Category: Wellbeing

I feel a crushing weight of despair over the Bucs early morning loss to the Colts. I stayed up to the bitter end… if only I had gone to bed while they were way ahead. I would have gotten a poor night’s sleep, but at least I would have slept. Now I’m up, as alert at 1:30 a.m. as I would be at 1:30 p.m. The upside to all of this is that I won’t spend a lot of time falling asleep – there’s not enough time for it.

Tomorrow’s forecast calls for lots of sugar, with isolated doses of caffeine.

Reader beware: Monday night football + work day x early morning meeting = tomorrow. Stay back at least 50 feet. You have now been warned. The author will not be held responsible for any harm that may come to readers who fail to yield as directed.

The only constant in life is change. It may be a bit of an oxymoron, but that doesn’t make it any less true. I am reminded of this constantly at work. We are in the middle of a mass exodus, as my teammates move on to other opportunities outside the agency or are transfered to other work units within the agency. Someone I’ve worked with for six years has just packed the last of his things and carted them over to another building. I am one of three people left from the day I started eight years ago. In a way I feel like I’m in an old fashioned western – call it “The Last Man Standing.” Time continues to pass and things continue to change, but tomorrow is still another day. Although wary of past changes gone bad, I am buoyed the ones that have beaten the rap of cynical expectations.

I’ve got next.

The youngest member of the Kauffman clan, version 1.0, is celebrating a birthday today. Hooray! Altogether, but off key, everyone… “HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU. HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU. HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR YOUNGEST MEMBER OF THE KAUFFMAN CLAN VERSION 1.0… HAPPY BIRTHDAY TOOOOO YOUUUUU!”

My cold lingered into last week. Since it had been one week too many, I went to see my assigned health care professional. At this point I was given a script for antibiotics and instructions to consume probiotics. Well, the good news is that my original cold symptoms have all but abated. Unfortunately, the antibiotics have waged a savage war with my digestive system. Being the good patient, I have dutifully consumed mass quantities of active culture laced yogurt. This time around, I’ll take the cure over the cold – but it’s no slam dunk. SIDEBAR: I had an interesting conversation about “the placebo effect”. It all started with an innocent question: “do you get a placebo effect if the patient is not sure that a drug will work?” Hey, I thought it was a good question. Anyway, it turns out that placebos are not as well understood as I thought (particularly by me), and it is not always clear that the standard psychological explanation is the only explanation. I was feeling better, I had taken the antibiotic, and I was not sure it would work. I wondered if “the placebo effect” could have been the reason I felt better … and that hasn’t changed since my conversation about placebos. YOU HAVE NOW REACHED THE END OF THE SIDEBAR. Either way, the balance sheet leans towards “feeling better” so I guess I shouldn’t be complaining. But what fun is that? And just think, if I hadn’t brought it up I would know less about placebos. Can you imagine going through life not knowing about placebos? Do someone you love a favor, talk to them about placebos. They’ll be glad you did.

You are hanging a shelf in your daughter’s room. There are holes on the back side of the shelf that mount on screws in the wall. You carefully measure the distance between the center of each hole. You recheck your measurements a second and third time, just to make sure. You mark the spots on the wall where holes need to be drilled with your trusty level and ruler. You drill the holes in the wall and insert the mounting screws. You pick up the shelf and mount it on the screws – only you can’t because the screws don’t match the holes. You survey your surroundings to see which object in the room would be best for practicing a ritual killing on your wall. Seeing that driving a screwdriver through the wall will not improve the situation, your mind downshifts into damage control. You decide that you could drill more holes a safe distance from the old holes, and still cover up the old holes with the shelf. Having tried and erred, you decide to try something else. It turns out that something else works.

There is no feeling in the world like turning a ten minute project into a one hour project.

It is twenty minutes past noon. Do you know where your attention is?
Today is the fourth sick day I’ve taken this month. I can’t remember when was the last time I’ve spent so much time at home sick. No, I take that back. There was that case of the flu in 2001 that kept me out for a week. Ah, those were the days.

My mouth is watering. My stomach is making noise, the kind that other people can hear. Foods that I would not otherwise like seem… palatable. Even cheese.

Yeah, no… I’ve got to take that one back. No coagulated sour milk for me please.

The time has come for some serious hunting and gathering. With the comforts of 21st century society, no tools are necessary. All I need is the will and desire to rise to my feet and walk to the cookie jar. Thank God for processed foods, grocery stores, and wives that don’t mind doing all of the shopping.

Yesterday, I was feeling unwell. Today, I am feeling less unwell. This cold has been an absolute blast and all, but I’m ready for the day when I don’t need to give Cheryl the daily report on the color of my ejecta.

Would you believe that the automatic spell checker on my word processor did not recognize the word ” ejecta “? What is this world coming to? Next time you’re out in public, do your little dictionary a favor and work the word “ejecta” into your conversation. You’ll be glad you did.

One of two things is going on in my house: either one of my favorite universal laws has suddenly become less universal, or I’m putting on mass.

Have you ever heard of Occam’s Razor ?

There are two big growth spurts in life. You get taller in your teens and thicker in your thirties. I am soon to be thirty-two. It would seem that the 30’s thickening is well under way.

WARNING: SOME OF THE DIALOG HAS BEEN EMBELLISHED FOR THE SAKE OF ENTERTAINMENT. THE AUTHOR TAKES LITTLE FOR GRANTED, AND HOPES THAT YOU ALLOW HIM LICENSE TO USE THE WORD ‘ENTERTAINMENT’ IN THE BROADEST SENSE POSSIBLE.

It was two years ago… An eye doctor told me I had “dry eye”. He advised me that there were two “drains” in your eye, and that plugging one of them would help keep them “wet” by decreasing the tear outflow. I remember asking him at the time: “what happens if the plugs fall out?”

“Then they fall out.”

Yesterday my eyes were driving me crazy. If you suffer from allergies then you may know what I’m talking about. My eye itched like there was a parasite burrowing in the soft tissue in the corner. There was no parasite, just a little silicone plug. I get home and look at me eye up close in the mirror. Is that a tiny mushroom growing from the corner of my eye? NO, ITS THE PLUG BOSS, THE PLUG!

I’m sitting in the lobby of the “Doctor’s Walk-in Clinic”. I’m the last one waiting, twenty minutes from closing. The nurse calls me back.
Nurse: “What seems to be the problem?”
Me: “Well, two years ago my eye doctor inserted silicone plugs in my eyes to prevent the flow of tears away from my eyes – to keep my eyes from drying out. I think one of them is coming out and irritating my eye.”
Nurse: “….” (otherwise known as the blank stare)
Me: “Did I just grow horns?”
Nurse: “I think you’ll have to explain that one to the doctor. I’m not sure what to write here.”
Doctor (walks in): “What seems to be the problem?”
Me: I explain it again.
Doctor (moves away from me, his hands in the air, a look of fear in his eyes): “….”
Me (helpless): “….”
Doctor: “I’m not going to touch that with a ten foot pole.”
He leaves me in the room. On his way out he tells me I need to go to the ER and seek more specialized treatment.
I walked in a patient. Those moments in the examining room all anyone saw was a plaintiff. I did not pay on my way out. They didn’t ask either.

I go to the ER. I’m really happy about going to the ER. I have a theory about ERs. Too many people seek treatment from the ER. Too many problems can wait for a family practitioner. This problem is fixed, in part, by making the wait almost intolerably long. People get the idea that it’s going to be a long wait if they go, so they don’t go unless its really an emergency.

I’m on my last chapter of Russian classic “War and Peace” when the “certified physician’s assistant” comes in to see me. I give him the scoop. He tells me he’s never heard this one before. I tell him silently that this is not comforting. Just how many patients appreciate hearing that the medical professional has absolutely no practice treating their problem? “Wow! That one’s a new one for me! Nurse, get me some forceps and the sharpest thing you can lay your hands on. Oh, and tell Biff we need a hand in exam room six.”

O.K., here’s what really happened. The “certified physician’s assistant” came in, I told him my story, he said he never heard that one before, he takes a look, says “yep, I’ll be damned, there it is. I need to call the opthamologist on call and get right back with you.”

I’m reading about Jean Valjean catching up with Cossette just as the “certified physician’s assistant” comes back. “I’m just going to give you a quick eye exam. I’m going to put some drops in your eyes. It’s not going to be pleasant, but it should only sting for 30 seconds.” “Holy shit”, I’m thinking to myself. My muscles tense as the “certified physician’s assistant” approaches with the dreaded drops. My head goes back. The “certified physician’s assistant” brings the drops up to my eyes. He squeezes the bottle and a drop forms. Time slows to a crawl as the drop slowly swings from the bottle. The drop breaks free and falls towards my eye. It makes contact and all hell breaks loose. Scooping my eye out with a small plastic children’s spoon would have been less painful. The “certified physician’s assistant” looks on knowingly as I writhe in discomfort. My hands raise to my face, but do not make contact – as if they are poised to catch my head if it falls off. He pulls out the eye exam equipment and does his best impersonation of an eye doctor. He determines that there is no damage to my cornea and calls for the “senior physician on staff”. Mr. ER arrives, dressed in his best pair of blue ER pajamas. Mr ER and the “certified physician’s assistant” crowd in front of my face to get a look. Some say I’ve got a big head, but it’s not so big that two grown men can get in front of it. A Laurel and Hardy movie breaks out, until the “certified physician’s assistant” remembers whose turn it is and backs off.

The cry goes out “IT’S NOT THERE! IT FELL OUT ON IT’S OWN! I WON’T HAVE TO TEMPT THE GOD OF TORTS PULLING IT OUT! I’M FREE!”

It is Saturday, the day after. I’m in a car now, barreling into the depths of hell. You know it as Disney World. My eye feels better.

It’s later Saturday. It wasn’t so bad (re: hot). What else can I say about Disney world that you haven’t experienced or heard about already? What about my eye? All is well, as good as new.