Creatinine, Guts, BUN and Staples
So the last post I made might have been a lot for the one person reading this. It was a lot for me. But I’ve also figured that hiding from these things doesn’t help anything. Being open and honest about it helps me talk more about it, and hopefully understand things a bit more.
Also, balls.
I can see how you would have made a preacher. You got a terrible streak of honesty in you.
– Humphrey Bogart as Ben in Love’s Lovely Counterfeit (Radio Broadcast)
So, a few things of interest today. Had a visit with a doctor on the team, and he took the rest of my staples out.
It hurt. A holy hell, sweet Jesus of a fuck ton.
A bunch to both sides had become embedded in the scabs and were starting to disappear. He took them out, but lord almighty. A few areas started to bleed. Kind of a different type of bleed. There’s a fear that your whole stomach is going to open up again, and your guts are gonna spill all over the place. Really strange feeling.
Seems okay now, but took a bit of a rest after. Feeling a bit better now, but dying for these to close up.
Also, got my labs back this morning. My creatinine and BUN dropped substantially. Which is rad, my kidneys are basically falling in line, and the peeing is super regular now. My eGFR is also close to normal at 59 mL/min/BSA. Normal is >=60 mL/min/BSA. Both creatinine and BUN are just barely outside of normal. Might be there end of this week, early next.
Looking at a possible date to leave now! Not sure when, but potentially sometime next week. But we know it’s only within the doctor’s purview. Still excited though.
Here’s hoping…and here’s a video that randomly popped into my head that has nothing to do with anything. But I remember it from my video sharing days of Grouper. Always makes me laugh.
Give me enough reasons to make excuses, and I’ll definitely sell you land in Arizona.
So this is hell. And there’s a crucifix in it.
– Armand Goldman (Not the vulgar Coleman in Florida)
Addiction is a fascinating topic. It’s also been talked about to death. I’m really not sure I have anything new to offer on the topic other than personal experiences, which probably matches about one million others. I am not unique here. But the way I describe it may be. Mostly because I’m bat shit crazy.
Addiction got me here. That much is certain. But I also am coming to realize that the relationship with addiction never really goes away. You can’t break up with it and move to Spain. It’ll already be in Spain holding the door to your rental open for you. You just have to learn to control it. Cut the things out you earmark as detrimental to your existence here. (I’m looking at you next sour candy. But not you sweet, sweet noodles.) There’s a reason people relapse. The chatter starts in your head, right outside the door, and you stop to listen. Like trying to glean why the neighbors are fighting, cause last you heard they were doing so well, but you’re bored and curious. A super dangerous combination.
I figure I’ll have internal conversations about this with myself for the rest of my life. The most recent such one being now.
Oxycodone was my first big test past alcohol in almost a year. (Two days shy of my one year sober anniversary.) The reason this one was so hard was a combination of a few factors. First, I am getting better and now bored. And there is nothing for me to do here. I wasn’t really planning on this. Figured I would always have something to do. But without running, I find myself scrambling for something in the majestic state of Arizona.
Secondly, the oxycodone started as a completely acceptable thing with the pain management. Therein was the trap. I was actually in great pain, but I foresaw the applications past the pain. The reasons for me to continue to take it were just falling off the tree, and I was collecting them, and tucking them away in plastic sleeves, like a 10 year old boy who worships Wade Boggs (may he rest in peace) and wants every baseball card that’s ever been released of him. (But he drinks 60 beers on a plane and doesn’t have a liver transplant? What in the actual fuck!?)
I was clocking keywords and phrases used early on in the hospital for when they might give it to you. Learning their pain scale for when the rule book says give him a larger dose. Figuring out what to say if you needed more. Reading body language for if they disagreed with it a certain time. All of these things are detailed out in my head for how to manage getting this for as long as I can. Even though I know I shouldn’t.
But the time to stop has come to an end. (Half because I want to, half because I can’t get any more.) My communication out loud is one of “no problem.” My internal monologue is one of “they took my guns!” (Fitting in Arizona.)
It was something that numbed the pain and killed the boredom that’s now gone. And I don’t want it to be. I want to keep it going. Calculate out new ways to get it by any means possible. Cause that’s what the mind of an addict does. At least mine. How do I keep this both a secret and a reality. For as long as fucking possible. Cause it’s not going to hurt me, I’m both invincible and super fucking smart.
At any rate, it ends, and I have to deal with it. I have to deal without this thing that seemed perfectly acceptable in the eyes of others, but only for the pain. And only for a finite time. It now has to go. I have to move on. And this is not the last time I’ll talk about addiction, or face a struggle with it.
Maybe I’ll take up grifting.
