Category Archives: cystic fibrosis

1, 2 punch of cystic fibrosis and James Dalton

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One of my favorite movies is Road House. Patrick Swayze plays James Dalton, a “cooler,” aka bouncer, or “bar consultant.” When a bar or dance hall needs to clear out the riffraff, he shows up and kicks the sh** out of bad people. If fact, he knows how to rip a man’s throat out with his bare hands – and does.

The end of the 80s and the last of the neon fonts.

The end of the 80s and the last of the neon fonts.

Great movie. Masterpiece.

In one scene, after Swayze’s character is stabbed, he walks into the ER with a thick stack of medical records outlining his long history of injuries, and passes on the pain-killer while the model-hot doctor staples the cut closed. Awesome.

So, I’m pretty much the opposite of this guy, except for the medical paperwork.

Sunday, I broke two ribs, but not in a bar fight, which would have been a 1,000 times more exciting than how I did break them. I fractured them while coughing during a breathing treatment.

I’ve never been shot but I can’t imagine it hurting more than the cough that broke my ribs, or the subsequent coughs that came with blinding, nauseating pain. Luckily, I had an unused bottle of expired Vicodin handy.

After a couple of rough nights of not sleeping well, and not knowing I had broken ribs at that point, I visited the Ortho doc. And even though the half-a-dozen x-rays didn’t show cracked ribs, he told me that I had one. He was half right.

Prescription for healing: pharmacy-fresh painkillers, rest, and Motrin – as much as possible without creating a blood fountain in my lungs.

The next day, not satisfied with the broken rib diagnosis, and thinking it was my intercostals because it hurt in areas other than where the Ortho Dr. thought the break was, I went to my CF doc and he sent me for more X-rays.

The Ortho doc must have purchased his X-ray machine from Craigslist, or in a back alley, because the hospital’s machine showed two broken ribs, numbers 6 & 7, and looking at the film even I could tell they were broken.

But that still didn’t explain the additional rib-cage pain was I having.

The next day, a red bump and blotches that were sensitive to the touch showed up on my lower right side – SHINGLES the clown, where have you been?

F’ing two broken ribs and shingles?

Bar-keep, my good man, mix me a Valtrex & Norco 5/325 cocktail, please. Help myself?  Why thank you very much. I will do just that. 

Yes, once again cystic fibrosis hit me with a 1, 2 punch., and expanded my fat file of medical injuries, hospitalizations and surgeries.

The good news, and this may be painkiller driven, is that I’ve been in a pretty good mood about the whole situation. I laughed when I saw the shingles on my side. Who gets two broken ribs AND shingles at the same time? That’s gotta be kind of rare, huh?

It’s good to be King, even when it’s King of the Idiots.

Oh, and the fun of treatments and making sure I don’t cough too hard – well, it doesn’t get funnier than that.

Some days, I just have to laugh at what cystic fibrosis throws at me. That is until I learn how to rip its throat out.

Yeah, swallow this CF. [Throat ripped out, gagging sound.]

Oh, to be the coolest of all coolers.

Squashed – an excellent family game

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I recreated the cube. My daugher, purple, reached the king. I had a red piece on each side. So when she squashed me, my other red piece went to the top next to the repositioning of the king. I then squashed my daughter and took care of my wife shortly after that. BTW, use the yellow mat or a tablecloth to play. We didn't because we like distressing our $100 Craigslist table. But you might not like the result of smashing pawns into the cube on your table.

I recreated the cube. My daugher, purple, reached the king. I had a red piece on each side. So when she squashed me, my other red piece went to the top next to the repositioning of the king. I then squashed my daughter and took care of my wife shortly after that. BTW, use the yellow mat or a tablecloth to play. We didn’t because we like distressing our $100 Craigslist table. But you might not like the result of smashing pawns into the cube on your table.

So there we were at the kitchen table after dinner playing Squashed, my 12-year-old daughter whooping it up and rubbing in the fact she won the first game. I  squashed (pun intended) my tweener’s happiness by winning the second game, leaving my wife 0 and 2. 

Now the object of Squashed is to be the last pawn standing. Simple, or so it seemed the first time we played and each of us took the simplest strategy of racing to the top of the cube to reach the king. Now reaching the king means you get to flip the cube to any side you like and squash other players’ pieces into the center of the cube, never to be seen again – or until the next game.

I realized during the second game that there is strategy beyond racing to the top. It isn’t the only way to play. The key: it helps to plan ahead. Hold that thought for minute. I’ll get back to it.

I’ve already established that my daughter is a terrible winner and loser. Hmm, where did she get that from? my wife likes to ask.

Yeah, okay, she got it from me, which makes for a battle royal each time we play a game.

And the third game of Squashed was a classic battle. My daughter wanted nothing to more than to squash me and win.

She was in good position to do just that, with one pawn left that was much closer to the top than my two pawns. But I grew up playing board games, not video games, and knew it was time to school my daughter in the art of “non-digital gaming.”

Like a compulsive gambler whose horse is 10 lengths ahead with the finish line in sight, my daughter giggled and jumped about, taunting me with her knowledge that she was a sure winner.

I have no problem busting self-esteem in my house when it comes to games. It’s good to learn what defeat tastes like early in life. So, I moved both of my pieces sideways to opposite sides of the cube.

This is an exact quote from my daughter to my wife: “I don’t know what Daddy thinks he’s doing.” That should have been her first clue something was up, but certain victory clouded her tweener mind.

And when she reached the space next to the king, she chose to squash me instead of her mother. Oh, the glee and joy of certain victory in her face when she left me with one piece – one piece which just happened to be next to the new location of the king. You see, when you flip the cube the opposite side comes up and the king gets moved to the top. I planted my pieces on opposite sides so no matter what, one piece would be in the position to squash her on my next turn.

“Daddy can’t do that,” she said to her mother, her certain victory crumbling like a 6-month old chocolate chip cookie. I almost felt bad for her. Ah, not really. I was happier for my own craftiness.

I finished her off, then my wife and became the Squashed King with a 2 and 1 record.

The next morning I rubbed it in and left a note for her on the cube: “You were Squashed.”

So, a high recommendation for the game Squashed. It appears simple the first time you play it, but gets better each time. I got my money’s worth alone during the third game – “I don’t know what Daddy thinks he’s doing.” That’s right, Honey, even I don’t know what I’m doing sometimes, but this time I did. Ha.

Why I haven’t been blogging

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Reason #1 for not blogging: Work.

And lots of it lately. 18 days in a row just ended. I used to have the greatest job in the world. My days were filled with creative challenges and writing. The key word is “creative.” Then the recession came and the first to go were the administrative assistants for the department. But the work didn’t leave with them. It flowed to the rest of us and we started wearing two hats, and in the process my job went from creative work to administrative chores. And, as the admin work has stayed with us and increased, my need for a creative outlet moved to other areas – like woodworking and upcycling furniture.

I’m getting better at woodworking. The number of mistakes I make during a project is going down. For the door in the picture, I used bird’s-eye maple and walnut on this door and finished with 7 coats of Waterlox Tung oil. I started with raw pieces of wood and cut and sanded it all myself. I learned a lot of lessons in the process but I’m happy overall with how it turned out.

You can never, I repeat, never, have enough clamps in life.

You can never, I repeat, never, have enough clamps in life.

Found a Fox door handle. I miss Fox. Who knows, perhaps he'll return one day.

Found a Fox door handle. I miss Fox. Who knows, perhaps he’ll return one day.

I saved a $85 pine coffee table I found on Craigslist. It was in bad shape, legs falling off and cracked legs, a purple flower painted on it, and a nasty painted finished. I stripped it, fixed each leg with pocket holes and wood glue, and used a homemade vinegar/steel wool stain to give it an antique look. I applied three coats of Briwax and now I have a very sturdy coffee table that my 12-year-old daughter can beat to hell and I don’t have to worry about.

More clamps. It took at least this number of clamps to fix each leg. Sometimes more. It was puzzle-like.

More clamps. It took at least this number of clamps to fix each leg. Sometimes more. It was puzzle-like.

I used my apple-cider vinegar steel wool mix again. Half is finished and waxed here.

I used my apple-cider vinegar steel wool mix again. Half is finished and waxed here.

I found a rocking chair at a local consignment shop for 200 bucks. It’s solid tiger oak, which is one of my least favorite woods. So I did some light sanding of the peeling varnish and used Chalk Paint and dark wax to age and bring it back to life. I was going to sell it but I ended up giving it to my sister-in-law because she liked it and I think it’s cool that she’d put it in her house. Let’s keep it in the family.

This is the "before" shot after I sanded off all of the peeling 1960s varnish.

This is the “before” shot after I sanded off all of the peeling 1960s varnish.

Making the world more colorful and saving furniture one piece at a time.

Making the world more colorful and saving furniture one piece at a time.

Back to blogging.

The Denver Broncos gave me shingles – in my mouth

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16 years ago, when the Broncos beat the Packers in the Super Bowl, the stress of the game made me sick for three or four days. The following year we beat Atlanta (sorry, Larry) and won our second Super Bowl, and I was much calmer.

I packed up all of my Broncos gear until next season. I'm embarrassed to be seen in it right now.

I packed up all of my Broncos gear until next season. I’m embarrassed to be seen in it right now.

As this year’s big game drew closer, I got nervous and a little wound up. I started using a lot of CAP LETTERS IN  MY EMAILS AND TEXT MESSAGES. I walked 81 miles on my treadmill during the week. I wore Broncos gear every day.

Then I woke up at 2 in the morning the night before the Super Bowl with pain in my right front tooth and other spots in my mouth. Nerve pain. I had to take an Ativan to go back to sleep. I feared I’d broken a tooth or had an abscess, which didn’t help with the stress.

Watching the game only made it hurt more.

Monday: The dentist asked me if I was stressed about anything lately. Yeah, the Denver Broncos, I said.

I guess he thought I was joking or this wasn’t good enough to make a diagnosis of shingles. He mentioned something about a possible virus or burn, but I didn’t connect the dots. It took my brilliant wife to do that at dinner while I was high as a Seahawks fan on half a 4-year-old Vicodin tablet.

Tuesday: Back to the dentist, but the one I see most of the time (he was off on Monday). Diagnosis: Shingles. Rx: Valtrex for 7 days, thanks to my doctor.

I thought when I had shingles on my body it was painful, but having it my mouth? Wow, torture and tears. Yes, sometimes when I eat and the food touches just the right spot, tears just fall out of my eyes, which is more rain than LA is getting these days. I should eat in the garden.

But let me make this very clear: Even the pain of shingles in my mouth is nowhere near the pain of watching the Denver Broncos tank another Super Bowl. I’d take shingles over that any day, but having both happen at the same time . . . F**k me.

Ready for tomorrow’s Super Bowl – GO BRONCOS, GO POT ROAST

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I’ve savored every moment of the last two weeks, watching SportsCenter, listening to ESPN radio and eating up all the coverage of my Denver Broncos. It’s almost showtime. And best of all, WE ARE PREPARED for tomorrow’s game.

We have our Broncos shirts. I have my Broncos lounge pants and Manning 18 Jersey. Our best friends are coming over. IT’S SUPER BOWL TIME.

My wife is making deviled eggs that look like footballs. We’ll eat Papa John’s pizza in honor of Manning. She’s also making some kind of Rocky Mountain Cookie. We’ll have meat and cheese and bread. She didn’t want to buy Coors, but bought some fancy beer made by Coors. It’s all about authenticity I told her. She ignored me. I’m used to it.

My good friend and long-time Super Bowl pal is making pot roast in honor of #94, Terrance Knighton, of the Broncos. Every time he makes a big play we’re going to yell, “POT ROAST,” and eat a slice in his honor.

Here’s an assortment of the other Broncos stuff we have ready for the game.

Our black lab is ready and wearing her lucky collar.

Our black lab is ready and wearing her lucky collar.

