At thanksgiving dinner, I was informed by my hostess that she had seated me next to her husband’s father (his name is Jeff) because he was conservative. I could not have asked for a more engaging dinner companion. He had some great insights into the present political circumstance that I hadn’t ever really considered before, and he had the benefit of experience which gave him some perspective that I just don’t have.

As I listened to him, I was blown away, again, at how marvelous people really are. How rich and deep and interesting and dynamic. I sometimes get into the bad habit of being content with my own life, my body of knowledge, my friends. Then somebody like this gentleman comes in and shakes everything up. We didn’t disagree so it wasn’t a transformation, I didn’t suddenly come to understand and agree with some obscure point. Instead, since we did agree, he gave me a new perspective which solidified what I already knew.

Maybe I’m not explaining myself very well. I guess I was just very pleased to meet him (and many others).  I just hope that I am as interesting when I’m his age.

So this Thanksgiving, I am thankful for Jeff, for my friends, my blog friends, my health (hahahaha!), my family, all  the good things that have come to me over the year – and the difficult lessons which made me so much smarter and stronger.     It’s been a mixed year, but I think 2009 will be better.  I am happy that I have a new friend like Jeff and my old friends like C and Jon with whom I can march into the future.

The Family

I feel a new obsession coming on. I’ve got a lot to say about the mafia, but this weekend, while recovering from my appendectomy, I found myself watching Sopranos nonstop; I had collected them for months on the ole DVR so I had hours and hours and glorious hours of them. Then, after getting Sheila’s opinion of the Godfather, I gobbled a coupla Vicodin and ran to Target for the dvds. I’m still trying to organize my thoughts on the subject, but I think this might become a full-on thing, though I can’t see it displacing Enron or even Sylvia Plath.


Watched the first one. Still processing it. Haven’t seen the second one yet. I’m saving it for a special occasion.

Which Misgivings?


What A Difference A Year Makes

They’re both dismal, but the slope is what really bugs me.



Angelina Jolie's Approval Numbers Worse Than GWB

This article about how Angelina Jolie manipulates the press for a better public image amused me for the last two paras:

Still, such blunders are rare, and Jolie’s Q score, a measurement of a star’s likability, has continued to increase. Around the time she won her Oscar, 13 percent of people surveyed viewed her positively, according to Marketing Evaluations Inc. The average rating for female stars is 18 percent.

Today, about 24 percent of respondents view Jolie positively.

That’s funny because according to the latest polling, President Bush has about a 28% approval.


• Morphine. When the ER doctor said he was giving me morphine, I felt a small illicit thrill. I thought I’d be living on the wild side. As it turns out, morphine hurts. A deep, hot flush moved across my upper body, and then all my major muscle systems seemed to seize up for a moment. A flash of nausea, a little faintness, and then all the pain receded. It was clear and calm. The ER had scale of pain, one to zero, and when I went in, I pinned it at eight. After the morphine, it was zero. I had morphine every three hours until I was discharged. I do not understand how people can become addicted to that stuff.

• I had a few tense experiences. It began when I was in what they called “short stay” which was pre-op. I had nobody with me to take care of my stuff, such as my purse or my clothes. I didn’t want to leave my purse randomly in some pre-op room which would be occupied as soon as I left. I had some cash and cards and my Blackberry and everything else in there. The guys came down to get me for my operation but I wouldn’t leave my stuff there. So this woman who was with another patient came over and said, “I don’t mean to interfere but I used to work in a medical facility and they are following the correct procedure by telling you to leave your purse here.” I said, “Don’t interfere. Go away.” She said okay, bless you and I hope your surgery goes well. Finally a nurse decided to take responsibility for my purse because the surgeon was getting impatient. I gladly gave it to her and rolled up to surgery. Much later, after surgery, I asked for my purse. The nurse – a different nurse – said she had no idea where my purse was. Finally my purse was brought down – and there was nothing in it. My camera, cash, cards, Blackberry – everything of value was gone. I began to cry – I was in a sensitive, powerless position anyway, and this bitch nurse says, “Well you signed a piece of paper saying that you don’t hold us responsible…” I said, “I didn’t say you could steal my shit! Find my stuff! Right now!” After some time, they found that the first nurse had put away my valuables. The bitch nurse said, “You knew they were going to take care of your stuff. Why do you have to act like that?” I wanted to smack her in the face. Later I had my revenge, but for right then, I was just ticked. Later, I got up to use the bathroom. I was wearing two gowns to protect my modesty (one put on front and one on back) and after using the bathroom I realized that one of the gowns had dipped into the toilet. I stepped into the hallway where the bitch nurse was and said, “My gown got wet.” “Just shake it out,” she said. “Can I get a fresh one, please?” She rolled her eyes and walked away. Another woman – a PCA (I think it stands for Patient Care Assistant) – walked in and I asked her for a new gown and she got me one, but didn’t like the fact that I wanted to put it on like a jacket, thereby protecting my naked butt. She said, “You’re putting it on wrong.” “No, I’m putting it on correctly to protect myself.” That morning, some quality control nurse came in and asked how I felt about my care. I told her the truth: there was one bitch nurse and one PCA who was just an incompetent boob. She said she’d meet with them and have a chat. I was pleased.