Always do business as if the person you’re doing business with is trying to screw you, because he probably is. And if he’s not, you can be pleasantly surprised.
– Jimmy Dell
Dude, not to be weird but…
nice dick.
Ugh. This week started out so well. Got to see my good friend Dave. It was quite the whirlwind for me, (with my broken ass self) but way too much fun. Dave, Pam and I saw Furiosa (which is fucking amazing) had some movie food, got some pizza, and cooked some amazing steaks. (I had water at the movie and a few meatballs at the pizza place. My cheat day.)
Dave got a tomahawk steak, which was fun to cook. The progression of food:
So, a fun day of movie watching and mall walking. Oh! We got a picture of the Dolce & Gabbana fancy store with the “one credit check at a time line” minus one bouncer. Maybe he was on a break at the food court. In a mall.
I was also introduced to the majesty of Glen Powell. (He’s so hot right now.) He’s forcing me to laminate a new card. Heather Graham and Timothy Olyphant still hold 1 and 2 respectively, but Glenn is causing me to rewrite the top five.
Hit Man on Netflix is so fucking good. Directed by Richard Linklater (Dazed and Confused) and written by Richard and Glen, it’s a totally must watch. Followed that up with Anyone But You, again with Glen and Sydney Sweeney, and Directed by Will Gluck (Fired Up, in the top 3 comedies about cheerleading) it’s just fucking hilarious. And now Glen is in Twisters. Totally excited about that. It’s the same movie with the same amount of twisters. It’ll be perfect.
He’s SO hot right now. A body swap would be awesome.
Anyway, tons of fun for a couple of days.
Then today happened.
Got started in a terrible mood. Took my pills before my lab work. Which means that was a rub. Have to do more tomorrow. Then I was a dick to Pam all morning. Yes, I can be a total dick. Breaking my own mantra. I was just being snappy to everything.
Also woke up with tons of fluid on me. Hard to move again. The fluid is coming from somewhere. More paracentesis an hour after the doctors appointment. Took another 4 liters (math) from me. That’s almost 25 pounds in 6 days. A sequel to Drainage: The Movie, this is Drainage: The Second Movie. Starring Rutger Hauer and Olympia Dukakis. More fun pics. I usually fill up two of those buckets in the octopus. (Octopus is a technical term.)
Basically I’m leaking. Somewhere. Can be held at bay with more diuretics, but they need to rule some stuff out. So on to an Interventional Radiology Biopsy Procedure. They basically run a catheter through my neck at the jugular, (I love the word jugular. It just sounds so cool) and down to the liver to take a biopsy and make sure it’s not something else. All solvable, but good to rule stuff out. After that, home? If and when it comes back good, we’re out of here. And giddy up on the diuretics.
So all that was a lot to get set up with. We were so tired, we just hung out tonight. I had even purchased tickets to a MC Chris show down the street. We didn’t make it. It was totally random though. If you recall, I first asked Pam out at a MC Chris show almost 20 years ago. Randomly, I found he was playing 20 minutes away tonight. (I am now reminded I might have spoken of all this already. I live in Groundhog Day.) Would have been fun, but we agreed tonight just needed to be chill.
Dave broke it all down regarding MC Chris:
If I’m being honest, going to MC Chris only sounds fun if you are drunk, 26, and not suffering from constant pain and fatigue.
Like if I was all those things it sounds like a pretty decent Thursday night. But considering that’s not the case, you are much better off ordering takeout and cheering up with a Glen Powell romantic comedy because he’s so hot right now.
– Dave
I was also celebrating one year of sobriety! Super cool, and I look forward to the next 20. Also saved tons of money with no cigarettes or booze for a year. Holy fuck I drank and smoked a lot. What in the hell was wrong with me?
So, as we relaxed, Pam saw motion on our cameras. She logged in, and saw this.
But that’s not all. We then saw more…
Bonnie and Jen had taken over our living room. With amazing costumes. I’ve watched these multiple times. They just get better and better. I really need to know the why and how here. Where do you get these costumes? Am I better off not knowing? Do I buy one and participate?
So all of this in two days. Oh! And public restrooms? Men are like rabid squirrels with the toilet paper. Seriously, take it slow. Being a bully to the toilet paper is no way to go through life. It just makes you seem like a furious little feral cat, scraping at an enemy through a hole in the wall. Dragging your claws through the delicate paper, with your beady little eyes watching through the crack in the door for newcomers who might be too inclined to check your locked door.
And now I have to touch your torn scraps. Just because it’s not your bathroom, doesn’t mean you can treat it like shit. Both figuratively and literally.
Fuck you.
Shitter was full!
– Cousin Eddie
Oh and my empathy is growing to new levels. But more in that tomorrow after my retry, fuck up, blood work take two.
QUICK UPDATE: Blood work came back great. I just need to stop taking my meds before a lab draw.The Empathetic Mr. Jacob
Yes, we are finally watching Ripley. Really good. I love that there are so many movies (and now TV shows) about him. Ripley’s Game, Ripley Under Ground, The American Friend, Paper Noon, The Talented Mr. Ripley, and now Ripley.
All of these movies have great casts, each one a different take on the same or different Patricia Highsmith stories. Good stuff, so on to the Netflix series. (My favorite is still Wim Wenders’ The American Friend.)
So, the title. Empathy. This is really about how empathetic nature is taking over watching the bonds of others, who may be going through something traumatic. It feels strangely like it’s continually building and shaping me. If that makes any sense. And I’m pretty sure I’m gonna be talking like an idiot who claims to know something inherently well, that he just read about in Wikipedia. For like 3 minutes. Then misquotes things. But talks long enough about it that everyone gets bored and is somehow convinced I’m right.
Anyway, It’s kinda like…
And here we go. I have turned my attention from myself to watching others at Mayo.
I was so involved with myself for the past few weeks. Am I going to be okay? Is this going to kill me? What now? I completely forgot to tilt my head up and look around. Watching couples come in. One of them seemingly going through cancer treatment. The body language or care and love between partners.
I saw an older couple where one looked like he was quite the tough guy back in the day. And he was gently helping his wife down a single step, offering her his arm, giving her a kiss. There was nothing in the world more important to him than her. This was half of him.
Sons taking care of their moms. Helping them carry stuff into appointments, doing anything asked of them without scoffing or batting an eye. Complete devotion to their mother.
Others are young couples. And they couldn’t be any different from the ones who have been married for 50 years. Being with your partner through something terrifying must age a young person in a caregiver role by decades. You will fight to the death for those 50 years together that others get to have so effortlessly.
Then there are those who are just friends or divorced. One taking care of the other. Because someone asked or someone was just there for a shared bond.
So many people just taking care of one another. Hoping it all can be solved. Realizing that sometimes it can’t be. Lingering devastation or happiness waiting to burst out, and not knowing which one it’ll be. Tears, laughter, frustration, anger; so many tenets of love.
I realize that’s what Pam embodies. Pure devotion. I realize I am nothing without her. There is nothing past her. Once you find your teammate, you never want to switch. You both play the game till the end, or until one of you has to sit out on the side lines, there now to cheer you on.
It hurts to have something terrible happen and it hurts to think about. It also hurts to have it start to become a possibility.
Life fucking sucks. You can drown in the sadness, or realize the beauty. Like the old man helping his wife down a single step.
That’s a perfect moment. And I’m glad I got to see it.
Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.
– Ferris Bueller
Jeff Fahey and the Lost Dutchman
So today Pam wanted to go to an old ghost town right below Superstition Mountains. Fascinating stuff to read about. The place for multiple ancient cave dwelling to the Pimas and Apaches. Then the Peralta family (not starring Andy Samberg) found a score of gold that went deep into the mountain and were then ran out of the region. The legend started and people have tried to find the gold for centuries. No luck. Cool legend. The Dutchman part was for a guy named Jacob Waltz who apparently found it again and stashed some gold, then tried to describe how to get to it when he was dying. No dice.
Anyway, they have a ghost town at the foot of the mountains. Fun place to walk around in. I bought a book at the little museum about the history, and saw some cool stuff. We got there early when it was only in the 90s, then left as it was going to get into the 110s today. Fun. I was a bit exhausted as it was a lot of steps and uphill for me. But I did it. However…
…a 5 year old could handle this. I’m weak. And I saw that 5 year old. And he said something awesome. He was talking to his mom, and she said something to him. He replied “oh, like back in the day?”
Fucking awesome. So cool a kid said that. Made me laugh. I even heard kids at the mall the other day use the word dude. Glad to know that one isn’t fading away. That would be a little sus.
Anyway, here are some pics. Pam was super excited.
I drink to make other people more interesting.
– Ernest Hemingway
So, yesterday we decided to go out to lunch to celebrate my one year anniversary of sobriety. I picked the place.
It’s called Fate Brewery. I know. I picked a brewery to celebrate sobriety.
Classic Andrew.
They had some great lemonades. And this amazing chicken sandwich. I’ve been craving one for weeks. So fucking delicious. I’ve had to watch my sodium for fluids, but I took a cheat day early.
Really tired though. Extremely hot, so sleeping a lot during the day. Gearing up for the explosiveness of Tuesday! Let’s get that jugular catheter in the neck, yo!
