Dialysis is abhorrent. A virus upon humanity. A festering cyst of insanity. Disgraceful and disgusting, lacking any and all social decorum.
Its home to drug addicts, criminals, and the criminally insane. Schlubs who were too lazy to monitor their blood sugar. Clinically obese knuckleheads who couldn't stop shoveling craptacular food down their overexpanding gullets.
The stench of regret and loneliness permeates the walls. The toilets cry out in fear from the raw sewage flushed down their throats. Ceilings rise and fall in perfect sync to the ever increasing waves of Death.
There are those with colorful pamphlets with cartoonish drawings that will extol the virtues of the entire process. Their eyes tell the lies for them.
Hope vanished after the final brick was laid. Promise and prosperity evaporated just as quickly. Faith in the future was dead on arrival.
Some nights I awaken to visions of little old ladies begging their families to let them cease this torcher. The echoes of cramp induced screaming bounce off the walls of my memory and make my cells their unwilling home.
Anger transforms into fury as I imagine all those peons in the upper echelon of Dialysis clinics visualizing every patient as a giant, Sesame Street like dollar sign. When questioned as to why there is no cure for kidney disease, these same monetary whales insist they don't know, while browsing through the paperwork for their latest Caribbean retreat.
Dialysis is a ruse, a trick, a bad joke peppered with obscenities.
And I'm in on it.
Many will implore that with great suffering comes even greater wisdom.
To that, I respond with the lowest common denominator of responses.
Fuck you.
Monday, August 03, 2009
Friday, July 31, 2009
Dialysis Uncensored
You're going to regret reading this entry once you're finished.
The smell on the clinic floor is foul, filled with anguish and death and numerous other substances I'd rather not describe.
And I'll be featured in this cesspool for the next three hours.
As I allow my ritual anal retentiveness to align my possessions on the little side table that mocks my need for more space, I glance around slowly.
Obese Gout Dude is dressed in his regular disgusting outfit: stained wife beater shirt and flip flops that expose his gout riddled feet.
Blathering Idiot is trying to impress the more attractive staff members with his unremarkable remarks, unwilling to realize that they are all trying to retreat from him as quickly as possible.
Hairy Playa is speaking as loud as possible on speakerphone so everyone will know undoubtedly that he is the jones with the ladies. When you pose too long, the cracks start to show and nobody's buying anymore.
And the Mexican Twins are two chairs away from one another, so they're jabbering quickly and loudly over the patient in the middle. His suffering is painfully obvious.
Its Monday. The most insufferable day of the week at Dialysis.
And not just because of these Emmy award winners.
I'm really overloaded with fluid.
I'm in a foul mood to begin with, so the last individual on the planet I want to deal with is Overly Positive Tech. He's tall and lanky and full of 1950's advice that buggers the hell out of me.
But most of the time he's pretty expert at sticking needles, so I let it pass.
I've been attending this mind fuck for the last five and a half years. so you'd think most of them would learn by now that if I grunt all my answers, I'm not to be trifled with.
Yes, I freely admit I'm an asshole when I'm sick.
Takemytempthancuffthebloodpressuredealeyandcleantheareaandforceinlidocaineohgoditburnslikehellfuckfuckfuckfuck...
The endless cycle of endless Dialysis.
From time to time when people raise their head out of the latest People magazine and what Jon and Kate are doing, someone will always inquire what it feels like to be on Dialysis.
This unleashes a flurry of sarcasm they probably didn't deserve.
I used to describe it to the unsuspecting inquiree that you take two finely sharpened pencils, jam them into your upper or lower arm (take your pick depending on what access you've been forced to acquire) attach a garden hose to each pencil and connect those to the washing machine. Place machine on Heavy Wash for three hours.
Most of the time I look up to find I'm talking to myself and all that remains is a Road Runner smoke cloud.
But I ceased to describe Dialysis that way years ago. I have a new fully charged description.
Imagine you're a giant sponge. You're full of vim and vitality, vigor and strength. You feel fantastic and everything couldn't be better.
Then you're strapped down into a giant chair that smells of soiled underwear and three day ole parmesan cheese. The chair doesn't adjust properly so you will endure awful back pain in three hours. Which is when your treatment will end.
As those minutes dribble by, you will be unceremoniously squeezed of your essence until all that remains are the pores of your spongy exterior.
Now dry and hollow, weak and shaken, you stumble out of the clinic wondering what you've just left behind.
And whether it will ever return.
After a while the emptiness never fills, not even after you're loaded with less vital, less potent fluid.
Perform this task over and over and over again until all your other organs give out or until you allow yourself to bleed out in the locked bathroom because you've clearly given up.
I told you you'd regret it.
The smell on the clinic floor is foul, filled with anguish and death and numerous other substances I'd rather not describe.
And I'll be featured in this cesspool for the next three hours.
As I allow my ritual anal retentiveness to align my possessions on the little side table that mocks my need for more space, I glance around slowly.
Obese Gout Dude is dressed in his regular disgusting outfit: stained wife beater shirt and flip flops that expose his gout riddled feet.
Blathering Idiot is trying to impress the more attractive staff members with his unremarkable remarks, unwilling to realize that they are all trying to retreat from him as quickly as possible.
Hairy Playa is speaking as loud as possible on speakerphone so everyone will know undoubtedly that he is the jones with the ladies. When you pose too long, the cracks start to show and nobody's buying anymore.
And the Mexican Twins are two chairs away from one another, so they're jabbering quickly and loudly over the patient in the middle. His suffering is painfully obvious.
Its Monday. The most insufferable day of the week at Dialysis.
And not just because of these Emmy award winners.
I'm really overloaded with fluid.
I'm in a foul mood to begin with, so the last individual on the planet I want to deal with is Overly Positive Tech. He's tall and lanky and full of 1950's advice that buggers the hell out of me.
But most of the time he's pretty expert at sticking needles, so I let it pass.
I've been attending this mind fuck for the last five and a half years. so you'd think most of them would learn by now that if I grunt all my answers, I'm not to be trifled with.
Yes, I freely admit I'm an asshole when I'm sick.
Takemytempthancuffthebloodpressuredealeyandcleantheareaandforceinlidocaineohgoditburnslikehellfuckfuckfuckfuck...
The endless cycle of endless Dialysis.
From time to time when people raise their head out of the latest People magazine and what Jon and Kate are doing, someone will always inquire what it feels like to be on Dialysis.
This unleashes a flurry of sarcasm they probably didn't deserve.
I used to describe it to the unsuspecting inquiree that you take two finely sharpened pencils, jam them into your upper or lower arm (take your pick depending on what access you've been forced to acquire) attach a garden hose to each pencil and connect those to the washing machine. Place machine on Heavy Wash for three hours.
Most of the time I look up to find I'm talking to myself and all that remains is a Road Runner smoke cloud.
But I ceased to describe Dialysis that way years ago. I have a new fully charged description.
Imagine you're a giant sponge. You're full of vim and vitality, vigor and strength. You feel fantastic and everything couldn't be better.
Then you're strapped down into a giant chair that smells of soiled underwear and three day ole parmesan cheese. The chair doesn't adjust properly so you will endure awful back pain in three hours. Which is when your treatment will end.
As those minutes dribble by, you will be unceremoniously squeezed of your essence until all that remains are the pores of your spongy exterior.
Now dry and hollow, weak and shaken, you stumble out of the clinic wondering what you've just left behind.
And whether it will ever return.
After a while the emptiness never fills, not even after you're loaded with less vital, less potent fluid.
Perform this task over and over and over again until all your other organs give out or until you allow yourself to bleed out in the locked bathroom because you've clearly given up.
I told you you'd regret it.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
50 Random Things About Stacy
Stacy has lately been sleeping roughly three hours a night, eating one meal a day and losing lots of blood at Dialysis, so yeah, we copied this from Facebook. Stacy will relay the answers and I will type them precisely as stated.
Who I am? Doesn't matter really. Just call me the Blog Bitch.
1. What time did you get up this morning?
--- I remember vividly waking up about 4:30am for a blissful moment, only to subconsciously realize there was a breathing mask on my face. Since Stacy Subconscious is claustrophobic (as well as the Really Annoying Stacy) it was ripped to the floor. I then proceeded to try to sleep without it.
I could have just said "4:30am" but I'm in a talkative mood.
2. How do you like your steak?
Preferably on a plate. Wakka wakka.
3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema?
I attended a midnight showing of "Harry Potter & the Half Blood Prince" with two geeky friends at work. Honestly, I love midnight showings, but I can't go any longer. I'm getting to the regrettable point in my life where the combination of aging PLUS Dialysis treatments = Death The Next Day.
It was partly a waste of time because I don't remember most of the film. Especially the middle. That's right, the nouget part of the flick.
4. What is your favorite TV show?
The show I can go back again and again and watch the entire run of the show over and over is "The Office." As far as present favorites, I'm watching "Oz" from HBO and "Mad Men" from AMC. Both excellently written and acted.
All three of the above mentioned shows are also fantastic because they devour Dialysis time.
5. If you could live anywhere in the world where would it be?
Give me a 400 square foot cabin right on the beach, far from the annals of the human race and I would consider myself a very lucky dweeb.
6. What did you have for breakfast?
I skipped breakfast because I threw up. Again. Until there was nothing left in my abdomen. Then I threw up some more and pulled a stomach muscle.
7. What is your favorite cuisine?
I'm a simple man with simple tastes. Its a very close race between Italian and Mexican. Although I would be Dad's Cuisine: the ever popular Brunch Burger, at the top.
8. What foods do you dislike?
Stew, because my parents always rammed it down my throat when I was a kid. Processed meals like you find in the freezer aisle. And unfortunately, I'm starting to lose my love for cheese because my roommate puts in on everything and stinks up the house. Ugh.
9. Favorite Place to Eat?
Crystal's Corner in Santa Rosa. Its this little hole-in-the-wall owned by this friendly Chinese family that makes just about anything. The Two Egg Breakfast special is awesome and filling. The BLT's are to die for. And the eats are cheap.
To reiterate, I'm a man of simple means.
10. Favorite dressing?
Blue cheese. Every time we went out to eat as a family, my parents always ordered it on their salad, and so did I. It feels nostalgic every time I devour it.
11.What kind of vehicle do you drive?
I drive the Blue Devil, a 2000 Chevy S-10 Pickup. She's a lot like me: sluggish, slow to accelerate and gets horrible gas mileage. But she's never broken down and she's never failed to start.
12. What are your favorite clothes?
I'd wear jeans and a t-shirt every day for the remainder of my life if certain occasions didn't call for a dressier look.
13. Where would you visit if you had the chance?
I want to travel to Greece. The history, the culture, the beautiful beaches and amazing architecture.
But mostly, for the women.
14. Cup 1/2 empty or 1/2 full?
Cup was broken years ago and put back together with missing parts.
15. Where would you want to retire?
A little island that nobody has discovered yet. I've had my fill of humans and their ridiculously dangerous technology.
16. Favorite time of day?
The Magic Hour. That moment when the sun just disappears over the horizon and you can hear the clock ticking down the last thirty minutes of light before the day concludes.
17. Where were you born?
The pit of hell in the middle of the California desert: Stockton. Its one big strip mall surrounded by mindless criminals and psychopaths. Why they even bother to try to grab tourist dollars is beyond me.
18. What is your favorite sport to watch?
The National...Football...League! A purely American sport for mindless American cretins. It has action, drama, pain, defeat, triumph all enjoyed within a three hour time frame. I'll probably pass just as the season is ending with another Pittsburgh Steeler Super Bowl.
19. Who is your favorite entertainer?
George Carlin. He was a true orchestrator of the English language. He used it to teach, mock, mollify, expose the truth and call out the ridiculous. A true artist who will never be matched.
20. Who in entertainment have you had enough of?
Anyone who stoops to expose their family or friends to a reality show. Unless what you're going through is teaching or inspiring others, get the fuck off my TV.
21. Best TV talk show?
"Late Night with David Letterman." I find that Conan and Ferguson can be hilarious at times, but Dave has kept me laughing since high school. I'm going to miss him when he decides to retire.
22. Bird watcher?
Sorry, but there's a special reserved space in hell for birds and their omnipresent crap. I'm more of a People Watcher because their dopey actions entertain me.
23. Are you a morning person or a night person?
Chipper morning people should be outlawed. I love the evenings when most everyone has shut down by 10pm and I own the night. You can go for late night walks or be the only one in the 24 hour cafe.
24. Do you have pets?
No, but my roommates are like pets. I live with Clinically Obese Woman and Know-It-All Young Punk. One puts cheese on every goddamn thing she shoves down her gullet (you can only guess what the kitchen smells like) and the other cuts his ball hair every other day in our bathroom sink.
To answer your obvious question: because the rent is cheap.
25. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share?
I've almost bled to death in the Dialysis bathroom two times last week.
I know what you're thinking: Stacy, you're not trying hard enough.
26. What did you want to be when you were little?
Astronaut, race car driver or radio host. Considering how much we change as we grow older, one out of three ain't half bad.
27. What is your best childhood memory?
When I woke up from my first kidney transplant in 1983 and there were balloons and flowers everywhere. The flowers were from my Uncle Buddy and had this planter that was shaped like a closed hand.
Its still on my bookshelf, now beholden to pens and pencils.
28. Are you a cat or dog person?
I love both because I understand where they're both coming from. Dogs just want to play and be loved. Cats really have no use for anyone until they need food or their head scratched.
29. Are you married?
Ha. Hahahaha. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
I'm a huge thirty-nine year old never married loser. And will probably never marry. I tell everyone its because I'm on Dialysis, but truly, I'm just annoying.
30. Always wear your seat belt?
Definately. It comforts me to know that I'll be strapped in when I'm crushed by that semi circa 2011.
31. Been in a car accident?
No major ones. Although I do have a tendency to smush the front of my cars by bumping into stationary objects.
32. Any pet peeves?
I have a long list of grievances, but I'll just narrow it down to my number one complaint: Fucking men.
Men cause all the problems. Men primarily commit all the crimes. Men caused the downfall of this country. Men sold most of this nation to foreign countries. Men are disgusting. Men are foul. And most of them are complete fucking idiots.
99% of the women I've met in my lifetime are the complete opposite.
33. Favorite Pizza Toppings?
Anchovy. Give me a small anchovie pizza and that's pretty much my only meal for the next two days. Delcious and Dad-inspired.
34. Favorite Flower?
Flowers are like fleeting creatures of hope and happiness. One always purchases flowers to celebrate a momentous occasion or make someone happy.
Flowers have always helped me out when I'm in trouble (you know what I'm talking about) and make a room smell ten times better.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm a fan of them all.
How fucking sappy.
35. Favorite ice cream?
It was fun to discover a couple years ago that my Dad and me share the same taste in ice cream: Butter Pecan. All other ice creams bow to its greatness.
36. Favorite fast food restaurant?
Even after all these years it still has to be McDonalds. When I was young, my sister and me would sometimes keep the Happy Meal boxes and play restaurant. Until Mom found the packaging (that still had aging cheese stuck to it) and throw them out.
The fattening, carb infested, sodium infused Bic Mac only enters my system on rare occasions. But goddamn if isn't three minutes of heaven.
37. How many times did you fail your driver's test?
Ugh, do I have to answer this?
All right. Three times.
The first time I blew a stop sign. I was disappointed when the Clipboard Lady told me to drive back to the DMV immediately.
The second time I had too many points off to pass.
The final time I had a really nice guy who realized I was trying real hard and gave me an 87. I freakin' finally passed.
Thus began a long history of driving into inadimate objects that, I swear, jumped out in front of my car. Honest.
38. From whom did you get your last email?
My best friend Ted, about his trip to Santa Rosa with his family.
39. Which store would you choose to max out your credit card?
Crate & Barrel. They don't have any in Sonoma County, but damn if I still have two lamps and a set of awesome coasters from that place. If I ever have money again, that's where I'll shop.
40. Do anything spontaneous lately?
Asked someone out that I'd been dying to spend some time with.
Raven hair. Awesome smile. Dark eyes. And an affinity for silliness.
She turned me down.
41. Like your job?
It has 50% suckitude. The rest is usually enjoyable.
42. Broccoli?
What the hell? Are you asking me if I know about broccoli?
Hell yes I do. And broccoli can suck it.
43. What was your favorite vacation?
It has to be the trip to Yosemite where a big chunk of the family from my Mom's side joined us. The best part was at night when we'd light the campfire, roast some hot dogs and I'd listen intently as all the adults talked.
44. Blonde, Brunette, or Red head?
I've always preferred brunettes my entire life, but redheads are a close second. Something about dark haired women that drives me crazy.
45. I like my coffee?
I like my coffee like I like my Dialysis treatments. Never.
46. Favorite comic book hero?
Batman. How can you not want to take pain and suffering and turn it into a positive influence on the community.
One day I will cross the line of personal suffering and emerge as Dialysis Man. My superpower will be insulting and mocking stupid people wherever they may thrive.
47. Name of first pet?
Caesar. He was a beautiful black German shepherd who had lived with my Dad for years before me and my sister came alone. He passed away in the bushes when I was seven. It was the first time I ever witnessed my Dad cry.
48. When did you find the Internet?
In a library in Stockton. I had to move back home for six months in preparation for my second kidney transplant and I walked by these three computers with the internet set up back in the summer of 1995.
I've been addicted ever since.
49. Favorite CD?
The last four albums from George Carlin were his masterpieces. All his work is great, but with these creations he set a new bar, even for himself.
50. Paper or plastic?
I have to agree with those over legislative goons in San Francisco and take paper. They're much easier to recycle than plastic, and they don't seem to roam the beautiful trails of Sonoma County.
Why do people always have to ruin a good thing?
That's it. That's all. And lets all agree, that's enough about me.
Who I am? Doesn't matter really. Just call me the Blog Bitch.
1. What time did you get up this morning?
--- I remember vividly waking up about 4:30am for a blissful moment, only to subconsciously realize there was a breathing mask on my face. Since Stacy Subconscious is claustrophobic (as well as the Really Annoying Stacy) it was ripped to the floor. I then proceeded to try to sleep without it.
I could have just said "4:30am" but I'm in a talkative mood.
2. How do you like your steak?
Preferably on a plate. Wakka wakka.
3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema?
I attended a midnight showing of "Harry Potter & the Half Blood Prince" with two geeky friends at work. Honestly, I love midnight showings, but I can't go any longer. I'm getting to the regrettable point in my life where the combination of aging PLUS Dialysis treatments = Death The Next Day.
It was partly a waste of time because I don't remember most of the film. Especially the middle. That's right, the nouget part of the flick.
4. What is your favorite TV show?
The show I can go back again and again and watch the entire run of the show over and over is "The Office." As far as present favorites, I'm watching "Oz" from HBO and "Mad Men" from AMC. Both excellently written and acted.
All three of the above mentioned shows are also fantastic because they devour Dialysis time.
5. If you could live anywhere in the world where would it be?
Give me a 400 square foot cabin right on the beach, far from the annals of the human race and I would consider myself a very lucky dweeb.
6. What did you have for breakfast?
I skipped breakfast because I threw up. Again. Until there was nothing left in my abdomen. Then I threw up some more and pulled a stomach muscle.
7. What is your favorite cuisine?
I'm a simple man with simple tastes. Its a very close race between Italian and Mexican. Although I would be Dad's Cuisine: the ever popular Brunch Burger, at the top.
8. What foods do you dislike?
Stew, because my parents always rammed it down my throat when I was a kid. Processed meals like you find in the freezer aisle. And unfortunately, I'm starting to lose my love for cheese because my roommate puts in on everything and stinks up the house. Ugh.
9. Favorite Place to Eat?
Crystal's Corner in Santa Rosa. Its this little hole-in-the-wall owned by this friendly Chinese family that makes just about anything. The Two Egg Breakfast special is awesome and filling. The BLT's are to die for. And the eats are cheap.
To reiterate, I'm a man of simple means.
10. Favorite dressing?
Blue cheese. Every time we went out to eat as a family, my parents always ordered it on their salad, and so did I. It feels nostalgic every time I devour it.
11.What kind of vehicle do you drive?
I drive the Blue Devil, a 2000 Chevy S-10 Pickup. She's a lot like me: sluggish, slow to accelerate and gets horrible gas mileage. But she's never broken down and she's never failed to start.
12. What are your favorite clothes?
I'd wear jeans and a t-shirt every day for the remainder of my life if certain occasions didn't call for a dressier look.
13. Where would you visit if you had the chance?
I want to travel to Greece. The history, the culture, the beautiful beaches and amazing architecture.
But mostly, for the women.
14. Cup 1/2 empty or 1/2 full?
Cup was broken years ago and put back together with missing parts.
15. Where would you want to retire?
A little island that nobody has discovered yet. I've had my fill of humans and their ridiculously dangerous technology.
16. Favorite time of day?
The Magic Hour. That moment when the sun just disappears over the horizon and you can hear the clock ticking down the last thirty minutes of light before the day concludes.
17. Where were you born?
The pit of hell in the middle of the California desert: Stockton. Its one big strip mall surrounded by mindless criminals and psychopaths. Why they even bother to try to grab tourist dollars is beyond me.
18. What is your favorite sport to watch?
The National...Football...League! A purely American sport for mindless American cretins. It has action, drama, pain, defeat, triumph all enjoyed within a three hour time frame. I'll probably pass just as the season is ending with another Pittsburgh Steeler Super Bowl.
19. Who is your favorite entertainer?
George Carlin. He was a true orchestrator of the English language. He used it to teach, mock, mollify, expose the truth and call out the ridiculous. A true artist who will never be matched.
20. Who in entertainment have you had enough of?
Anyone who stoops to expose their family or friends to a reality show. Unless what you're going through is teaching or inspiring others, get the fuck off my TV.
21. Best TV talk show?
"Late Night with David Letterman." I find that Conan and Ferguson can be hilarious at times, but Dave has kept me laughing since high school. I'm going to miss him when he decides to retire.
22. Bird watcher?
Sorry, but there's a special reserved space in hell for birds and their omnipresent crap. I'm more of a People Watcher because their dopey actions entertain me.
23. Are you a morning person or a night person?
Chipper morning people should be outlawed. I love the evenings when most everyone has shut down by 10pm and I own the night. You can go for late night walks or be the only one in the 24 hour cafe.
24. Do you have pets?
No, but my roommates are like pets. I live with Clinically Obese Woman and Know-It-All Young Punk. One puts cheese on every goddamn thing she shoves down her gullet (you can only guess what the kitchen smells like) and the other cuts his ball hair every other day in our bathroom sink.
To answer your obvious question: because the rent is cheap.
25. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share?
I've almost bled to death in the Dialysis bathroom two times last week.
I know what you're thinking: Stacy, you're not trying hard enough.
26. What did you want to be when you were little?
Astronaut, race car driver or radio host. Considering how much we change as we grow older, one out of three ain't half bad.
27. What is your best childhood memory?
When I woke up from my first kidney transplant in 1983 and there were balloons and flowers everywhere. The flowers were from my Uncle Buddy and had this planter that was shaped like a closed hand.
Its still on my bookshelf, now beholden to pens and pencils.
28. Are you a cat or dog person?
I love both because I understand where they're both coming from. Dogs just want to play and be loved. Cats really have no use for anyone until they need food or their head scratched.
29. Are you married?
Ha. Hahahaha. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
I'm a huge thirty-nine year old never married loser. And will probably never marry. I tell everyone its because I'm on Dialysis, but truly, I'm just annoying.
30. Always wear your seat belt?
Definately. It comforts me to know that I'll be strapped in when I'm crushed by that semi circa 2011.
31. Been in a car accident?
No major ones. Although I do have a tendency to smush the front of my cars by bumping into stationary objects.
32. Any pet peeves?
I have a long list of grievances, but I'll just narrow it down to my number one complaint: Fucking men.
Men cause all the problems. Men primarily commit all the crimes. Men caused the downfall of this country. Men sold most of this nation to foreign countries. Men are disgusting. Men are foul. And most of them are complete fucking idiots.
99% of the women I've met in my lifetime are the complete opposite.
33. Favorite Pizza Toppings?
Anchovy. Give me a small anchovie pizza and that's pretty much my only meal for the next two days. Delcious and Dad-inspired.
34. Favorite Flower?
Flowers are like fleeting creatures of hope and happiness. One always purchases flowers to celebrate a momentous occasion or make someone happy.
Flowers have always helped me out when I'm in trouble (you know what I'm talking about) and make a room smell ten times better.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm a fan of them all.
How fucking sappy.
35. Favorite ice cream?
It was fun to discover a couple years ago that my Dad and me share the same taste in ice cream: Butter Pecan. All other ice creams bow to its greatness.
36. Favorite fast food restaurant?
Even after all these years it still has to be McDonalds. When I was young, my sister and me would sometimes keep the Happy Meal boxes and play restaurant. Until Mom found the packaging (that still had aging cheese stuck to it) and throw them out.
The fattening, carb infested, sodium infused Bic Mac only enters my system on rare occasions. But goddamn if isn't three minutes of heaven.
37. How many times did you fail your driver's test?
Ugh, do I have to answer this?
All right. Three times.
The first time I blew a stop sign. I was disappointed when the Clipboard Lady told me to drive back to the DMV immediately.
The second time I had too many points off to pass.
The final time I had a really nice guy who realized I was trying real hard and gave me an 87. I freakin' finally passed.
Thus began a long history of driving into inadimate objects that, I swear, jumped out in front of my car. Honest.
38. From whom did you get your last email?
My best friend Ted, about his trip to Santa Rosa with his family.
39. Which store would you choose to max out your credit card?
Crate & Barrel. They don't have any in Sonoma County, but damn if I still have two lamps and a set of awesome coasters from that place. If I ever have money again, that's where I'll shop.
40. Do anything spontaneous lately?
Asked someone out that I'd been dying to spend some time with.
Raven hair. Awesome smile. Dark eyes. And an affinity for silliness.
She turned me down.
41. Like your job?
It has 50% suckitude. The rest is usually enjoyable.
42. Broccoli?
What the hell? Are you asking me if I know about broccoli?
Hell yes I do. And broccoli can suck it.
43. What was your favorite vacation?
It has to be the trip to Yosemite where a big chunk of the family from my Mom's side joined us. The best part was at night when we'd light the campfire, roast some hot dogs and I'd listen intently as all the adults talked.
44. Blonde, Brunette, or Red head?
I've always preferred brunettes my entire life, but redheads are a close second. Something about dark haired women that drives me crazy.
45. I like my coffee?
I like my coffee like I like my Dialysis treatments. Never.
46. Favorite comic book hero?
Batman. How can you not want to take pain and suffering and turn it into a positive influence on the community.
One day I will cross the line of personal suffering and emerge as Dialysis Man. My superpower will be insulting and mocking stupid people wherever they may thrive.
47. Name of first pet?
Caesar. He was a beautiful black German shepherd who had lived with my Dad for years before me and my sister came alone. He passed away in the bushes when I was seven. It was the first time I ever witnessed my Dad cry.
48. When did you find the Internet?
In a library in Stockton. I had to move back home for six months in preparation for my second kidney transplant and I walked by these three computers with the internet set up back in the summer of 1995.
I've been addicted ever since.
49. Favorite CD?
The last four albums from George Carlin were his masterpieces. All his work is great, but with these creations he set a new bar, even for himself.
50. Paper or plastic?
I have to agree with those over legislative goons in San Francisco and take paper. They're much easier to recycle than plastic, and they don't seem to roam the beautiful trails of Sonoma County.
Why do people always have to ruin a good thing?
That's it. That's all. And lets all agree, that's enough about me.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
M.I.A. Stacy
I've mentioned in an earlier post that I am God's Action Figure.
To understand fully what I'm talking about, feel free to check out "God's Action Figure" from last April.
In that earlier post, I theorize that God created me from used parts that He simply had lying around Heaven's Garage. Thus, I look and feel the way I do.
I hope you understand by now that Dialysis, on its own, for the duration I've endured, is more then enough for any one individual to handle.
This year marks over twenty-six years I've been dealing with kidney failure.
And now I have created a corollary to my earlier theory on my personal creation.
God's actually been trying to kill me.
Or push me to the brink so I kill myself.
I had the insurmountable luck to be born in a decade when Dialysis and transplantation had finally become viable. Well, that's just dumb luck really.
Two transplants and a total of six years of all encompassing Dialysis later, I'm still here to annoy my fellow man.
Two years ago I had reached a plateau where I had found a way to balance treatment with what I wished my life to be.
That made God incredibly angry.
Two years ago I was diagnosed with Chronic Sleep Apnea. To state it simply (and because I don't really care to talk about it all that much) my throat closes up over a hundred times a night. It is during these moments that I stop breathing, my throat closes up, my brain wakes me up (but not to full conscioiusness) and the whole process continues unabated.
All. Night. Long.
Last week I returned to Doughy Sleep Doctor and I took the credit card device that takes my stats on the breathing (CPAP) machine and allows a computer to display and print out the results.
Go ahead. Take a guess as to the average number of hours of sleep I've received each night over the past year.
Six? 5.4? 3.27302938 hours?
Two.
This is where God is laughing hysterically and putting another point on the God vs. Stacy scoreboard.
The machine works fine for those two hours. I rarely wake up because 9ml of air is being pummeled downostrils with a breathing mask.
Somewhere around two hours, the sleep medicine wears off and the Stacy Claustrophobia kicks in.
Without my knowledge, my unconscious mind senses something trapping my head, removes it and then throws it into the carpeted floor below.
God's shaking his belly with uprorious laughter right about now.
My day starts unwillingly at 6:30am when I wake up and discover I'm exhausted. I wander in and out of sleep for the next couple of hours until my alarm shakes reality back into my face.
What God also finds entertaining is that the less sleep I receive, the more nauseous I become, the more vomiting ensues.
So vomiting has returned as my morning ritual.
Once I'm all cleaned out my system makes room for a small amount of appetite.
From a strapping 62kg. last year, I'm down to 56.5.
And the weight keeps dropping.
God thinks He has me on the ropes, but He's mistaken.
Uvulopalatopharyngoplasty: The Surgery.
It rhymes with "MoveYouUhPlateOrMarniGoNasty."
This is a procedure by which tissues are removed from the throat.
I know. Sounds like a great way to spend a Tuesday.
The following are removed, in no particular order:
--- The tonsils.
--- The Uvula.
--- The soft palate.
--- The adenoids.
--- The pharnyx.
There are many factors in my life that have led up to the possibility of this surgery.
I've been on steroids for a majority of my life to save my transplants, so that could have caused my throat to swell.
The years of radio have developed my pharnyx, so that could also be a culprit.
The fact that my growth was stunted by steroids at the age of twelve could have caused my throat to develop fully while the surrounding area did not. I have small nostrils leading to a narrow nasal cavity as well.
At this point, the "E" in my Username stands for Enough Is Enough.
That's right. Stacy's mad as hell, and he's not going to take it any longer.
Whatever it happened to be, multiply it by 730, because that's how many days the two hour sleep days have been continuing.
I'm a mindless, numbed down, former shell of myself. I go through my daily routine unabated, uninterested and mostly unmotivated.
I've gone from the purgatory of Dialysis to the hellfires of Sleep Apnea and every day is a struggle for something in the vicinity of the zip code of the neighborhood of Normal Stacy.
Normal Stacy is an ironic name, for Normal Stacy is simply Original Stacy with a new title.
Normal Stacy is given to flights of silliness. Normal Stacy makes up strange moments on the radio and then laughs at himself. Normal Stacy can be quite charming and fun to be around. Normal Stacy is very energetic and never a fan of vertical resting.
Presently, Dying Stacy is taking his place. And I mean that literally.
If I continue down this path of restless nights and minimal sleep, heart attacks and strokes are designated moments already created for my future.
And God will be laughing the entire time.
Bastard.
To understand fully what I'm talking about, feel free to check out "God's Action Figure" from last April.
In that earlier post, I theorize that God created me from used parts that He simply had lying around Heaven's Garage. Thus, I look and feel the way I do.
I hope you understand by now that Dialysis, on its own, for the duration I've endured, is more then enough for any one individual to handle.
This year marks over twenty-six years I've been dealing with kidney failure.
And now I have created a corollary to my earlier theory on my personal creation.
God's actually been trying to kill me.
Or push me to the brink so I kill myself.
I had the insurmountable luck to be born in a decade when Dialysis and transplantation had finally become viable. Well, that's just dumb luck really.
Two transplants and a total of six years of all encompassing Dialysis later, I'm still here to annoy my fellow man.
Two years ago I had reached a plateau where I had found a way to balance treatment with what I wished my life to be.
That made God incredibly angry.
Two years ago I was diagnosed with Chronic Sleep Apnea. To state it simply (and because I don't really care to talk about it all that much) my throat closes up over a hundred times a night. It is during these moments that I stop breathing, my throat closes up, my brain wakes me up (but not to full conscioiusness) and the whole process continues unabated.
All. Night. Long.
Last week I returned to Doughy Sleep Doctor and I took the credit card device that takes my stats on the breathing (CPAP) machine and allows a computer to display and print out the results.
Go ahead. Take a guess as to the average number of hours of sleep I've received each night over the past year.
Six? 5.4? 3.27302938 hours?
Two.
This is where God is laughing hysterically and putting another point on the God vs. Stacy scoreboard.
The machine works fine for those two hours. I rarely wake up because 9ml of air is being pummeled downostrils with a breathing mask.
Somewhere around two hours, the sleep medicine wears off and the Stacy Claustrophobia kicks in.
Without my knowledge, my unconscious mind senses something trapping my head, removes it and then throws it into the carpeted floor below.
God's shaking his belly with uprorious laughter right about now.
My day starts unwillingly at 6:30am when I wake up and discover I'm exhausted. I wander in and out of sleep for the next couple of hours until my alarm shakes reality back into my face.
What God also finds entertaining is that the less sleep I receive, the more nauseous I become, the more vomiting ensues.
So vomiting has returned as my morning ritual.
Once I'm all cleaned out my system makes room for a small amount of appetite.
From a strapping 62kg. last year, I'm down to 56.5.
And the weight keeps dropping.
God thinks He has me on the ropes, but He's mistaken.
Uvulopalatopharyngoplasty: The Surgery.
It rhymes with "MoveYouUhPlateOrMarniGoNasty."
This is a procedure by which tissues are removed from the throat.
I know. Sounds like a great way to spend a Tuesday.
The following are removed, in no particular order:
--- The tonsils.
--- The Uvula.
--- The soft palate.
--- The adenoids.
--- The pharnyx.
There are many factors in my life that have led up to the possibility of this surgery.
I've been on steroids for a majority of my life to save my transplants, so that could have caused my throat to swell.
The years of radio have developed my pharnyx, so that could also be a culprit.
The fact that my growth was stunted by steroids at the age of twelve could have caused my throat to develop fully while the surrounding area did not. I have small nostrils leading to a narrow nasal cavity as well.
At this point, the "E" in my Username stands for Enough Is Enough.
That's right. Stacy's mad as hell, and he's not going to take it any longer.
To get some minute idea of what I feel like, take a moment to remember the most exhausted day of your life.
Could be a 24 hour shift you had to endure. Or an extremely long birth for your first born.Whatever it happened to be, multiply it by 730, because that's how many days the two hour sleep days have been continuing.
I'm a mindless, numbed down, former shell of myself. I go through my daily routine unabated, uninterested and mostly unmotivated.
I've gone from the purgatory of Dialysis to the hellfires of Sleep Apnea and every day is a struggle for something in the vicinity of the zip code of the neighborhood of Normal Stacy.
Normal Stacy is an ironic name, for Normal Stacy is simply Original Stacy with a new title.
Normal Stacy is given to flights of silliness. Normal Stacy makes up strange moments on the radio and then laughs at himself. Normal Stacy can be quite charming and fun to be around. Normal Stacy is very energetic and never a fan of vertical resting.
Presently, Dying Stacy is taking his place. And I mean that literally.
If I continue down this path of restless nights and minimal sleep, heart attacks and strokes are designated moments already created for my future.
And God will be laughing the entire time.
Bastard.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
The Power of Baby Sisters
My baby sister's name is Amy, named ceremoniously after our grandmother on my mother's side Amelia.
The one that had thirteen children, my mother being the final number in that Jon & Kate Plus Eight brood.
I call my sister Amos, just because.
Over the years, our relationship as siblings has been uneven. Somewhere after I began college and Amy graduating from high school, we really lost touch.
I'm as much to blame as she is. But that's not really important.
What's important is the here and now, and that is what I speak of today.
Over the past weekend, with no personal persuasion involved, my sister visited Sonoma County for the weekend.
Over the past weekend, with no personal persuasion involved, my sister visited Sonoma County for the weekend.
The English language is not descriptive enough to behold the anticipation I had for my sister's arrival. It was as though Christmas and my birthday had mated and given birth to a new level of anticipation.
Many years ago I adopted Santa Rosa and the backwoods of Sonoma County as my new hometown. This leads to the ultimate joy of being able to share one's love for the county over and over and over again.
I'm ashamed to admit I'd never been to the Charles M. Schulz museum. We went.
Had to show off my favorite hour hiking trail at Howarth Park. Done.
We explored downtown Santa Rosa and Healdsburg. Went antique store shopping. Wolfed down meals at Omelette Express, Flavor and Gary Chu's.
But best of all was just sitting in the presence of my sister and having great conversations. About nothing in particular.
And I loved it.
For three days all the frustration, sadness and depression that migrates through my head daily, evaporated completely.
A fact I didn't realize until after she had departed.
Her plane sped away on Monday evening. I was still feeling pretty good until Wednesday evening.
Then Melancholy stepped in. And He won't get out from under my bed.
If you perchance had met my sister, you'd immediately like her. Everyone does.
She's naturally sweet. Given to flights of silliness and whimsy. Able to speak about anything. Very intelligent.
Quite generous. She tried to pay for everything.
Generosity knows her quite well. In 1995 when my first kidney transplant was failing and I was headed toward the dreaded transplant list, she offered up hers without hesitation.
I like to believe that while it is housed within my frame, my system was able to filter my life through her kidney and somehow grab the best her soul had to offer.
At least, that's my hope.
I miss you Amy.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
An Open Letter to My Fellow Dialysis Patients Regarding the State of the Bathroom
People often ask why I rail against the patients of my clinic so harshly.
To put if succinctly: they're neandarthal pigs.
The following is a list of random occurences that have randomly occured at random times, occuring on the occurence when I begin my treatment:
--- Pool o' Urine
Gentlemen (and quite possibly ladies...and I use both terms extremely loosely) how difficult is it to aim liquid at a cylindrical bowl? Did you never water a garden properly? Play the water shooter into the clowns mouth at the carnival. Sheesh.
I dearly love my Converse. All four pair. I wear them every single stinkin' day to Dialysis because they're comfortable, they're rocking the cool and they make me happy.
Sticky pools of urinary wastes delving into the pores of my favorite feet accessories make me incredibly angry.
And vomit a little in my mouth.
--- Lack of Lever Use
This happens nearly every day. Some nickel and dime IQ dweller doesn't have the common sense or class to dispose of their biggest accomplishment of the day.
So there it sits, clogging up the bowl, teetering on extinction.
And now it becomes my job to send it on its way.
Unfair. Unwise. And totally unnatural.
--- Feces Control
If you're eating something presently, I would avoid the next few sentences.
Feces on the floor. Hanging off the side of the bowl. On the wall. In the sink.
And my personal all-time, five years on Dialysis favorite?
Stuck to the wall next to the lou with toilet paper.
That one was just a few weeks ago.
I thought it was just monkeys that played with their excrement.
No, Dialysis patients do too.
Until I have the Catheter Succubus removed, I need to use that little room to change into my "Dialysis Shirt." (i.e. the flannel shirt I bought in 1988 from Millers Outpost so I don't care what substances are left remaining on its fading cotton)
I beg of you fellow Dialysis zombies: use our treatment bathroom as though she is a fine, delicate woman. Handle her with care. Gently. Don't abuse her. Or throw her around like a rag doll. And don't leave her with the check.
Just one final word to my fellow patients:
Feces is not a toy.
To put if succinctly: they're neandarthal pigs.
The following is a list of random occurences that have randomly occured at random times, occuring on the occurence when I begin my treatment:
--- Pool o' Urine
Gentlemen (and quite possibly ladies...and I use both terms extremely loosely) how difficult is it to aim liquid at a cylindrical bowl? Did you never water a garden properly? Play the water shooter into the clowns mouth at the carnival. Sheesh.
I dearly love my Converse. All four pair. I wear them every single stinkin' day to Dialysis because they're comfortable, they're rocking the cool and they make me happy.
Sticky pools of urinary wastes delving into the pores of my favorite feet accessories make me incredibly angry.
And vomit a little in my mouth.
--- Lack of Lever Use
This happens nearly every day. Some nickel and dime IQ dweller doesn't have the common sense or class to dispose of their biggest accomplishment of the day.
So there it sits, clogging up the bowl, teetering on extinction.
And now it becomes my job to send it on its way.
Unfair. Unwise. And totally unnatural.
--- Feces Control
If you're eating something presently, I would avoid the next few sentences.
Feces on the floor. Hanging off the side of the bowl. On the wall. In the sink.
And my personal all-time, five years on Dialysis favorite?
Stuck to the wall next to the lou with toilet paper.
That one was just a few weeks ago.
I thought it was just monkeys that played with their excrement.
No, Dialysis patients do too.
Until I have the Catheter Succubus removed, I need to use that little room to change into my "Dialysis Shirt." (i.e. the flannel shirt I bought in 1988 from Millers Outpost so I don't care what substances are left remaining on its fading cotton)
I beg of you fellow Dialysis zombies: use our treatment bathroom as though she is a fine, delicate woman. Handle her with care. Gently. Don't abuse her. Or throw her around like a rag doll. And don't leave her with the check.
Just one final word to my fellow patients:
Feces is not a toy.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
The Totally Original and Blissfully Exciting Stacy Alphabet Game
I'm most likely not the first to invent the above mentioned game, but since my name is in it, one of my bretheren may have.
Its rather simple really. Feel free to play along in the Comment section of the Adventures of Stacy Without An E blogfest below.
I'm saying my name so many times, I feel like I have something to plug on a talk show. Or develop into a cool online app that people are excited about for a month but then quickly grow tire of (I'm talking to you Twitter.)
The Rules of the Stacy Alphabet Game:
Simple really.
You create an entire sentence using the first letter of the alphabet only.
Thus, twenty-six total words.
I'm done it before, which you can examine HERE.
So ladies and gentleman, boys and girls, kids of all shapes and sizes, prepare to be mystified by the verbal linguistics from the vocabularic mind of Stacy Without An E.
Altruistic benevolent custodians dutifully eradicate feces grotesquely habitating insidiously jaunty kabuki's. Laborious mandates negate official pandering quietly, restricting serendipitous training undermining vociferous wisenheimer xenophobes yawning zealously.
Its amazing! Its fantastic! Its nearly comprehensible!
I dare you in the comments below to attempt the same.
Its rather simple really. Feel free to play along in the Comment section of the Adventures of Stacy Without An E blogfest below.
I'm saying my name so many times, I feel like I have something to plug on a talk show. Or develop into a cool online app that people are excited about for a month but then quickly grow tire of (I'm talking to you Twitter.)
The Rules of the Stacy Alphabet Game:
Simple really.
You create an entire sentence using the first letter of the alphabet only.
Thus, twenty-six total words.
I'm done it before, which you can examine HERE.
So ladies and gentleman, boys and girls, kids of all shapes and sizes, prepare to be mystified by the verbal linguistics from the vocabularic mind of Stacy Without An E.
Altruistic benevolent custodians dutifully eradicate feces grotesquely habitating insidiously jaunty kabuki's. Laborious mandates negate official pandering quietly, restricting serendipitous training undermining vociferous wisenheimer xenophobes yawning zealously.
Its amazing! Its fantastic! Its nearly comprehensible!
I dare you in the comments below to attempt the same.
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