jamesq | Entries tagged with gratitude

At the beginning of August, I went on a trip to Portland and Vancouver. At that time, my eyesight was fine. Sometime after I got back, I started noticing my eyesight was... odd. I couldn't quite put my finger on what it was, because I had a problem with one eye, but you typically use both your eyes, and so the other eye compensated. I'm sorry to say that I went into bachelor mode and simply assumed that whatever the problem was, it would jut go away eventually.

It didn't go away.

After a week of this, I finally got fed up and decided to investigate exactly the extent of my eye troubles. This included such simple tests as closing each eye and measuring my peripheral vision. And I found that I had lost about a third of the top of my vision. That was troubling enough that I made an appointment with my eye doctor.

Also, the number of floaters in my eye had skyrocketed. Keep the blind spot and the floaters in the back of your mind, so if they happen, you'll seek treatment faster than I did. While a blow to the head can cause this, sometimes it just happens. That was the case with me, though I'm high risk for it (family history, previous cataract surgery, previous myopia, and just plain old age).

Aside: When you call up your optometrist looking for a routine appointment/new glasses prescription, you get pushed off a month in the future. But if you tell them you're worried you're going blind in one eye, they get you in the same day!

Appointment made I go to see the doctor. Exam ensues, and his conclusion is that my retina has become partially detached, but they can fix it with lasers.

“You go to a specialist, and they zap the ends of the detachment with a laser to keep it from getting worse.”

A statement that really under-sells the procedure on multiple levels. Both in terms of just how invasive it is, and also how efficacious it is.

They contact a retina specialist and I get an appointment for the morning two days later.

Two days later, I'm expecting to just see a specialist for an assessment. Little did I know that I was getting onto the roller coaster, and you don't get off a roller coaster half way through the ride. It being at North Hill mall, I opt to bike down. I also skipped breakfast, thinking I would simply have a big lunch after my late-morning appointment.

The specialist confirms my detached retina, and tells me I now have to immediately go to Gimbel to see the on-call optometrist. No one tells me this is because I am going to be treated today. I still think I'm getting assessed. I bike up to Gimbel, because it's on my way home. Knowing what I know now, I'd have biked home and then walked to Gimbel.

Now I'm fine with Gimbel because I'd had two earlier eye surgeries with them. They did a great job, and Dr. V (who did both my Lasik surgery 20+ years ago, and my cataract surgery 7ish years ago) was both an excellent surgeon, and also had a quiet and calm demeanour that puts you at ease. His bedside manner was fantastic.

Gimbel makes me cool my heels for many hours, while occasionally doing random tests. At one point, they dilated my eyes and then left me in the waiting room for three hours – I was worried the dilation would simply wear off before they had a look inside my eye. Finally, I see Dr. W. He explains that I need to have major eye surgery, and that they were going to do it tonight. This put my anxiety at high alert. Ok, surgery, I can handle this. ::breaths heavily::

Then he adds that I would need to spend the next 12 days face down. And I lose my mind.

“12 days?!? I can't spend the next 12 days face down! It's impossible. You might as well ask me to write a concert. How am I supposed to eat? Go to the bathroom? Hell, I can't lay face down in my bed for ten minutes without getting back spasms, and you want me to spend 12 days like that? It would be literal torture!!”

Aside: It was pretty bad, but it wasn't that bad. What they meant was that I would need to spend the majority of my time face down, but I could move around and do things. It ended up mostly being really really boring, inter spaced with sleep deprivation, and the occasional muscle pain. But no one bothered to tell me that.

Dr. W. Barely reacted to my very clear mental breakdown. He clearly did not give a shit. Probably the second worst doctor I've ever had to deal with. When I tell people that, they get the impression that he's a giant prick like Gregory House. This is inaccurate. It's more that the only thing he cares about is your eyes, and nothing else is his concern. Certainly not anything like your mental well-being, or the fact that you're in the midst of a giant panic attack. He was blithely unconcerned about any of that.

Anyway, he handed me off to a clerical assistant who got me to sign consent forms for the surgery, and admonished me to go immediately to Rockyview hospital for the surgery.

I was still in the middle of my anxiety attack when her pen-and-tablet stopped working, meaning I had to sign my name on a screen using a computer mouse. Try that sometime – it's super hard to do and have something that looks anything like a signature, much less your signature. I had to do it while my hands were literally shaking from adrenalin. After about ten attempts, I got something merely horrible, as opposed to impossible. I was very close to just using “x”. She gave me some pamphlets for recovery equipment (literally the closest thing anyone had came to implying my 12 days of torture weren't going to be literal torture).

“Go straight to the hospital.”
“I have to take my bike home – I'm not leaving it locked up here for two weeks.”
“No, you have to go immediately.”
“The doctor is still here, there is no universe where he's getting to the hospital before I get there, even if I do take a 3km detour”
“You're not the only person getting this surgery today. The sooner you get down there, the higher in the queue you'll be.”
“Fine. I'll go straight there.”
“And no food.”

Murray (who is a saint) had a day off, so I was able to get him to come fetch me and my bike, then take me to the hospital. He took my bike back home, and awaited my phone call to come get me post-surgery.

I checked into the hospital and then waiting around for about five hours, because – and this will shock you – the doctor did not get there before me). On the bright side, I got excellent care. Every nurse and porter I encountered, as well as the surgery team, were nothing but empathic and professional. Kudos all around. Except for Dr. W., who still had the warm and cuddly nature of a clay golum. At least he was good at eye surgery.

Waiting for the surgery, I got to hear a conversation between the patient in front of me (different suite and surgeons) and the nurse. He was a diabetic who did everything wrong, and now they were going to amputate his foot. He had a good humour about the whole thing (he admitted it was gallows humour), and made me a little ashamed about how much I had been panicking earlier.

My surgery was a vitrectomy (removal of the fluid in the eye), followed by laser surgery that reattached the retina to the back of the eye. Finally, there was a pneumatic retinoplexy (refilling the eye with a gas to keep the retina pressed against the back of the eye). The gas bubble in my eye is why I needed to stay face down for 12 days.

I haven't worked up the nerve to watch an example video of the procedure (I'm sure it's on YouTube somewhere, if you're curious). Of note it took about 45 minutes and I was awake for all of it. I had the option of general anesthetic, but the anesthesiologist assured me I was in good hands (again, if everyone else can have a decent bedside manner, why couldn't Dr. W.). I also had the option of a silicon gel in the eye instead of the gas. I very nearly went for this because it would have eliminated the need to be face down for 12 days. It would have required a second surgery (to pull out the silicon and replace it with “water” after I'd recovered. Spending so much time waiting around, I had plenty of time to read up on the pros and cons of each surgery. Begrudgingly, I had to accept that gas vitrectomy was the better option.

Another aside: while prepping for surgery, they weighed me and I was way lighter than I thought I was – 275 instead of 290. Still way higher than I like, but it was nice to get some good news that day. Especially given 275 is one of my internal mental thresholds on a day I was doing poorly mentally.

Anyway, after the surgery they sent me home. Murray (still a saint) fetched me and on the way home I finally got a burger to eat. It was around 10pm, my first meal of the day.

I attempted and largely failed to sleep face down. The face down part I stuck to, it was the sleeping part that didn't come. Too much anxiety, too little relaxing.

The next day I followed up with Dr. W. Again, he didn't care about my questions, and just gave me my marching orders. Stay facedown, take four different drops at varying times over the next two weeks. I went home and called Calgary Vitrectomy Recovery and they brought me all the linked equipment, demonstrated all of it, and made my recovery 100% better. Seriously, if someone had just told me about this stuff, it would have saved me a lot of anxiety.

And there was a lot of anxiety. My depression is always near the surface, but this was the first time in years I was seriously thinking about suicide. It was bad. Thanks to the assorted distant support I got during it all, it kept me going until I got used to the recovery. I hate thinking about my mortality, and I had 12 days with nothing to do but sit with my head down and nothing to do but be alone with my black thoughts. If you ever wondered why I bike so much, it's to distract me.

Over the next two weeks, I got a T3 prescription to deal with neck pain (it was bad enough one day that I sought a doctor's treatment). I renewed my library membership (lapsed in my 20s) and downloaded an app called Libby for audio and ebooks. Listened to several novels.

I also came up with a nightly routine to get a small amount of sleep: Strategic placement of pillows and the equipment I was renting allowed about 90 minutes of sleep before soreness woke me up. Then I'd switch to the massage chair, which was actually a comfortable sleep for 60 minutes. Repeat both of those twice per night, and I got enough sleep I wasn't losing my mind.

And how am I doing now?

My eyesight is slowly returning. I think the retina is healed, but the fact that my eyeball has slowly been replacing the gas with fluid means my eyeball is like a carpentry level – the top of my field of view is liquid that I can see through, and the bottom is gas that makes things fuzzy. Right in the centre there's a surface tension line I can't see through at all. Every day, the line moves a fraction lower and I have more vision. I can read and write (obviously) and watch TV, but I'm not safe to drive my car or ride my bike, since I can't effectively shoulder-check to my left. I figure it should all be back to normal by the end of October. The blind spot at the top that triggered all this is gone, so they actually fixed the problem, and didn't just stop it from getting worse. Today is the last day I have to take drops. I have to wear a medic-alert bracelet for another two months, which is also the amount of time I'm not allowed to fly. In both cases, because of the gas bubble in my eye.

Mentally I'm better. Not 100% (or more accurately not even up to my normal 75%) yet, still thinking dark thoughts, but they're responding to my training more now. Being hyper-vigilant about the fragility of my eye isn't helping, but that's not going away until my vision is back.

When I got my diagnosis, one of my thoughts was “I wish it was four weeks from now, and all this crap would be in the past”. Well here I am four weeks from then, and it was all in the past.

So there you go folks. If your eyes go weird, see your optometrist right away, and if it's a detached retina the recover will suck, but not so much that you can't do it. We live in a time and a place where this stuff can be fixed.

Current Mood: distressed
Current Music: Shotgun Down the Avalanche - Shawn Colvin

It’s been a long year, and what was once a chore remains so, but it does feel different. Like, I’ve grown used to parts of it, and bury other parts of it to avoid dwelling on them. Is that healthy? Who knows.

A year ago, there was only the telltale hint of a vaccine for COVID. Today, I’ve had three shots of it, and it looks like I’ll be getting another shot every six months, basically forever. I’m OK with this. The current version, Omicron, is ridiculously infectious, so we’re back to isolating. Or at least, some of us, some of the time. Maybe I’ve already caught Omicron? I had the sniffles last week. If that’s the case, I got off damned lucky.

We’re got another year of this at least. New variants are still spawning, and I’m sure there will be other waves. And those of us who are vaccinated should weather them OK.

COVID isolation is mostly bad - I miss spending time with my friends. I miss travelling. Hell, I miss just going to movies and restaurants. I don’t miss going physically to work though, and if I had my druthers, I’d spend minimal time in the office. Maybe two days a week? $DayJob hates this though, and I’m confident that if it weren’t for the work-from-home-if-you-can order, we’d be back in the office five days a week.

Being back at work would probably arrest my weight gain. I’m already ten pounds over the oh-my-god-never-go-past-this-again weight. My efforts to curb my snacking have failed. I’m kind of resigned to that. It helps that I’m 54 now - I think we can all agree that me ever having a romantic partner is basically nil, and that was about 1/3 of why I wanted to lose weight in the first place. The other 2/3 being don’t die like dad, and it’s just nice to be able to move.

I am doing the Conquerer Challenge again this year, and one of them I’ve decided is going to be directly tied to food tracking. Namely, any day I get 20 wellness wins in WW, I’ll count that as one kilometre of distance on the Ring of Kerry. So far this year: 2 Km. Woo hoo.

The roommate situation is vastly improved. I wrote about this extensively already, so no need to rehash it here except to say:

As predicted, I’ve had no contact with the old tenant.
The new tenant is much easier to live with.

The levels of passive-aggressiveness are vastly reduced.

B2VDSS was uneventful last year, and promises to be so this year as well. And I think I’m put my finger on why. It’s COVID again. Or rather, because no one is socializing, I’m not being triggered by the lack of it. It’s easier to take not being invited to anything if nobody is being invited to anything. Weird, but I’ll take it.

I went on vacation to Vancouver twice last year. Once was a summer road trip and once was a plane ride out for my birthday. Both were a lot of fun, and I managed to see friends, watch movies, eat at restaurants, etc. Hell, just going for a walk someplace with novelty was nice. I even managed, with some educated guesses drop them both near the valleys on the graph of COVID cases. I’d be planning the next trip if I had a hope of figuring out when the next one is.

In summary, physically, mentally, and emotionally I’m doing… ok. Not great, not terrible, just… ok. Under the circumstances I’ll take it. But man, I can think of a zillion ways things would be better.

As you might recall, I got a bunch of gift certificates for CRAFT Beer Market. tl:dr: they had a very minor screw up with a dinner I bought for NYE, and they offered me these as compensation. Then computer issues forced them to double the amount. In the end, I had four $10 certificates that I had to use by the end of the month.

Today, I decided to use them. I'd been putting it off for awhile because they were physical objects I'd have to go into the restaurant to use, rather than a code I could use to redeem online. And because what rudimentary social skills I had prior to the pandemic have basically disappeared, I'd been avoiding it. Still, forty bucks is forty bucks.

My plan was to ask if I could use them at all (they were dine-in only, and I wasn't going to do that), ordering off their online menu, paying the difference, taking a walk, and coming back when it was ready. All very non-standard, so I'd have to quiz them about it. Plan B was to give them to someone who was dining in if that wasn't allowed.

Anyway, I walked in and was greeted by the manager, and the conversation went like this:

"Where can I seat you?"
"Before we get into that, I have questions."
"I have answers."
*holding up the four cards* "I want to use these..."
"You can only use one of those per visit."
"Well, that answers my remaining questions."

(this also flipped my no-need-to-waste-time-with-you switch, as well as my anxiety)

I turned away and walked into the dining lounge and gave one card to each of the first four tables.

"Here, have ten bucks off."
*dashes to the next table without waiting for an answer* because having random strangers acknowledge me - or worse - thank me, would send my anxiety skyrocketing. Though the first table did manage a "thank you" as I dashed past on the return leg.

I head straight for the exit, because I just wanted to leave. I'd done my good deed, and the longer I stayed there, the longer someone might pay attention to me.

"Wait", said the manager, "Are you the person who had us screw up a meal a few months ago, and we couldn't give you an online code because of the computer?"
"Yes, that was me."
"Listen, let me make it up for you. What did you want to order?"

And that's how twenty minutes later I had fried chicken and sides for me and the other Pepperlanders, for free. I do feel bad that I cost them an extra $40 with my stunt. Hopefully they treated it as good PR for those four tables.

I'll have to go back often once I've been vaccinated, since I feel the karmic wheel is really in Craft's favour at this point. Anyway, they have good beer, good food, and bend-over-backwards customer service. Check them out when it's safe to do so.

Wednesday was my cataract surgery. I was anxious as hell to get it done, in both senses of the term. First, I wanted it done because the cataract had gotten to the point where I was effectively blind in my left eye. I was seriously thinking about wearing an eye patch because it was fucking with my vision so much that my right eye couldn't compensate anymore. I was bumping into things I could see, and putting things down on the counter a few inches short of the counter's edge.

I was also anxious because someone was going to stick things in my eye, and remove key bits of it.

So quick background: Cataracts is a disease of the eye's lens, the part behind the cornea/iris/pupil. The tissue gets made wrong and turns into a cloudy hard substance instead of the clear and flexible substance that it normally is. The current fix is to dilate the holy hell out of the eye so the iris is out of the way, then stick a tiny ultrasound/vacuum into the lens, liquify it with the ultrasound and suck it out with the vacuum. Once that's done, an artificial lens is inserted into the space left behind. That lens isn't perfect, but it's pretty good - I'll just need glasses to read or to see far away. Basically, I have a focal point set a few feet ahead of me. Perfect for working on a computer.

I walked to the clinic and got put through the conveyor belt. At one point I speak to the anesthesiologist, who gives a squirt of some anti-anxiety med under my tongue. He also checked out my vitals with some monitor that measured blood pressure (a little high), pulse (normal) and oxygen (dead average). Of note, the machine could also measure "pain" according to the user interface.

"Hey, the screen says 'pain' - what's it measuring when it does that?"
"It doesn't measure pain - it's measuring your BP, pulse, and oxygen."
"I get that it's not doing that right now, but when it does do that, how does it do it?"
"I told you, it's your blood pressure, pulse and oxygen."

Thanks for answering the question in your head rather than the question I asked. I still don't know, and I even asked a Doctor.

I did find out that the method they use for measuring oxygen was first developed for Japanese fighter pilots in WWII so they wouldn't black out. That was cool.

Naturally they put a local anesthetic on the eye. This removes pain, but notably doesn't remove other sensations. They said that I'd feel pressure and it might be uncomfortable. I liken this to the dentist saying something might pinch. They're not wrong - they're just really underselling it.

So here's how the procedure went. I laid down and they made me comfortable. Then they put a cloth over my face that had a hole cut out for the eye (I was asked at each stage which eye, which reassures me - not exactly something you want them fucking up at). They then clamped my eye open so like in A Clockwork Orange. Dr V. came in and described what he was doing in "you're going to feel X" terms just before X occurred. I felt a sensation on my eye that was deeply uncomfortable. You know how uncomfortable becomes pain when you turn it up past a certain point. Well this was uncomfortable well past that point without the pain. It was truly weird. I could then hear musical tones with my ears and a high pitched whine with my left temple. This, I imagine, was the ultrasound/vacuum combination as it was occurring. At this point, I couldn't see anything (my lens was gone). More deeply uncomfortable pressure while the new lens was inserted into my eye. And suddenly it was over! They removed all the equipment and I could see out of my left eye, clearly, for the first time in months. I sat up and spoke with the Dr. V. for a moment, then he was off to do it to someone else (I think they have two rooms for this and he shuttles between them). It was probably less than ten minutes from the time I walked in to the time I walked out.

I was prepared to walk home, but they insisted that I have someone there or at least a cab. This thwarted my original plan of eating breakfast at the mall. I cabbed home and then spent the rest of the day marvelling at my new-found vision in dim rooms. My eye was still noticeably dilated when I went to bed fourteen hours later.

My God, it's full of stars!

During the followup the next day, they dilated my eye again, but not so much. Dr. V wasn't my followup physician, since he was doing more surgery. I did talk to one of his colleagues. Apparently I made an impression on Dr. V. since I was one of his Lasik patients seventeen years ago, and probably one of the first to also have cataract surgery. Also, the rapid nature of my cataract surprised him - it had gotten considerably worse in the three weeks since I was diagnosed, and extracting the lens was difficult because it had hardened so much. It's nice to know that I wasn't just in denial about how bad my eye had gotten - it really had gotten bad fast. Another week and I would have said fuck it, I'm going full pirate eye-patch. My eye-patch would have had a little Jolly Roger on it.

Thinking back, I believe it started last summer. I remember that shoulder checking left was difficult because of glare. I suspect that was the first hints of fogging.

So I can see now. And being a 21st century Canadian, fixing it was simple, easy (for me), and free. I'm deeply grateful for this and I know that not everyone on this Earth is not so lucky as me. I threw a bunch of money at Seva Canada to spread my privilege around.

One final bit of good news: While it's too early to determine what my eventual glasses prescription will be, for now all my old glasses work again. I'm really hoping that's where I settle.

Current Music: Never Look Away - Vienna Teng

Tale One
In which our hero gets a stocking full of goodies which cascades into good fortune for all who live in Pepperland.

I spent Christmas Eve at home watching movies. I was was watching Die Hard (as you do), when my roommate Gerry walks in and hands me a Christmas Stocking full of goodies. "For you", he says, then goes back upstairs.

"Shit", I think, "I forgot to get Gerry a present."

I know Gerry likes whisky, so I decide to hit the liquor store for a last minute present. Right after finishing the movie. The movie ends just after 8pm, and I go throw on my shoes, hoping Ger won't notice me and figure out what I'm up to. Notably, it being after 8pm on Christmas Eve, all of my go-to liquor stores (the big ones with huge selections and knowledgable staff who can answer my whisky questions) are closed. Co-op Liquor, long closed; Liquor Depot, Ditto; Crowfoot, just missed it and I could see the staff inside avoiding me; Costco, wolves roaming the parking lot.

Notably, there are two liquor stores in Beacon Hill Mall. The aforementioned Costco, catering to the typical Costco crowd of suburbanite soccer moms, and Solo Liquor, catering to the dear-god-nothing-else-is-open-and-I'm-desparate crowd. Well in this case that was me.

They had a surprisingly good whisky collection for a store that had half its selling space devoted to pallets of Molson Canadian and Miller Lite. After looking at the assorted bottles for ten minutes I selected a 12-year old blended scotch called The Antiquary. mostly I chose it based on the ad-copy and the fact that it has a cool looking bottle. I might turn it into a decanter when Ger is done with it.

Finally, after about an hour of driving all over NW Calgary on a cold blustery night, I get home and wrap the bottle.

Christmas day rolls around.

Now it was the tradition of my family growing up that you could open your stockings on Christmas morning, but you couldn't open any presents until everyone had had breakfast. I was hungry so I actually forgot about the stocking. I made Ger and I pancakes and then I baked the cookie dough I had made the night before (it had to sit in the fridge for a few hours, and I wasn't going to do any baking at three in the morning).

Finally, in the afternoon, I remember that I actually have the stocking, so I go and check it out. First, the stocking itself is really nice. Inside, a coffee mug with a coffee mug cozy around it, hot chocolate, fuzzy car dice, a lot of candy, and a whoopee cushion!

"Hey Gerry, thanks for the whoopee cushion. Now when I let off a berepper you won't know if it's real or simulated."
"What?"
"The whoopee cushion. And all the other stuff in the stocking... that you gave me... last night. Good grief man, don't you remember what you put in the stocking you gave to me?"
"I didn't give you that stocking. The doorbell rang while you were watching the movie, and when I got to the door there was no one there. Just the stocking."

So I have no clue who gave it to me, just likely suspects. Due to proximity, I figured Blue or Althea, but they're both out of town. That leaves assorted folks in the NW, since my guess is that road conditions ruled out anyone farther. Anyway, Ger got a nice bottle of whisky out of it. I had a wee dram and it seems good to my rum-preferring tongue.

Tale Two
In which our hero's jerk brain punishes him for doing a good deed.

I had an invite to spend Christmas Day with Joel and Colin and I decided to take them up on it. I even bought some mashed potatoes from one of the upscale grocery stores to share with the giant-ass turkey they were cooking up for the two of them. Apparently all Costco employees are given a bird every Christmas. Nice.

Anyway, during the day before I left, I see that my friend Megan is working all day. She's an OB-GYN intern, so a baby doctor. Or given she's an intern, a baby baby doctor. Babies are notorious for not heeding plans and schedules, so she was working Christmas day to catch any babies that come popping out.

I pack my stuff to go to Joel's and add a big box of cookies. Megan had posted a group photo of the Labour & Delivery personnel and I figured they could use some cookies. I omitted any peanut/tree nut cookies in case that would be an issue in a hospital, but make sure there's enough so everyone could have at least one. And then I head off.

I briefly nursed a fantasy of walking out of there with a bunch of phone numbers, because of coursethey'd be that impressed with my baking skills. Hint: That's not how this story ends.

First problem is I get to the unit and can't find anyone. I wander for a bit before I realize I have to get buzzed into a restricted area. I push the intercom button.

"Can I help you?" says the disembodied voice.
Thinking: "I'm in labour".
Actually saying "I have a Christmas present for Dr. Megan."
"Come on in!"

Now what I was expecting was a desk with a head nurse. I'd talk to her and hand off the cookies, or if I'm lucky and Megan isn't busy, they'd page her and I'd give her the cookies directly. Nope. What I got was a dozen smart , good looking women (I'm inferring the smart from their being health-care professionals, the good-looking was self evident) staring at me like I was intruding on their turf. And of course my brain locks up with a combination of whatever-you-do-don't-be-creepy, and bashful buzzard.

Of course, when I think "don't be creepy", I'm in a very real danger of being creepy in the opposite direction that I'm usually creepy. Like if I know I stare to much, I'll end up never making eye contact. or if I think I shouldn't tell off-colour jokes, I won't make any sort of joke at all. I'm not sure what I did today, but I'm sure there was something.

Megan was pleased to see me, but from their reactions, no one else was. While talking with her, I kept looking at everyone else only to see that I had their undivided attention, and no one was speaking. No one was laughing. No one was smiling at all. Probably a dozen women in all, staring and judging. The most positive spin I can put on it was that they were in the middle of some important task and I'd interrupted it. Most negative spin? I'm a cross between Quasimodo and Jabba the Hutt.

I'd have loved to have chatted with her more, because she doesn't make me feel awkward, but damned if I wasn't anxious to get out of there. I was feeling very Shrek-like. Had I known what I was in for, I'd have sprinted in, dropped the cookies on the desk, and sprinted out before the door could fully cycle. Hopefully for humorous effect. This is why I prefer the ghost drop for things like this. You know, like the Christmas stocking.

I hope they enjoyed the cookies, and phone numbers are always appreciated. Ha!