Broncos tattoos and eye patches or whatever they're called.

Broncos tattoos and eye patches or whatever they’re called.

Found an orange flower at Home Depot. A Martha Stewart tip, along with how to hide your stock gains.

Found an orange flower at Home Depot. A Martha Stewart tip, along with how to hide your stock gains.

My wrist band and the orange hair gel I plan on using tomorrow. Yeah, you heard it hear.

My wrist band and the orange hair gel I plan on using tomorrow. Yeah, you heard it here.

Table wear in orange and blue. Martha Stewart detail.

Plates and napkins in orange and blue. Martha Stewart’s Chow Chows would be happy to eat off of these pups, though in China they’d eat the Chow Chows off plates like these, if they watched the Super Bowl. (Where did that comment come from? There go my fans in China.)

A nice touch by my wife, who hates Martha Stewart.

A nice candy touch by my wife, who hates Martha Stewart.

Lording over the game is my $2 Broncos troll. I discovered him at a flea market in Long Beach and consider him my best find EVER!

Lording over the game is my $2 Broncos troll. I discovered him waiting for me at a flea market in Long Beach and consider him my best find EVER! BTW, he was the only troll they had. Yes, the Universe works its magic in strange ways.

Little John Elway and Big John Elway will be there to watch. My friend teases about how big a head the real John Elway has. These two are only slightly larger he says.

Little John Elway and Big John Elway will be there to watch. My friend teases me about how big of a head the real John Elway has. These two are only slightly larger, he says. But look at these, the little one’s head is as large as his body. Balloon-Head John Elway is more like it.

Bleeding Orange, Blue and Red

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The Tower of Terror ride at California Adventure hoists you up, up, up until the ride comes to a sudden stop and double doors open to the outside world and an amazing view of the park and Disneyland in the near distance. Just enough time to take a breath of California air before the bottom drops out of your world and you plunge to the ground, taking away that last breath and leaving your stomach behind. Screams fill the elevator shaft.

That’s what coughing up blood is for me. The bottom falls out of my life in milliseconds. Hope, stability, calm – they leave me in the time it takes to snap my fingers. It’s amazing how so much chemical reaction can take place in the body in such a short period of time, elevated blood pressure, panic, adrenaline and sweat all mixed together in a nice “fight or flight” cocktail – connecting me to my prehistoric brothers. But this ain’t no Woolly Mammoth hunt. The enemy twisting me into knots lives inside and is microscopic. I’d rather face a furry elephant and take my chances with a spear.

When I look at the red blotch on the paper towel, I wonder where this event is going to lead me. Hospital? Cipro Rx? What is the first step I have to take? Email the doctor right after I put the blood through a series of questions.

Is it new or old?

Pure or mixed with mucus?

Volume? Teaspoon or tablespoon? More? These the questions the CF team will ask.

Lesson I’ve learned: get to the Ativan bottle immediately. If it’s a bad bleed, my rising blood pressure becomes a water-filled garden hose left out on a 100-degree day.

One week to go. Enjoying every day until the game. Pissed about having it in NJ. The NFL made a bad decision having it there.

One week to go. Enjoying every day until the game. Pissed about having it in NJ. The NFL made a bad decision having it there.

The scales of my life needed balancing this week. I was too happy thanks to the Broncos returning to the Super Bowl for the first time in 15 years. There’s a lot of orange and blue in our house right now and we’re preparing for the big game. Should I paint my face? Color my hair orange? These were the tough questions being asked before I sprung a leak.

There is good news. The bleeding stopped the next day and has stayed away. However, it creates a mental state of waiting for it to happen again. Every cough is processed carefully before I get the courage to look at what I coughed up. So far so good.

I just have to make it 8 days to see the Broncos in the Super Bowl. Eight days.

The detritus of my life

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Clean-up needed in aisle 7.

Clean-up needed in aisle 7.

Empty CVS-labeled pill bottles, blue-topped nebulizers with teeth marks, plastic Xopenex vials and “X” twist tops on the floor.  I step on them and curse my laziness yet leave them for the next time I step on them and curse my laziness (my Broncos trash can is two feet away but “da shit” has a way of hitting the edge or catching some invisible air current and going off target.)

My lungs depend on a red Symbicort inhaler that isn’t glazed with rainwater or beside the white chickens.

Measuring devices: Pulseox on my treadmill desktop, FEV 1/6 meter, peak flow meters aplenty – my gift at each hospital stay I’ve had, and a sign of my disobedient nature as a patient – I refuse to use it, I tell the RT, because it’s a crappy measurement of my true lung function. Bad patient, I am.

Colistin months include syringes, half-full bottles of sterile water, empty pink 0.9 saline vials and little glass colistin bottles littering the kitchen table.

Cayston months reveal themselves in tiny beer-bottle brown, sharp metal pull-tops similar to what soda cans had when I grew up, and more empty plastic vials that get squeezed into the brown bottles.

Empty M&M’s Minis packages wait for Cali to steal them from the trash can. Depending on the day it might be an empty chocolate-covered gummy bears container, or the chocolate-covered pretzels I ate that were my daughter’s – I didn’t know at the time, but have no guilt just the same.

And then there are the boxes of hypertonic saline, the sinus flushes, the oxygen tubing I step on in the dark of night on the way to the bathroom. And the grossest of the gross: phlegm-soaked squares of carefully folded paper towel I forget to throw away. Lifeless around the edges, the bacteria glows gold and grows crusty, making me think, this is reason for all of this crap in my life. How is this possible?

I wish for laser eyes to shoot it when I toss it in the air like a skeet, small yellow flames falling to the floor. I hope bacteria scream.

Ah, the mystery. The horror. The mess. The constant need to throw shit away. La Vida Loca, baby.

My 2013 Christmas in Pictures

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This is a very heavy metal clamp. On December 23, I broke my rule of walking barefoot in the garage. I just needed to readjust the clamps on some Birdseye Maple. Just take me a second. (See next photo)

This is a very heavy metal clamp. On December 23, I broke my rule of never walking barefoot in the garage. I just needed to readjust the clamps on some Birdseye Maple. Why wear shoes? I thought, as it would only take me a minute. (See next photo for aftermath of my poor decision not to wear shoes.)

This what a toe looks like when it's fractured in three places, like dropping a rock on ice. Luckily the doctor was in on Christmas Eve morning. I was one of many patients there who has broken a toe the night before. I can also add that when it happened it hurt a lot, making me nauseous for a minute. Afterward I walked a few miles on my treadmill and was amazed how much it hurt. Yes, I'm an idiot.
This what a toe looks like when it’s fractured in three places, like dropping a rock on ice, crack. Luckily the doctor was working Christmas Eve morning. I was one of several patients who had broken a toe the night before. I can also add that when the clamp scored the direct hit, it hurt – a lot, making me nauseous for a minute. After it happened I walked a few miles on my treadmill and was surprised how much pain a toe can cause. Yes, I’m an idiot. Now I have a walking boot, which I haven’t really used much, choosing instead to limp around as punishment for being so stupid.

When you put me in charge of decorating the Christmas tree this is what happens: The Broncos ornaments get prime placement and a lucky troll joins the party.
When you put me in charge of decorating the Christmas tree this is what happens: Broncos ornaments get prime placement and a lucky troll joins the party.

Santa brought my daughter a giant Jaxx beanbag chair. However, it's really the world's largest dog bed.

Santa brought my daughter a giant Jaxx beanbag chair. However, it’s really the world’s largest dog bed.

This is my Christmas haul. Once again, I made out like a bandit and am the luckiest person in the world.
This is my Christmas haul. Once again, I made out like a bandit and am the luckiest person in the world. My daughter also gave me a hip California shirt, but it didn’t make the picture because it’s in the wash. I did tell my wife that she didn’t need her own stud finder because it’s pretty easy to find me. She rolled her eyes (yes, it’s a miracle she married me). That’s it. Another Christmas spent outside the hospital. Winner, Winner, holiday turkey dinner. Happy New Year.