Friday, February 5, 2010
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Everyone Eats Boogers
This evening is Sunday January 10th. I just put David down after a story, a song and prayers. I grabbed the clicker, but before I turned on the TV I listened to Karen love Camden to sleep. Putting Little C, as we call him, down is a joy because he is virtually impossible to corral during the day, so by bed time 95% of his energy has been spent and he’s calm and compliant. Camden’s routine for bed is a bubba (bottle of rice milk), several stories, a song and then a session of Love and Learning. Love and Learning are passive learning CD’s that repetitively expose Camden to the alphabet, numbers, words and sentences. We owe a great deal of Camden’s verbal progress to these CDs. If you ever get the pleasure of knowing another family or child with a challenge, we highly recommend these.
This time of the evening is always accompanied by a big exhale. One more day with the boys done. One more day of survival complete. One more day of doing the best with what we have brought to a close. I’m beginning to believe that when one approaches mid-life one chooses one of two paths: a mid-life crises or the transition to a mind set of reflection, living and planning. Given that crises will find us when they need to, I’ve selected the latter. I’ve definitely sought the meaning of life and rapidly come to the conclusion that this is a waste of time. What is not so much a waste of time is improving the quality of the life that remains. This isn’t rocket science or deep thought or metaphysics, but much more a desire to be a me that I like first and foremost and that not coincidentally others will like as well. Those that can tolerate me end up being labeled as friends and those that can’t tolerate me I’ll still cordially accept cards and gifts from.
Somehow this paragraph is completely unrelated to and at the same time intricately intertwined with the last. When I was in school I was forced to write. The responses I got were always a collection of adjectives like interesting, different, eclectic while at the same time garnering awards of C, D and F. Before I continue I should call attention to the inherent hypocrisy of a grading scale that follows A, B, C, D and F. I’ve only ever been truly able to write one way: one part insanity, two parts honesty, a dash of self-aggrandizing, a pinch of humor all in a broth of briny genuine. I do my best to make you feel as if I was either reading this to you or actually talking to you. I have gotten much unsolicited feedback regarding the stuff I post here and if I said that the feedback was encouraging that would fall short of accurately describing it. Overwhelmingly humbling with kindness would be a better description. I have a defect. OK, I have many defects, but let’s pretend for a moment that I’ve just one. In a very extroverted way I am publicly intimate with almost everyone I know. I do a very poor job of selecting people with whom I share intimate information. There are good things about this and there are less-than-optimal considerations to be examined. I polled my Facebook friends for the title of my first text and my friends did not disappoint. But like most things on Facebook, humor or sarcasm were a bulk of the payload or the suggested titles were specific to my experience with that person e.g. “Jim Preis Has a Small Penis” or “A Small Penis Jim Preis Has” or “Jim Preis? Small Penis? Yes.” Not surprisingly, I proposed, “Everyone Eats Boogers”. This title actually has insight if you can get past the inherent poor taste, pardon the pun. The human experience is just that; human. Rarely does original thought occur and even rarer is the script of individual existence. Numbers don’t lie. If you’re one in a million in China, there are 1,300 people EXACTLY like you. If we neutralize the cultural deltas and societal memes and erase all the borders, then if you’re one in a billion, then there’s six other people exactly like you on Earth. The point to all of this is that the human experience to me means that everyone else either has or is likely to experience the things I’ve experienced so far in life. Birth, education, struggle, employment, love, marriage, children, catastrophe, recovery, depression, lust, consequence, addiction, embarrassment. By embracing this notion, I can and do eliminate the fear of sharing such intimate details here. Sure, verses or writings or Facebook statuses might be awkward, but they are still in the demesne of the human experience. This notion is captured - if not camouflaged by - the title, “Everyone Eats Boogers”. I’ve often pondered the benefit of peace and I’ve referred to it as the peace dividend. I find great comfort and peace in the fact that everyone eats boogers (don’t lie to yourself) because it represents the commonalities of the human experience. The point of all this blather is that if I admit that I’ve eaten a booger and I assume you’ve eaten a booger, then what we have is two people stripped down to truth and that’s the premise - no matter how yucky - that I write from.
OK, time for status updates.
First, Karen. Keeper of Gravel Brook Court, fixer of boo-boos, petter of dog and wife of mine. Karen’s doing well these days, but the irony is all that new-found time that she discovered when both boys are in school gets filled up with the stuff that simply has to get done all the same. Not to diminish a positive by any means; there’s a significant difference between harried efforts squeezed into random moments and being able to do those same things in a controlled, if not relaxed, manner that allows for a nominal amount of consideration and planning. Karen’s also done a great job of keeping her commitment to getting in some exercise during the week. She rides the rollers for 30 - 40 minutes each night while your’s truly hacks away on this keyboard. In summary, Karen’s gotten a little control back with regard to her schedule and it’s nice to see her out of the red zone. Hell, it’s nice to see her at all, but she has an affinity for cadence and regimen and with that comes back some of the sanity inherently lost as a parent.
I’m hanging in there as well. I’ve been plagued by one illness or injury after another: strep, sore throat, whatever the kids bring home and share, strained back. Fortunately - fingers crossed - I’m looking at all of that in the rear view right now and god health in general is within reach. Even with the strained lower back I managed to get in a ride with the family yesterday and I do believe the fresh air did me good. Actually I think it did us all a world of good. It’s time for a complete disassembly of my road bike, maintenance and then reassembly. I do this about once every 18 months to two years in addition to typical maintenance. I love doing this also. I’ve said before that cycling is in so many ways analogous to living and when I’m riding the bike shares the representation of the body on life’s journey. Certain things on the bike are black and white for example; I put 115 pounds of pressure in my tires. But the rear derailleur is half art and half science. The tension of the cable that controls the shifting of the rear derailleur is not a constant. Once under tension, that cable stretches minimally, but it’s enough to require an adjustment to keep the shifting crisp. And if there’s one thing you want when some steroid infused maniac jumps at 25 MPH, it’s a clean shift into a smaller cog in the back. Not so ironically from where I sit it’s probably time for me to join Karen in her commitment to improving her fitness. I had hoped to be in good cycling shape by this time, but riding out of doors in very cold weather would have only exacerbated my cold(s); and it simply would have been stupid to do with strep. So poised for moderate greatness is how I’ll choose to view my lot. And as always, very blessed and fortunate so long as I can see and love my wife and kids each and every day.
Thing 1, David, is doing wonderfully in transitional preschool. As much as I hate to admit it, his behavior is impacted by the amount of dairy in his diet. This saddens me because dairy with its five letters covers a whole lot of dietary acerage: pizza, ice cream, milk, cheese and the list goes on and on. The trade-off is a no-brainer, but it’s just something that I wish wasn’t. David’s also become quite the social being and we had concerns about that in previous years. Yet another thousand hours spent worrying unnecessarily. Now I know why first and second children are so different. Thing 1 is unknown and assumed to be fragile and gets jacketed by emotional Kevlar. Thing 2? You’ll be fine. David’s best friend in the world is a cutie named Sarah and the two of them together is an experience to put it mildly. It’s a rollercoaster where the peaks are moments when you would have though they hadn’t seen each other in 50 years and the troughs are contemptuous moments of unimaginable depth. But they’re always sad when they part. Perhaps mommy and daddy are already losing their deed to 100% of David’s heart. He’s on his way folks.
Thing 2, Camden, is as happy as happy can be. He’s doing very well at Frankie Lemmon and the changes and improvements we’ve seen him bring home give Karen and I much hope for Camden’s future. He’s already developing an independent spirit and as I’ve mentioned before independence is a critical piece in the challenge that is Down syndrome. His vocabulary is becoming more expansive and he understands the difference between words and numbers. He can count to 10 by himself and his vocabulary is probably between 100 to 200 words. He is also assembling coherent sentences, but not as frequently as we’d like to hear them. We’ll work on that. Camden is a virus magnet and he almost always seems to have a runny nose. It is our hope that at some point he’ll have traversed the complete inventory of common childhood viruses and come out the other side more resistant. If there is a consistent moment of challenge with Little C it would be at dinner when he chooses to fling a utensil - usually adorned with some quantity of delicious food my wife has cooked up - from the table. This will also get better as Karen and I work in concert to implement the tools and techniques that we learned more about this last week at one of the learning session provided by Frankie Lemmon. At the end of the day, it’s simply impossible to look at this little man with anything but unconditional love and the greatest of expectations.
Our family is truly fortunate and blessed beyond imagination. To wit, you’re reading this and we’re so glad you are.
Take care.
This time of the evening is always accompanied by a big exhale. One more day with the boys done. One more day of survival complete. One more day of doing the best with what we have brought to a close. I’m beginning to believe that when one approaches mid-life one chooses one of two paths: a mid-life crises or the transition to a mind set of reflection, living and planning. Given that crises will find us when they need to, I’ve selected the latter. I’ve definitely sought the meaning of life and rapidly come to the conclusion that this is a waste of time. What is not so much a waste of time is improving the quality of the life that remains. This isn’t rocket science or deep thought or metaphysics, but much more a desire to be a me that I like first and foremost and that not coincidentally others will like as well. Those that can tolerate me end up being labeled as friends and those that can’t tolerate me I’ll still cordially accept cards and gifts from.
