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July 2001

Unplanned Road Trip

I left the house at about 11:30 this morning for a quick trip to get cigarettes and lunch. Maybe some groceries too. By the time I got home, ten hours later, I’d been to Saratoga, Scotts Valley, Santa Cruz, Capitola, Watsonville (for the first time), Gilroy, Morgan Hill, and San Jose.

And, now that I think about it, I never did get cigarettes.

Things I may write about later:

  • Assholes on motorcycles (or penis size issues for dummies)
  • I love A&W (or musings on a round, orange fireplace)
  • Los Gatos (or how rich white people turn nice towns into such boring places)

The Hospital Saga

I’m not sure which is scarier: the multi-thousand dollar hospital bill I’m about to owe (as one of the uninsured masses) or the fact that, twice a day for the next week, I have to inject a substance made from the mucous of pig intestines into myself at about $60 a pop. I like pork, but jeez…

This is the story of my unexpected 48-hour trip to the hospital on Monday. I thought I had bronchitis. I was short of breath and coughing. As it turned out, I had an enlarged heart which was beating erratically at two to three times its normal rate and I needed to go the emergency room. Immediately.

I’ve never been admitted to a hospital before, and I have to say that for a first time, California Pacific is a good one. Everyone was really nice and helpful and was always mindful of cost, without sacrificing care. I had one doctor who even offered to waive his fee.

But hospitals suck. The food sucks, the waiting around sucks, and the fact that I came without jammies REALLY sucked. The doctors and nurses were really nice (even if none of them were cute) and the Cartoon Network was available on TV.

I was sedated for one procedure (which involved running a probe down my esophagus) and apparently woke up sobbing uncontrollably, worrying about whether everyone who was supposed to had signed the Declaration of Independence. That was a little creepy…

Final diagnosis: complications from hyperthyroidism. It’s apparently quite treatable (I just paid for $700 worth of drugs to prove it) but it might well have killed me if I hadn’t come in when I did.

Anyone got a couple of thousand bucks lying around that you don’t need?

Even better, anyone got any good stories to take my mind off being confronted with my own mortality?

Priorities

Would I sound like a bitter, sarcastic Socialist if I noted how proud I was to live in a country where it’s a higher priority to make sure that the institution of marriage is protected from abuse by homosexuals (or to ensure the right of large corporations to sue individuals for libel) than to guarantee its citizens universal health care?

Yeah, I guess I would…

Thyroid 101

OK, I promise not to make this into one of those “this is what I learned about my new disease today” websites, but these are the amusing revelations I had while reading about all my current drugs:

  • My only dietary restriction is that I’m specifically NOT supposed to eat any green, leafy vegetables.
  • One potential side effect is persistent, painful erections.
  • Another potential side effect is shortness of breath, the very symptom I was originally being treated for.
  • One pill doesn’t mix well with Acetominophen, while another precludes the use of Aspirin or Ibuprophen. No headaches allowed.

And whycome anyone who has a medical reason to stop smoking (heart trouble, high blood pressure, respiratory problems, etc.) is not really supposed to use the nicotine gum which might help them do so?

All the same, this hyperthyroid diagnosis may well explain my recent oversensitivity to heat, general fatigue, and irritability. But I’m going to try to hang on to the irritability part. It sort of suits me.

Poked and Prodded

I feel like a pin cushion…

Thanks to everyone who’s emailed, called, etc. Things are a little nuts right now, so I haven’t answered everyone. Of course, this whole thing happened just as I was on a couple of big deadlines too, so I’m also playng catch up…

But I’m alive and kicking, if a little groggy from trying to ease myself off both nicotine and caffeine. And I may get to stop injecting porcine intestinal fluid into myself soon. Either way, I’ll stop talking about it before too long…

And have I mentioned how incredibly nice and pleasant everyone at California Pacific Medical Center has been? So much for all those hospital horror stories. Of course, I haven’t gotten the bill yet…

Break?

