From the Heating Pad

Recounting the unfortunate events of last Sunday and Monday, February 12th and 13th...

It is my second day of being forty-four and I am on the couch alternately applying heat and ice to my knee.  This is because on my first day of being forty-four I attempted something crazy.  Something no one my age had any business doing, evidently.

I tried getting out of my chair and standing.

Kapow!  Blam!  Zowie!  

Pain shot through the outside of my left knee.  Holy aging ligaments, Batman!  Why, why, WHY had I tried getting up without a chair lift?

I was unable to stand, probably due to my extremely low threshold for... er, ethereal sensitivity to pain.  (It's basically a superpower.)  You follow?  My leg did not work for a moment.  Then I hobbled around for the rest of the night and pretty much ever since.  I still don't know what I did, except get old.  

The same night as the chair incident I was perusing my phone with my glasses resting atop my head.  An uber-helpful co-worker asked, "Do you need bifocals, Bone?"  No, this is a fashion statement, I saw it on the cover of Geriatrics Quarterly.  Yes, of course I need bifocals! 

Also, we got new reference books at work with print so microscopic that in order to read it you need a frickin' electron microscope.  Or, average eyesight.  So I had to get another, much younger co-worker to read off some numbers to me.

This came on the heels of me having a grievous cold, my first time being sick in two or three years.  (I still blame the Tdap vaccination the pediatrician unceremoniously forced on me.)  It was the kind of cold that would have knocked an average person off their feet for up to a day.  I was off mine for two, proving yet again that I am not average.

To top it off, my reflux has been acting up, waking me a couple of times a week lately.  At least that'll make for a decent conversation starter down at the convalescent center.

If I were a horse, they'd have to shoot me.  Of course, if I were a horse, I'd be like a hundred and thirty in human years, which would probably be some kind of record.  So maybe they wouldn't shoot me.  I'd most likely be in some kind of equine museum, alongside Secretariat, Mister Ed (of course... of course), and a horse with no name.

How did this happen?  To me???  I was always the one getting the "Well you sure don't look that old" comments.  Just a couple of weeks ago, my 9-year-old niece informed me she thought I was twenty-nine, about to turn thirty.  And trust me, she's a great judge of all things.  (Is it any wonder I married into that family?)

I've most certainly always acted younger than my age.  Much, much younger.  I'm sure any of my ex-girlfriends would attest to that.  And have.   

But suddenly, I'm feeling every last one of my forty-four years.  And about thirty more on top of that.

Mrs. Bone has to be wondering what she's gotten herself into.  To her credit, she hasn't said anything.  Of course if she did, my aged ears probably couldn't hear her anyway.

"I wish I still smoked cigarettes / Felt more grown up then / We were talkin' about where we were gonna go / Instead of talkin' 'bout where we'd been..."

Doctor-patient confidential

Setting: Examination room in a doctor's office, aka the smaller waiting room after the first waiting room.  Planet: Earth, most likely.  Date: Circa 21st Century in the year of our Lord.

A child in a man's body sits on the butcher paper, awaiting his fate, admiring the walls...

This is a nice color.  Sort of a Kelly green.  Pleasant.  Non-jarring.  Very well-painted, too.  Absolutely no bleed-over onto the door frame.  Clearly done by a professional.  No one like me could've painted this.  Oh God, is this what home ownership does to a person?  The doctor will be here soon.  Should I take off my pants, or do I wait for him to tell me?  I can't remember.  I better take 'em off, just to be safe.  No wait, that's at the masseuse where you take off your...

"Oh, hi doc."

"How are ya?"  Why are this guy's pants unbuckled?  Every day it's weirdos around here.  I should've just done like my mother wanted, and been a classical pianist.

"Doing OK."  Pretty sure I'm dying.  Please help me.  Please.

"So what seems to be the problem?"  Yeah, pianist.  For Elise versus examining someone's goiter.  What the hell was I thinking?

I just told the lady that brought me in here.  Did she not tell you?  What was that all for?  Wait a second, does she even work here???

"Well, let's have a look."  I'll stick this thing in his ear, use my trusty stethoscope, and maybe bang on his knee with this little hammer I got down at the Walgreens so he'll think I know what I'm talking about. Ankle bone's connected to the shin bone, shin bone's connected to the knee bone, the knee bone's connected to the... hmm... now what was the knee bone connected to?  I always forget that one!  "Well, that all looks fine. How long has this been bothering you?"

"Four or five days, I guess."  STILL with the stethoscope???  They were using those on Little House on the Prairie.  Have we not advanced beyond this?  And what's he doing on that laptop?  Probably on WebMD or something.

"Let me just make some notes here."  Double-you, double-you, double-you, dot, web-emm-dee, dot com....  Symptom checker, click... Hmm... Oh man, this doesn't look good.  Holy $*#&! I've never even heard of that.  Phew, am I glad I'm not this guy!

"So, uh, am I gonna be OK?"  Is it West Nile?  Mad Cow?  I thought they eradicated that!!!!  Rabies?  Is it rabies???  NoCatheterNoCatheterNoCatheterNoCatheterNoCath...

"Well, we're gonna run some tests, just to rule out anything serious."  Do you believe in miracles?

"OK.  Thanks, doc."  Somehow I'm never quite sure I get my eighty bucks worth here.

"She'll be in here in a few minutes to take some blood.  You can, uh, probably go ahead and buckle up."  Good God, they don't pay me enough to deal with this crap every day.


"Doctor my eyes / Tell me what is wrong / Was I unwise to leave them open for so long..."

How 'bout getting off of these antibiotics

The week started out well enough. It was Bone's first-ever attempt at an Halloween party. Though there was some pause given on whether to have the fiesta on Saturday or Sunday night, as Halloween fell on Sunday and I don't know how it is where you're from but in Alabama Sunday night is church night. As is Wednesday night. So towns, cities and churches debated on whether to declare Saturday the official night for tricks and treats. With no clear consensus reached, confusion reigned.

Fortunately, I thrive on confusion. OK, maybe not, but it sounded like a good thing to say there.

So the party was set for Saturday night and up until Saturday Noon looked like it would be about as well attended as a Dick Cheney hunting seminar. Then I guess no one could find anything else better to do -- which in itself is just beyond pathetic -- and we wound up with several late commits and a party of twelve.

There was pumpkin carving, pumpkin cupcakes -- which I did not sample, blech -- and the newest Halloween tradition of them all, a few games of Spoons. I don't know how familiar you are with the rules of Spoons, but my goal is to be in the final two, NOT get the four-of-a-kind, yet still manage to grab the spoon first. I mean, that would by far be the ultimate amongst all my relatively useless competitive accomplishments. I will retire from Spoons when that happens. And possibly do the late-night talk show circuit.

Perhaps the highlight of the evening was the costume contest. There was an adult costume contest, which wasn't as fun as it initially sounds, and a children's contest. Dressing up for Halloween for the first time in over twenty years, I managed to win the adult contest, barely outdistancing Lil Bootay 3 votes to 2, which was even odder ("even odder?") considering she wasn't wearing a costume.

So the party was a qualified (and inexplicable) success. Then things began to go downhill.

I got a sore throat Monday night. Normally I'm over anything in a day, two max. But things kept getting worse. I went to the doctor Thursday, but instead of antibiotics, he gave me some sore throat mouthwash, which didn't really help my sore throat but did function somewhat well as a weight loss pill as it soon brought my vomitless streak to an end.

I started running a fever Thursday night, which for some reason always makes me think of the time on Little House On The Prairie that Albert had a fever and they put him in a tub of ice. Or was it Almanzo? And why do I always think of that? It's not like I could ever actually do it. I can't even stand a cold shower.

Also -- and I don't think I've ever noticed this before -- but it's possible I'm a bit of a whiner when I'm sick. This occurred to me sometime amidst the three days of lying around randomly making groaning noises and occasionally moaning things like "I'm dying" and "Why me, Lord?"

Hard to believe any week that began like this could actually go downhill:


But alas, things are finally looking up. I went to the walk-in clinic today (you just cannot make that sound classy) and took two shots in the buttocks (that either). On a positive note, they were administered by a female.

So I've got some antibiotics. I have something else in common with Forrest Gump (besides hailing from Alabama). And best of all, McRib is back! Who wouldn't wanna be me?

"It'd be easy to add up all the pain, and all the dreams you sat and watched go up in flames. Dwell on the wreckage as it smolders in the rain. But not me. I'm alive..."

Back on the blogging wagon, liberally dispensing parental advice

I think I must have needed some time to decompress following the phenomenon that was Blogtober. But don't think there hasn't been plenty going on, because there has -- depending on your definition of plenty. Not the least of which is that I'm drinking again.

Coffee, that is.

That's right, I'm back on the java wagon. (Or is it off the wagon?) All aboard the Colombian Express. I believe you know our wagon master, Mister Juan Valdez.

It all started a few weeks ago in the midst of my up-every-night-until-at-least-1-AM phase when I was certain the TV gods were conspiring to put irresistible programming on just as I was getting ready to lie down. I mean, Rocky I coming on at 12:30 in the morning? That's not happenstance, people. One morning I was feeling especially tired so I stopped on the way to work and got a large coffee.

I've only had two previous bouts with coffee addiction and neither lasted very long. One was in high school which I barely remember, and the other was three or four years ago when I discovered lattes. I would stop on my way to work every morning. At first, there was a cute female barista who I looked forward to seeing. Then this guy took over and I would think to myself, "This guy seems pretty cool" or "I wonder how you get to be a barista." It's like he replaced the girl and I hardly noticed because all I cared about was the latte. It was actually kinda scary. Am I talking fast? It's very hard to tell.

In other less exciting news -- if that's even possible -- I bought a brace for my ankle the other day, at Kroger. Where else would one go for all of one's self-diagnosed medical needs?

This is the same ankle that I messed up sliding into second base during a fall league softball game in 2004. I never played softball again. Though that really doesn't have anything to do with the injury, I just haven't been asked to be on a team since then.

The orthopedist I saw at the time basically did nothing. He took a few X-Rays, sold me an air cast, charged me a fortune and said I'd be fine. I kept asking him was if he sure I didn't need surgery. Yes, he was. My ankle has never been exactly right since.

I should probably include some sort of disclaimer here so as to avoid any kind of defamation charges. Let's see... No representation is made that the quality of medical services performed was greater than the quality of medical services performed at your average slaughterhouse.

Anyway, my ankle would ache occasionally and be sore after a run but never caused any significant problems until a few weeks ago. That's when a sudden and immense pain brought my evening run in the park to an abrupt end. Now, some might say I have a low tolerance for pain, but I prefer to think of it as having a heightened sensitivity to all stimuli. Almost super-human really. I always require at least three shots of Novocaine at the dentist's before I stop kicking violently. They love me there.

I tried resting it for a week or so, but that didn't seem to help. So I've been taping it up with some athletic tape (also available at Kroger and other fine grocery stores everywhere). That's been working OK, but it's a hassle. So I'm looking forward to trying out my new ankle brace. Excited, even. Nothing makes a runner want to run more than not being able to run.

Before we close today, I'd like to broach a rather serious topic. Recently, the decision was made to allow Kywana Jr. to have her own Facebook account. Now I was not consulted on the decision. However, since she is sort of my god-niece or something, I felt compelled to investigate the situation.

I mean, why should I let my vast reservoir of knowledge and opinions about parenting go to waste simply because I have not managed to impregnate anyone up until and including today? Besides, is there anything people like more than receiving unsolicited advice on how to raise their children?

The following IM conversation occurred between myself and the female portion of Kywana last week as I was checking over Kywana Jr.'s Facebook friend list. I noticed a gray-haired man that looked alarmingly out of place. He appeared to be in his 50s or 60s, somewhat strange to see on the friend list of a ten-year-old girl, no? I sprang into action.

Bone: You better keep a watch on her.
Bone: Do we know this Bob Paine guy?
Bone: Sounds a little shady to me. (Also sounds made up.)

FPK (female portion of Kywana): He's my pastor.
FPK: ROFL

Bone: Oh.
Bone: Well, I suppose that's OK.
Bone: Just keep an eye on him. Could all be a ruse.

"I don't drink as much as I used to. Lately, it just ain't my style. And the hard times don't hurt like they ought to. They pass quicker, like when I was a child..."

The weather is beautiful, wish you could forecast it

"Here is my card. It's got my cell number, my pager number, my home number, and my other pager number. I never take vacations, I never get sick, and I don't celebrate any major holidays." ~ DKS 2007

I was out sick today. Make note of that, as I take fewer sick days than Dwight K. Schrute. Anyway, it's just a cold and a sore throat or something. I'm sure I'll be back operating at my usual 30% of capacity in no time.

Anyway, in the midst of my sick day Office-viewing marathon, I uncharacteristically watched not one, but two local weather forecasts this evening. Have I ever told you how much I adore our local weather forecasters and the how-many-jellybeans-in-the-jar-like job they do of guessing, er, predicting the weather? I'm sure I've mentioned it a time or twelve. In passing, of course.

Well tonight, I observed two distinct differences in these two forecasts. (Warning: What follows may alarm and further confuse you.)

Channel A said there was a 40% chance of rain on Wednesday. They also said that the high on Friday would be 81.

Channel B said it would be sunny on Wednesday. And that the high on Friday would be 69.

Now if you've been practicing your flash cards, you've already figured out that is a twelve degree difference in the high temperature on Friday at two television stations located in the same city, probably not five miles from each other. And good luck figuring out if it's gonna rain Wednesday or not.

And that, in a nutshell, is why I pay no attention to the weather forecast.

"The weather is here, I wish you were beautiful. My thoughts aren't too clear, but don't run away..."

At the hospital

Dad is having his heart bypass surgery today. I'm blogging from the waiting room. The doctor just came out and talked to us. He said they'd begin surgery around 8:00 and that it normally takes about three and a half hours.

To backtrack a bit, the surgery was postponed two different times. Dad was in the hospital five days with viral pneumonia. Then he had an issue with low blood pressure, which left him very lethargic for a few days. But lately, he's been doing much better and getting stronger.

With the postponements, it was easier to remain distracted and keep my mind on other things for a couple of weeks. But yesterday and this morning... I've never been this nervous in my life.

Seeing Dad just before they took him back this morning was hard. I started to tear up but caught myself. On the other hand, he seemed pretty relaxed considering. I told him I loved him and he promised to give me guitar lessons when he gets out.

Now we're just waiting. Watching the clock. Thinking good thoughts. Talking about everything but. And saying little silent prayers.

Updates...

2:05 PM - We just got back to see Dad for a moment. The doctor came out about 1:30 and talked to us. He said they did a triple bypass and everything went as expected.

Our next ICU visit is 4:30. They said he might be awake by then. Thank you all for your comments and prayers.

5:16 PM - Dad opened his eyes during our 4:30 visit. He's still on the ventilator, but mouthed "What time is it" and "I love you" in that order. I told him "four-thirty" and "I love you, too." Our last visit of the day is at 8:30.

8:10 PM - Navigating these halls reminds me of world 8-4 on Super Mario Brothers. One wrong turn and you can wind up right back where you started. I just hope I don't run into a giant monster with a spike head spitting fire balls. I can't jump very high.

9:04 PM - Dad was off the ventilator when we went in this time. His blood pressure was a tad low, so they're giving him something for that. They're also giving him insulin, which they said is normal. He looks much better than he did earlier. The first visit tomorrow morning is at 10:30.

Today has pretty much run the gamut of emotions. Worry, fear, hope, reflection, relief, joy, sadness, love. It's been a long day. But a good day. I'm so very thankful.

Day Two...

11:35 AM - Dad got out of ICU shortly before 10:00 this morning. He's in a private room now in the cardiac progressive care unit. I'm not sure if that's the official name, but I think it's an accurate description. He's in a lot of pain, which I'm pretty sure is just part of it. They brought him some morphine and now he seems quite relaxed.

12:41 PM - Lunch! Dad is having broth, yellow jello, and grape juice. I think I'll venture down to the cafeteria.

2:12 PM - Two of my cousins stopped by, along with my aunt who always sends me ten dollars. As they were leaving, I was hugging my aunt and she put something in my hand... You guessed it.

4:42 PM - They got Dad up around 3:00 to walk. He walked half a lap around the unit. It was a struggle for him. Though he did say when a patient who was obviously on his third or fourth day zoomed past him, "Why is he going so much faster than me?"

By the day he leaves the hospital, he's supposed to be up to 38 laps, which equals two miles. So, small steps right now.

Thank you again for the comments. In addition to helping me pass the time, each one is a little boost of encouragement.

Day Three...Thursday

6:33 PM - Dad has had a rough day. He's felt nauseous all day and has hardly eaten anything. He was supposed to walk seven laps today, but has only managed four so far. They're doing tests to try and figure out what's causing the nausea. He is miserable. Today feels like a bit of a setback. I hope tomorrow is better.

Day Four...Friday

9:22 AM - Dad has already walked eight laps this morning! His nausea has subsided a bit. I had a bad dream last night about him, so it was nice to wake up to some good news. The surgeon said if he keeps improving he could go home as early as tomorrow?? So, cautious optimism right now.

5:46 PM - We're up to eighteen laps today. Well, I say we. I've actually only walked one. I worked a full day today and yesterday and have been coming over in the afternoons. Dad is now officially IV and tube free. He's doing great, though I have a feeling he totally didn't get my Doctor Van Nostrand reference just now.

Day Five... Saturday

5:01 PM - Dad didn't get to go home today. His oxygen level was low last night and this morning, so they're keeping him another day. He seems to be feeling pretty good, though. Maybe tomorrow.

Day Six... Sunday

6:37 PM - Dad is home from the hospital. He was discharged early this afternoon. And though he still has a lot of recovery and rehab to go, it feels like another major hurdle has been cleared.

Thank you all so much for your continued thoughts and prayers. I believe with all my heart that they were answered. And I will always remember your support and words of encouragement.

This will conclude the Open Heart Surgery Live Blog Experience.

I think I'm turning healthy, I really think so

Update: Dad had to be hospitalized this morning with viral pneumonia, causing them to postpone his open heart surgery for a couple of weeks. Thanks for all your thoughts and prayers and words of encouragement.

At some point duing the past year, I fear I may have turned into a... healthy person.

A year ago, I was filling my grocery buggy with frozen burritos, snack cakes, and Doritos, which for some reason I thought were sort of healthy. I was ingesting Little Debbies like there was no tomorrow, and chasing them with one of the five Sun Drops I drank per day. And I was eating fast food five or six times a week. Then something happened.

I think it all began with the John Tesh-inspired Great American Coke Out, which is more accurately described as the Pretty Decent American Coke Reduction. Then a co-worker brought in some handouts the doctor had given her husband when he underwent bypass surgery. Included was nutritional information for several restaurants and fast food places. It was one of the most disgusting things I'd ever read not involving Andy Dick.

At that time, I had already been trying to eat a bit healthier. From that day on, I cut back to only eating fast food about once a week. My arteries and I are actually on speaking terms again.

Today, I check the label of most everything I buy. I look at fat content, cholesterol, sodium, even riboflavin. I haven't a clue what riboflavin does, but I know 10% of the RDA is better than zero. My eyes light up at words like reduced fat, low sodium, and no preservatives. And fat free, well, I'm not ashamed to say I get a little flush.

Recently, I was given a healthy cookbook, and now I try and cook a couple of times a week. I'm dicing, grating, preheating, and sauteeing everything in sight. It's been good, if not always easy.

Maybe it's because I live in a smaller town, or maybe it's because I live in the South, where ranch dressing coarses thru our veins and we fry everything from twinkies to pickles. But I've discovered that finding things such as frozen creamed spinach in low-fat sauce, 95% lean ground beef, or those little tiny edible corns on the cob aren't so easy to find here. Still, I make do.

Friday night, I made creamy spinach ravioli. Except I used tortellini. I figure I got a pasta ending in -ini, that's close enough. Normally when I cook, it tastes pretty good, but winds up looking like a decroded piece of crap. Never like the picture in the cookbook.

Well, for once, my dish turned out aesthetically pleasing. So I wanted to share it with you. Presenting Bone's first attempt at creamy spinach tortellini:



It's OK if you don't think it's pretty, just don't tell me. I'm proud of it. It's my baby. I'll be glad to send you the recipe. Or perhaps we could do a recipe exchange. I've been wanting to try a radish rose.

And you thought a bachelor's blog would be all General Hospital and random hook-ups with hot girls.

"Greasy cheeseburgers and cheap cigarettes. One day they'll get me, if they ain't got me yet..."

Scattered

I spent most of Friday at the hospital. Dad had gone to the doctor earlier in the week after experiencing shortness of breath. Tests revealed blockage in his heart, so they scheduled him for an arteriogram Friday. We were told they would either treat it with medication, insert a stent, or do open heart surgery, depending on what the arteriogram showed.

After several hours of waiting and being as nervous as I think I've ever been, the doctor finally came out to talk to us. The news was not good. All three main arteries have significant blockage, including one that is about 90% blocked. He said it was too much to fix with stents and recommended bypass surgery.

No.

I wanted to go back in time five minutes, before I knew. I wanted to go back to being seven years old, going fishing with Dad for the first time with a plastic yellow rod and reel that was never gonna catch anything, when I had blonde hair and he still had hair. And a snake swam by and Dad said we had to go and we ran to the car and didn't go fishing again for years.

But I didn't say a word. I just stood there and put on my strongest face, trying not to show how scared I had suddenly become. I looked at the X-Rays the doctor was showing us thinking there was going to be some mistake, but knowing there wouldn't be.

And then I thought about Dad still lying in the cardiac unit by himself, having just been told this very same news. And I felt very selfish.

Dad has to go in Thursday for some pre-op tests and it looks like the surgery will be sometime next week. I know he has to be worried sick, but he isn't showing it much. Though his memory about that first fishing trip seems to be a bit hazy, as he recounted it Friday saying I was the one who got scared and begged to leave.

I know bypass surgery is a common procedure nowadays. The surgeon told us there is a 98 percent success rate. And that seems very high until you're talking about the life of someone you love.

Someone suggested it may be one of the hardest things in life, realizing your parents are human and are becoming older and won't be here forever. Of course, neither will I. Neither will any of us. But it just doesn't sink in most of the time. I can be the strong one. I can hold back tears as long as necessary. But I can't make this alright. That's a hard thing to accept.

I've spent the weekend thinking about Dad. Thinking about entire weeks when I didn't make time to see him, and all the days I didn't so much as give him a call.

Dad plays guitar and is in a band and plays music somewhere almost every weekend. I haven't been to see him play in over a year.

He bought me a used drum set once in hopes that I might learn to play, and maybe even play with his band. I never practiced and he eventually sold the set.

A few months ago, Dad said he was trying to write some songs and if he emailed me the lyrics would I tell him what I thought and maybe help him some because "you're good at stuff like that." They all seemed like 60's pop songs to me, like bad Beatles lyrics. I told him they were OK and that was that.

Those are things I missed out on. It's not so much guilt as it is regret. The time is so precious and you can't ever get it back. I should go see him more. I know I should.

Life is just a whisper. Even the bad days truly aren't all that bad. Why can't I ever learn to cherish every single one of them?

"I'm wishin' my Dad was forty again. He would be young and I would be ten."

A lesson in perspective

Friday afternoon, I was gearing up for a busy weekend. I had been having some minor health issues and had gotten behind on Christmas shopping and other holiday stuff. I finally went to the doctor Friday morning and was looking forward to feeling better and catching up on some things.

Around 6:30, Mom called and asked if I could come over and help her. She said her hand and lips were numb and she couldn't think straight. Her speech was a little slurred. She thought she was having a migraine. I grabbed some Excedrin Migraine and went over there.

After nearly an hour, we finally convinced her to go to the ER. They did a CAT scan which showed some abnormalities. The ER doctor said it appeared she'd had a minor stroke. Those are words that completely stop you in your tracks.

I don't know much about strokes, but I know they can be debilitating and cause permanent damage. How much damage had been done? Was she more likely to have another one? They transferred her to another hospital where a neurosurgeon could look at her. The next thirty-six hours were tense and anxious, worrying and wondering.

I think Mom probably got to her room around 11:00 Friday night. It filled my heart to see three of her sisters, one brother, two sisters-in-law, and one niece show up at the hospital at that hour. One aunt even spent the night at the hospital Friday night.

She spent Friday night and Saturday night in the hospital, undergoing a battery of tests. They released her this morning. The neurosurgeon said he thought her numbness and other symptoms were caused by scar tissue from a previous stroke. And she has to make an appointment with him to see if he can determine why these episodes are occurring and how to prevent them.

My thoughts are many and scattered. I'm not sure I'm making much sense. It was strange to be there without Dad. I mean, he visited for a few minutes on Saturday. But it was weird to realize for the first time the responsibilities that had been transferred to my sister and me.

On trips back and forth to the hospital this weekend,I kept passing places that reminded me of my childhood. I passed the preschool I attended. It closed a few months ago, but the building and sign are still there, along with some playground equipment. I remembered crying when Mom would drop me off. And thirty years seemed to have disappeared like a wisp of smoke.

For a time when I was very young, Mom and Dad cleaned the social security offices at night and cleaned up the parking lot of a shopping center on the weekend to make extra money. They would bring me along. I passed the shopping center on the way to the hospital this weekend. I thought about Mom and Dad when they were younger, trying to make ends meet. Oh, to be five again.

It just seemed things like that kept popping up and stirring memories of long ago. And I didn't mind at all. I was thankful to be reminded of things I hadn't thought about in years.

Friday afternoon, I was stressing about shopping and errands and Christmas and such. But sometimes life has its own plans. Tonight, I'm spending the night at Mom's, having been reminded of the things that are really important. All that other stuff... is just stuff.

The Great American Coke-Out

I was listening to another provocative edition of the John Tesh radio show recently. Yes, I know I said Wikipedia had surpassed Tesh as my #1 source of information, but it's not easy to Wiki while driving. You get lots of honks and odd gestures. Which reminds me, my Mom used to have a "Honk If You Love Willie Nelson" bumper sticker on her car. And sometimes people honked! But I digress.

One particular statement from the disseminator of useful information caught my ear. Tesh said drinking just one sweetened soda per day increases your chance of developing diabetes by 75 percent.

Gulp.

My first thought was, I drink like five a day. And that's the conservative estimate.

Like a Mexican TV dinner, Tesh's words stuck with me for a couple of days. When I mentioned my five-a-day habit to a co-worker, she looked at me as if she were surprised my head hadn't yet exploded from the massive consumption of delicious high fructose corn syrup. In other words, blog friends, I'm basically a walking miracle.

I did some checking and found that the 12 ounce Sun Drop, my usual drink of choice, has 49 grams of sugar in it. Which means I was getting 245 grams per day. That's over half a pound of sugar from soft drinks alone! I might as well just spoon feed it to myself straight out of the bag.

I had a problem and I decided something must be done. Therefore, I proclaimed last Wednesday the start of Bone's Great American Coke-Out. That's coke, lower-case, which as we all know refers to any variety of soft drink. Kinda like q-tip, band aid, or K-Y.

The first day went well. I was coke free. Kinda like Lindsay Lohan. Well, kinda like Lindsay Lohan once in awhile anyway. Then Thursday morning, I woke up with a splitting headache. After conferring with some members of my inner circle--which pretty much consists of family, co-workers, and the cute checkout girl at Kroger--it was determined that I was going thru caffeine withdrawals.

I rushed home, drank a Sun Drop, took two Advil, and my headache was gone within twenty minutes. After only 36 hours of the Great American Coke-Out, I was already off the wagon. (Will the Lohan similarities never end?)

Figuring it would be better to wean myself off the caffeine, I decided to have just one coke per day. Surprisingly, it hasn't been that difficult. The headaches haven't returned. And I've stocked up on water, skim milk, fruit juice, and Crystal Light on the go packets.

I'm not sure what's next. Perhaps it's time to analyze my intimate relationship with Little Debbie. Zebra Cakes, Fudge Brownies, Swiss Rolls. And those are just the varieties that are in my kitchen right now.

Geez, I hope Tesh never decides frozen burritos are bad for me.

"I'm hot, sticky sweet, from my head to my feet, yeah..."