gridlore: Doug looking off camera with a grin (Default)
The human body is really amazing.

For example, everybody poops, but did you know that walking is an important part of that particular function? Walking encourages healthy defecation by both conditioning some of the muscles involved and, well, moving things along in the lower intestines. Walking, running. . . even swimming and bicycling all promote healthy elimination.

Yesterday, I walked more than I have in a month, and I ate pretty well for the last two days.

This morning I woke up and found that Ensign Wheatbiscuit is also a fan of exercise, and had escaped. "Healthy" is one word for what followed over the next five hours. Nightmarish and excruciating are another set of good words.

I'm now 2lbs lighter than I was last night, and my lower back is so stressed I can barely stand.

Painkillers onboard, seek and destroy missions are out for the elusive Ensign.
gridlore: Doug looking off camera with a grin (Default)
I guess 2020 couldn't come to a close without one more assault by Ensign Wheatbiscuit. That cunning fool has welded the Solid Waste Disposal Shunt in the maximum output position and has set bombs in the lower reaches of the Fuel Processing system.

For those of you wondering what I'm talking about: https://gridlore.dreamwidth.org/1331742.html
gridlore: Doug looking off camera with a grin (Me - Glare of Sarcasm)
When I was about 6 years old, my family went on a Mexican cruise on the old S.S. Spirit of London. Being unbearably cute, I owned that ship. Being heavily into my Cowboy phase (which was immediately after my Joe Namath phase), I would slide up to any of the bars on the ship and in my best (adorable little) drawl order "7-Up. And put it in a dirty glass."

It seems I'm back to that order now.

A few weeks ago we went to the birthday celebration for my sister's girls. I fully expected to come home with something, and wasn't surprised. I've had a a bad immune system for twenty years. But things kept getting worse. I couldn't eat. I felt like there was an obstruction in my gut. Ensign Wheatbiscuit* was having the time of his life with the waste disposal controls. I couldn't sleep. Finally, Last Tuesday, [personal profile] kshandra and I drove to see my doctor. I asked for a hospital admission. Anyone who knows me at all knows that I loath hospitals. So you know how bad off I was.

In the ER they set me up for labs and gave me morphine. I actually slept for the first time in days. The decision was that I needed to by admitted for no other reason than my Potassium was dangerously low. This has happened before, and can easily kill you.

I won't bore you with hospital stories. It sucked, and Kiri came close to strapping me to the bed at one point when I hadn't had anything by mouth for close to 48 hours. But we did get a diagnosis:

Acute Alcoholic Pancreatitis

I'm not an alcoholic; Hell I've got an open bottle of Jack Daniels that I haven't touched in years. I just like beer and wine, and have been drinking fairly consistently since I got to my first duty station in the Army. For the record, that was January, 1985. I stopped getting shitfaced after I woke up with a tattoo. But years and years of a few beers a day, wine with dinner... they've added up.

So, as of last week, I'm on the wagon. I've been doing some reading and even one can of beer can now leave me in agony. Not worth it. I'm not happy that this wasn't my choice, but I'll deal.

There was one funny thing. I still had about 8 beers in the fridge. I heard one of our twenty-something neighbors leaving and popped out. The conversation went like this:

"Hey, you guys drink Budweiser?"

"Well, man.. we don't really.."

"Stop. Let me put it this way. I just got out of the hospital and can never drink alcohol again. I've got close to ten ice-cold Buds. I can either give them to you, or pour them down the sink. Now, do you guys drink Budweiser?"

"Oh, sure.. love it!"

Sometimes you have to frame the question correctly.

But where from here? We've informed our camp at Burning Man that I will not be partaking, and that if anyone slips up and offers me a beer not to feel bad about it. Thanksgiving will be alcohol free, as will all other such events. We're working on a lower-fat diet for me, and one that focus more on snaking when needed, as I'm still not really good with full meals. Lots of poultry and ground lamb, lots of soups, and even less beef than I eat now. Sadly, I've never cared for seafood.

Overall, I'm good. This is a big adjustment, I mean I've had a beer can in my hand for a long time, but I'll make it.

But I swear, if there's an after life I expect to be greeted with an ice-cold pint of pale lager and a double pepperoni, sausage and garlic pizza. With Parmesan Twists, slightly underdone.

* For the uninitiated, I've described my body and its troubles by describing myself as this vast steampunk device, complete with brass and teak control room and a very, very British crew. Ensign Wheatbiscuit has been running amok for years, obsessed with the Solid Waste Controls, but causing trouble wherever he goes. I found it a kinder way to explain my latest illness with going into too much actual detail.
gridlore: Doug looking off camera with a grin (Wheatbiscuit)
But this time, the advantage is yours!

whimper

Heavily medicated, waiting for repairs to be made to the Solid Waste Disposal Shunt. Ensign Wheatbiscuit, disguised as a gall bladder, was last seen in the vicinity of the left kidney. He is considered armed and deranged.

Update! The Ensign was seen and photographed near the high internal jugular chain of lymph nodes! Anyone spotting him is asked to explain what you are doing in my body.
gridlore: Doug looking off camera with a grin (Keep Right)
It just hit me.

My lungs are filled with fluid. My throat has active colonies of yeast. The conclusion is obvious!

Ensign Wheatbiscuit is running a brewery! Obviously trying to finance a scheme to get more access to the Control Room and shiny, candy-like Solid Waste Shunt lever.

On one hand, the fiend must be stopped. On the other, self-generating beer would be cool and quite a time and money saver!
gridlore: Doug looking off camera with a grin (Death)
Yesterday I got a visit from Ensign Wheatbiscuit. A bad one. Little bugger welded the Solid Waste Disposal Shunt wide open then set off several bombs along the pipes. Let's just say that after five freaking hours, I was exhausted, dizzy, and cold as hell. (Dropping that much mass, plus the inevitable blood loss, equals one cold penguin.)

Crawled into bed fully dressed and tried to get some sleep. Failed miserably. I was achy and had a terrific headache. I think I lay there half awake for six hours with my brain just buzzing. Not thinking, not dreaming, just a full, pounding head. It wasn't until 2230 that I finally felt stable enough to get up and drink some Gatorade before going back to bed to finally sleep. And after spending close to 12 hours in bed, I still slept through to about 0600.

Still a bit shaky, but obviously over the worst of it.

I hate my body.

Grumble.

Sep. 24th, 2010 05:26 am
gridlore: Doug looking off camera with a grin (Bosch)
Ensign Wheatbiscuit has decided to seize the controls. He better be gone before this afternoon. I am not missing another Opera simulcast at AT&T Park! But for now, here I sit with a cleared path between me and the bathroom.
gridlore: Doug looking off camera with a grin (Bosch)
I'm home. Last night, while Kirsten was out with her mom, i decided to hit the restroom and go to bed. Three hours and a hot shower later, I was finally able to get into bed. Not sleep, mind you, but get into bed.

Another massive IBS flare. There has to be a way to control this. I'm making an appointment to see my doctor and find out how we deal with this.

If I sound a bit disjointed, it's because I took a vicodin this morning to deal with everything from the pounding dehydration headache to the expected pain in areas that got overworked yesterday.
gridlore: Doug looking off camera with a grin (Death)
Ensign Wheatbiscut, having escaped the brig in a stunning caper involving a T-34/76 tank, four bottles of Montrachet 1978 from Domaine de la Romanée-Conti, and a Mexican wrestling dwarf, creeps into the control room of the Doug.

The room is eerily empty and quiet. Wheatbiscuit pokes around a bit, finally finding a note taped to the Master Control panel.

Control staff down with the flu. Controls have been set for "recovery", please do not touch! We will resume normal operations soonest. Thank you for your cooperation.


"Why this must mean that I'm in charge!" exclaims the happy Ensign. "First order of business, tea!" After waiting a few moments, Wheatbiscuit remembers that he is the only person there. "Damned inconvenience, having to both give and take the orders."

Soon enough, the kettle is on, and Wheatbiscuit looks around. What to do now? Then he sees it, and his eyes go wide. The Solid Waste Disposal Shunt.. Like a child on Christmas, he rushes over, and jams it to the max, shouting "I'm in charge! I'm in charge!"

From his sickbed, the Captain stares at the ceiling as the alarms sound and the Doug-ship lurches, and says...

(Have fun!)
gridlore: Doug looking off camera with a grin (Death)
OK, when last I wrote I was saying that if things didn't get better, I was going to Kaiser. They didn't, so off we went.

for all the grumbles about Kaiser, the San Jose ER is one of the best I've ever seen. We were quickly brought back, the nurses and staff were great, the doctor wasted no time getting me symptom relief in the form of IV anti-nausea and pain meds.

Ah, pain meds... according to [livejournal.com profile] kshandra my pupils all but vanished within seconds of the drug going into the IV line. But for the first time in over a day I felt comfortable.

Long story short: all the lab work was in acceptable levels. It was decided that a CT of the region would be a good idea. That revealed several enlarged lymph nodes in/around my stomach (I was still quite stoned, and didn't really follow the explanation.) This would explain the symptoms, since the pressure on my stomach would trigger the "he's eaten an entire cow! Purge! Purge! Purge!" alerts in the control room (where Ensign Wheatbiscut is securely tied up in a corner being guarded by four stout Irishmen and a lemming.) Alas, there was nothing to purge, which explained my difficulties in the porcelain reading room.