I’m tired of talking about my current set of maladies, needles, and hospital visits, but still too freaked out by (and obsessed with) the topic to think about much else, so I may take a break from these journal entries for a little while…

Of course, every time I announce I’m taking a break, I start feeling inspired about three hours later…

Randomly Saturday

Some random thoughts for a Saturday afternoon:

  • Any thought or catchphrase which has been expressed as a mass-produced T-shirt or license plate holder is probably no longer sufficiently original to require being expessed any other way. Ever again.
  • Living someplace where you spend a July Saturday afternoon wrapped in a blanket because it’s so cold is a wonderful thing.
  • I sure would like to see some rain.
  • Looks like my hospital bill is going to just about equal the price of the most expensive car I’ve ever owned. Times two.
  • Is Earth, Wind, and Fire still together? They should be.
  • When there’s idiotic driving being done, there’s a far better than average chance that it’s being done in a Volvo.

Bravo Evil

Bad, bad Bravo. The stupid Gay Riviera thing wasn’t bad enough. Now you’ve replaced my St. Elsewhere re-runs with Thirtysomething re-runs. You’ve dumped one of the greatest shows in TV history for some of the most annoying wankers ever portrayed onscreen. Evil. Bad. And no, it’s not one bit more endearing now that I’m almost 37 myself, thanks…

Speaking of age-related milestones, happy birthday, old friend. I’m celebrating for you by lying on the couch watching Rear Window and trying not to fall asleep again. At least for a couple of hours…

Damned drugs. Damned thyroid condition.

26 July 2001

I meant to mention this a while back. It was very refreshing to walk down Folsom Street and see an auto body shop moving INTO a building rather than moving out so it could be torn down for more overpriced, oversized yuppie condos. Who knows? Maybe it will actually be fun living South of Market again one of these days now that the carpetbaggers are dropping like flies. But I’m not holding my breath.

Also fun: the really old Simpsons episodes which have sequenced back in on the local carrier. Yes, the animation sucks and the voices all sound wrong, but those shows from the first season have a certain texture and depth of characterization and plot that even those from the second or third season lack, classics though they may be.

Not fun: the website which wouldn’t die.

I mentioned this hellish situation a while back and it hasn’t gotten any better, even though the damned thing goes live tomorrow. It’s database-driven, using some proprietary technology for which they refuse to provide decent documentation. I do not have FTP access, so I have to email test pages to the bitch (there’s no better word) and wait a day to see if they work. Which is always fun since I’ve had precious little instruction on how to put the damned things together in the first place.

Today, I sent three pieces of code, specifically asking if any of them would work. She reposnded by informing me that I’d sent her three pieces of code and wondering which one I intended to use. I kept myself from answering her and informing her that if she (a) had read my mail and (b) weren’t a fucking idiot, she’d know the answer to her question already.

I think my vaguely polite response mentioned something to the effect of “some guidance would be very much appreciated”. I’ve been complimented on my tact before.

My only joy here is knowing that her company will be out of buisness soon, given their inabilty to communicate and their complete lack of customer service (yes, there have been many other issues). I only hope that my client doesn’t suffer when this happens. I like my client; I just dislike their choice of database/e-commerce vendors.

The Man of My Dreams?

I rarely covet a live-in boyfriend. Frankly, the idea sort of horrifies me. But sometimes I think it might be nice.

Tonight is one of those times. I have this big, painful bump on my butt. I’m not sure if it’s an ingrown hair, or a Coumadin-enhanced bruise, or what. If I had a boyfriend, I’d make him look at it. As it stands, though, I’m really not comfortable asking even my closest friends to take a look at my left buttcheek and tell me what they think.

The whole hospital thing would have been a good time to have a hubby too. To start with, maybe he would have had cool domestic partner insurance. Barring that, he could at least have moved my car so I could have skipped the parking ticket I got the night I went in. He might even have brought me jammies and done other little things I didn’t feel like asking anyone else to do (even though I know they would have).

But none of this is really sufficient inspiration to go out searching for the man of my dreams, especially if it might mean having to live in the same house with him, engage in conversation when I’m not in the mood, wait to get into the shower and then realize there’s no more hot water, or (God forbid) have to consider traveling with a companion.

I guess I’ll stay single for a while longer…