The anxiety went away quickly, and I had a laugh about it with the Joel and Colin later. All three of us knew precisely what that was like and we all did our own self-deprecating riffs on it. I ended up having a pleasant evening watching comedy specials on Netflix with the lads. I've had worse Christmases.

Current Music: Ship of Fools - Robert Plant

I'm actually feeling pretty good overall. I've started running again, and the short runs I've had have not taxed me in any way. I'm not short of breath running, I'm not particularly sore in the minutes/hours/days after. I've been consistently riding my bike to work (we moved in at the beginning of May, and I've yet to drive to work except to pick my bike up when I accidentally ripped the stem out of the front tube). In short, I'm getting plenty of exercise.

I've also be buckling down on Weight Watchers. Still not tracking anywhere near 100% (or even 70%), but I have been eating better. i've cut down on treats, but I still have them. My meals are healthy-ish since I'm eating my greens. I've been back for about six months now and I'm down 23 pounds. I'm officially no longer obese, according to the BMI - merely overweight now.

Short aside about WW. I mentioned I was on it at

wild_wanderer's birthday party and some dude and I had the following exchange:

"I don't believe in Weight Watchers."
"It exists, I assure you. I've been to the meetings."

Most of all, my physique has had a subtle change. Where once my belly stood out and hanged down, now it merely stands out. I haven't dropped a pants size or anything, but everything is fitting better. This was remarked upon by

yainga who noticed that my kilt was fitting much nicer. Thanks Inga, I noticed it too!

My Plantar Fasciitis seems to be all better now. Six months of physiotherapy and not carrying around an extra frozen turkeys-worth of mass seems to have finally fixed that. Also, my knees are noticeably less creaky.

Oh, and I just checked my blood pressure at one of those pharmacy kiosks. It is normal. Given it was sky-high a year ago, I'll take it.

Finally, I'll be interviewing with a doctor sometime this month about getting into their regular practice and starting regular checkups. With luck I won't need the simvastatin I haven't been taking.

Physically, I'm doing pretty good for a guy who's pushing 50. Woot.

My financial situation is excellent. House paid off; a nice little nest egg building up; and I just exercised a stock option that should give me a nice windfall soon. Some SAIT students drew up some plans for a laneway house which I'm considering. It's low odds now until I get some other feedback, but it was nice to see that it was possible. If I don't go through with it, I might downsize to a townhouse, or keep my current place and do some renovations. My neighbour just sold her place, so I have a pretty good idea what my place would sell for. I'm not ready to retire, but it's starting to look like I could. Being a Gen-Xer, I honestly thought that they'd cart me out of work in a pine box.

Mentally, I'm in a decent place. Not ideal, but an ideal mental state requires things I don't have, so I'll take decent. Work has been well paying and is somewhat rewarding. I'm looking forward to my next big vacation next month (Vegas/Vancouver/Nelson). I mostly keep the existential angst and loneliness at bay with good cognitive-behavioral training.

So there you have it. Everything is looking up. *knocks on wood*

My uncle Tim is a scrounger. One of those guys who can sniff out deals from here and there. The whole family got together a few weeks ago after my brother died, and we ended up chatting about that.

Tim told me the tale of Vince and Vince's stuff. Vince (I never learned his last name, despite an interesting hour reading obituaries) never had a social insurance number, but over his life went from basically poor, to being the salvage king of Calgary. When he died, he left his widow a bunch of property, several million dollars, and a warehouse full of personal crap. You see, in addition to being a self-trained salvage expert, Vince was also a hoarder. A very rich, very well-organised hoarder. Which is to say, there was a ton of random stuff, but it was fairly well-labeled and properly stored.

The widow, being set for life, not having any children to worry about, and not wanting to deal with a warehouse full of constant reminders, decided to simply get rid of it. So she contacted a bunch of people who had worked for her husband and told them to come help themselves. These guys were all contractors (like Tim), so they weren't afraid of hard work. They also were the people most likely to appreciate Vince's stuff, and most importantly, had big pickup trucks.

Tim came and got a bunch of stuff. Amongst his haul:

Over a thousand dollars worth of scrap copper. Tim, feeling a little guilty, offered to split the cash with her, but she wouldn't have any of it. She was already rich.
Tons of well-maintained vintage hand tools.
An electron microscope. He ended up selling it to a high-school science teacher, who spent several hours in Tim's garage confirming that it worked.
A barrel of liquor.

Which bring us to the crux of this story.

Tim and another fellow figured the barrels would be worth something, so they started to empty them into the toilet. Tim realized right away, from the colour and the smell, that this wasn't something that should be poured away, and they ended up scrounging every empty bottle they could find in the warehouse, to decant what turns out to be really good port. Well, technically fortified wine, since you can't call it port, unless it was made in Portugal. That said, I'm just going to call it port. Fuck the EU.

Subsequent investigations revealed that Vince had made the port himself, and it had been sitting in that barrel since somewhere between 1955 and 1960. Most likely 1959. Tim and the other contractor decanted it in 2011. At a minimum, it was in that barrel for at least 51 years, and possibly 56. Because I like round numbers, I'm going to call it 50-year old.

He also thinks it's somewhere in the vicinity of 30% alcohol. Tim has long since hit the age where drinking is often more trouble than it's worth, so has more than he can personally use.

Unrelated, I'm thinking about having a bathroom renovation done (depending on whether my laneway house project proceeds or not), so I invite Tim over later in the week to have a look.

"When you come over, I'll trade you some peanut butter squares for a bottle of that port."
"Deal."

Having divvied up the existing peanut butter squares, I figure, I'll make a fresh batch. I figured, if he gave me a wee bottle, he'd get a quarter or a half of the batch. He brought me a gallon; 160 fluid ounces; Over four litres! I just gave him the whole damn batch, and if he asks for more, it's his. I priced out 50-year old port that's available commercially. That stuff is dear.

Since I didn't want to keep all my port on one huge-ass bottle, I've split it up. All told, I filled 2x750ml, 1x650ml, 2x500ml, 2x375ml and (unshown) 1x200ml bottle.

nosarious and I were getting high off the fumes.

Left: the big-ass jug. Right: seven bottles of awesomeness!

So how is it? It's easily the best port I've ever tasted. Hell, you can get drunk off the fumes, and it's smooth. As friends describe something this easy-drinking, "it tastes like waking up in a field." I think I'm going to be very popular when I bring some to a cocktail party.

It occurs to me that, as an 80% vanilla, straight white male professional who would like to be in a happy monogamous marriage, a lot of conservative policies wouldn't hurt me directly.

Nope, all of the hurt (and there would be plenty) would be indirect: by restricting the choices of the people I love; by reducing the pool of talented people society can benefit from; by removing the vast variety we've become used to; by simply making this a meaner world, were bullying and persecuting those who are different is acceptable.

But mostly, that grip would tighten more and more, until my own hurt would no longer be indirect, because the people who want to regress will never stop until we are all the same. I don't want to be the same as everyone else. I especially don't want to be the same as the likes of them.

In the end, I have to acknowledge that Martin Niemöller was right.

Current Mood: determined

You can negotiate with terrorists.

That's more than a little unfair - I've had physiotherapists before, for assorted injuries. They've never asked for more than I could give - their rep comes from you not realizing that. Besides, I've felt more beaten up from psychotherapy sessions.

I've had a fairly minor running injury that's been plaguing me for a few weeks. I took a break from my training for a week due to a cold and on my first run afterward I managed to sprain my calf.

Swell. So I waited a week to let it heal and then went out for a nice easy run. And it sprained again in the exact same spot.

Wonderful. Again, I wait a week and go for a nice easy run. And it sprains again in the exact same spot.

I may be a slow learner.

That was Sunday and today I went to see a physiotherapist. The verdict? I've got a micro-tearing where the medial Gastrocnemius muscle joins the Plantaris tendon. The Soleus muscle is likely inflamed too. This isn't so severe that it's affecting my life poorly aside from not running. I can walk long distances and it only really bothers me when I climb a lot of stairs. Compared to my 2nd degree hamstring injury a few years ago.

My left leg is simply weaker than my right leg - possibly just because that's the way things are and possibly due to that earlier injury. By laying off the running for a week, I'd lost some tone, then re-injured it whenever I started again, putting myself into a vicious circle. In short, the injured portion takes a lot of the impact when my left food lands, and provides a lot of the force when I push forward. It's one if the most heavily strained portions of my body when I run.

Thankfully my physiotherapist gave me a nice road-map to recovery:

Three weeks no running.
I won't be sitting on my ass those three weeks - I have a stretching/strengthening regime that will be my new religion for the next few weeks, and possibly beyond.
Start running again, but do so conservatively. This will probably be a walk/run program like I often do in the spring.

Current Mood: sore
Current Location: Biting the Hand
Current Music: Anne Boleyn The Day Thou Gavest Lord Hath Ended - Rick Wakeman

For dealing with depression:
* find one beautiful thing, however small, and pay close attention to it
* promise yourself that everything will be easier to face in the morning, and clear the way to going to bed as soon as possible
* remind yourself of a past success, and tell yourself if you did that you can do the next thing on your agenda
* break big challenges into small steps, do one or two of the small steps, then give yourself credit for "starting on the big thing"
* stagger your big-thing struggles so that you've got different ones finishing at different times; success at one will give you momentum for one you're partway through
* try to eat right, sleep enough, get exercise, get daylight

Source.

Thankfully not depressed right now, but it's been skulking around the corners of my mind of late. I blame lack of exercise. Normal coping strategies have been effective thus far. Still, I read the above and thought "Good advice".

( I was tackled and had a bucket dropped on my head... )

Current Mood: grateful
Current Music: Lets Go Crazy - Prince

( Sunday, October 7th, 2007, approximately 9:35 am... )

The polling was a sucess despite my inhernent ability toscre w thing s up. Eveytehyr ht wen dt good and the bake sale that wen ta llong with it raises enoguht money to offset the costs of part of it. Also I got to hang out with lots of cool folks so that was OK.

As you might gather from my ideisyncracti spelling that I'm drunk. fsI figure I dserve to have few dringk s on account of my successufly organizing of the polling.

It'll be awhile before I hear the results, but I'd be srprised if 'thuk and Wilma weren't acclai,med.. But what do I know?

