Category: Wellbeing

Except for the television displaying the static default “DVD VIDEO” picture, the room is dark. Well, that’s not exactly true, I shouldn’t forget the small amount of light my beloved PowerBook is producing. My month old son is sleeping peacefully about six feet to my left. My feet are stowed in their full, up most position. My son finished eating his last meal about two hours ago. My daughter went to bed right after that. My wife went to bed several hours before that. Since then the television hasn’t done what it’s best at (displaying moving pictures). There was an aborted attempt to pick a DVD an hour and a half ago, but I’ll get back to that in a moment. I haven’t done any reading. I haven’t done any housework. I haven’t played with any of my computers. I haven’t taken a nap. I haven’t done anything I would be embarrassed to explain in this space. So what the hell have I been doing, short of doing my best impression of a chronic, vegetative state? In the last hour and a half I’ve made three trips to the kitchen and back (from our family room). I’ve eaten two Twix bars, drank one glass of berry burst Gatorade, opened and stared into three different DVD boxes, and gave some serious thought to how entertaining all of this would be to my faithful readers.

Yeah, I really blew that call.

Welcome to the constituency of one. It’s a magical place where expectations are only as high as you choose and there are no repercussions for prolonged inactivity, so long as your temperament can stand it. Words can not describe how, (enthusiastic grunt), it can be.

On the evening of the third day (of the work week), John created absolutely nothing – and it was good.

I was just talking to my wife today, and I was remarking on what an experience these last two weeks have been. It turns out it’s true what they say; every child is different. It may seem like an obvious thing to say, but when has that ever stopped me.

As it turns out, an overwhelming need to express the sentiment du jour is not why I’m writing this entry. It’s almost 3 a.m. in new parent world, and I’ve got the mother of all headaches (which is completely unrelated to being a new parent – which I’ve found to be kind of cool the second go round). Normally I would take a patient approach to home pain management. Based on an aversion to medication, I start with the recommended O.T.C. dose of ibuprofen and follow that up with a hit of Sudafed – but only if the ibuprofen doesn’t work first. The problem with this strategy is two fold. First, it’s 3a.m. Second, Sudafed tends to make me a wee bit stimulated (re: high as a kite in a significant wind event). The nighttime backup plan is to go for something with a little antihistamine thrown into the mix. After all, my headaches are often allergy related anyway. The real benefit of an O.T.C. antihistamine at 3 a.m. is the side effect, namely that it may cause drowsiness. Lying in bed waiting for the ibuprofen to kick in, I don’t mind a little drowsiness.

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Earlier in this entry I mentioned the drug Sudafed. I was about to use what I believed to be the active ingredient in Sudafed in this entry, instead of the brand name. My sole purpose in doing so was to make you all believe that I was smarter than I really was. Alas, I was riddled with doubt, prompting me to do a little fact checking. That led me to some interesting information (for 3 a.m. anyway). Did you know that one of the active ingredients in Sudafed is Paracetamol. Acording to the folks at this web site: http://www.netdoctor.co.uk/medicines/100004972.html, “Paracetamol is a medicine used in the treatment of mild to moderate pain. It is also useful for reducing fever. It is not fully understood how paracetamol produces these effects.” I don’t know about you, but my funny bone gets a big ‘ole kick in the ass when a medical professional tells me they don’t know why a certain medication works. I get this mental image of Fred, my imaginary medical test subject, trying out a new drug for hair loss. In my imaginary medical trial, I see a group of health care professionals gathered around Fred asking him how he feels after taking “Paracetamol.” Fred replies, “well doc, I don’t feel any hairier, but I’ll be damned if my sinus pain hasn’t gone away!” “Well smack my ass and call me Judy” the doctor replies – borrowing a line from his favorite character on Friends, “it sure beats the hell out of me to tell you why. Are you sure you don’t have any more hair?”

What, your imaginary friend doesn’t volunteer for drug trails too?

Realizing you have done more before 6 a.m. than you usually do all day is a sobering thought. Army recruiting adds not withstanding, it kind of makes me want to go out and fix the sobriety problem. Ah, but I’m a stimulant kind of guy. What use would I have for America’s Favorite Depressant?

Earlier this morning,

It was a mere five hours after I laid my head down to sleep when I had the urge to pee. I went into the bathroom and turned on the lights. What I saw there was troubling, blood.

“Cheryl, are you awake?”

“Huh?”

“Cheryl, are you awake?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you bleeding?”

“WHAT?”