Somehow this paragraph is completely unrelated to and at the same time intricately intertwined with the last. When I was in school I was forced to write. The responses I got were always a collection of adjectives like interesting, different, eclectic while at the same time garnering awards of C, D and F. Before I continue I should call attention to the inherent hypocrisy of a grading scale that follows A, B, C, D and F. I’ve only ever been truly able to write one way: one part insanity, two parts honesty, a dash of self-aggrandizing, a pinch of humor all in a broth of briny genuine. I do my best to make you feel as if I was either reading this to you or actually talking to you. I have gotten much unsolicited feedback regarding the stuff I post here and if I said that the feedback was encouraging that would fall short of accurately describing it. Overwhelmingly humbling with kindness would be a better description. I have a defect. OK, I have many defects, but let’s pretend for a moment that I’ve just one. In a very extroverted way I am publicly intimate with almost everyone I know. I do a very poor job of selecting people with whom I share intimate information. There are good things about this and there are less-than-optimal considerations to be examined. I polled my Facebook friends for the title of my first text and my friends did not disappoint. But like most things on Facebook, humor or sarcasm were a bulk of the payload or the suggested titles were specific to my experience with that person e.g. “Jim Preis Has a Small Penis” or “A Small Penis Jim Preis Has” or “Jim Preis? Small Penis? Yes.” Not surprisingly, I proposed, “Everyone Eats Boogers”. This title actually has insight if you can get past the inherent poor taste, pardon the pun. The human experience is just that; human. Rarely does original thought occur and even rarer is the script of individual existence. Numbers don’t lie. If you’re one in a million in China, there are 1,300 people EXACTLY like you. If we neutralize the cultural deltas and societal memes and erase all the borders, then if you’re one in a billion, then there’s six other people exactly like you on Earth. The point to all of this is that the human experience to me means that everyone else either has or is likely to experience the things I’ve experienced so far in life. Birth, education, struggle, employment, love, marriage, children, catastrophe, recovery, depression, lust, consequence, addiction, embarrassment. By embracing this notion, I can and do eliminate the fear of sharing such intimate details here. Sure, verses or writings or Facebook statuses might be awkward, but they are still in the demesne of the human experience. This notion is captured - if not camouflaged by - the title, “Everyone Eats Boogers”. I’ve often pondered the benefit of peace and I’ve referred to it as the peace dividend. I find great comfort and peace in the fact that everyone eats boogers (don’t lie to yourself) because it represents the commonalities of the human experience. The point of all this blather is that if I admit that I’ve eaten a booger and I assume you’ve eaten a booger, then what we have is two people stripped down to truth and that’s the premise - no matter how yucky - that I write from.
OK, time for status updates.
First, Karen. Keeper of Gravel Brook Court, fixer of boo-boos, petter of dog and wife of mine. Karen’s doing well these days, but the irony is all that new-found time that she discovered when both boys are in school gets filled up with the stuff that simply has to get done all the same. Not to diminish a positive by any means; there’s a significant difference between harried efforts squeezed into random moments and being able to do those same things in a controlled, if not relaxed, manner that allows for a nominal amount of consideration and planning. Karen’s also done a great job of keeping her commitment to getting in some exercise during the week. She rides the rollers for 30 - 40 minutes each night while your’s truly hacks away on this keyboard. In summary, Karen’s gotten a little control back with regard to her schedule and it’s nice to see her out of the red zone. Hell, it’s nice to see her at all, but she has an affinity for cadence and regimen and with that comes back some of the sanity inherently lost as a parent.
I’m hanging in there as well. I’ve been plagued by one illness or injury after another: strep, sore throat, whatever the kids bring home and share, strained back. Fortunately - fingers crossed - I’m looking at all of that in the rear view right now and god health in general is within reach. Even with the strained lower back I managed to get in a ride with the family yesterday and I do believe the fresh air did me good. Actually I think it did us all a world of good. It’s time for a complete disassembly of my road bike, maintenance and then reassembly. I do this about once every 18 months to two years in addition to typical maintenance. I love doing this also. I’ve said before that cycling is in so many ways analogous to living and when I’m riding the bike shares the representation of the body on life’s journey. Certain things on the bike are black and white for example; I put 115 pounds of pressure in my tires. But the rear derailleur is half art and half science. The tension of the cable that controls the shifting of the rear derailleur is not a constant. Once under tension, that cable stretches minimally, but it’s enough to require an adjustment to keep the shifting crisp. And if there’s one thing you want when some steroid infused maniac jumps at 25 MPH, it’s a clean shift into a smaller cog in the back. Not so ironically from where I sit it’s probably time for me to join Karen in her commitment to improving her fitness. I had hoped to be in good cycling shape by this time, but riding out of doors in very cold weather would have only exacerbated my cold(s); and it simply would have been stupid to do with strep. So poised for moderate greatness is how I’ll choose to view my lot. And as always, very blessed and fortunate so long as I can see and love my wife and kids each and every day.
Thing 1, David, is doing wonderfully in transitional preschool. As much as I hate to admit it, his behavior is impacted by the amount of dairy in his diet. This saddens me because dairy with its five letters covers a whole lot of dietary acerage: pizza, ice cream, milk, cheese and the list goes on and on. The trade-off is a no-brainer, but it’s just something that I wish wasn’t. David’s also become quite the social being and we had concerns about that in previous years. Yet another thousand hours spent worrying unnecessarily. Now I know why first and second children are so different. Thing 1 is unknown and assumed to be fragile and gets jacketed by emotional Kevlar. Thing 2? You’ll be fine. David’s best friend in the world is a cutie named Sarah and the two of them together is an experience to put it mildly. It’s a rollercoaster where the peaks are moments when you would have though they hadn’t seen each other in 50 years and the troughs are contemptuous moments of unimaginable depth. But they’re always sad when they part. Perhaps mommy and daddy are already losing their deed to 100% of David’s heart. He’s on his way folks.
Thing 2, Camden, is as happy as happy can be. He’s doing very well at Frankie Lemmon and the changes and improvements we’ve seen him bring home give Karen and I much hope for Camden’s future. He’s already developing an independent spirit and as I’ve mentioned before independence is a critical piece in the challenge that is Down syndrome. His vocabulary is becoming more expansive and he understands the difference between words and numbers. He can count to 10 by himself and his vocabulary is probably between 100 to 200 words. He is also assembling coherent sentences, but not as frequently as we’d like to hear them. We’ll work on that. Camden is a virus magnet and he almost always seems to have a runny nose. It is our hope that at some point he’ll have traversed the complete inventory of common childhood viruses and come out the other side more resistant. If there is a consistent moment of challenge with Little C it would be at dinner when he chooses to fling a utensil - usually adorned with some quantity of delicious food my wife has cooked up - from the table. This will also get better as Karen and I work in concert to implement the tools and techniques that we learned more about this last week at one of the learning session provided by Frankie Lemmon. At the end of the day, it’s simply impossible to look at this little man with anything but unconditional love and the greatest of expectations.
Our family is truly fortunate and blessed beyond imagination. To wit, you’re reading this and we’re so glad you are.
Take care.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Why I Never Played Sports Again in Middle School
I had severe asthma as a child. In the 8th grade I missed 52 days of school and a week of that was spent in the hospital with asthma compounded by bronchial pneumonia. Perhaps it was then that I realized that you could tell the kind of underwear a nurse wore through her pants.
But I tried.
I tried playing basketball for a season with my best friend in the world - to this day - Grant Hadden. His dad coached. I never made a basket. Before you read any further I need to tell you it only gets worse from here. I must also tell you that it's OK to laugh at an 11 year old with severe asthma, a pronounced lisp and generally akward presence.
Maybe baseball? Sure! Why not. Baseball. It's American. Surely it would cure my asthma, extend my height and maybe, just maybe get Laura VanLeeuwen to go out with me. The team was the Sandymount Royals. It was the summer of '79. Practice should have been enough of a warning, but who knew that how you performed at practice was a good indication of how you'd play in the game? But fear not; I was here to try. No one ever got hurt for trying... right?
And then that Saturday came - it was game day. Game 1. A warm summer's morning that held all the promise a summer day could hold for an 11 year old. With courage we'd borrowed from the green army men we'd recently mangled we suited up and swaggered into the dugout. The coach bellowed hollow words we didn't know the meaning of yet, but we all looked him in the eye and fraudulently lied back to him, "I hear you. I understand. I will not let you down."
Batter up! And the batter was me. Numero uno here to put the chrome on the bumper day that was certain to be the grandest of all the days of my life so far. Helmet? Yes. Glove? Yes. Bat in my hand as soundly as Execalibur in the hand of Arthur. Then it was he and I. His job was to ferry the ball and twas mine to strike it! A last gaze to the pitcher before the umpire's hands fell to his sides signaling the ready. As the pitcher's arm went back it was as if his arm was attached to my lungs as I inhaled subtly deeper with each degree of his wind up. Release! and fate was only a second away.
I don't really recall the ball striking me in the head. To say that it happened fast would not convey the speed as it was. I do recall tears, but I also recall being brave enough to take a base; No! not A base MY base. The one I had earned from the experience of the first pitch of the game. And off at 45 degrees I trotted to meet my temporary friends at first base; all of whom treated me like a soldier returning home from WWII.
And then came the second batter. And the second pitch. And a foul ball that ricocheted off of my head while I was standing there at first base. The courage was gone and so was the bravado that came with splashing some of Dad's 'Lectric Shave on my face before suiting up that supposed wondrous day. The tears won this time and my career with the Sandymount Royals was over in two pitches.
I never went back to practice, but I was obligated to support my team thereby accomplishing the 'low bar' of support I had comitted to earlier.
There I was on the bleachers on the pursuant Saturday commanding my Royals nominally from the gallery when that first pitch was fouled off and found its way to my head once again. Fortunately the pain of the impact was quickly supplanted by the embarassment of the umpire's dash to my rescue asking, "Is that little girl alright?"
I guess it could have been worse... right?
But I tried.
I tried playing basketball for a season with my best friend in the world - to this day - Grant Hadden. His dad coached. I never made a basket. Before you read any further I need to tell you it only gets worse from here. I must also tell you that it's OK to laugh at an 11 year old with severe asthma, a pronounced lisp and generally akward presence.
Maybe baseball? Sure! Why not. Baseball. It's American. Surely it would cure my asthma, extend my height and maybe, just maybe get Laura VanLeeuwen to go out with me. The team was the Sandymount Royals. It was the summer of '79. Practice should have been enough of a warning, but who knew that how you performed at practice was a good indication of how you'd play in the game? But fear not; I was here to try. No one ever got hurt for trying... right?
And then that Saturday came - it was game day. Game 1. A warm summer's morning that held all the promise a summer day could hold for an 11 year old. With courage we'd borrowed from the green army men we'd recently mangled we suited up and swaggered into the dugout. The coach bellowed hollow words we didn't know the meaning of yet, but we all looked him in the eye and fraudulently lied back to him, "I hear you. I understand. I will not let you down."