SIDE NOTE: I was on Urban Dictionary tonight, making sure I was using the word sus correctly, (cause I'm old) and saw this. It hurts to laugh, but I was on the floor. So good. Still sure I'm missing something, but I don't want to live in a world where this definition doesn't exist.
(I always need to be mindful of the fact that I have no idea what I'm talking about, even if I want to seem cool, or in the know regarding something as specific as yogurt.)
Plus, I don't want to be cringe or anything.Yogurt Male
A more sophisticated and superior male to alpha/sigma males. Yogurt males are very content and respectful individuals who enjoy yogurt and the simpler things in life, such as long walks on the beach, or enjoying a beautiful sunset while confidently eating yogurt.
Billy: Is that guy over there an alpha?
Nathan: No, he’s a Yogurt male.
Billy: wow I’m so jealous, I wish I could radiate such confidence and dominance while eating yogurt.
Medication, thy name is Andrew’s job now
I am Andrew being taught.
I had my second medication lesson from Pam today. Since the beginning Pam has done them and reviewed with the nurses while I recovered. She handled everything. Refills, dosing, and making sure my dumb ass didn’t take the wrong ones, or take them before an appointment. (Classic Andrew)
So, I need to learn how to following the tapering schedule for all meds, handle the refills, and know exactly what they do and why. Anti-rejection, anti-infection, or just regular meds. Lasix, thyroid, etc.
I am on day two and got a B+ today. Pam said I missed a few. I got to correct her once and it felt good.
Here is some photographic evidence of my training today. These are just my morning meds. Whole new lineup for the evening ones with a few repeats. About 30 pills or so in the evening. (15 or so now in in morning.)
Pam’s been managing all of this for me and it’s time for me to learn all of this completely and take it over for her. Then send her off to get a massage and a pedicure. (She’ll read this later.)
This is pure snow! It’s everywhere! Do you have any idea what the street value of this mountain is?
– Charles De Mar
The Island of Dr. Pants
So it’s been a long few weeks. The hardest part? Pants. I’ve jumped the shark recently. I have been wearing track pants, (they are called Penguins, I love them, and I got them from Ross for 20 bucks) the fancy comfy sandals kids are wearing these days, (Under Armour Pro Slides) and sporting a cane. So basically, nothing says get out of my fucking way like the current outfit. Quick pics for reference. Pre fluid drain. Guest starring Dave and Bonnie respectively.
I seriously felt like the first half of this very video, but wearing track pants.
Now I feel super happy wearing actual pants! And jeans at that. (And I cut my hair) The painting in the third photo is a Monet. The first photo Pam made me do. The second photo is dreamy Ken leering at his dreamy self. Which is both odd and hot. I mean he’s checking out a half naked version of himself and going, “yeah. I’d fuck that.” Which is really part one of the doppelgänger possibility. But it needs the killing part.
That’s how it goes. You have to kill your doppelgänger and take its place. Cause you never know if your the copy or it’s the copy. And if you’re the copy, you need to act fast. But definitely have sex with it first.
This was at the Phoenix Art Museum. Very cool to walk around in. I did pretty well for a 30 day out transplant victim. (Even did some stairs. Pam was mad, but it was too late. I was already 4 steps in.)
Here are some fun photos. The last two are my favorites of the bunch. The Barbie exhibit was super cool, but loud. Would have been fun with no people.
And for the grand finale, my favorite photos of the day.
Starting with “shared stomach babies allowed upstairs after coffee.”
And the Temporary Cafe, with a temporary sign. Not an exhibit, but should be.
Fun day. Now Pam and I are going to make rice crispy treats with lemon meringue marshmallows! More to come soon! Cause…
To Trap an Andrew (or It’s a Trap!)
As long as I can remember I’ve been claustrophobic. My brothers and I used to play the dumbest games. (Kids of the 80s) One such game was called “Trapped in a Sleeping Bag.” That was it. One of us would get into a sleeping bag, the other would sit on the opening, and we would try to get out. I was terrified, but that was the game. (To call us bright would have been misleading.)
As time wore on, I started to develop new fears, all based on being trapped. Your basic one was being afraid of the dark. Still am if I don’t have an exit or a plan.
I never walk into a place I don’t know how to walk out of.
– Sam
Then came the fear of enclosed places. A extension of claustrophobia. Being indoors, or trapped in a room, or smothered by a bunch of sexy people in a mini bus traveling around following Phish in the 90s. It was dark and I got weird, rushing up to turn on the light, killing the mood. They got all upset and I just wanted to figure out what was going on and…
I am digressing. But enclosed places were definitely a thing. This even spanned to apartments. Small apartments freaked me out. I needed access to the outside quickly. Or getting a place with an open floor plan. Vaulted ceilings were key if possible. Our current home has a vaulted ceiling and open kitchen. Probably why I like it.