Just like that we were off to the hospital. Cheryl got checked in, Cheryl’s mom arrived to bring Beth back home, and Super Dad sat down with his trusty clipboard and filled out forms for insurance purposes. After the clock shed several hours, and my body shed several degrees of core body temperature, we returned home with a mother and a (still unborn) child with a newly certified clean bill of health.

Now if dad could just find a few spare hours to make up some sleep we’d be back in business. Ah, but this adventure is just beginning and the brochure doesn’t say anything about sleep.

Today I went back to the dentist, and I’m here to tell you that it was the worst dental experience of my life. In order to make such a strong statement; surely I must have had extensive work done? Root canal, gum surgery, multiple wisdom tooth extractions? No, it was just a routine cleaning.

Back in the day, I recall dental professionals using a simple metal pick to remove build up along the gum line. Apparently, progress in the dental arts often involves more power – like some bizarre real world episode of Home Improvement. If you can imagine Tim Allen as a dental hygienist, then you can imagine what today’s cleaning was like. Yes, this time the metal pick was trailing a cord – the first sign of danger. By the time the hygienist was done I was quite sore. Sore gums, sore shoulders, sore neck, sore fingers – you get the picture. It was the kind of muscle fatigue you gain from every muscle in your body remaining in a constant state of contraction for twenty agonizing minutes. But I’ve got to give that hygienist some credit, not once did she ask me to relax. Now there’s someone who really enjoys her work.

Dear lord! Was that woman looking for metal deposits? I’m sure she was finding plenty of iron, but I hear it’s a bitch to extract from hemoglobin. Maybe she was having a flashback from her harrowing days on an oil platform? I would have gladly given her any information she wanted, if only she would have asked me a question.

The hygienist greeted me with a lecture about the perils of periodontal disease. Who would have guessed she was going to spend the next twenty minutes trying to create the symptoms by hand?

I return to work after a four day layoff something less than refreshed. There are now two storms down, with one possibly to go. A slight relaxation deficit, combined with a computer system failure, conspires to make this a very long morning. It’s a classic story, really. Who among you haven’t sat idly at work while everything around you refused to cooperate? Who hasn’t wished they could really boot their computer (out the window)? And when that didn’t suffice, who among you hasn’t been more than ready to re-boot it (repeatedly)?

Here’s some news that just came in over the (phone) wire, a seven year old girl in Dunedin has just regurgitated copious amounts of previously consumed foodstuff. Eyewitnesses on the scene report that the girl was not feeling well prior to breakfast, and that the events to follow were not entirely unexpected.

Today is just one more day in the life of a typical suburban warrior, facing the challenges of fatigue and boredom head on – with the help of America’s favorite stimulant. When am I finally going to get off this caffeine kick ‘o mine? I figure in about six hours. The real question is: what will I do then?

Nineteen years ago I was a freshman in high school. That year, Labor Day weekend was a bit of a disappointment, courtesy of Hurricane Elena. Labor Day weekend is upon us this year and it appears it may be a washout again, courtesy of Frances. I hope all of the folks on the east coast are ready. No offense, but I hope us west coast folks don’t ultimately have to be.

The forecast for Hades today calls for a high around twenty-eight degrees, with a chance for light snow flurries by evening. Those of you coming across the river (Styx) this morning need to watch out for some ice on the bridges. Otherwise, it should be a pleasant change from all of the hot weather we’ve been having over the last few millennia.

I had an appointment with a chiropractor.

To many this is not a big deal. To me, it’s like swearing that the Earth is really flat, taking two shots of snake oil for my tired bones, giving Elvis a call to see what he’s been up to lately, and laying down for some R & R on my memory foam bed.

The actual appointment was everything I expected it would be. There was more snap crackle and pop than a cereal commercial. The session was more WWF than MD. There are precious few parts of your body that were designed with that kind of cracking and popping in mind; and your spine, that thing that makes a good 95 % of your motor function possible, is not one of them. Me? I like motor function.

To finish me off he put me in a solid head lock, tensed up the muscles in his forearms, and said “don’t worry, just relax.” Faster than you could ask “have you ever killed someone?” my neck did some serious cracking. The doctor misread the look in my eyes as euphoria ala pain relief. He asked, “How do you feel?” He was expecting me to say I felt better. “Lucky to be alive,” I replied.

O.K., O.K., that was the fantasy response. That’s what I would have said if I were feeling frisky yesterday morning. Instead I just lamely asked, “Is that it?” “Yes” he replied, “no more torture for today.”

That has to wait for my follow-up visit on Friday.