Batter up! And the batter was me. Numero uno here to put the chrome on the bumper day that was certain to be the grandest of all the days of my life so far. Helmet? Yes. Glove? Yes. Bat in my hand as soundly as Execalibur in the hand of Arthur. Then it was he and I. His job was to ferry the ball and twas mine to strike it! A last gaze to the pitcher before the umpire's hands fell to his sides signaling the ready. As the pitcher's arm went back it was as if his arm was attached to my lungs as I inhaled subtly deeper with each degree of his wind up. Release! and fate was only a second away.
I don't really recall the ball striking me in the head. To say that it happened fast would not convey the speed as it was. I do recall tears, but I also recall being brave enough to take a base; No! not A base MY base. The one I had earned from the experience of the first pitch of the game. And off at 45 degrees I trotted to meet my temporary friends at first base; all of whom treated me like a soldier returning home from WWII.
And then came the second batter. And the second pitch. And a foul ball that ricocheted off of my head while I was standing there at first base. The courage was gone and so was the bravado that came with splashing some of Dad's 'Lectric Shave on my face before suiting up that supposed wondrous day. The tears won this time and my career with the Sandymount Royals was over in two pitches.
I never went back to practice, but I was obligated to support my team thereby accomplishing the 'low bar' of support I had comitted to earlier.
There I was on the bleachers on the pursuant Saturday commanding my Royals nominally from the gallery when that first pitch was fouled off and found its way to my head once again. Fortunately the pain of the impact was quickly supplanted by the embarassment of the umpire's dash to my rescue asking, "Is that little girl alright?"
I guess it could have been worse... right?
Friday, September 11, 2009
Generic Brain Dump
Bless me readers for I have sinned. It's been two months since my last update. During this time I have committed the sins of failing to keep my family and friends updated and not bringing as much peace into this world as I would have liked to during this time. I also swore excessively during the NC State and SC game. Toss in a fantasy or two about me, my wife some aliens and some "I can't believe it's not butter" and I might as well throw in the towel. But before I go...
There was a serious notion or two in the opening bit. I have truly been trying to bring peace wherever I go of late and to be brutally honest, it's been a struggle. Specifically, I have been trying to avoid political discussions as well as desperately trying to disavow aggressive driving. I've had more success with the latter than the former. On the political side there have simply been too many opportunities to discuss too many significant events of recent. I've gone to the mat with my dad as well as with my new Facebook amigo Chris Kling. Chris is an interesting guy who I'm in the process of getting to know. He's a mirror image of me. I don't mean to come off as overly self-appreciative, but he's sharp, strong in his beliefs, intelligent, well typed (that used to be well spoken, but people don't speak any more). I've enjoyed my discourses with him. Truth be told, I'm much more attractive though. Ironically, he lives in New Bern and knows my dad. Thus I shant piss him off too much or he'll join forces with the old man down there and I'll be out numbered by two people that are likely twice as smart as me (when I'm anesthetized).
Mom and dad came up last weekend for Camden's birthday and we truly enjoyed the visit. On Friday night when they got here Karen whipped up some shrimp, rice, tomatoes and some spices in al-u-min-yum foil pouches and they were outstanding. That was followed by two Zingerman's brownies topped with a scoop of Breyer's vanilla ice cream and a touch of Hershey's chocolate syrup. Great; two more days in purgatory when I arrive. Mom and dad's visits are getting to be more and more enjoyable and it's not all due to the narcotics. Since we don't see them as much as we'd like, the anticipation is greater before they arrive and the void when they leave is greater as well. We are blessed that mom and dad have the opportunity to develop real relationships with the boys. Pop-pop is Superman, Santa and a Railroad Baron all-rolled-into-one to David. And Grandma, or Gee as Camden likes to refer to her, is the lady who takes care of everything in the world when she's around.
The super big deal these days is that both Camden and David are in school which means after 5+ very long years my wife gets a couple of hours a day to think about herself. Perhaps I should have stopped at think? I cannot express how happy and proud of her I am that... well... she's made it this far. Any moment she has now where she has the freedom of choice as to what she will do next is well earned and long over due. And so it is yet another way in which our family is blessed. I know it's not all down hill from here. Camden's road to independence will be a challenging journey. I'm also sure that at some point David will provide additional challenges for us, but we'll cross all of those bridges when we come to them.
Camden is attending Frankie Lemmon School in downtown Raleigh and the burden of the travel is far outweighed by the love and caring he gets from the moment one of his teachers takes his hand until we get his beautiful face back in the afternoon. For those of you reading with kids, I'm sure you can relate to the multi-layered concerns about leaving your child with anyone for anything. It is with that thought in mind that I hope you understand how significant it is that we tell you we have no concerns about Camden being there and to the contrary, we know it is where Camden should be. This school is yet another true blessing.
David, as I've mentioned before, is in transitional kindergarten. Kind of a 'beyond preschool but not quite full bore kindergarten' if you will. To date we've seen little to none of the behavioral challenges that were ever-present last year. He's not exactly draggin' in Nobel Behavioral prizes home over the threshold each day, but he's doing well and pride doesn't scratch the surface of how we feel about our eldest. Often times that pride charms tears from our eyes when he loves on his little brother. One of the stupid things you waste time doing when you find out your kid is an overachiever in the chromosome department is worrying about the world versus your special needs kid when you're gone. Now you know where those tears of pride over how much David loves his little brother come from.
That leaves you with me and my blinding glimpses of the obvious from the last two months. Picking up on an earlier thread I mentioned I've been trying to carry peace with me in all of my travels and interactions these days. The fact of the matter is that if I'm successful twenty per cent of the time, then that's twenty per cent better than not trying. There are also moments when I have peace thrust upon me. I've had several friends reach out to me in times of trial in their lives recently and I thank God that he put me here to be their friend and confidant. Sure I'm still recovering from a half dozen broken bones, constant physical therapy, arthritis, and as of yesterday the discovery of a duplicated collection system attached to one of my kidneys, but if you really want to feel better no matter what ails you, help someone. Love someone. Provide fellowship to someone. Suddenly, your inventory of personal challenges becomes a mere honey-do list.
Because I know you care...
The shoulder - approaching 150 degrees of rotation. The goal is 180 degrees. PT hurts, I cry, I get over it. This week Karen went to PT with me to learn how to do the forced stretches. Karen and my therapist are in cahoots I do believe.
The pelvis - pain is down, but it still feels fragile. Getting up and down off the floor is still a bitch.
The drugs - I take two drugs for daily discomfort and a slightly larger dose before PT. Tramadol which is a narcotic-like medication for moderate to severe pain and the lowest strength of Vicodin + acetaminophen.
The bike - riding in the peloton again will come when three things are achieved. 1) I've attained the magical 180 degrees of rotation/range of motion. 2) I have muscular symmetry about the left and right shoulders 3) I decide to ride in the peloton again. This is unclear at the moment. There is much consideration to be explored yet about this topic. The implications of another bad wreck - more common the faster you go and with close proximity to other pain and adrenaline junkies - are significantly greater at 41 years old with 2 kids.
A little honesty and a confession to close tonight. In the immediate month after my accident I spent a lot of time usually on different, far ends of the spectrum; said differently I was either at a peak on the rollercoaster ride or in a trough. The troughs were characterized by pain, fear, uncertainty, sadness, thoughts of mortality and the guilt of imposition upon my family. The peaks were as conversely nice as the troughs were bad. Sitting in a recliner, semi-sedated, watching high-definition movies and cycling (of all things) and the phone and e-mail ringing and coming in respectively at heart warming rates. I share this with you so that you understand how much I want to put this behind me right now. I want everything to go back to the way it was before I crashed. I have to admit I thrived in all the attention I 'enjoyed' during the peaks, but there were only peaks because there were valleys. I just want things to go back to the way they were before 22 March. I'd happily return the spotlight to the Acme spotlight company, even if it meant I must retain the moments that build character. What I did not know until last week when talking to a fellow accident victim was that it will never go back to the way it was before then. This is neither sad nor regretful; it just is.
Thank you for thinking about us. All of us are blessed. All of us are well. Know that we think about you too.
There was a serious notion or two in the opening bit. I have truly been trying to bring peace wherever I go of late and to be brutally honest, it's been a struggle. Specifically, I have been trying to avoid political discussions as well as desperately trying to disavow aggressive driving. I've had more success with the latter than the former. On the political side there have simply been too many opportunities to discuss too many significant events of recent. I've gone to the mat with my dad as well as with my new Facebook amigo Chris Kling. Chris is an interesting guy who I'm in the process of getting to know. He's a mirror image of me. I don't mean to come off as overly self-appreciative, but he's sharp, strong in his beliefs, intelligent, well typed (that used to be well spoken, but people don't speak any more). I've enjoyed my discourses with him. Truth be told, I'm much more attractive though. Ironically, he lives in New Bern and knows my dad. Thus I shant piss him off too much or he'll join forces with the old man down there and I'll be out numbered by two people that are likely twice as smart as me (when I'm anesthetized).
Mom and dad came up last weekend for Camden's birthday and we truly enjoyed the visit. On Friday night when they got here Karen whipped up some shrimp, rice, tomatoes and some spices in al-u-min-yum foil pouches and they were outstanding. That was followed by two Zingerman's brownies topped with a scoop of Breyer's vanilla ice cream and a touch of Hershey's chocolate syrup. Great; two more days in purgatory when I arrive. Mom and dad's visits are getting to be more and more enjoyable and it's not all due to the narcotics. Since we don't see them as much as we'd like, the anticipation is greater before they arrive and the void when they leave is greater as well. We are blessed that mom and dad have the opportunity to develop real relationships with the boys. Pop-pop is Superman, Santa and a Railroad Baron all-rolled-into-one to David. And Grandma, or Gee as Camden likes to refer to her, is the lady who takes care of everything in the world when she's around.
The super big deal these days is that both Camden and David are in school which means after 5+ very long years my wife gets a couple of hours a day to think about herself. Perhaps I should have stopped at think? I cannot express how happy and proud of her I am that... well... she's made it this far. Any moment she has now where she has the freedom of choice as to what she will do next is well earned and long over due. And so it is yet another way in which our family is blessed. I know it's not all down hill from here. Camden's road to independence will be a challenging journey. I'm also sure that at some point David will provide additional challenges for us, but we'll cross all of those bridges when we come to them.
Camden is attending Frankie Lemmon School in downtown Raleigh and the burden of the travel is far outweighed by the love and caring he gets from the moment one of his teachers takes his hand until we get his beautiful face back in the afternoon. For those of you reading with kids, I'm sure you can relate to the multi-layered concerns about leaving your child with anyone for anything. It is with that thought in mind that I hope you understand how significant it is that we tell you we have no concerns about Camden being there and to the contrary, we know it is where Camden should be. This school is yet another true blessing.
David, as I've mentioned before, is in transitional kindergarten. Kind of a 'beyond preschool but not quite full bore kindergarten' if you will. To date we've seen little to none of the behavioral challenges that were ever-present last year. He's not exactly draggin' in Nobel Behavioral prizes home over the threshold each day, but he's doing well and pride doesn't scratch the surface of how we feel about our eldest. Often times that pride charms tears from our eyes when he loves on his little brother. One of the stupid things you waste time doing when you find out your kid is an overachiever in the chromosome department is worrying about the world versus your special needs kid when you're gone. Now you know where those tears of pride over how much David loves his little brother come from.
That leaves you with me and my blinding glimpses of the obvious from the last two months. Picking up on an earlier thread I mentioned I've been trying to carry peace with me in all of my travels and interactions these days. The fact of the matter is that if I'm successful twenty per cent of the time, then that's twenty per cent better than not trying. There are also moments when I have peace thrust upon me. I've had several friends reach out to me in times of trial in their lives recently and I thank God that he put me here to be their friend and confidant. Sure I'm still recovering from a half dozen broken bones, constant physical therapy, arthritis, and as of yesterday the discovery of a duplicated collection system attached to one of my kidneys, but if you really want to feel better no matter what ails you, help someone. Love someone. Provide fellowship to someone. Suddenly, your inventory of personal challenges becomes a mere honey-do list.
Because I know you care...
The shoulder - approaching 150 degrees of rotation. The goal is 180 degrees. PT hurts, I cry, I get over it. This week Karen went to PT with me to learn how to do the forced stretches. Karen and my therapist are in cahoots I do believe.
The pelvis - pain is down, but it still feels fragile. Getting up and down off the floor is still a bitch.
The drugs - I take two drugs for daily discomfort and a slightly larger dose before PT. Tramadol which is a narcotic-like medication for moderate to severe pain and the lowest strength of Vicodin + acetaminophen.
The bike - riding in the peloton again will come when three things are achieved. 1) I've attained the magical 180 degrees of rotation/range of motion. 2) I have muscular symmetry about the left and right shoulders 3) I decide to ride in the peloton again. This is unclear at the moment. There is much consideration to be explored yet about this topic. The implications of another bad wreck - more common the faster you go and with close proximity to other pain and adrenaline junkies - are significantly greater at 41 years old with 2 kids.
A little honesty and a confession to close tonight. In the immediate month after my accident I spent a lot of time usually on different, far ends of the spectrum; said differently I was either at a peak on the rollercoaster ride or in a trough. The troughs were characterized by pain, fear, uncertainty, sadness, thoughts of mortality and the guilt of imposition upon my family. The peaks were as conversely nice as the troughs were bad. Sitting in a recliner, semi-sedated, watching high-definition movies and cycling (of all things) and the phone and e-mail ringing and coming in respectively at heart warming rates. I share this with you so that you understand how much I want to put this behind me right now. I want everything to go back to the way it was before I crashed. I have to admit I thrived in all the attention I 'enjoyed' during the peaks, but there were only peaks because there were valleys. I just want things to go back to the way they were before 22 March. I'd happily return the spotlight to the Acme spotlight company, even if it meant I must retain the moments that build character. What I did not know until last week when talking to a fellow accident victim was that it will never go back to the way it was before then. This is neither sad nor regretful; it just is.
Thank you for thinking about us. All of us are blessed. All of us are well. Know that we think about you too.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
It's a Good Day(s)
So here I recline in the Hampton Inn off exit 31 of Hwy 99 in Altoona PA and what a day it's been. We planted the seed for this trip over a year ago when David was watching his video, "I Love Big Trains". A portion of the video was about the Horseshoe Curve. Horseshoe Curve is an engineering feat whereby the downhill momentum of a train is used to move it into and around a horseshoe shaped mile-and-a-half of railroad track. One day we asked David if he'd like to go see the Horseshoe curve and - guess what he said? So here we are in Altoona, PA. Thanks to much planning by my wife, the day was a smash hit. We started off with a 50 minute train ride around the Horseshoe Curve at 10 AM and then spent about 2 hours in the Altoona Railroader's Memorial Museum. This was followed by a family coma back in the hotel that lasted from 2:30 to 4 PM. All in all a great day that will provide fond recall in years to come.
Overall David is doing pretty well. Karen and I decided that it would be in David's best interest if he went to a transitional Kindergarten. I believe I've mentioned this before, but David is off the top end of the intellect scale, but he struggles with the finer points of some social skills. Ultimately David will have to adhere to all the rules, norms, constraints and cheers as every other person, but right now if we can avoid a rough patch by allowing him a little more time to mature socially, then why not?
Camden walks at his own discretion these days and what a wonderful thing that is. He still reverts to crawling if he's feeling lazy, but as he becomes more proficient in his stride he chooses to walk more and more. To see Camden take his own deliberate steps warms our hearts and encourages us in other ways. On more than one occasion I've been asked - as well as wondered myself รข€“ what am I supposed to do differently for our special needs son? I struggled for many months trying to answer this question, but could never really come up with a crisp answer. You love your kids and you parent them. There's nothing different in the loving or parenting part for a special needs child. Sure there's a TON of different things you might need to do educationally, therapeutically or medically, but there's nothing different in the loving or parenting part; that you just do. And when I figured that out, a lot of the anxiety associated with the newness of our situation simply vanished.
Karen hasn't given up on any of us yet. Those of you with kids either know or probably remember hitting the pause button on one's own life when the kids were young. I believe that pause button has a much greater impact on women who leave the workforce to assume the stay-at-home mother roll. This is hard on Karen and at the same time the kids are our pride and joy. Since Camden is in preschool 2 days a week now Karen actually gets a day - or half a day - here and there with some free time. Of course that free time is spent getting things done that still have to get done, but the thought of my wife getting so much as 20 minutes to drop by a bagel place and drink a cup of coffee with a bagel puts a smile on my face far and wide. Time and progress will yield Karen easier days in the future, but right now we all love her simply because she loves us so much and it shows.
So how's Jim? Frustrated. Discouraged. Angry. Fortunate. And it's that last one I mustn't forget. The PT is painful and fruitful. I am making good progress. The fact of the matter is if I forgo the narcotics I spend a majority of each day in significant pain and discomfort and that encourages discouragement. Some days I choose to fight the pain with non-narcotics and intense focus on work. On those days, after we get the kids in bed I literally do not move for about 2 hours before we go to bed. If I do choose to take the Oxycontin, I can function nearly normally.
I will close with this. Once you gain a certain intimacy with cycling it becomes a metaphor for life. As a cyclist you learn to keep pedaling when you are 50 miles from home and there are some very loud voices telling you to stop. I feel like I'm 1000 miles from home right now and the voices are screaming, but I've no intention to stop pedaling.
Every day above ground is a good one.
Overall David is doing pretty well. Karen and I decided that it would be in David's best interest if he went to a transitional Kindergarten. I believe I've mentioned this before, but David is off the top end of the intellect scale, but he struggles with the finer points of some social skills. Ultimately David will have to adhere to all the rules, norms, constraints and cheers as every other person, but right now if we can avoid a rough patch by allowing him a little more time to mature socially, then why not?
Camden walks at his own discretion these days and what a wonderful thing that is. He still reverts to crawling if he's feeling lazy, but as he becomes more proficient in his stride he chooses to walk more and more. To see Camden take his own deliberate steps warms our hearts and encourages us in other ways. On more than one occasion I've been asked - as well as wondered myself รข€“ what am I supposed to do differently for our special needs son? I struggled for many months trying to answer this question, but could never really come up with a crisp answer. You love your kids and you parent them. There's nothing different in the loving or parenting part for a special needs child. Sure there's a TON of different things you might need to do educationally, therapeutically or medically, but there's nothing different in the loving or parenting part; that you just do. And when I figured that out, a lot of the anxiety associated with the newness of our situation simply vanished.
Karen hasn't given up on any of us yet. Those of you with kids either know or probably remember hitting the pause button on one's own life when the kids were young. I believe that pause button has a much greater impact on women who leave the workforce to assume the stay-at-home mother roll. This is hard on Karen and at the same time the kids are our pride and joy. Since Camden is in preschool 2 days a week now Karen actually gets a day - or half a day - here and there with some free time. Of course that free time is spent getting things done that still have to get done, but the thought of my wife getting so much as 20 minutes to drop by a bagel place and drink a cup of coffee with a bagel puts a smile on my face far and wide. Time and progress will yield Karen easier days in the future, but right now we all love her simply because she loves us so much and it shows.
So how's Jim? Frustrated. Discouraged. Angry. Fortunate. And it's that last one I mustn't forget. The PT is painful and fruitful. I am making good progress. The fact of the matter is if I forgo the narcotics I spend a majority of each day in significant pain and discomfort and that encourages discouragement. Some days I choose to fight the pain with non-narcotics and intense focus on work. On those days, after we get the kids in bed I literally do not move for about 2 hours before we go to bed. If I do choose to take the Oxycontin, I can function nearly normally.
I will close with this. Once you gain a certain intimacy with cycling it becomes a metaphor for life. As a cyclist you learn to keep pedaling when you are 50 miles from home and there are some very loud voices telling you to stop. I feel like I'm 1000 miles from home right now and the voices are screaming, but I've no intention to stop pedaling.
Every day above ground is a good one.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Confirming: I'm Not Dead
Hello all. Here's a Jim update. WARNING: This update contains some personal and discrete information that I'm choosing to share because this site is primarily visited by family and friends and when they ask how I'm doing they want the unvarnished truth.
Overall my physical condition has improved slightly. My mobility is good and the pain in my pelvis is mild to moderate at any given moment, but is made worse when I try to sit on or rise from the floor. Essentially if I direct energy into my pelvis the pain increases proportionately. Overall, the pelvis is well on the path to recovery.
The ribs are no longer an issue other than occasional soreness. They are likely 85 - 90% healed.
Then there's the shoulder. With little exception my humerus stays at my left side. The exceptions being small deliberate motions intended to initiate the smallest amount of mobility and recovery. I have taken the pendular exercises to the limit and it's not fun. It feels as if a Matchbox car has been inserted into my shoulder socket. I've accidentally bumped it once or twice and David's given it an inadvertent tug as many times. One or twice I've walked it off and once it was remedied by a couple of Kleenex.
I am scared to death of the looming physical therapy, because it's going to hurt and hurt a lot. I am acutely aware that the percentage of my complete recovery is directly proportional to my courage and effort in PT; that's what scares me. I'm hoping that I can leverage my ability to suffer better as I've gotten older - a direct benefit from cycling - to ultimately get back to 100%. I'm willing to do what that's going to take and that is a big commitment.
Narcotic pain relievers cause constipation and I have not been immune to this. Currently I take 10mg of Percoset every four hours. I've had trouble with constipation since the day after my accident. Without too much detail I've suffered pretty badly on this front. The second and third worst problems associated with the constipation are pulled muscles and the irritation of the shoulder. And bear in mind I'm leaving out detail regarding the most painful part of severe constipation. We have implemented EVERY countermeasure and this morning was the first time I was in and out of the WC in less than 45 minutes and without further injury and pain.
Emotionally, this event continues to be a rollercoaster. Bad days are very bad. They are a mixture of guilt, depression, feelings of inadequacy, uselessness, pain and fear. They are remedied by the soft touch of my wife's hand or her shoulder to cry on and constant reminders that we're going to get through this. What's a good day? Having showered within the last 48 hours. Having made a significant contribution at work, albeit from home. Having helped out around the house. Maybe emptied some of the dishwasher. Having taken care of David after Karen gets him out of the tub. Good hugs and kisses from the boys. Developing strategies for having sex with a broken pelvis.
So as you can see by that last sentence, I've not lost my sense of humor. Let's let that be our barometer for now. If you've read this far I appreciate you taking the time to see how I'm doing. I'm in a challenging place and time in my life at present and how wonderful it is to have some of that challenge mitigated by the kindness of friends. Please keep checking back because I promise this story that had such a terrible beginning will have a triumphant conclusion.
Overall my physical condition has improved slightly. My mobility is good and the pain in my pelvis is mild to moderate at any given moment, but is made worse when I try to sit on or rise from the floor. Essentially if I direct energy into my pelvis the pain increases proportionately. Overall, the pelvis is well on the path to recovery.
The ribs are no longer an issue other than occasional soreness. They are likely 85 - 90% healed.
Then there's the shoulder. With little exception my humerus stays at my left side. The exceptions being small deliberate motions intended to initiate the smallest amount of mobility and recovery. I have taken the pendular exercises to the limit and it's not fun. It feels as if a Matchbox car has been inserted into my shoulder socket. I've accidentally bumped it once or twice and David's given it an inadvertent tug as many times. One or twice I've walked it off and once it was remedied by a couple of Kleenex.
I am scared to death of the looming physical therapy, because it's going to hurt and hurt a lot. I am acutely aware that the percentage of my complete recovery is directly proportional to my courage and effort in PT; that's what scares me. I'm hoping that I can leverage my ability to suffer better as I've gotten older - a direct benefit from cycling - to ultimately get back to 100%. I'm willing to do what that's going to take and that is a big commitment.
Narcotic pain relievers cause constipation and I have not been immune to this. Currently I take 10mg of Percoset every four hours. I've had trouble with constipation since the day after my accident. Without too much detail I've suffered pretty badly on this front. The second and third worst problems associated with the constipation are pulled muscles and the irritation of the shoulder. And bear in mind I'm leaving out detail regarding the most painful part of severe constipation. We have implemented EVERY countermeasure and this morning was the first time I was in and out of the WC in less than 45 minutes and without further injury and pain.
Emotionally, this event continues to be a rollercoaster. Bad days are very bad. They are a mixture of guilt, depression, feelings of inadequacy, uselessness, pain and fear. They are remedied by the soft touch of my wife's hand or her shoulder to cry on and constant reminders that we're going to get through this. What's a good day? Having showered within the last 48 hours. Having made a significant contribution at work, albeit from home. Having helped out around the house. Maybe emptied some of the dishwasher. Having taken care of David after Karen gets him out of the tub. Good hugs and kisses from the boys. Developing strategies for having sex with a broken pelvis.
So as you can see by that last sentence, I've not lost my sense of humor. Let's let that be our barometer for now. If you've read this far I appreciate you taking the time to see how I'm doing. I'm in a challenging place and time in my life at present and how wonderful it is to have some of that challenge mitigated by the kindness of friends. Please keep checking back because I promise this story that had such a terrible beginning will have a triumphant conclusion.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Here's How I'm Doin'
Greetings family, friends. About ten times a day I get a sincere query, 'How ya doing?', so I'm gonna stick an update out here to answer just that and more. And before I go any further how sweet it is to be asked by so many folks that really care about the answer.
Karen put my leash and collar of love on me on Tuesday and took me over to see Dr. Wyker at Raleigh Ortho. I am down to two areas of concern for which we'll track progress; the shoulder and the pelvis. Regarding the shoulder, we took x-rays on Tuesday and my new stainless steel parts are doing their job and all the pieces of Humpty Dumpty's scapula are pretty much where they're supposed to be. There is one fragment whose position isn't precisely optimal, but precisely optimal would be where it was originally had I never had the accident. The implication of this is that there may be some hot spots that we're going to have to push through once physical therapy (PT) is under way. PT will start next week. Everything I've heard, from Dr. Wyker, anecdotally, from others with similar injuries indicates it's going to be a year, in round numbers, before my shoulder gets to feel as good as it's going to feel in the future. A long road yes, but I'm expecting to regain nearly all function so this ain't a bad deal.
The hip's going to be a challenge on multiple fronts. At the top of one of my femurs there's a looped part of the pelvic bone. I have two fractures in this loop that are just going to have to heal over time. Try not using your hips for two minutes; not real practical. And no one has instructed me not to use the hips, just to be aware that it's going to be sore for several months. I'm imagining that even after the general soreness abates, certain activities will remind me that trauma was in the house not long ago. I can imagine sitting on a bike is going to take many attempts before I'm comfortable for long periods of time. So that's the manifest concern regarding my pelvis/hips. I don't think I've shared this en masse until now but all of the films of my hip indicate significant arthritis in the hip joint. For many years I have had issues with my hips with respect to biomechanical function, pain during specific motions, and a popping of my hip that once popped felt fine, although getting the pop to happen took some courage against pain for a brief second. I've no doubt that the genesis of all of this noise germane to my hip is the arthritis. I'm only 40 years old and I have many, many active years left in me. This isn't news anyone wants to hear, but again, it's treatable. We'll come up with treatment plans for the arthritis after the fractures heal. Again, this could be far worse and with the knowledge I now have I can fight back and make a fragile situation a tenable one.
I will return to work on 14 April. I will be working from home for the first week and then transitioning back into the office full time incrementally over the next couple of weeks.
I've saved the important people for last. Karen is doing much better and the thing that got her to this point with all her marbles is first her personal strength and then the support of our family and friends. Yes, she was a little bit overwhelmed at first, but we all were and at the end of the day, the greatest burden of responsibility and care fell on her shoulders. I love her so much for the grace and strength with which she is handling this. I can sum up how I feel about my wife in four words, I want for nothing.
David now understands the nature of Daddy's hurt arm a little better and he has once again found safe harbor snuggled up on my right side. I can now help out at the end of David's day with story reading, a lullaby and prayers. It might not sound like a lot, but it means the world to me to be able to spend time with him again and it helps Karen get through the crescendo end of her day. I can also empty the top of the dishwasher :-)
Camden loves his Daddy and just wants to play, read and dance. He has not been cleared for lap time yet, but as my shoulder gets stronger we'll get him back up there ASAP. I miss his hugs so; when he hugs you it feels like someone turned your heart into a Cinnabon.
These last two entries were typed entirely with my right hand so please excuse the abrupt closure to this entry. Thanks to everyone that has expressed their love and caring in whatever way they could.
Karen put my leash and collar of love on me on Tuesday and took me over to see Dr. Wyker at Raleigh Ortho. I am down to two areas of concern for which we'll track progress; the shoulder and the pelvis. Regarding the shoulder, we took x-rays on Tuesday and my new stainless steel parts are doing their job and all the pieces of Humpty Dumpty's scapula are pretty much where they're supposed to be. There is one fragment whose position isn't precisely optimal, but precisely optimal would be where it was originally had I never had the accident. The implication of this is that there may be some hot spots that we're going to have to push through once physical therapy (PT) is under way. PT will start next week. Everything I've heard, from Dr. Wyker, anecdotally, from others with similar injuries indicates it's going to be a year, in round numbers, before my shoulder gets to feel as good as it's going to feel in the future. A long road yes, but I'm expecting to regain nearly all function so this ain't a bad deal.
The hip's going to be a challenge on multiple fronts. At the top of one of my femurs there's a looped part of the pelvic bone. I have two fractures in this loop that are just going to have to heal over time. Try not using your hips for two minutes; not real practical. And no one has instructed me not to use the hips, just to be aware that it's going to be sore for several months. I'm imagining that even after the general soreness abates, certain activities will remind me that trauma was in the house not long ago. I can imagine sitting on a bike is going to take many attempts before I'm comfortable for long periods of time. So that's the manifest concern regarding my pelvis/hips. I don't think I've shared this en masse until now but all of the films of my hip indicate significant arthritis in the hip joint. For many years I have had issues with my hips with respect to biomechanical function, pain during specific motions, and a popping of my hip that once popped felt fine, although getting the pop to happen took some courage against pain for a brief second. I've no doubt that the genesis of all of this noise germane to my hip is the arthritis. I'm only 40 years old and I have many, many active years left in me. This isn't news anyone wants to hear, but again, it's treatable. We'll come up with treatment plans for the arthritis after the fractures heal. Again, this could be far worse and with the knowledge I now have I can fight back and make a fragile situation a tenable one.
I will return to work on 14 April. I will be working from home for the first week and then transitioning back into the office full time incrementally over the next couple of weeks.
I've saved the important people for last. Karen is doing much better and the thing that got her to this point with all her marbles is first her personal strength and then the support of our family and friends. Yes, she was a little bit overwhelmed at first, but we all were and at the end of the day, the greatest burden of responsibility and care fell on her shoulders. I love her so much for the grace and strength with which she is handling this. I can sum up how I feel about my wife in four words, I want for nothing.
David now understands the nature of Daddy's hurt arm a little better and he has once again found safe harbor snuggled up on my right side. I can now help out at the end of David's day with story reading, a lullaby and prayers. It might not sound like a lot, but it means the world to me to be able to spend time with him again and it helps Karen get through the crescendo end of her day. I can also empty the top of the dishwasher :-)
Camden loves his Daddy and just wants to play, read and dance. He has not been cleared for lap time yet, but as my shoulder gets stronger we'll get him back up there ASAP. I miss his hugs so; when he hugs you it feels like someone turned your heart into a Cinnabon.
These last two entries were typed entirely with my right hand so please excuse the abrupt closure to this entry. Thanks to everyone that has expressed their love and caring in whatever way they could.
Friday, April 3, 2009
The Story of My Cycling Accident
This will be the last time I recount the events of my bicycling accident on 22 March, 2009.
I had scheduled a Trip to Hanging Rock State Park (HRSP), the point of departure for a ride known as the Triple Hump, about six weeks ago. The purpose of this trip was to get some real mountain miles in my legs; while we have some nice hills here with some temporarily annoying gradients, you simply can't get steep climb duration in Raleigh or Cary.
The morning of March 22 had descended and at or slightly before 8 AM, I was on the road. The trip was about 113 miles and at about 9:40 I was making the transition from car driver to bike rider in the parking lot of HRSP. It was a little cooler than I had expected at ride start, about 40 degrees, but it was a warm 40. I added knee warmers, another upper body base layer and a pair of thin cotton under gloves. I left HRSP with enough nutrition for about 50 miles and planned to stop at a convenience store on the way back to top off as needed.
The first two miles out of HRSP are a downhill hoot. Giddy fun I say there boy. Despite the giddy fun, I was not strong on this day. I never felt strong. Always felt like I was surviving. I had not done anything inconsistent leading up to this day, but a thin molasses thought of picking a bad day to have a bad day was finding its way in between the muscle fibers of my legs.
The first climb I encountered, Sauratown Mountain punished me beyond my crime. I stopped two or three times up that climb and could not believe the voice in my head, 'You're not this good. You shouldn't be here. You can't even breathe. Ride back to the car and go home, if you can.' As I got closer to the top I started focusing on recovering from the effort. If I had to pick the most improved part of my riding over the last year, it would be my ability to recover from significant efforts. Refocusing got me up. Descending refueled me. Commitment kept me going.
Twenty hilly, rolling miles later I found myself at the base of Pilot Mountain. I had inadvertently disrespected this climb earlier by considering it might be easier than Sauratown. It was not. A half-dozen stops were needed to get me to the top. I'll never know why I rode so poorly on this day, but I can tell you that this will not be my last Triple Hump. I can also tell you I'm going to ride it until I can, with repeatability, do it confidently and quickly.
And so there I was. 30 miles from finishing. The clock started to crawl and the road seemed to stretch as I rode it. I was tired, but I once again found the silver lining. In a group or when alone and simply trying to achieve an average speed, there is the unrelenting pressure of having to 'put out'. I now had the luxury of jettisoning this unnecessary requirement. From here on in it would be a simple matter getting back to the car, recovering nutritionally and analyzing the ride for lessons learned.
At an intersection with NC 268 and another road, whose name escapes me, there was supposed to be a convenience store, but alas it had long since closed. Some kind folks that lived near the intersection filled my bottles with water and away I pedaled. Soon I made my turn onto NC66. I was tired and only capable of about 85% attention. I probably would have seen the dog earlier had I been more alert, but doubt it would have made any difference. I saw the dog emerge from the background of trees and brush standing in the road perhaps 50 meters ahead of me. I could only categorize it as a medium sized, short-haired dog and in the first few seconds, the dog posed no threat. Then two things changed in an instant; I could now ID the breed as a pit bull and it attacked. I tried evasive maneuvering unsuccessfully. I then tried a tactic of actually slowing down to see if I could get him to simply chase next to me, but his aggression increased. Every time he would dash in front of me, I considered how bad it would be if I hit him, knowing I would go down and go down hard. His aggression increased to the point where he was now taking bites at my feet and lower legs. I decided to sprint for it. I stood up and now had no concerns about him biting me as my legs were too powerful and moving too fast for him to get a good grip. It gets a little foggy here. I recall the dog was on my left and he made an attempt to cross my line of travel. He likely went between the front and rear wheel at a time when I was standing and putting as much power into the pedals as I could. There was no time between that moment and realizing I had hit the road and was now grinding to a stop from about 30 miles per hour. I started out with a very poor level of consciousness, but I was conscious enough to know I was lying in the middle of a paved, traveled road. I struggled to sit up and immediately recognized that the left side of my body was injured too badly to use. This next point is quick but important. In the minute or so it took me to get upright, I clearly recall the dog scampering off into the woods. Had he come back for more I would have been unable to defend myself. I began a primary survey on myself; airway, breathing and circulation and all were 'good'. As I moved on to the secondary survey and a level of consciousness battery, I did not fair so well. I could not recall day or date or home phone numbers. This fog lasted about 10 minutes and then my LOC gradually returned back to 10/10. There were two cars that passed me in the next five minutes. The first did not stop despite traveling only 30 or so miles per hour, with both of the windows on my side of the car down, my waves of desperation made clear and an unabashed cry for help. The next vehicle to pass was a pickup truck containing a father and younger son, the latter being perhaps 10 years old or so. They stopped and then went quickly to the house where the dog came from to summon an ambulance. For about 40 minutes I had the care and support of the father son duo and the gentleman from the house. Thank you God for those three people and the care and fellowship they provided to me. I will not entertain any further discussion about fault, negligence or ill-will beyond this statement. The gentleman that was feeding this dog as a stray put the dog down out of fear for his children's safety. I do not believe that there was any intent to harm me and I never detected a sense from this gentleman that I was in any way culpable for what had just transpired. He offered his apology on the scene for any way in which he may have contributed and I accepted that apology. The forty minutes of waiting was followed up by a forty minute ambulance ride to Baptist Medical Center in Winston-Salem, NC.
The medical care I received at BMC was first aide for the abrasions about my body, l-ankle, r-inner knee, l-outer knee, 1 major patch left arm, 1 focused grind spot left elbow, top back of left shoulder, light abrasions about my head. I always wear a helmet and had I not been wearing one that day, I would without question be dead.
I won't list every film or scan I got, but I can tell you what the initial consensus was: a 40/60 broken scapula that would need surgery. Since the surgery was not going to be possible forthwith that night, the Dr's decided to pump me full of morphine and let Karen Taylo drive me home from Winston-Salem so that all further medical attention could be delivered much closer to home.
The next morning I was in excruciating pain and rather than try and get me in the car and risk further damage beyond the known unknown, we called the ambulance. I found myself back in the ER but upon my exit on this particular day we'd leave with three important things. One a referral to see THE preeminent shoulder guy, two, a scan of my pelvis that revealed a fracture and three, more pain meds.
On Tuesday 24 March we saw Dr. Wyker w/Raleigh Orthopedics. What we got there was an excellent Dr., outstanding diagnostics, a complete care plan that included a reconstructive surgery date of Friday 27 March. It was only at this point that we finally got a complete inventory of everything I had broken: One pelvic fracture, two to three broken ribs and a shattered scapula, with partucular concern for the area where the humerus sat in the scapula having been destroyed. The nature of the destruction was two-fold because the receptor part of the scapula was in many pieces and the pieces were not where they were supposed to be. Dr. Wyker admitted that the surgery would be difficult, but he left us with the sense that he could develop a surgical plan and approach that would allow him tackle one of his harder reconstructive challenges of late.
Karen delivered me to Big Wake at around 1PM on Friday 27 March for the surgery. I went into surgery at around 8 o'clock and emerged about two and a half hours later with Dr. Wyker and team claiming complete success. Unfortunately no sooner than we were enjoying the good news than my left lung collapsed unexpectedly. A chest tube was inserted to re-inflate the pneumothorax and now my joyously painful shoulder recovery would be accompanied by some damn tube stuck straight in through my side into my lungs.
I was discharged, sans catheter, chest tube, IV and myriad other OEM equipment on Monday 30 April after four days in the good hands of the great people associated with Dr. Wyker's practice and Wake Med. There were many medical professionals involved with helping me get back to where I am today and while they rendered a service for a price, a lot of them do it for much deeper reasons. To those of you contributed to my care, please accept my thanks for the business part, but more so for the compassion and care that you demonstrated in the delivery of your care.
Today is Friday 3 April. My days consist of feeling a little bit better and gaining nominal amounts of independence. We use the pain medications as directed. When we're late, I feel it rather crisply. I'm guessing that the Oxycontin will get discontinued over the next week and then we'll whittle down the Percocet as well over the next several weeks. I can walk, albeit rather Fred Sandford-ishly and slowly. I have yet to mobilize the left shoulder at all, but that will change next week as well when PT is likely to start. I still need some assistance with basic movements, standing, sitting, to potty, from potty but that's only when the pain is bad or I've been in the recliner for a long stretch. Today was my first shower since March 21st and obviously this would not have been possible without Karen's help.
I'll close this account with a couple of observations.
I'm fortunate that I was able to get help quickly from strangers. And strangers in this case were simply fellow human beings I had yet to have fellowship with. I was fortunate enough to have a close family friend just happen to be near and care about my family enough to drop everything she was doing and assume complete responsibility for all of my care for nearly six hours. I learned that I will always be my mother and father's son and when I need them they'll be here for me and my family for as long as God sees fit. I'm fortunate to work for a company like BlueCross and BlueShield of NC that cares more about me and my family getting back on our feet than the inconvenience and impact of my absence. I am fortunate to have surrounded myself with a talented team at work that picked up the Hidex Project ball and kept running with it as I was escorted to the sidelines. Facebook gets a nod as well for enabling access to a network of friends who walked the talk through prayers, support, laughter and physical assistance to me and my family; we cannot thank you enough friends. Second only to the God that gave me life is my appreciation for my wife. The love that Karen and I share is rare. She is the home that my love and soul come home to every night whether we're spooning tight together before we sleep or if I'm 1,000 miles away. Wife, lover, partner, mentor, confessor capture nothing as a percentage of what it means to me when I call her my wife; it is so much more than that. Without her I would be Jim and that ain't such a bad gig. But with her and because of her I am a loved husband and father.
I have no idea what I ever did to be deserving of so much love from so many people.
I had scheduled a Trip to Hanging Rock State Park (HRSP), the point of departure for a ride known as the Triple Hump, about six weeks ago. The purpose of this trip was to get some real mountain miles in my legs; while we have some nice hills here with some temporarily annoying gradients, you simply can't get steep climb duration in Raleigh or Cary.
The morning of March 22 had descended and at or slightly before 8 AM, I was on the road. The trip was about 113 miles and at about 9:40 I was making the transition from car driver to bike rider in the parking lot of HRSP. It was a little cooler than I had expected at ride start, about 40 degrees, but it was a warm 40. I added knee warmers, another upper body base layer and a pair of thin cotton under gloves. I left HRSP with enough nutrition for about 50 miles and planned to stop at a convenience store on the way back to top off as needed.
The first two miles out of HRSP are a downhill hoot. Giddy fun I say there boy. Despite the giddy fun, I was not strong on this day. I never felt strong. Always felt like I was surviving. I had not done anything inconsistent leading up to this day, but a thin molasses thought of picking a bad day to have a bad day was finding its way in between the muscle fibers of my legs.
The first climb I encountered, Sauratown Mountain punished me beyond my crime. I stopped two or three times up that climb and could not believe the voice in my head, 'You're not this good. You shouldn't be here. You can't even breathe. Ride back to the car and go home, if you can.' As I got closer to the top I started focusing on recovering from the effort. If I had to pick the most improved part of my riding over the last year, it would be my ability to recover from significant efforts. Refocusing got me up. Descending refueled me. Commitment kept me going.
Twenty hilly, rolling miles later I found myself at the base of Pilot Mountain. I had inadvertently disrespected this climb earlier by considering it might be easier than Sauratown. It was not. A half-dozen stops were needed to get me to the top. I'll never know why I rode so poorly on this day, but I can tell you that this will not be my last Triple Hump. I can also tell you I'm going to ride it until I can, with repeatability, do it confidently and quickly.
And so there I was. 30 miles from finishing. The clock started to crawl and the road seemed to stretch as I rode it. I was tired, but I once again found the silver lining. In a group or when alone and simply trying to achieve an average speed, there is the unrelenting pressure of having to 'put out'. I now had the luxury of jettisoning this unnecessary requirement. From here on in it would be a simple matter getting back to the car, recovering nutritionally and analyzing the ride for lessons learned.
At an intersection with NC 268 and another road, whose name escapes me, there was supposed to be a convenience store, but alas it had long since closed. Some kind folks that lived near the intersection filled my bottles with water and away I pedaled. Soon I made my turn onto NC66. I was tired and only capable of about 85% attention. I probably would have seen the dog earlier had I been more alert, but doubt it would have made any difference. I saw the dog emerge from the background of trees and brush standing in the road perhaps 50 meters ahead of me. I could only categorize it as a medium sized, short-haired dog and in the first few seconds, the dog posed no threat. Then two things changed in an instant; I could now ID the breed as a pit bull and it attacked. I tried evasive maneuvering unsuccessfully. I then tried a tactic of actually slowing down to see if I could get him to simply chase next to me, but his aggression increased. Every time he would dash in front of me, I considered how bad it would be if I hit him, knowing I would go down and go down hard. His aggression increased to the point where he was now taking bites at my feet and lower legs. I decided to sprint for it. I stood up and now had no concerns about him biting me as my legs were too powerful and moving too fast for him to get a good grip. It gets a little foggy here. I recall the dog was on my left and he made an attempt to cross my line of travel. He likely went between the front and rear wheel at a time when I was standing and putting as much power into the pedals as I could. There was no time between that moment and realizing I had hit the road and was now grinding to a stop from about 30 miles per hour. I started out with a very poor level of consciousness, but I was conscious enough to know I was lying in the middle of a paved, traveled road. I struggled to sit up and immediately recognized that the left side of my body was injured too badly to use. This next point is quick but important. In the minute or so it took me to get upright, I clearly recall the dog scampering off into the woods. Had he come back for more I would have been unable to defend myself. I began a primary survey on myself; airway, breathing and circulation and all were 'good'. As I moved on to the secondary survey and a level of consciousness battery, I did not fair so well. I could not recall day or date or home phone numbers. This fog lasted about 10 minutes and then my LOC gradually returned back to 10/10. There were two cars that passed me in the next five minutes. The first did not stop despite traveling only 30 or so miles per hour, with both of the windows on my side of the car down, my waves of desperation made clear and an unabashed cry for help. The next vehicle to pass was a pickup truck containing a father and younger son, the latter being perhaps 10 years old or so. They stopped and then went quickly to the house where the dog came from to summon an ambulance. For about 40 minutes I had the care and support of the father son duo and the gentleman from the house. Thank you God for those three people and the care and fellowship they provided to me. I will not entertain any further discussion about fault, negligence or ill-will beyond this statement. The gentleman that was feeding this dog as a stray put the dog down out of fear for his children's safety. I do not believe that there was any intent to harm me and I never detected a sense from this gentleman that I was in any way culpable for what had just transpired. He offered his apology on the scene for any way in which he may have contributed and I accepted that apology. The forty minutes of waiting was followed up by a forty minute ambulance ride to Baptist Medical Center in Winston-Salem, NC.
The medical care I received at BMC was first aide for the abrasions about my body, l-ankle, r-inner knee, l-outer knee, 1 major patch left arm, 1 focused grind spot left elbow, top back of left shoulder, light abrasions about my head. I always wear a helmet and had I not been wearing one that day, I would without question be dead.
I won't list every film or scan I got, but I can tell you what the initial consensus was: a 40/60 broken scapula that would need surgery. Since the surgery was not going to be possible forthwith that night, the Dr's decided to pump me full of morphine and let Karen Taylo drive me home from Winston-Salem so that all further medical attention could be delivered much closer to home.
The next morning I was in excruciating pain and rather than try and get me in the car and risk further damage beyond the known unknown, we called the ambulance. I found myself back in the ER but upon my exit on this particular day we'd leave with three important things. One a referral to see THE preeminent shoulder guy, two, a scan of my pelvis that revealed a fracture and three, more pain meds.
On Tuesday 24 March we saw Dr. Wyker w/Raleigh Orthopedics. What we got there was an excellent Dr., outstanding diagnostics, a complete care plan that included a reconstructive surgery date of Friday 27 March. It was only at this point that we finally got a complete inventory of everything I had broken: One pelvic fracture, two to three broken ribs and a shattered scapula, with partucular concern for the area where the humerus sat in the scapula having been destroyed. The nature of the destruction was two-fold because the receptor part of the scapula was in many pieces and the pieces were not where they were supposed to be. Dr. Wyker admitted that the surgery would be difficult, but he left us with the sense that he could develop a surgical plan and approach that would allow him tackle one of his harder reconstructive challenges of late.
Karen delivered me to Big Wake at around 1PM on Friday 27 March for the surgery. I went into surgery at around 8 o'clock and emerged about two and a half hours later with Dr. Wyker and team claiming complete success. Unfortunately no sooner than we were enjoying the good news than my left lung collapsed unexpectedly. A chest tube was inserted to re-inflate the pneumothorax and now my joyously painful shoulder recovery would be accompanied by some damn tube stuck straight in through my side into my lungs.
I was discharged, sans catheter, chest tube, IV and myriad other OEM equipment on Monday 30 April after four days in the good hands of the great people associated with Dr. Wyker's practice and Wake Med. There were many medical professionals involved with helping me get back to where I am today and while they rendered a service for a price, a lot of them do it for much deeper reasons. To those of you contributed to my care, please accept my thanks for the business part, but more so for the compassion and care that you demonstrated in the delivery of your care.
Today is Friday 3 April. My days consist of feeling a little bit better and gaining nominal amounts of independence. We use the pain medications as directed. When we're late, I feel it rather crisply. I'm guessing that the Oxycontin will get discontinued over the next week and then we'll whittle down the Percocet as well over the next several weeks. I can walk, albeit rather Fred Sandford-ishly and slowly. I have yet to mobilize the left shoulder at all, but that will change next week as well when PT is likely to start. I still need some assistance with basic movements, standing, sitting, to potty, from potty but that's only when the pain is bad or I've been in the recliner for a long stretch. Today was my first shower since March 21st and obviously this would not have been possible without Karen's help.
I'll close this account with a couple of observations.
I'm fortunate that I was able to get help quickly from strangers. And strangers in this case were simply fellow human beings I had yet to have fellowship with. I was fortunate enough to have a close family friend just happen to be near and care about my family enough to drop everything she was doing and assume complete responsibility for all of my care for nearly six hours. I learned that I will always be my mother and father's son and when I need them they'll be here for me and my family for as long as God sees fit. I'm fortunate to work for a company like BlueCross and BlueShield of NC that cares more about me and my family getting back on our feet than the inconvenience and impact of my absence. I am fortunate to have surrounded myself with a talented team at work that picked up the Hidex Project ball and kept running with it as I was escorted to the sidelines. Facebook gets a nod as well for enabling access to a network of friends who walked the talk through prayers, support, laughter and physical assistance to me and my family; we cannot thank you enough friends. Second only to the God that gave me life is my appreciation for my wife. The love that Karen and I share is rare. She is the home that my love and soul come home to every night whether we're spooning tight together before we sleep or if I'm 1,000 miles away. Wife, lover, partner, mentor, confessor capture nothing as a percentage of what it means to me when I call her my wife; it is so much more than that. Without her I would be Jim and that ain't such a bad gig. But with her and because of her I am a loved husband and father.
I have no idea what I ever did to be deserving of so much love from so many people.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
About that race in May? It's not looking so good.
Hello from Wake Med hospital! I think most of you know by now that I was involved in a cycling accident on the 22nd of March. I was attacked by a pit bull toward the end of a 100 km training ride for the assault on Mt. Mitchell. I received a fractured pelvis, several fractured ribs, a shattered scapula and a post-op collapsed lung. I am now recovering as quickly as I can and expect to go home Monday or Tuesday. I have been blessed by the support of my wife and kids, my extended family and friends, a generous employer and God himself.
I am very much looking forward to getting back on the bike, but realistically it will be several months before my recovery allows me to do so. I'm really tired now and need to get some rest, so today's entry will be a short one.
I am very much looking forward to getting back on the bike, but realistically it will be several months before my recovery allows me to do so. I'm really tired now and need to get some rest, so today's entry will be a short one.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
I think I can. I think I can.
I was telling Karen last night that I wish my only goal for cycling in '09 was to be a strong A group rider 'cause I'd be done. But since I have to climb the mountain, I've work left to do. Here's a tale of two rides.
Last Thursday I went out with the A group from Apex. I knew what to expect; it was going to be fast, but I should be able to hang in. The first 27 miles were awesome. It's hard to explain, but in some respects it gets easier to ride the faster you go. For one you learn to stay up front. Also, the faster riders are MUCH more disciplined. Rotations are more strict, and smoother. Big stuff gets pointed out and little stuff gets ignored. I did my share up front in the rotation for the better part of 70 minutes. And then I did something stupid. As we came back up Lewter Shop road the rotations had stopped and riders hung out on the front as they pleased. When my turn came, I kinda stayed out front a little too long and we were going, oh, about, 25 miles per hour. Then bad goes to worse. I saw another group traveling about the same speed as we were traveling perhaps 200 yards ahead of us. What should I have done? Easy. Pulled over, gone to the back, hung on, rested. What did I do? I bridged a group of 40 riders up by maxing out and as soon as I caught the group ahead... I blew up. I watched in self-disappoointment as now 50 riders went by me at 25 miles an hour as I faded to 20, then 19 on down to 18.
Now, the lesson learned was that I didn't ride within my limits. Last night was faster and easier. I rode 41 miles at about a 21 MPH average. Did my fair share up front. Stayed in, rested. Rode smart. Finished with the group. The only criticism I'll give in to is that I spent too much time in the very back of the group where you do get the benefit of draft, but you also pay the price of rarefraction. (Think stretched out part of a spring racing to catch up to the compressed part of the spring.)
All in all I'm feeling modestly confident about my preparation for the Assault on Mount Mitchell. I'm not going to get cocky, but I will gaurantee you that I will prepare to do well in the last 25 miles where the race is either won or lost on a personal level. It's going to be a long day in the saddle. It's going to hurt at times for long periods. But, God willing, I'm going to get to the top of that mountain.
Last Thursday I went out with the A group from Apex. I knew what to expect; it was going to be fast, but I should be able to hang in. The first 27 miles were awesome. It's hard to explain, but in some respects it gets easier to ride the faster you go. For one you learn to stay up front. Also, the faster riders are MUCH more disciplined. Rotations are more strict, and smoother. Big stuff gets pointed out and little stuff gets ignored. I did my share up front in the rotation for the better part of 70 minutes. And then I did something stupid. As we came back up Lewter Shop road the rotations had stopped and riders hung out on the front as they pleased. When my turn came, I kinda stayed out front a little too long and we were going, oh, about, 25 miles per hour. Then bad goes to worse. I saw another group traveling about the same speed as we were traveling perhaps 200 yards ahead of us. What should I have done? Easy. Pulled over, gone to the back, hung on, rested. What did I do? I bridged a group of 40 riders up by maxing out and as soon as I caught the group ahead... I blew up. I watched in self-disappoointment as now 50 riders went by me at 25 miles an hour as I faded to 20, then 19 on down to 18.
Now, the lesson learned was that I didn't ride within my limits. Last night was faster and easier. I rode 41 miles at about a 21 MPH average. Did my fair share up front. Stayed in, rested. Rode smart. Finished with the group. The only criticism I'll give in to is that I spent too much time in the very back of the group where you do get the benefit of draft, but you also pay the price of rarefraction. (Think stretched out part of a spring racing to catch up to the compressed part of the spring.)
All in all I'm feeling modestly confident about my preparation for the Assault on Mount Mitchell. I'm not going to get cocky, but I will gaurantee you that I will prepare to do well in the last 25 miles where the race is either won or lost on a personal level. It's going to be a long day in the saddle. It's going to hurt at times for long periods. But, God willing, I'm going to get to the top of that mountain.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Vonage Sucks
Our experience with Vonage for phone service was terrible. The quality of the service was flat-out unacceptable. Every conversation was peppered by moments of vacuum where you didn't know if 1) you were still connected 2) what you had said was transmitted 3) you had just missed something that was said coming your way. Using Vonage made a the passive experience of simply talking a very active, difficult task. Additionally, on several occasions calls to our house were greeted with, "This number has been disconnected or is no longer in service." WTF? When I called to report this, they asked, 'What service was the incoming caller using?' Like I know this!?!?! It was as if Vonage also thought I signed up to be a tech support case study. I told them clearly that I was paying for a dial tone and that's all I wanted. Ultimately, we could not continue with the lousy quality of the service and the issue of having people calling us hearing that our line had been disconnected. I politely requested Vonage waive the disconnect fee as they had not lived up to their end of the service agreement. They refused. Ironically I've had three people ask me about my phone service in the last week and I did my best to steer them clear of the terrible product Vonage is.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Neet
Today is March 1st and it is indeed here like a lion. We're expecting anywhere between two and six inches of snow to fall over the night and into the morning and as such I'll go no freakin' where near the roads tomorrow. Too many idiots.
Perhaps this is already clear to you, but it's therapeutic for me to type this in regards to all that is going on with the economy. I'm mad because not only is there no penalty for the behaviors that got us into this mess, to the contrary there is reward. My madness boils over when I consider that we - you and me Mr. citizen - are the ones being forced to dole out the rewards with our money.
And while I'm in the bully pulpit it's time to thank some people: Rush Limbaugh, Anne Coulter, Evangelical RepubChristians. You'd think that these people would be humbled by the results that eight years of their ideals in place created. To the contrary, the Republicans now ironically call foul on the stimulus package put forth by the Dems calling it wasteful spending. Do they/you not see the irony in this? And as the conservative right continues to allow people like Coulter and Limbaugh to be their de facto mouth pieces, it only serves to isolate and diminish their narrow views pushing them further from mainstream America and further from majority. Are the Republicans so disorganized that they choose Coulter and a radio show host as their leaders by proxy? Look I'm all for small government, fiscal conservatism, liberty, freedom and family values. But the Republican party should be concerned by the distance between it's core values and the values of a majority of conservative Americans. And don't think I'm completely one-sided on this either. Should the Republicans fail to get their party back on its feet after a slow stumble to the ground over the last eight years, the loss wouldn't be just the party, the loss would be the counterbalance and that would truly be a disaster.
Training for the Assault on Mount Mitchell is going well. I've reached the point where once again it is necessary to shave the legs to facilitate massaging lactic acid out after longer rides that are more and more common these days. It's one level of awkwardness shopping for a razor handle extender in a catalog for the elderly. But when they deliver it and it's not the industrial grey as pictured, but rather Richard Simmons pink; the Gods must be trying to send me a message.
Perhaps this is already clear to you, but it's therapeutic for me to type this in regards to all that is going on with the economy. I'm mad because not only is there no penalty for the behaviors that got us into this mess, to the contrary there is reward. My madness boils over when I consider that we - you and me Mr. citizen - are the ones being forced to dole out the rewards with our money.
And while I'm in the bully pulpit it's time to thank some people: Rush Limbaugh, Anne Coulter, Evangelical RepubChristians. You'd think that these people would be humbled by the results that eight years of their ideals in place created. To the contrary, the Republicans now ironically call foul on the stimulus package put forth by the Dems calling it wasteful spending. Do they/you not see the irony in this? And as the conservative right continues to allow people like Coulter and Limbaugh to be their de facto mouth pieces, it only serves to isolate and diminish their narrow views pushing them further from mainstream America and further from majority. Are the Republicans so disorganized that they choose Coulter and a radio show host as their leaders by proxy? Look I'm all for small government, fiscal conservatism, liberty, freedom and family values. But the Republican party should be concerned by the distance between it's core values and the values of a majority of conservative Americans. And don't think I'm completely one-sided on this either. Should the Republicans fail to get their party back on its feet after a slow stumble to the ground over the last eight years, the loss wouldn't be just the party, the loss would be the counterbalance and that would truly be a disaster.
Training for the Assault on Mount Mitchell is going well. I've reached the point where once again it is necessary to shave the legs to facilitate massaging lactic acid out after longer rides that are more and more common these days. It's one level of awkwardness shopping for a razor handle extender in a catalog for the elderly. But when they deliver it and it's not the industrial grey as pictured, but rather Richard Simmons pink; the Gods must be trying to send me a message.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)