Movies were also a great refuge. I loved westerns with open vistas, losing myself in the open plains. Anything that gave me a sense of openness, that things extended beyond my environment where I was trapped. This is why I like driving so much. The open road, traveling wherever I want. Movement.
I also enjoyed horror films for the primary reasons of being trapped in something. The fear was a kind of stimulant. Wait Until Dark, Cube, The Thing, Near Dark, etc. (These are the ones that popped into my head. But The Thing is the best movie ever made.) Sci-fi horror was my jam. Brain Dead was a great one. The only movie to star both Bill Paxton and Bill Pullman. Event Horizon I saw in theaters along with Candyman. Great sound on both. Scary as fuck.
I think I’ve watched most horror films ever made, from multiple countries. The worst of the worst and the most grotesque. Another reason for late in life fears that I am starting to realize now.
I feel like I unzipped myself…
These fears manifested themselves in things people enjoy to do. Escape rooms, which I fucking hate with a passion. I mean, these things are so god damn dumb. And people use them for team building. Which is even dumber. Team building is inherently stupid. You either get along, or you don’t. You’re there to work, not be best friends. You may make some good friends at work, but I guarantee it wasn’t the result of silly as fuck team building.
And another thing, how come I can’t get no Tang round here?
– Homer Simpson
People also enjoy scuba diving, water parks (I was trapped in one as a kid), small cars, large crowds, intimate restaurants, the inside seat, corn mazes, amusement park rides, small boats, everything to do with camping, and twin beds. You wanna know why I always took the front seat in school? It wasn’t because I was a teachers pet or wanted to learn. It was because doing so offered a quick escape. My only change in that was auditorium seating where the entrance was from the back. Then I was back left seat in that mother fucker.
I would even try to face my fears in my 20s. Went sky diving, became a rather practiced rock climber, went to amusement parks, became a camper, etc. I remember it all came crashing down at a the first Outside Lands concert in Golden Gate Park. It was during a Radiohead set. Pam and I were there towards the back. Then in a span of 5 minutes we were surrounded. To the point of sardines. To get out we literally had to step on people. I panicked. Hyperventilating, freaking out. We got to the street, but the story most definitely does not end there. The rest is filled with odd characters, taxi adventures (pre Lyft/Uber), drugs, strippers, apologetic bouncers, mistaken identities, sex deals gone wrong, pool, and movie trivia with a crazy person. Oh, and of course fueled by alcohol, and specific drugs. A story for another time.
QUICK NOTE ON CAMPING: No. Shit no. I believe you’d get your ass kicked for suggesting something like that to me. I want showers and room service at this point in my life. Fuck snakes, spiders and ticks right up the direct center of their assholes. I did it as a kid, against my will, then as a young adult on 16 km (math) hikes which ended with building camp. Fuck off camping.
So, here I am now. This is trapped Andrew.
I am in Arizona, in an extended stay hotel room, recovering from a transplant, unable to drive, temperature approaching 101, water being shut off for repair today, and Pam is working.
I am stuck in a room, in a city, in a state, that I am unfamiliar with, and no escape. And we don’t know when we are leaving yet. I’d hope soon, or this week, but it’s unknown.
A lifetime of fear all manifesting itself in a small hotel room, in Scottsdale, Arizona. Awesome.
This is my least favorite existence right now. I’d like to try for another one. Just for a bit. Pam and the Cora can come. Loki can oversee from home.
Back to the Frother: Part II (Better latte than never)
I had my first coffee drink in close to a year. It was a latte at a nice little sandwich shop. Really good stuff. An a non chain place. It was called Cafe Paris, if you’re ever in the area.
So I started bouncing off the wall just a bit, and then Pam went to Starbucks to get her coffee. She has a problem. Like 5 coffees a day on average. You could say it’s the result of what’s going on now with me, but no. That’s her usual.
So I ask for another latte. She says no. I say yes and play the little violin of how at least it’s not bad for me. And a new hobbie.
I win. So more coffee for me. Now I am truly bouncing off the walls, but happy. Does coffee do that? Make you feel better about your life? Before coffee, I would just get a large black coffee and be sad about existence. But I think it’s time for rapid expansion. Stop being such a dick.
Pam is leaving, but just to get a pedicure and a fancy manicure. I am having a phone call with friends, so they should be prepared for my nonsense in full effect today.
So since I can’t run for 4 months, 27 days, 9 hours, 12 minutes, and 09 seconds, actually make that 11 minutes, 52 seconds, I figured I can pick up how to make lattes and espressos. I’ll get a machine and start to give it a go. Should be super straightforward right?
Right? I found this on Amazon. Maybe I can get started here?