Came home after about seven hours (much of which I slept through, once the meds were in me) with a bottle of Vicoden for pain management. Luckily, I already have a hemo-oncologist appointment for Monday. We'll probably discuss this at length.

I'm feeling much better. i guess getting the pain meds in allowed me to relax enough for things to slip back into their proper places. Or something.
gridlore: Doug looking off camera with a grin (Me - Google)

  • Yesterday, I had to go to Lodi and Modesto to deliver two boxes. Screw up somewhere along the line in getting the UPS orders out.

  • Sat at the Mission Grade scales for two hours because an inspection found that one of my inside dual tires was flat.

  • This is why I always bring a book.

  • Today, there was almost nothing on my route, but I had to go to Piedmont for a delivery that had a strict 0700-0730 delivery window.

  • Piedmont is a maze of one way streets, all alike.

  • Been dealing with an attack by Ensign Wheatbiscuit.

  • Which was real fun on the road today.

  • This afternoon, we get a notice that tomorrow at 0930 exterminators will be coming through.

  • They want use to clean out all the food, everything under the sinks, and the like.

  • That's not 24 hours notice.

  • Add in the fact that our new garbage disposal is leaking.

  • I want out of here.

  • Added some Slayer to my library. The four powers of thrash metal are now well represented.

  • Anthrax, Megadeth, Metallica, and Slayer, if you were wondering.

  • OOOO...

  • RIBE!

gridlore: Doug looking off camera with a grin (Default)

  • Really nice to get back to driving.

  • Even if yesterday featured me having to do close to eighty miles to deliver two small boxes.

  • A screw-up somewhere in the system resulted in two orders that were supposed to go UPS not making the shipment.

  • Which is why I got to go to Lodi and Modesto.

  • One bad thing. The high stress of the last few weeks coupled with the return to work combined to bring Ensign Wheatbiscut out of hiding.

  • I was not a happy camper Thursday night.

  • The Giants, sadly, seem to be fading. We're running out of chances at the wildcard.

  • We can't hit, and our bullpen is giving up way too many runs.

  • Oh, well. We have a winning season and a strong base for next year.

  • Now watch, the G-men are going to go on a 12-0 run.

  • Slept through a thunderstorm last night.

  • Bummer.

  • Did a quick re-read of In At The Death last week, and I really want to see another series set about twenty years alter. The race to the Moon between the US, Imperial Japan, and the Deutsches Reich controlling most of Europe. Featuring Senator Cassius Madison as a mover and shaker.

  • I now have Heavy Metal Sunday plotted out through the end of the year. I'm organized!

  • Heard from my doctor. My chest CT was referred to an oncologist, and while there's no immediate call for alarm, we're scheduling a follow-up just because I really should have one.

  • Need to hit Costco. Pray for us.

Arg.

Mar. 21st, 2009 07:48 am
gridlore: Doug looking off camera with a grin (Cobra Commander)
Ensign Wheatbiscut! Long time no see! Die in a fire!

iTunes for the win.
gridlore: Doug looking off camera with a grin (Bosch)
After loading my truck I was mugged by Ensign Wheatbiscuit.

Home now, not at all pleased with my body.
gridlore: Doug looking off camera with a grin (Death)
Why it's Ensign Wheatbiscuit!

Luckily, it's a slow enough day that I could hand off my route and come home. I did make sure that Rustam understood that today a US citizen had to do my route. Drop at Larry's Rad Lab, y'see.

I'm going to go die now.

Oh, joy.

Dec. 10th, 2008 09:18 am
gridlore: Doug looking off camera with a grin (Death)
Ensign Pomeroy Wheatbiscuit III is back, and he's been into the cooking sherry. The little bastard showed up yesterday while I was on the road, turning my day into an exercise in racing for locations where I knew I could access the miracles of modern plumbing.

After getting little to no sleep last night, I called in... only to learn that about half the drivers are sick today.
gridlore: Doug looking off camera with a grin (Death)
Ensign Wheatbiscuit is explaining things to the Captain.

"Sir, I was merely telling a tale to the lads when I hit this lever here like this.." clang!

Klaxons, flashing lights, mass panic.

"Mr. Wheatbiscuit," rumbled the Captain, "you are an imbecile."
gridlore: Doug looking off camera with a grin (Me - Drama)
A bit more about my digestive system than most of you want to hear. (Not overly graphic) )

OK, not exactly like that, but trust me, this was more fun to read (and write!) than the more realistic story.

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gridlore: Doug looking off camera with a grin (Default)
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