• The bitch nurse also pissed me off because she lied and said she gave me morphine when she did not. I had asked for some more from a second nurse, and she went to consult with the bitch nurse, who told her I had some. I said, “Consult my chart please, you’ll see I’ve not had anything for three hours.” I was correct. The bitch nurse came in to give me some morphine. She wanted me to have vicodin, and I told her that while the vicodin did a lovely job of putting me to sleep, the pain was still too intense for vicodin to handle. I said, “It makes me drowsy….” She snapped, “So does the morphine!” I said, “And if you’d let me continue, it doesn’t quite blot out the agony of losing an appendix.” In the morning she gave me some morphine without being asked.

• I don’t have health insurance. I am paying for this in cash. I’m not tickled pink to be paying for it – but I’m paying for it because I’m a responsible person and I understand you are not responsible for my appendix.

• I have no help at all. Nobody is here to prepare food or wash my clothes or help me dress. Though at times I dearly wish somebody were here to help me, I am in general very pleased with myself for handling this on my own. I am managing the pain, my clothes, my food – my whole life. Even when I am weak and sick. It’s at least one thing I can be proud of.

• Right before I was discharged, the surgeon came in. She’s a blonde woman in her late 40’s. I asked her if she liked her work. She said, “No.” Then she paused and looked up from my chart. “I used to, but….” When I asked why she no longer enjoyed surgery, she said, “A lot of reasons,” and walked out.

• J told me that when she called to tell him I was okay, she was brusque and kept trying to get off the phone without answering his questions. I found her to be a strange, fascinating person.

The Tradeoff

Hey Evan, I did keep the awesome sox, and even got bonus pair. However, I think giving up an appendix for these sox, however great they are, was just not a wise deal.



Stupid Appendix

This was in the ER



Then they drove me in an ambulance to the big hospital:


These were after the surgery in my hospital room.
These were wonderful sox. I was really thankful for them. Warm and cozy.


See the red thing between the two cups? It’s an inhaler. The doctor oh so casually said, “You weren’t breathing after surgery so we used an inhaler on you.” Thanks.






IV again

The room again.


Got dressed and snapped my IV, which was pretty gross after two days.


About to leave the hospital – my foot and a pile of gowns.


I am home now and in a lot of pain but I have Captain Vicodin so I have moments where I can actually stand up or sit up for two minutes or so.

Stupid appendix.

Post Surgery

I had surgery yesterday and since then have been given a morphine/vicodin cocktail every three hours. It helps with the pain for about 90 minutes then I just try to lie very still and ignore the pain as best I can.

Very strange experience, surgery. The crunch blonde female doctor said hi, the anesthesiologist put a mak over my face and said, breathe deep. I did and the next thing I remember was somebody saying my name and saying I had been out of surgery for hours. Thank the lord for drugs that black you out like that.

I have been told, tho I refuse to actually look and confirm, there are 3 incisions, one of which is through my navel. I feel beat up, too much pain to care that I have 3 scars instead of one. Or none.

There is a rumor that I will be discharged today. If so, ill post my pix of the ambulance ride. And maybe my stitches.

Because really, that’s all that’s going on in my world right now.


Its my appendix. I’m going into surgery and will be in hospital for “a few days”. I suspect that since ill be totally out of it, jeff skilling’s convictions will be overturned.

%d bloggers like this: