoos.  I thought about tattoos oozing out of my pores. I thought about new tattoo designs. I thought about how I was going to enjoy the DWTS finale tonight.  I listened to the music, thankful for the awful commercials.  I tried to see the blinking numbers (I think they were numbers) on the outside of the machine.  I did every single thing I could think of that did not involve moving and that had nothing to do with zinc.

I am happy to report that I did not throw up and that none of my tattoos burst into flames.

The blueberry wasn't very much help when the test was over.  She announced, "that's it!" zipped into the room, removed the plastic thing from my knee and kept on moving.   She told me, from somewhere in the room, to be careful when stepping down in case my knee was stiff.  Um, lady? Remember I told you I can't see?  No, she obviously did not remember.  The blueberry left me sitting on the edge of the table.  I called out and reminded her I can't see.  Thankfully, she heard me and accompanied me (well, walked quickly ahead of me) to the locker area.  There I was reunited with my glasses.

And, so that is the story of my MRI.  Rather mundane, don't you think?  I anticipate the results will be just as mundane.  You know how that goes--have pain, finally do something about it, stop having the pain.  I anticipate the best.  I know you do, too.
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P.S. I emailed my boss today and told her I won't be at work tomorrow, because I have the winning numbers for tonight's record Power Ball.  I assured her I would not be resigning as I would need productive things to do when not out on vacations or on altruistic adventures.
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Won't you be surprised.

Friday, November 23, 2012

Post Turkey Musings

Today, the day after Thanksgiving, I am thankful for successfully evading another round of "What I am thankful for" at the wife's family gathering.  Actually, this year was rather uneventful, with much less crying than usual and an uncharacteristic disorganization.  I did enjoy that one family was caught fleeing out the front door just as the thanking was about to begin.  (For the record, they made it out the door unscathed and without professing their gratitude in a group setting.  They rock.) I, of course, had nothing serious to say and did not mention the wife (or, anyone in particular, so she knew not to be offended).  For some reason (probably because I was standing in plain sight instead of hiding on the floor in the corner), I got to go first.  I said thanks, tried to make a joke but no one got it (sigh), made fun of my age and passed.  The wife's family is very concrete and serious.  I forget this.  The majority of them do not "get" sarcasm or wittiness.  Thus, most of what I say is lost.  So much for me being voted "Wittiness" in my senior class.  The wife was sick, so she had little to say and didn't shed many tears. I think she was just trying to survive.  It looks like the start of a cold--so, you know how that first day goes.  It's awful, with your throat burning and your head hurting and your body feeling like you got hit by a truck...a slight fever and waves of ickiness.  If you can make it through that first day, you'll be fine, albeit snotty and sneezy and coughing.  I kept trying to drug her.  I believe in "take four, they're small" when dealing with issues of the body.  She finally acquiesced and took some ibuprofen.  I tried to get her to take four but she chose to take the recommended dose of two pills.  Sigh.

I'm now spending the day after Thanksgiving at home as the wife throws her semi-sick self into the throngs of Black Friday shoppers.  I have no time for such nonsense and am thus at home, getting ready to make our Christmas Cards.  I have to get them out into the mail tomorrow, so I have much work to do, especially since I have to go to the store and get the final supplies needed to successfully complete this endeavor.  Actually, I'm not sure I can get the cards out by tomorrow but the latest they will be sent is Monday.  I want to get them out quickly in case the world does end.  That would suck if I did all this work and then no one saw the card because we had all plunged into a vat of world-ending angst.

Because my 50 year old peri-menopausal brain can't always recall things, I am perusing this blog to see what we did this year to use as fodder in the card.  It was an awesome year, in which I turned 50 and had my myo facial released.  I can't say more because then I will ruin the surprise of the holiday card.  Well, I suppose my four blog readers could go back and review the blog but I won't count on that.

As for the wife, I am 99% sure that she will return empty-handed from her Black Friday outing, not because she's sick with a cold but because that's how she rolls.  She's one of those people who goes shopping for the love of shopping. I go because I need something specific.  That's why I sit in the car and play video games while she is shopping.  I shop, I buy, I go to the car.  She shops, touches everything, wanders...and, three days later, leaves empty handed. I don't understand this.  Why go if you are not going to buy something?  As for me, I am all about Cyber Monday.  Actually, I am all about Cyber-anything.  Allow me to sit at home in my pajamas, drinking coffee and listening to tacky country music, while completing my shopping efforts. That's what I'm talking about.

Since I don't have to go anywhere crushed with crowds, I will take the dogs along for the ride.  I mean, how many people can be storming the doors of Walls of Green? I'll get my needs met without harm and they'll get a ride in the car.  Win-win!  I'm sure my car will accidentally go somewhere that has ice cream.  My car does that, you know.  I have no control over it.  I'm driving along and suddenly I'm in the drive through of somewhere selling ice cream.  I don't understand.

The Addiverse hopes you had a great Thanksgiving. If you didn't, I hope you have a great Black Friday.  If you don't, I hope you find some ice cream.





Tuesday, November 20, 2012

Passing the gratitude pie

It's that time of year when people get sappy and start professing their love and gratitude for one and other.  Soon, the wife and I will be sitting with her family around their Thanksgiving table, confessing our deepest feelings, passing the kleenex around as the love flows out faster than the rush on Twinkies at the end of last week.

Well, they will be doing that.  I'll be sitting at the table listening, smiling, nodding.  Then, when it's my turn, I'll just say one or two lines about how thankful I am to be there and then I'll pass the love fest along.

Now, before you call me an unempathetic, callous, ungrateful Scrooge, hear me out.  After all, you're thankful for me, aren't you? I'm grateful for you.  It's not that I'm ungrateful--heck, I am one of the more grateful people that I know. I really do have so much to say, to share, to express at times like the wife's family gathering. I really am blessed with a ridiculously amazing life. It's just that I am not the kind of person who is going to ooze feelings all over the Thanksgiving table in a large group of people.

Besides, I hate being vulnerable and I am not going to be vulnerable before the pumpkin pie is passed.... and, dessert is not served until well after the love fest had been completed.

Pass the home-made pie earlier and you might get a few more words out of me.

That said, I am grateful for many things of which I will share with you in this blog.  I will keep it superficial.  Very superficial.  I'll save the sappy for the next blog entry....or, perhaps for the Thanksgiving feast.

I am grateful that I won the football pool one time this year.
I am grateful that my football pool "crash and burn" didn't start until Week 10--an all time personal best.
I am grateful for rent-a-cars, as they make the wife very happy on cold, snowy weekends (so she doesn't have to drive her Mustang).
I am grateful for a new work cell phone, as with my previous work phone I couldn't hear a damn thing, the caller couldn't hear me, I had to stand outside when I'm at my office in order to get reception, I dropped calls all the time (never good for times someone is in crisis) and I didn't get my messages.
I am grateful that Freckles eye boogers are much less nasty via the use of various eye products.
I'm glad Lucy got an "A+" on her dental check up.
I am grateful that our holiday cards are done and ready for action.
I am grateful that it is almost impossible to destroy a tungsten ring.  (If you've ever seen what I "do" to my jewelry, you'd understand how important this is).
I am thankful that my Xena calendar purchase featured an autographed photo by Lucy Lawless.
I am grateful that it might not be the end of Twinkies, after all.

Mostly, I am grateful that I do not have to make Thanksgiving dinner. 

Perhaps my next blog will be sappy.  Perhaps not.  Suffice it to say that I am a very grateful bitch.  "See" you on Thanksgiving Day, when I will recall the Great Turkey Disaster of the 1990s!



Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Knee-dee

About five weeks back, I was finishing a jog with MJagger when, just as we were taking our last steps, my left knee let out a scream like no other.  I had to stop as my breath was ripped right out of my chest.

I had to stop and I could not walk.  My knee locked firmly in place.  Stuck and it wasn't unlocking.

It was rather awful but not earth-shattering.  I mean, my leg was still attached, no blood was spewing from any orifices, I was fully conscious.  I focused on the positive, limped the final half mile and hoped MJagger wouldn't end up carrying me the last few steps to the car. We were on the local bike path and there was no real way to "cheat;" I had to walk the final stretch.  I tried not to limp but it was ridiculously impossible. I sucked it up and kept moving.  I thought I was going to puke.  One step at a time, one step at a time.

I got to my car, waved good bye to MJagger and then realized......

......it would be really hard to use a clutch in this condition. 

Yes, I drive a stick shift.  Call me old school, a throw back to the days of automotive old.  I love my stick shifts.  Every car I have purchased has been a stick.  (The car I stole from my parents wasn't a stick but that doesn't count because I didn't buy it--I stole it from them.)   It was hard enough getting into the car, let alone driving with a clutch.  I thought about calling MJagger and asking her to come back and get me but I decided to give it a whirl.  I pulled my seat up as far as I could, allowing me to shift by keeping my knee in the bent position and basically shifting from the hip.

It sucked but it worked.

I had to cancel my appointments for the afternoon because I was so miserable.  Who wants a counselor who can't listen to you because they are in pain and can't straighten out their leg? I apologized to my client and asked him to stop talking--I had to leave.  I limped back to the car and headed.....

.....headed where? Should I go to the ER? No.  It wasn't an emergency.  Should I head to the urgent care? I could, but that seemed like a giant waste of money.  Should I call my doctor? Naw, the office is already closed and they would just tell me to come in tomorrow.  Home? Yes, I headed home to the land of ice packs, ibuprofen and the Internet.

For four weeks, I sat on my fat ass and had a pity party, smothered in chocolate and bad movies. No one was really the wiser.  MJagger and the wife knew, but otherwise, I was pretty undercover.  I mean, I basically have a desk job.  Counselors don't do knee bends or carry large boxes.  We sit in a chair.  Once the knee unlocked, I was able to get around without incident...however, at the end of the fourth week, I realized things weren't getting better.

I didn't want to but I made the call.

I made an appointment with an orthopedic doctor who specializes in knee injuries.  I purposefully chose a doctor who was NOT a surgeon....after all, surgeons provide surgery.  I was hoping for a non-surgical approach from a non-surgical doctor.  I thought that was genius on my part.

I went and saw Dr. Knee-Dee today, the end of the fifth week.  After a plethera of x-rays (done by a very lovely lesbian technician who engaged me in delightful conversation about my sweatshirt), I met the man who would manipulate my legs in ways that they should not be manipulated.  Oh my.

I found it interesting that he had his eyes closed many times during the examination.  He placed his hands on my knee and then shut his eyes.  He traced out the various parts of my knee anatomy and announced them aloud.  He also called out the names of the knee tests he was completing.  I had no idea what he was talking about but do know that the knee is a very complicated and that some of those tests are not very fun.  As he spoke, he casually noted that my clinical presentation and my report of symptoms suggested a torn meniscus.

No surprise there.  I had figured that out during my tour of the internet, the mother of all medical information.  I kept hoping I was wrong, but there are some things that aren't too hard to figure out, even on the Internet.

....imagine my surprise when he started talking about surgery.  Hey--I picked you so you wouldn't talk about surgery!  I'm paying you to say things like "physical therapy," not the "s" word!

Thankfully, the letters M-R-I followed the surgery comment.

(Side bar: Young women of the world, take care of your knees.  I have been brutally hard on my body over the past 50 years--my knees taking the brunt of the beating.  Look at my friends--we are the first generation of Title IX women limping around from all those athletic injuries. I say to you: be kind to your parts.  You'll need them later.)

So, I will have an MRI in the next few days to see what is really going on in that knee of mine.  There is still plenty of time to heal and find non-surgical options.  In the meantime, I will continue my M&M-fueled pity party.

If I do need surgery, I am going to ask if I can stay awake and watch. I will also ask the surgeon to take photos. If I don't need surgery, I will do a happy dance--on my opposite knee, of course.

Saturday, November 03, 2012

Punk like Me

Shoo! It took me two weeks but I'm back.  I have nothing to offer you about my disappearance.  I was here the whole time, hidden in plain sight. I wish I could say I had been on a Caribbean cruise or hanging out with Mickey at the World of Disney or I was in Chicago getting a full body suit tattoo, but really....I was sitting on the couch watching anything that promised not to show me political adds, playing fantasy football, watching my niece play some brass instrument in the marching band, planning my Halloween costume, attending a Green Bay Packer game, trying out three new cell phones while still using the two I have every day (who the hell carries five cell phones? Me, that's who.  Don't call me.  Please. I never know which phone to answer).  I've been avoiding Book de la Face like the plague, as I can't stand all the political bickering and partisan hate going on.  (Do you really think your social network postings--ridiculous on both sides--will change my mind?)

Halloween was especially delightful this year.  It's my favorite holiday (if you can call it a holiday--we don't get the day off and there's no holiday pay, so it's not really a holiday) and I have always enjoyed everything about it....what's not to love about chocolate and costumes? As we have a Halloween party at work every year (during work hours, designed for the clients), I always try to base my costume on something that the clients will like and to which they will relate. I've been Spongebob Squarepants (one of their all time favorites), Snape, Steve Irwin (before he died, thankfully), one of the evil step-sisters, Mr. Hankie the Christmas Poo...heck, I've even dressed as one of my coworkers one year (and she dressed as me).  This year, I decided to go as a professional wrestler, as if there is one thing the clients seem to love, it's wrestling.  No matter how fake, no matter how over-the-top, no matter how ridiculous, they love it.  I have a love-hate relationship with this "sport." I have no interest in it, I don't watch it on TV, I've never quite understood the draw....but, we've gone to two live professional wrestling matches this year (the clients and me--not the wife-the wife does not find wrestling humorous or of any interest) and I have to say, it is ALWAYS a good time to go to a wrestling match.  It's kind of like a Madonna concert--it's not a concert, it's an EVENT. That's how wrestling is--it's not a match, it's an EVENT.  The whole thing is actually very hilarious, especially the part where people actually believe this stuff is real.  Now, I mean no disrespect to the wrestlers, as they do end up beating the crap out of each other even while faking the fight, but really--it's so fake, you can see it from the upper sections of the biggest stadium.  It is the crowd that makes the trip to a wrestling match worth it.  I won't say anything more about the crowd, but trust me when I say it's colorful and the best part of the show.  (I started to write about the attendees but couldn't find a way to say it without sounding incredibly judgmental, so I stop here--hell, I'm sitting there with them having a good time, so I have little room to talk.)

It's like a soap opera for macho men in tiny tights.

I decided to dress as my favorite (and I do use that term loosely) wrestler, CM Punk.  I figure he's current, he's from Chicago, he has lots of awesome tattoos, he's the reigning champ (even though everyone says he's a cheater), he's easily recognizable by wrestling fans, he was featured in a recent article in my favorite tattoo magazine (does it scare you that I have a favorite tattoo magazine?) and he's a punk rock kind of guy.  What's not to love about that?  The only thing I had to buy was the championship wrestling belt, which I found at Wally World.  (Little did I know it was the "wrong" belt, which was explained to me by many a fan--sigh.  I had no idea.  It was the only belt Wally World had and I thought it looked awesome so I went with it.)  I donned my tattoo sleeves and snow-shoe gaiters, put my "only wear once a blue moon" contact lenses and slapped on some make-up to make a beard.  Wa-la! Punk!

The wife kept calling me CJ instead of CM.  Shame on her.

Let's see if you can tell which is the REAL CM Punk....

Not bad for a 50 year old woman using items in the house to create a costume, eh? CM Punk should be flattered.

....or not.  He probably will need therapy if he ever sees this.

Maybe he should be tickled pink that I actually own his t-shirt. The wife can't even believe I wear it, let alone own it.

Anyways, it was great fun and I do believe my costume was a big hit.  It was even more fun than usual because people didn't immediately recognize me....which I couldn't believe.  I thought it looked like me with a bad beard, but people would stare at me with no recognition.  It was only when I spoke that their eyes would light up and they would then laugh.  And, laugh they did. I laughed right along with them. How can you not laugh when you are dressed up like a professional wrestler?

Had it been an "adult" party with friends, I would have worn little black undies in the true tradition of wrestling outfits, but since this was a work endeavor during daytime hours and since I hadn't shaved any of the parts that most definitely would have needed shaving, I stayed with black shorts.

Not as much fun but appropriate for the setting and took a lot less grooming time. 

Triple crown winner, baby.  That's me and my punk.   As his website says, "WWE Champion! Loveable jerk. Often confused with Batman. Once tipped a stripper with a Filet-o-Fish."

Like I said...what's not to love?