Tag Archives: postaday

When Good Friday Eclipses Easter

Regular readers to this page know that I have a condition known as degenerative disc disease.  This is sometimes called disc and joint disease or DJD.  It was precipitated by a genetically inherited “bad back” on my mom’s side of the family (her brothers have both suffered similar fates) and a traumatic injury to my back when I was four years-old.  The whole thing came to a head for the first time when I was 23 years-old and I had my first spinal fusion at the L5-S1 level.  Fun.  Thirteen years later I had another spinal fusion at L4-L5 (the adjacent level).

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This pic is tired, I know.  I’ve used it before but it shows the current state of my spine in case you didn’t know.

I had really hoped that I would be able to avoid another fusion (or at least the symptomatic back pain and debilitating sciatica for at least 5-10 years at the next level.  So far, I think I’m doing well in that regard.  I got more serious about my health than I ever have before.  Hell, I started eating vegetables and lots of them.  I took up running before realizing that it required one to run.  The thing I’m proudest of, however, is that I got serious about getting jacked.  I haven’t had the kind of success I had hope but I’ve done OK.  You see, it’s important for me that I build up ever single muscle in my body in order to safeguard my spine.  It’s not really a vanity thing – not really.  Still who wouldn’t love being almost 40 and looking like one of the Jersey Shore crew on summer vacation?  I won’t lie, that’s a cool prospect considering I looked far from that from the time I was about 15 until recently.  But I stepped it up and looked into things I had never done before, all the while remembering the lessons learned from surgeries and physical therapy.  In other words, I’ve been doing all of this safely.  Currently I’m doing a program called Body Beast designed to bulk up.  I figure the more muscle the better.

About a year ago I was at my standard weight, hovering around 200.  I have a medium sized frame so that’s not impressive.  But when I got serious-serious I dropped down to 173 with Insanity.  I felt great knowing that I could complete something most men (including many athletic men) attempt and give up because it’s hard.  I took heat for it, good natured I believed.  Then I decided it was time to build up.  I’m going back toward 200 but this time hard-core, solid muscle because I need it.  I’m up around 187 after two months and again, I feel great.  I’m enjoying seeing results (even if I’m the only one who sees them).

So why is God screwing with me?

Just when it seems I’m doing something good for myself, for my health, sacrificing time away from sleep or from my wife and kids to get in that workout I need to do I start to notice twinges of pain here and there.

About a year ago I began to experience what I knew was Restless Leg Syndrome or RLS.  It’s not painful just uncomfortable.  Fortunately it only hit me at night so my job and family life wasn’t affected.  I looked it up and it seemed to be a common side-effect of spinal fusions at L4-S1.  Then in the past few months (following around the time of my dad’s death) the symptoms morphed into painful leg cramps that strike in the middle of the night.

Time to see the surgeon.

I went for a visit to a man I trust with my life.  Hey, I’ve never let anyone cut me before nor even put his hands inside my body.  That’s how much I trust this guy.  He’s Mayo Clinic trained.

I love his response after looking at my X-rays.  “I can’t know what’s in the box until I open the box.  But before I cut you let’s run some tests.”

I had a nerve conduction study first.  This showed no nerve damage.  Praised be God.

Then it was time for the Myelogram CT.

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Me after my Myelogram.  See, it’s not that bad.  I’m smiling.

This past Thursday (Holy Thursday) I went to an imaging center and had a dye injected into my spinal column so images could be taken.  The procedure is painful in itself.  The after effects aren’t pleasant either.  I went home and went on bed rest for 48 hours.  My dear sister, an RN, came to town for an Easter visit and was put to work as my caretaker.  This consisted in lying on the couch watching 85 episodes or the 1980’s-90’s crime documentary Unsolved Mysteries while drifting in and out of sleep.

On Good Friday I had an opportunity to unite real physical pain with the crucifixion of Our Lord.  I was truly thankful.

Then came Holy Saturday.  And… unfortunately it still felt like Good Friday.  Throughout the day I tried to make myself believe that the pain was dissipating and I could do things like mow the lawn.  I had been told that by 48 hours I’d be golden.  On Saturday night my wife, kids, and I got dolled up and headed to the Easter vigil – a tradition for us.  Unfortunately I made it into the first of seven readings before the splitting headache got the best of me and we had to leave.  A consult with the surgeon’s office on a Saturday night uncovered that my puncture wound from the Myelogram hadn’t healed and I was leaking spinal fluid into my body, thus causing a spinal headache.  He called in an awesome script and after more rest I felt better.

Here’s the thing.  For the Christian the pain of loss and agony of death on Good Friday makes sense because of the promise of resurrection and joy of a new life and a glorious body on Easter Sunday.  Tomorrow I’m going in to have something called a blood patch performed.  They’ll take blood from my arm and inject it into the puncture wound to clot and stop the leaking of fluid.

I think I can take it that my Easter is coming a bit later?  That’s OK because I know myself and I know I deserve a bit of a longer Good Friday.

I’m writing all of this because I’ve received comments over the years from people who’s been faced with spinal problems and have apparently been helped by reading about someone else’s experience.  I’m also writing to ask prayers.  Pray the procedure goes well.  It’s not a big deal.  But also pray I can get back to my Body Beast.  LOL.  I’ve only got five more weeks until I look like Charles Atlas (in my mind) and I am pumped about that.  Of course, since it’s just me who’ll notice the difference I suppose I can convince myself I look that good now.  Yeah… that’s it!  It’s an Easter miracle!

Happy Easter to all of you reading this!  In the Catholic liturgical calendar, Easter lasts for seven weeks so enjoy every minute of it.  Remember the Lord is risen indeed.  This isn’t a spiritual resurrection.  He conquered death, destroyed that bastard.  He is all-powerful and lives and reigns forever and ever for you and me.

Amen.

Alleluia!

Last Chance?

Sometimes a thing catches your eye and fills you with such a sense of absurdity that you laugh out loud.  Then your wife, sitting next to you on the couch, looks at you and seems about to ask what you’re cackling over but then lets out of muffled sigh instead as if to say “You know what?  Nah…”

But my wife would never do that to me.

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Nestled safely between box sets of Unsolved Mysteries and Lost is your LAST CHANCE!

As we sit next to each other on the couch in our family room I just noticed a DVD case on its side under the TV with about 50 other DVD cases.  Remember them?  There was a world before streaming.  This DVD says (in blazing, italicized letters no less) LAST CHANCE WORKOUT.

I’ve been doing so well with my fitness plan these past few months.  First I did Insanity Max:30 where I stripped a whole lotta’ fat off my frame and found out I have no muscle.  Now I’m doing BodyBeast where my aim is to bulk up and make some serious gains in mass.  Yes, I know I did it backwards.  I did it that way as a joke on my trainer.  Duh.  No, if I had been thinking clearly I would have done it the other way around.  Apparently you bulk first and then shred.  My trainer does both at the same time and he has telekenesis.  Guy’s amazing.  Sometimes he bulks in the morning and then shreds after lunch.
Just. Because. He. Can.
I got a lot out of the shredding part.  I got pretty lean – down to a set of abs that were almost perceptible to the naked eye.  In fact, it’s only because I know Im capable of doing that again pretty quickly that I don’t mind having almost completely lost them due to this bulk.  This is the part where anyone who’s actually seen me in the past month says “No way, man, you’re looking amazing!  Are you shred-bulking or bulk-shredding?  Whatever it is, sign me up!”  I’m eating a LOT of food these days.  I’m also lifting heavier and heavier weights.  My trainer ties  70 lb. dumbbells to his ankles when he does his 12 mi. run.  That reminds me that I’ve been meaning to ask him if I should do a little running while I’m trying to bulk.  He’d probably advise against it at least until I’ve been doing this long enough to know what’s what like, say, 18 years.

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This is the guy from BodyBeast.  He’s an Israeli named Sagi (pronounced Sah-GEE).  And that quote tells you he’s peddling some hard core bullshit even if he is unbelievably ripped.  My trainer friend looks kinda’ like him but not as douchey.

My point is that I’ve become very comfortable at this routine.  That’s comfortable, not complacent.  I enjoy what I’m doing and I enjoy seeing the results (not as quickly as I’d like but I’m the guy who stands in front of a microwave and yells HURRY UP!”).  And I’ll also admit that over the years I’ve been frustrated with fitness.  There have been times when I felt like I didn’t know what I was doing and would never figure it out.  Not all of us were blessed to have gym access growing up on the streets of Compton.  I don’t know who I’m talking about since I’m from Newark but you get the picture.  Would I rather have figured this all out 20 years ago and been a stud with a full head of hair?  Would I rather have had girls beating down my door?  Would I rather have had a shot at achieving this goal earlier and getting it out of my way so I could legitimately cash in on my success and become a whale in my 30’s knowing I had already been jacked?  What was my alternative?  Oh yes, being me.  OK, so it’s not that bad.  But I’m comfortable with where I am with my fitness goals and progress here and now.  The downer in me says I’ll probably never reach my true goals but I need to murder him.  Bad downer.  Bad.

So why write all this?

How much do you have to hate yourself to do a workout called Last Chance?  I’m trying to picture anyone looking for a program.  “Let’s see… There’s Insanity.  Nah, too much cardio.  There’s P90X.  Nope, too many jumps.  There’s Tae-Bo. Too urban.  I guess I have no other options.  Oh look!  There’s a crazed woman on this box and she says it’s my last chance!  I don’t know what it is but something in her eyes is forcing my to believe it.  I’ll buy this DVD now because, having exhausted no other options, I realize I have no options left.  Thank God I found this DVD before it was too late!  What would have become of me?”

Yeah, that just happened.

My wife and I also watched a movie last night about aliens.  It stars Amy Adams.  I think it’s called Arrival.  Not bad.  The two aliens were called Abbot and Costello, no joke.  Unfortunately they weren’t remotely funny.

Mr. Euclid

First, thank you to everyone who has continued to offer their prayers for my family following the death of my dad two months ago.  They mean so much more than you know and I pray for each of you daily.

I want to tell you all that Dad’s been quite active lately, at least in my mind.  Over the past month especially he’s been showing up in my dreams.  As I told me wife today, the dreams make absolutely no sense on one level and more sense than anything I can think of on another.

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Artist’s rendering of a shape

Last night I went to bed as normal.  At 4AM I awoke from the following dream.  My father and I were in a very ethereal setting.  I can actually still envision all of this.  It’s almost like we were on a cloud but it wasn’t that hokey.  We were looking at, really examining, an equilateral triangle that was simply floating in the air in front of us.  He was instructing me on the properties of the triangle.  His words made perfect sense to me and I never liked math.  Dad was an actuary with a savant’s knowledge of all things mathematical.  I distinctly remember him saying (in this dream) as he had many times when he tried teaching me geometry in high school “According to Mr. Euclid…” referencing the Greek father of geometry.  What are you getting at, Dad?  Triangles?  Really?  Is it the Trinity?  I already believe in the Blessed Trinity.  Remember?  You taught me the sign of the cross as a four year-old when you taught me my first prayers.  Were you trying to show me something else?  Are you popping into the dreams of other people too or is it just me?  This is so strange.

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Hairy but solid

Another thing that’s going on (and I really don’t think the dreams are related) is that my Restless Leg Syndrome has intensified.  It’s now gotten to where the muscles in both legs cramp up about halfway through the night.  I get out of bed and, like this morning, leg down to see that my toes are curled and I have to physically unbend them.  It’s painful.  But, I’m getting it looked into.  This morning I’m going for an EMG/nerve conduction test.  I’ve had several of these done before.  Read about one of my experiences with it here.  In the meantime, enjoy this picture of my leg.  It may be the cause of great pain right now but at least it still makes my trainer jealous as all get out.  “Your calves seem to eat everything in sight” he told me.  Trainer?  My offer still stands.  I’ll happily trade you my calves for everything above your waist.  Then again he could just be messing with me…

Two Months Later

It was two months ago today that my dad went home.

I thought of him a couple of nights ago.  My wife, kids, and I were gathered around our living room praying our nightly family rosary.  Dad was so incredibly devoted to the rosary.  I can still hear his voice as he would come to round us up each evening.  “Rosary time!”  It had a particular sing-song tonal quality to it.

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The astute observer will note the resemblance to the Garden State…  Dad would get the humor here.

And of course, today is St. Patrick’s Day.  My father was particularly fond of his Irish heritage.  I remember when I was growing up and he would go into the deli to get his morning papers after daily mass.  Seemed to me that each year on St. Patrick’s Day he’d emerge from the store with a green-colored carnation pinned to his lapel.

So on this day, in honor of Patrick, in honor of Dad, and in honor of the Blessed Mother I will ask that any of you who read this offer a rosary for the souls in Purgatory.  If you understood that sentence, you’ll know what to do.

I Hesitate to Tell You that My Life is Bizarre

Being a writer is tough.  I know.  I asked one once.

Sometimes your mind spins in a million directions throughout the day as you take in one seemingly improbably event after another.  You think to yourself: “Damn, this is gonna’ make a great blog post when I sit down to write it!”

But hours later when you sit down to write it you hesitate.

You’re not sure if you can’t prioritize or perhaps you’re thinking back and realizing it only seemed funny to you.  Sure, that cat who was minding its business on the couch in the waiting room of your doctor’s office should not have been slapped by that child who should not have been there and is probably a satanist.  Wait a minute, that actually is funny.  You think back again.  Perhaps you hesitate because you can’t remember and you start to feel like Julianne Moore in Still Alice.  If you haven’t seen it, don’t worry.  Spoiler alert: she battles Alzheimers Disease throughout the flick.

Tonight I hesitate for one reason.  I don’t know that you’ll believe the things I’m about to share.  But hesitation is only good for a moment then it becomes angry and spiteful not unlike Christina Aguilera.  Oh well, here goes…

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I cut the cord!

Our microwave broke right before Thanksgiving.  It was three weeks outside of the warranty.  Lowe’s wouldn’t touch it.  An appliance reply lady said it would be cheaper to buy a new one.  We’ve been using a borrowed microwave from my wife’s aunt.  The woman actually has at least two of everything you could ever need in her house.  She lives alone and does not know how to use most of her things.  I contacted General Electric where I received some of the best customer care I’ve had in a long time.  A service rep informed me that they would essentially pay us for the full cost of that microwave.  All I had to do was peel a sticker off the inside.  Oh, and I had to provide proof of purchase.  Done and done.  Oh, and I had to cut the cord off the microwave and send a picture of it.  Rachel at GE did not explain this one to me very well, nor even exactly what kind of picture she wanted.  I experimented before settling on the picture you see here.  On closer review, perhaps I was not supposed to pose with the cord?  Why bring this up now?  Well, after emailing the pictures to GE I got another reply from them that they had not received the pictures.  Turns out the email was still in my drafts folder.  No, I did not take new pictures.  Yes, the check is on its way.  Go GE!  You bring good things to life.

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Limey, you’re a terrible friend.

I had friends over this past Saturday and decided to get creative with my bar.  Say hello to Mr. Limey.  He’s British, naturally.  I thought the evening went beautifully until my wife informed me after our guests had gone home that I was a little drunk.  Limey was supposed to see to it that I kept it classy.  Bastard.  He hate me because I’m also Irish.  The next day my wife changed her words a bit to say that I wasn’t “drunk just talkative”.  I’m not sure which is worse.  My apologies to my guests that night.  I thought we had a good time.

My workout is going very well (I think).  I’m on week 3 of BodyBeast.  This is the first phase and it’s called “Build”.  The next six weeks after this are called “Bulk”.  Then the final three weeks are called “Beast”.  I don’t like to brag – because there’s precious little I can honestly brag about – but somehow I was blessed with calves the size of Howitzers.  Think I can skip leg day and continue to work on my pathetic chest?  I think that’s a distinct plan.  Seriously, though, calves?  I only know one person who says “Man I wish I had calves like yours” and he’s a trainer.  I’m also never sure when he’s pulling my leg.  No one walks around saying “Gotta’ get huge calves!”

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Thanks, God.  Couldn’t have made this my biceps?

Finally, it is Ash Wednesday.  Or at least it was until an hour and five minutes ago.  At midnight on the dot, this Daddy went straight to the fridge.  As a Catholic, Ash Wednesday is one of our two fasting days.  I’ve gone days in my life where I’ve eaten less.  But when someone tells you that you can’t eat; that’s when you want food.  Also, I’ve been up around 3000 calories a day on this BodyBeast diet.  To drop down to almost nothing really was painful.  Thank God a day is just a day.

And thank you for reading this far.  I’m off to bed.  I’m sure there are many more bizarre events to happen for me tomorrow.  Don’t hesitate to share this post with others.

Slur

Thought I’d check in with a prompt from the good folks at the Daily Post.

Tonight it’s a single word:

Slur

So here goes…

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I call this one “Slur: Cause and Effect”.

Top that.

 

A Little Challenge between Friends

Last Friday evening, while looking through my Facebook feed, I took a call from my nephew.  He had gotten me into rideshare driving a few months ago.  In the course of our conversation it became obvious that we would both be heading out to do a little “driving” that night.  Not sure why I put quotes around that word since we would, in fact, be driving vehicles.  Anyway, there’s this thing between he and I.  It exists because we’re guys.  It exists because we’re family.  It also exists because apparently we’re competitive and didn’t realize it.

“Wanna’ make a friendly wager?” he asked.

“I’m not making any bets,” I said, “but it would be fun to see who could earn more on the night.”

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Nephew, drink with me… to RIDESHARE!

We agreed to certain parameters.  He’s an hour ahead on the East Coast, I live closer to a major airport.  These factors and many others kind of evened us out on the starting scoreboard.  We agreed to a two hour window since neither of us really wanted to be out driving on a Friday night.  We laughed about how we’d both much rather be at home with our wives but that they had ditched us with other plans.  In his case, his young bride went out with friends.  For me, my darling wife took out kids to a talent show.  There was only one more word of encouragement from my nephew.

“You kind of need to hang up the phone so we can get started…”

Right…

I hit the road.  Or perhaps the road hit me.  Man what a bizarre night.  First up:

Curry Catfish and the Quarter-mile Crawl

Alliteration is so amusing.  I promise I’ll stop now.  My first call was to an Indian restaurant for a food delivery.  Perhaps I’m showing my racist lack of tolerance and sensitivity here but perhaps it wasn’t exactly Indian.  It was some kind of South Asian.  I can’t tell you with certainty.  My employer won’t offer South Asian sensitivity training until 2018.  I walked into the restaurant to discover a white board with the specials written on it.  “Brain Masala,” it read.  I know I didn’t read that wrong.  And there’s pretty much nothing else that could be.  After waiting ten whole minutes I snatched the food order out of Hop Sing’s hands (I promise you that was his name) and hit the “begin” button.  Do you know that the lazy sonofabitch who ordered this nasty food that was going to smell up my car for the rest of the night lived across the street?  I really just kind of took my time delivering that one.  “Oh, I can only turn right out of the parking lot and then I have to go around the whole big block?…  What a shame.”  This brought me to my second ride and:

No Lines, No Waiting

The second ride was boring.  Let’s skip them.  As I dropped them off I discovered that I was not only near the entrance to the airport but that the airport queue looked small.  My plan was to drive into the airport, park in the rideshare staging area, and grab a smoke before being pinged.  I never had that chance.  The queue went from 55 cars down to 1 in the time it took me to go through the toll plaza.  I literally got a call as I was about to drive past the terminal where the passenger was waiting.  No surge but it was certainly efficient.  And she was going downtown so it wasn’t a terrible fare either.  Shows what you get for planning out a smoke break.  And since one airport was good to me, why not try:

Feeling the LOVE at the Other Airport

I totally didn’t just give away my location or anything.  Where my last passenger had me drop her was close enough that I could see the queue for the other, smaller airport on my app.  And the queue there was also dropping like the f-word at a family reunion.  What?  Must be just my family.  I pulled into that staging area.  I texted my nephew (who is an awesome guy, by the way, and I just wanted to state that here).  Sent him a picture of my earnings thus far and the fact that I was waiting at an airport with an active surge.  Unfortunately, my surge went away three cars before I was called but that’s OK.  If I hadn’t waited I wouldn’t have met the greatest passenger of all time.

Before I put my car in gear to drive to the terminal I got a text in a warm tone instructing me how to locate him.  The text described the logo on his hat and the fact that he was a big dude with a big red beard.  “This is going to be fun,” I thought.  Truthfully I can always tell before I collect them who’s going to be college-drunk and likely to vomit in my car (which has not happened yet, thank God) and who’s going to be respectable-drunk like he just came off a flight and he’s nervous about the take-off cycle because he’s watched too many air disaster shows and who are you to judge me!!?

This guy…  Dave.  Yes it’s his real name but what of it?  You don’t know him. and lot’s of men have that name.  Before I had left the airport and started out on a 25 mile ride (love those airport trips) Dave had told me about his flight, his reason for travel, and his job.  The flight from the state capitol an hour south was fine.  He taught the passenger next to him how to play blackjack.  She was connecting on to Vegas.  He was in town to visit his dad and his sister.  I believe his mom and dad are divorced.  It’s sad really.  He caught her cheating when Dave was 11.  It was an ugly mess.  Keep in mind we had not hit a traffic light yet and this is a small airport.  All the while I’m nodding my head and saying things like “Yeah, I completely understand.  Isn’t that just the way?”

His job?  This deserves its own paragraph.  Our friend is a military biologist.  I thought he was joking or I had misheard him.  I was waiting for him to tell me that he was responsible for putting Jaime Sommers together after that freak accident.  In reality, he told me enough about viruses and other biology-y stuff that I knew he was serious.  I asked what he loved about his job.  Why not?  He had already discovered I was a teacher.  They always ask what I do for my “real job” and I tell them.  He told me “It’s so cool but we’re working on a new treatment for burn victims!”  I just about fell out of my skin.  This sounded awesome.  I have known burn victims and it is among the most painful and horrifying things to undergo (being a burn victim, not simply knowing them).  Not wanting to sound too forward but hoping he could divulge some information I spoke up.

“Is it a pill, or something topical, or…”

“Nah,” said drunk Dave.

“It’s a fuc*ing laser!”

“A what now?” I retorted.  “A laser!  Isn’t that so cool?”  “Well, Dave,” I rejoined, “Isn’t it always the thing you totally don’t expect?  I mean, someone’s skin just got crisped worse than good bacon and to cure them…  let’s burn them some more with a laser.”

“DUUUDDDDD,” he said.  I was really thinking he would hurl at this point but he took a deep breath instead.

“DDEEEEEEEE, I’m gonna’ be famous for this.  I mean we still gotta’ get FDA approval which we might not get but you know what?  F the FDA, right?  What do they know?  Look at all the workout supplements out there.  They’re not FDA approved.”

“I know, Dave, I know all too well,” I said looking down at my pathetic arms.

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I removed Identifying stuff (town names, company name, etc.).  I win.

A laser?  Man, that just made my night.  I got young Dave safely to his single dad’s house in suburbia, even made sure he stumbled up the right steps before driving away.  I think he had it.  The guy who answered looked just like him but older.  Then I thought of my dad and wondered if he’d get a kick out of any of these stories.  He’d probably ask why I’m doing this in the first place.

Then I thought of the burn victims of the world who are likely to be incinerated by the Dave-zer® sometime in the near future.  Man, that’s gonna’ be fun to watch.

Oh, I beat the nephew by $4 but I really think I won in so many other ways this night.  Now is where I bury something for a particular reader.  A while back I shared my referral code with a friend.  He admits to having driven somewhere around 19 times.  If you’re reading this, buddy, take the 20th ride, for me, please?  There’s a cash bonus for me when you do.  You want me to be able to write more laser-curry-catfish-airport stories, don’t you?

Thought so.