Or this one? Please let me know in the comment section I refer to as telling me in person.
The Debride of Frankenstein
According to the internet, debridement is defined as follows:
Debridement is the medical removal of dead, damaged, or infected tissue to improve the healing potential of the remaining healthy tissue.
That’s adorable. It’s like a cute little description fit for a teenager who is into anime, yoo-hoo’s, and sweater vests.
It’s kind of the opposite. If I were to quickly re-write that sentence, it might go something like this:
Debridement is a fuck-ball way to tear or rip off part of your shitty, broke ass, or puss bucket skin, then fuck up your ear grease devices with lies, and trick your ass-pole of a brain goblet into thinking that this fixes the area for a better life.
It sucks. They pull off scabbing. Jab ear picks into the holes to clean them out. Tell me it’s not that bad. I agree with them in some twisted mind fuck of a debridement session. They then pack the area with strips of aquacel into the open wounds for what seems like hours. Packing and packing with metal god damn scissors. It’s covered with gauze, and you’re sent home with supplies to do it every two days. The saving grace was that they were both just the nicest people ever, and very good at their jobs. But still. FUCK.
I won’t share pics, but they were taken, and they are gross. I am now back to feeling like shit, but hopefully it will only last the day.
Biopsy’s are the Best Kind of Opsy’s
Had the biopsy of the liver yesterday at 6am. Kind of like lite-surgery, more IVs and blood draws, then back to the operating room to get prepped. File photos of the pre-op area:
Aerosmith was playing over the speakers, so I knew I was in good hands. I was put into a twilight state so that I wasn’t out, and could still answer questions. They ran the catheter down my neck through the jugular, and got the biopsy. All in 30 minutes. They glued up the surgical area, and I just have neck pain. Results came back in less that 48 hours.
From the summary of the surgical pathology report:
In summary, this is a fairly unremarkable liver allograft biopsy with no evidence of rejection, abnormality in vascular flow, or fibrosis.
– Mayo Clinic Rockstars
This is awesome news. Basically, all is well and is looking good. Just one more appointment and blood letting scheduled on Friday. Here is hoping we can escape Arizona soonish before the leeching. (Someone actually has a leeching clinic here is Scottsdale. Saw it the other day. I think Mayo also has a research department for leeches. But am probably wrong.)
Oh, and here is a photo of my first cup of coffee in over a year. I’m into lattes now.
Fuck Debridement. Fuck it up it’s stupid ass.
It made the top ten. I hate this so much it is now in the top ten of things I wish I could take back in my life. If you are ever told you need to do this, tell them to fuck off and run in the opposite direction. Tip things over along the way so it slows them down. Call them racists, and make up horrible things you can say they did. Like stealing children, or blaming them for a recent unsolved murder one town over. Shout it at the top of your lungs. Call their parents and tell them their child finally admitted that they are indeed a disappointment.
I just wish I could say no. No, no, no, no, no.
Pam has to repack it every two days as well. Since they removed all the healing parts, she has to stuff the open wounds with the aquacel strips, then repackage it. It’s gross, and feels worse than it was before.
AQUACEL Ag dressing provides rapid and sustained antimicrobial activity for up to 14 days by responding to changes in the components of the wound fluid with increased silver ion availability as needed.
– A stupid quote from stupid head National Library of Medicine
It’s weird having massive open wounds on you get stuffed with strips of weird stuff containing silver. It’s a dumb answer to a problem no one asked for a solution to. 100 years ago did people die from wound infection smaller than what I have? Hell yes! Did they whine about it? Fuck no! They just killed another bear with their hands, and then died in their favorite pants like everyone else.
So there’s that, and then the appointments tomorrow. They are all early. We are hoping that something happens tomorrow that moves us closer to home, but it’s probably not likely. We hear from others that it’s one more week at least. Which fucking blows. It’s for bureaucratic nonsense of setting things up back home. I will fly out for the day if needed. Do whatever I need if we can leave soon. This is a time trap. (Great movie too. Check it out. Stars one of the Wilson brothers. Oh, and check out Coherence while you’re at it.)
I feel fine and am sure the Kaiser docs can take it from here. I’m pretty sure I don’t need to stay here for blood tests. Cause if I do, I feel the need to cause problems. Like mess with peoples version of reality. Shave my head one day. Go for a sweet mustache with a soul patch the next. Hire an actress to play Pam. Talk in perfect Esperanto, no English.
At any rate, I’m rambling now. My life has become a storm in the distance. Something that rises slowly and then eventually smacks you in the fucking face. A good visual representation of this is from the Phoenix Art Museum. Desert Rain Gods by Louisa McElwain. Something in the distance. Rising. I am in the foreground, watching. Waiting. Unable to move.
It hasn’t hit me yet, but I feel like it will soon. Then Werner Herzog will eat his shoe. Again.
While the storm approaches, I have also decided that I am listening to music. Which Pam would be surprised at. I usually don’t listen to music while doing stuff, I’m more of a stationary “fuck off” listener. However, I have decided that as I am trapped in what is most decidedly purgatory, I have a song.
Leslie Hall is my jam, rocking How We Go Out.
There is a very thin line when operating with confidence
Well, I was smacked in the face by the approaching storm faster than I thought.
Got to Mayo and did my labs. Then upstairs for the other appointments. We met with the nurse first today and she was happy with our labs and progress. (Not up to her to go home, but a good indicator.) We were planning out the return. Everyone seemed good. Blood tests came back still trending correctly. Everything was leveling out, and a super awesome glow of excitement was running through our veins. We just had to meet with the doctor.
Then this happened.
First we met with a fellow. (A fellow is a doctor in medical training for a subspecialty.) They reminded me of someone who is, how can I put this nicely, a bit late to the game. I have not met her yet in the 36.4 days I have been here.
She wanted to adjust my medications. Right before we might leave. She also wanted to take me off lasix. Right before we might leave. Frustrating. Especially because I had not met her yet. It was like an efficiency expert coming in to tell you everything is wrong, and they can fix it. (All of these were competent conclusions, and were fine adjustments. But I felt I was on a slightly different path with continued treatment, and a bit fussy about the last minute changes.)
I don’t know how to put this, but I’m kind of a big deal.
– Ron Burgundy
The conclusions were passed along to our doctor. He wanted one more lab draw on Monday to see if everything is still trending down, a final wound check (Even though the wound care team seemed fine with us leaving), and to test me being pulled off lasix. Which is a loop diuretic. Trying to see if my body can do without it, and if that reduces my creatinine levels for better kidney function. (My worry is I start to retain fluid again and we stay longer.)
When Pam heard all this she started to cry. The doctor asked if she was sad because we weren’t going home yet.
Yes Watson.
He offered her a tissue. I was actually wondering when those were going to be used. But the mystery of the paper rulers jar will never be solved. I’m guessing they are used for measuring dick size since they are all seven inches.
Then they both tried to sell us on the wonders of Sedona. Thinking we would be into visiting the fine city (located two hours away) to pass the time. “You should go there for the day!” they said. Let me tell you something…
It’ll be a cold day in hell when Pam and Andrew let two doctors tell THEM what to do!!
– Harry Flugelman (repurposed for our needs)
All of this right before leaving. It wasn’t all set in stone, but I couldn’t see a reason for us not to leave. It’s getting bad too. We know more about Scottsdale than most locals do. Pam knows all the roads with no need for maps, and I was telling a lab tech that there is not one, but two butterfly exhibits here in the area. And that the one at the Botanical Gardens is much better than the one at OdySea Aquarium.
So now, we wait until Monday and check out how my labs might be off cause they are adjusting my medication 90 seconds to midnight.
So I got that goin’ for me. Which is nice.
– Carl Spackler
Look, these doctors aren’t being mean, and they’re not out to get us. I am just frustrated and taking it out on a keyboard in 114° weather in Arizona. (And I’m most likely very wrong about everything.) They are just looking out for me, and want to see me as healthy as I can be before we leave. I get it, and I trust them. I have to. They are most definitely smarter than me. (But I bet you I can still operate the fuck out of a TV remote better than every single one of them.)
However, with all of these last minute adjustments, I think this is where perfection can get into a traffic jam with the why. Perfectionism, sometimes mistaken as confidence, can have a paralyzing effect on exactly what you are trying to solve for. As a result, you start to go in reverse. Like I’m worried we are starting a path to.
What purpose does it serve to keep us for labs and another cleaning of my wound? What can Mayo do with labs that Kaiser can’t? Did Mayo win the magical wizard drawing this year, and only they can make decisions based on labs? At some point they need to give this back to Kaiser. And I am having trouble seeing what purpose three more days will do.
Other than to severely irritate myself and Pam.
This is us on Monday.
Oh ya, and fuck Sedona.
Escape from Scottsdale
prison (noun)
pris·on ˈpri-zᵊn
1. a state of confinement or captivity 2. a place of confinement especially for transplant victims
specifically: an institution (such as one Mayo Clinic) for confinement of persons who were recently debrided and taken off lasix.
Trapped. Stuck here for all eternity, or until I come up with a good escape plan. Pam is bored, but I have ideas moving around in my brain bucket. (Speaking of brain bucket, I just saw an awesome, super violent ‘kill all the Nazi’s’ movie. It was called Sisu. Super awesome. Same director/writer as Rare Exports. Really good Christmas movie.)
Anyway, I have divided these ideas into two camps.
Ideas Pam Hates.
- Fake our own deaths, by eating poisonous animals from the desert. Can be scorpions, snakes, doesn’t matter to me. Then move our bodies through a sophisticated trafficking network of human organs that ends up in Cuba. I already have an in. (For obvious reasons.) Still working out a few details.
- Hiring body doubles to do blood labs and visit the doctors in our place. It will be expensive cause one of them has to cut their chest to create a transplant scar. But money talks. And I figure I just hire an older, sassy Italian couple. That way if people question them, they can just sass their way out of it. Pictured below, sassy Italian couple, who know each other’s sass.
- Murder. It’s the desert, so totally cool. I figure murder is kind of like seeing a movie out here. But again with the body doubles. Take them out for a nice night on the town, then tell them there is a new carnival out east. A bit of a drive, but worth it. Make sure you have your pliers and a good saw. The rest is just good viewing retention of Martin Scorsese movies. Then we call in an anonymous tip to authorities that Pam and Andrew are victims of bad gambling debts, and we escape home under our new sassy identities.
Ideas Pam Doesn’t Hate as Much.
- Leaving. That’s it. Just leaving.
BUT WAIT! SUPER UPDATE!!Being that I have multiple skills, one of which being my ability to conduct super covert rescue missions, I was just contacted by the President for one last job. Apparently, there’s a super covert rescue mission, not unlike one that matches several of my multiple skills.
So, good match. I guess my super awesome reputation for getting business done precedes itself.
The job needs to happen within the next 48 hours. If not, the whole world is set to lose every major subscription to Apple TV. I was told this is not a joke. People will be out some of their favorite shows via a glitch in the internets. Like all the shows on Apple TV that you watch. So I’m the last hope.
Call me Snake.
– Andrew
Like that one starring Matt Damon? Is he in one? Or Is it Ben Affleck…I don’t know. Maybe it’s that one with people who are actors. It’s called like chocolate or sweets? Oh I know, Sugar. It’s about candy and the effects of candy. They’re going to take that TV show away. And all of the other ones. There are so many I just don’t have time to name them all, because I have to get down to business.
And that business needs to be attended to, as I need to rescue the President’s daughter. From spring break. Because… That’s where she ended up when she took the car on a joyride with Bobby Flay. Yeah Bobby Flay. Isn’t he a chef?
It’s the survival of the human race, Andrew. Something you don’t give a shit about.
– Mayor of Scottsdale
So yeah. Quick sum up. I have to rescue the President’s daughter from spring break after a joyride with Bobby Flay or the bad guy will shut off Apple TV for everyone. And who is the bad guy? Bob Costas. He stole Apple TV from Matt Damon, who got it from Ben Affleck. Bastards.
You can’t meet the Bob! Are you crazy? Nobody gets to meet the Bob. You meet him once and then you’re dead!
– Pam
So anyways, yeah that’s what I have to do. Before we leave because I was contacted by the President.
Pam told me it shouldn’t take that long.
That’s Pam. Andrew’s squeeze. The Bob gave her to Andrew just to keep him happy.
However, you’re probably wondering, how did the president’s daughter get kidnapped on spring break? Well, it’s simple. It’s so simple that you should totally be able to guess it. That simple. I don’t need to bore you with the details, because come on. I mean really.
Sad story. You got a smoke?
– Snake (Andrew)
OK fine. She was kidnapped because of radiation leaks in the sand during spring break. All because of the nuclear warhead that Bob Costas had hidden under the spring break party bus. And she was kidnapped as a result of those radiation leaks because she was the first one to see the radiation leaking out from the school bus. So basically, when she saw the radiation, she contacted Bobby Flay, who was really a double agent working for Bob Costas.
They called themselves…The Two Daves.
So, time for me to get some sleep before I have to go on a rescue mission. Hopefully we’ll talk from the road. If I can get out…
Attention. You are now entering the Mayo Clinic district. No talking. No smoking. Follow the cacti to building one. The next scheduled departure to the hospital is in two hours. You now have the option to decline care and be contacted by insurance on the premises. If you elect this option, notify the nurse in building one.
– Waymo Car
As you can probably tell, Andrew has officially lost it. This is what Andrew looks like in a good amount of pain. Much more of a vivid imagination, and no filter. And refers to himself in the third person.
Can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing. Might be a bad thing if Andrew can’t tell…
Bye, Felicia!
We made the first leg of the trip. Which I will detail out tomorrow and this week in the next (fucking finally) chapter!
It’s live now, updates to come soon! Exploring the mysteries of the open road.