Afterwards, I went with

minyata (accomponied by

cat_cetera) to her company Xmas party.

garething and

stephtopia joined. Also we met CV there, who is also an electrician , alng with G. We specualted on some of the c;assic cars that were at the venue (Gasoline Alley at Heritage Park) - specifiacally my cunning plan:

1) get agirlfriend who is into Edwardian Cosplay.
2) BReak into GAsoline Alley and find 1915 car that looks just like the Renault that sank on Titanic.
3) recreate the "jack and Rose Consumate their relationship" scene from Titanic.

Woot.

Eventually we all realzed that none o fus ewant ed to be at a company Christmas prty and we all want d to drink our faces off andplaey Rockband. So we went bwck to my plac.e

We started drinking. but te Televeision was in use so wer had a nice conversation about sex toys, fantsy novels appropriate fo r 11-ear olds (not simultanelusly) and the unfortunately implications of being abandoned in SOutherna Cliforna.

HOLY SHT MY TYPING IS ATROCIALUSLT...

I cn do better then this:L As I'll demonstrate:

"Extinct Pleistocene Megafauna"

A! I can spell, if I concentrate.

Back to thge narriative,.

The conversation was plesant, but we had some trouel (owing to a PS3 System update) getting started. People began drifting off,. Then it was fnished and we decided to play a few sets, which was fun.

Now I'm posting drunk for no real reaons. The demons and my ego are battling in my brain. Trying to decide ifI'm, cool or not. "I think your cool" says

conejita_diabla. Awwww. Weirdly I don't vcare who whins. I'm just drunk and happy and if I wasn't so tired, I go for an ill-advicsed jog. I love feeling this way and it's hard to actuallyu pull it off. Probaly blew ay chance f hitting my ewihgt goal this week, but who cares.

And now they're back to playing WoW. I could keep going, expressinga all kinds of deep dark secrets, but I own't - mostly becayuse I'm getting drinker.

stephtopia explained a mechains tof his, so I have no realy cohoice but to believe her.

Plans for the week:

1) Skull Island Superherose tomorrow. Might inclued Gnsters.

2) Tuesday night I plan on drinking at the Hpo in Brww.

3) My sohort vacation starts. Wednesday. I'm thinking afternoon trip to Banff (DAMMIT) whith a luch at the Bison Cafe and a soak in the hot springs. Dinner at Cheese Cake Cafe south here in Cowtown.,

4) SCA tavern.

5) Coronet ont he weekend!

Sp yeha, I'm feelin pretty good right now.l Hopefully I'll remember to rn tomorrow, since s kieppled today.

Ok, TIREd and drunk now. Godd night everyone. Post a reply if you know womeone who thinlks I', m sexy. Cause I need a litttle validatins.
Validation even.

Current Mood: drunk
Current Location: Pepperland.
Current Music: Some cornballs playing WoW behind me.

Things I'm currently grateful for:

Old friends.
New friends.
My health.

Good things last week:

Only gained two pounds, despite Estrella, Vegas and not getting back on the wagon immediately. Normally I'd be pissed, but all things considered, I'm happy It's not 5 pounds higher.
Having people praise my cookies.
Getting lots of warm fuzzies from my friends, courtesy of the avalanche meme.
Getting over stupid emotional BS quickly.

Looking forward to:

The weekend.
Doing a little shooting.
Being able to enjoy a pint at the pub tonight for a change.
A successful week in WW.
Running on Sunday, first time in over a month.

I've been feeling low-grade crappy all day and I just assumed it was post-vacation depression. I was going to make a post bitching about my lot in life. Then two things happened that clued me in.

1) Couldn't actually think of anything to bitch about.
2) The onset of other physical symptoms indicating I'm not depressed, I'm actually just ill.

I'm sick! Yay me!

As for the writer's block, the fact that I can come up with three good things in my life tells me the block was just over the subject matter.

Gratitude:

1) I gained weight over my vacation. I'm not grateful for that per se. I'm grateful for the mental eureka moment I had about it yesterday: Weight gain is just another form of payment. I spent money and time going to Scotland and I also paid in weight gain. I've accepted that that's just the cost of doing business. I'm grateful for that knowledge. It will help over the next few weeks as I recover.

2) I'm grateful to be able to make that kind of trip.

3) I'm grateful to be in the familiar surroundings of home again.

Bonus:

4) I have friends who actually missed me. It's nice to know that my presence has a positive impact on the world.

Current Music: And We Danced - The Hooters

The Doom That Came to Cowtown

Entries tagged with gratitude

Navigation

Retinal Detatchment

State of the James 2022

Craft Dinner

Me and Steve Austin Have More in Common Than Just Our Rugged Good Looks

Two Christmas Tales

The State of the James

The 50-Year Old Port

Why Privilege is no Excuse

What's the Difference Between a Terrorist and a Physiotherapist?

Some Advice From Making Light

Meme-oires 18: My Favorite Birthday

Meme-oires 08: A Moment in Great Detail

Another Drunken Post, 'Cause what the hell...

Because Shit Washes Off

Gratitude

When Sadness Isn't

Profile

December 2024

Syndicate

Most Popular Tags

Page Summary

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags