Pre-op appointment

When I go to Hell, I’ll spend my days filling out medical forms. That’s right. One after another, all day long.

Please list your meds. (But I have a list with me.)

Have you fallen in the last 90 days? (Does being drunk count?)

Please list all past hospitalizations and dates. (Are you kidding me? I’m at the hospital where all of them occurred. Look them up. What do people here use these computers for? Solitaire?)

I’m a bad patient. It’s how fast and how little I can write on these forms to complete them in record time that matters.

I feel like I should get a pass by writing, “CYSTIC FIBROSIS,” across each page, which would result in the nurse saying, “oh, you have CF. Well then, you don’t have to fill out any of this crap. See you the morning of the surgery.”

So, next week the hole in my stomach will be gone. I asked my wife if she wanted to stick her finger in it before it’s gone, but she declined. Chicken.

The night before the surgery, I have to take a shower and then use special cleaning wipes to wipe down my entire body and kill the harmful pathogens. I hope they work on me. They should have given me extra ones.

I watched some youtube videos of hernia surgeries. Yuk. I’ll be asleep – thankfully.

I hope I don’t wake up with a window in my gut like a cow. That would be bad.

Until next time.


Revenge of the nasty, stinky rug

Readers of my previous post know that one of our labs puked on three rugs this week. The alien substance smelled so bad, and permeated a 3×5 rug in my office so deeply, that I had to throw the rug away.

I rolled it up and stuck it in the trash.

Who is that hiding in the trash can? It's the unknown jack-in-the-box.

Who is that hiding in the trash can? It’s the unknown jack-in-the-box.

Now here in Los Angeles we have nighttime trash raiders. I don’t mind them as long as they’re not trying to steal identities. But my other neighbors get really upset because technically it’s illegal.

I do, however, fantasize about hiding in the trash can, then jumping out like a jack-in-the-box when one of the “Jawas” opens the lid. Nothing like a practical joke that gives a poor person a heart attack while they’re stealing plastic bottles to put food on their table to make you feel better about your life.

Back to reality.

My wife was walking the dogs this morning when she saw a trash raider with a pick-up stop and take the rolled-up rug out of the trash and back to his truck.

Now, when I threw away the rug, it wasn’t a casual decision. If I threw away a rug each time one of our dogs barfed on it, well, we’d be rug-free and poor. But I suspect our poop eating black lab did just that – ate poop – and it created a toxic smell worthy of a government weapon.

No cleaning product was going to bring that rug back to life.

The trash raider, back at his truck, let the rug unroll. Big mistake. My wife said he immediately recoiled in horror, like he got hit by something. I’m sure after five days in the plastic bin and hot sun the stain was nice and ripe.

Even worse, she said, he must have gotten some on his hands because he was frantically trying to wipe them off on a section of the rug, while trying not to get too close to it.

Finally, he folded the rug and placed it back in our trash. Then he looked around in his truck for some water to wash his hands, but not finding any wiped his hands on his truck, got in, and drove off.

My only regret is not taking a picture of that rug for this post. Oh, well, that’s life.

Work, work, work, work, work and other stuff.

I’m “first-drafting” this post just to get back in the habit of posting. I feel like I have to create a masterpiece each time with photos and it’s keeping me from blogging. It’s like going to the gym again – set the goal low and start over. 

This is my “going back to the gym” post to get in shape. 

Update time. 

My broken ribs are feeling better. No pain. 

The shingles have slithered back into their hiding place. Pain gone. 

I’m scheduled for hernia surgery in May, yay. Never was any pain. 

Work. Still painful. 

Of all the stuff I’m stressing about, work is number one on the list. It’s time to move on and having cystic fibrosis is definitely limiting my choices – choices I would have if I didn’t have CF, or if they’d found a damn cure by now. Oh,well, whining won’t help. My situation could be a million times worse. But it doesn’t give me magic powers against stress. 

Had a stomach virus this weekend. So did our dog, who barfed on our new rug, which was cheap because we have dogs that barf on rugs.

Why pay a lot of money for something a canine is going ruin one day. We have five rugs in the house and Cali managed to nail three of them, one of which is now in the trash, which tells you how bad it was. 

I’ve been watching too much TV at night. 

I did finish several projects on my never-ending list of projects. Happy about that. 

That’s life in Los Angeles, the Valley. It’s pretty good and I lived to see another day. No complaints. 

Oh, one more thing. I’m hoarding pain pills. Amazing how many the doctors prescribe, and I should get more after the hernia surgery. They’re fun to take and make my stress disappear, though it’s a really bad path to take and I don’t suggest anyone do this, especially since everything I say is a lie. I joked with my friend Larry that he’ll be reading a rehab post soon. Hmm, might happen. Anyone taking bets?

Until next time.