Doctors ... What do They Know? (Part 2)

4 weeks.  That's how long I've had bronchitis.  4 weeks.  I went to the clinic, had the chest x-ray, blood work. I went to the pharmacy for the z-packs, the inhalers, the cough syrup. 

All in all this bronchitis cost me about $150.  I'm not sure how much it cost the health insurance company (don't care, really). 

Still, I felt like crap (with a capital f). 

It all began to change this weekend. 

You see, for a few years my wife (she's into herbs, ya know) has been telling me about the benefits of natural medicine.  Well, since I was going to have a few days off and I wouldn't have to be around people very much, I decided to try the garlic cure.

1 clove of garlic every four hours for three days.

(*SIDE NOTE:  My wife said it was a bit difficult to sleep next to me, as I was emitting a "certain aroma." - hehe)

The first day everything seemed the same, but I remained faithful to the regimen. 

Yesterday morning everything felt different - looser and more productive.  The congestion moved from the back of my throat to my nose, where I was able to blow it out all day long.

This morning, my chest was slightly tight, but not anywhere near the sensation of the past four weeks.  The cough was very productive, and the sinuses, though full, were quite manageable and breathable.  I kept up the regimen.

This evening I am very comfortable, breathing normally, with a slight cough, as though I am in the final stages of the common cold.  I will take one more dose of garlic before bedtime, and see what happens in the morning. 

A four week case of acute bronchitis / borderline pneumonia. 

Cured with a dollar's worth of garlic. Thanks, Honey!

Doctors ... What do they know??

... Later!

Google Anyone?

Google Analytics.  The indispensable tool that helps bloggers like myself understand their readership.  With Google Analytics, I have access to statistics about my page that I can use to fine tune things like content and writing skills. 

Google analytics provides equal amounts of useful and useless information (who cares how many visitors use Firefox as their browser?).  The weekly report tells me which towns are reading which posts, how long they remain on the page and on the site, which other posts they read, if any, as well as whether they came to the blog directly or used a search engine. 

At the very least, it is fun to know which topics are popular and unpopular, and which ones will draw the most ire from folks.  And, although it isn’t very useful, it’s interesting to know who reads and who just clicks around.

I’ve been using Google analytics for about 6 months and I’ve discovered some astonishing (and not so) information about Tenorboy Journal.

• My most popular posts are about pain and suffering.  Are my readers really into watching me suffer?  Apparently so.  Rock on, my friends.
• Second most popular posts are holiday-related stuff, you know the “what-we-did-on-Christmas” posts.
• The least popular posts are the informational articles.  When I demonstrate my expertise on any given subject on any given day, y’all don’t like it.  Too bad for you, no? 
• Monday is a bad day to post.  Items that are posted on Mondays get little to no attention.  But, I didn’t start blogging to get attention. (I didn’t??) No, I didn’t.  Regardless, the lack of interest in  Monday is in itself … interesting.
• People from my hometown are regular readers.  People from my current town don’t read it at all.  Oh, sure they click on it and click off, just to be polite, but how much can you actually read when you spend an average of 5 seconds on a page?  Oh, well.   
• I have a large readership overseas.  Maybe I should apply for a job in Japan.  Are they hiring bloggers???
• No one reads the posts in which I keep a close guard on my attitude and vocabulary.  The more “me” I am, the more popular the post (more readers), and the longer people stay on the blog before they exit.  Unfortunately, I am not always able to unleash the full “me.”   Some people would be offended (*GASP!*).  Perhaps I could be me in Japan??

What, then, should I do with this information?

Darned if I know

… Later.

Doctors ... What Do They Know?

The common cold.  For many people it comes a few times a year.  The sniffling, sneezing, watery eyes, post-nasal drip, and of course, the cough, cough, cough. 

My latest cold had all the earmarks of the normal affair, to a point.  The difference was in the cough.  It wouldn't quit - it just kept going and going and going ... for two weeks.

I must digress for a moment and tell you when I caught colds in the past, the doctor would invariably tell me that my ailment was viral in nature, and therefore no prescription was available to help me get better.  I always had to "wait it out" and make the best of it. 

So, you can understand my reluctance to see the doctor about my two-week old cough. 

Finally, I could take it no longer, and I went to the doctor.

Well, after a swab and a chest x-ray it was determined that I was well on my way to pneumonia.  Thankfully the infection didn't get that far.  It confined itself to the bronchial region. 

Acute bronchitis.

What does it mean?

At least 10 days of antibiotics, disgusting cough syrup (with codeine), and an inhaler.  Plus lots of rest and fluids (OK, so I got the fluid thing figured out, but I'm not so sure about the rest).

Anyway, I'm somewhat out of commission for now, but I'll spring back.  I always do.



... Later.
 

Random Saturday Morning Thoughts

It's Saturday morning, and as I sit in my recliner with a cup of coffee and the laptop, I find myself strangely calm in light of several tempests that are stirring in and around my life.  It's funny how the anxiety caused by trials and the helplessness caused by the "There's-absolutely-nothing-you-can-do-about-it" factor seemingly balance out one another, creating an over all "ahhhhh."

Or it could be that I've finally gotten to the point where I just don't give a rat's ass.

Some thoughts on this week

* * *

SLO (Student Learning Objectives) - NYS has adopted this idea hook, line, and sinker.  It stinks.  It comes with more paperwork than a ten-year IRS audit, and I predict that it will implode under it's own weight before it gets off the ground.  That said, we STILL have to go through it and produce an SLO (part of our annual performance review) before September.

"No, we're not making you teach to a test."  Yeah.  What ever.

* * *

Insurance companies cooperate ONLY after they are threatened with viable legal action.  Unfortunately that is what it took for ours to come through with a check - a check that was written to us AND our mortgage company.  Nice - just keep jumping through those hoops.

* * *

When grown-up siblings fight with each other, it is U-G-L-Y.  That is all.

* * *

When I grow up I want to be a beach bum.  But without the beach (I hate the beach.  LOVE the water, hate the beach).  I'd like to just hang out and have fun for the rest of my life.  I've tried it and found that I'm quite good at it.  I think, nay, I am sure that I would be stunning in that career.

* * *

The longer I live in this big, beautiful, drafty, old historic house,  the more I appreciate the beauty of our little house with its postage stamp garden and quaint picket fence.  It isn't that I don't appreciate the beauty of this place, or the convenience of living downtown, or the fact that our family is together.  It's just that enough is enough already.  I want to go home.

That's all for now.  You may return to your regularly scheduled lives.

...Later.

Of Checks and Dignity ...

OK, so it has now been 4 months since the flood adjuster came to evaluate the damage to our house from Tropical Storms Irene and Lee, and so far ... no check.

Wait, that isn't entirely true.  We did get an advance and a loan from the credit union, with which we were able to purchase a furnace.  Now we have an installation bill hanging over us (underlined and highlighted in blue this month, to serve as a delightful reminder that my credit score is plummeting with each overdue bill). 

I call the insurance agency a couple times a week, and I stop by whenever I go to Sidney for the mail.  They can only tell me that there has been some movement, and that checks are beginning to be issued (I hate the grammar of that sentence, but I tried it a couple other ways, and they turned out equally yucky if not worse) Sorry for the digression ...

This evening I emailed my assemblyman to complain about the insurance company and the unfairness of the whole situation.  I figure I've kicked this donkey everywhere else, now I'm going to kick it in the ass (no offense intended to Assemblyman Lopez) to see if it moves.

**********

The part that bothers me the most about this situation is not the fact that we aren't back in our home.  It isn't that I'm afraid the house won't be repaired, or even the amount of time it is taking.  

What bothers me is that, every time someone makes a point of telling me what I should be doing, or that I'm not doing enough, or that So-And-So got HIS check 2 months ago ... I feel a little "less." Less of a husband and father, less competent, less courageous, less ... just "less." 

I probably shouldn't feel that way, because I know what I have been doing to remedy the situation.  I'm trying REAL hard to be brave and to not bother others with my misfortune,  you know, go about my business and leave the rest to God. 

 

Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. - Philippians 4:6-7

... Later!

Nana's Noodles

I decided to write down some memories from my childhood before I forget them.  I want a record of the events that happened during my life, so that my children will be able to piece together a history of their old man and his somewhat eclectic past.

This story is about my grandmother on my father's side.

Nana made noodles.  Egg noodles, to be precise.  She would announce, seemingly to the entire world, that she would be making noodles this week.  Then she would be incommunicado until the project was completed.

I remember walking into her house one time in the midst of "noodle week."  Her dining room table, kitchen table, coffee table, kitchen counters, and several folding game tables were covered with linen towels, top with noodles that were dusted with flour, in various stages of the drying process.  Nana was busy in the kitchen, placing noodles in paper lunch bags, then folding the top of the bags and stapling them closed.  On each bag she used a black crayon to write the person's name and the number of bags that person was to receive.

She sold each bag of noodles for half a dollar.  Of course, our noodles were free, as were those for her close friends.  She made a fabulous egg noodle - not too thick, not too thin - and we knew, without a doubt, that Mom would be making her signature beef noodle soup with Nana's homemade noodles.

I never really thought about the fact that Nana would sell her noodles by the bagful.  As a kid, I figured that she just loved to make noodles.  It wasn't until later that I realized that she was selling them to earn extra cash for things like, oh, Christmas presents, birthday presents, a new stove? 

You see, the endowment my grandfather left her was enough to keep her well into her retirement years.  But Nana lived far longer than that, longer than the money in her annuities.  She was resourceful and strong, and knew how to make ends meet, even into her 80's.  She never wanted to depend on anyone for her financial upkeep, and never wanted to be indebted to anyone.  She was a cool old lady.

They were great noodles.



...Later!

My Hero: April 28, 1930 - January 6, 2011

My hero went to Heaven one year ago today.  It seems like it was just yesterday in some ways, and like a distant memory in others.  For those of you who knew my father, you know what an honest, kind, gentle man he was.  You also know his highly evolved, warped sense of humor. He was the best Dad ever. 

For those of you who didn’t know him very well or not at all, here is a small glimpse of the man ….

• He knew which restaurants had broccoli soup on any given day, and he knew how much it cost.
• Dunkin donuts - A glazed donut and a cup of coffee.  Every morning.  And a dozen assorted for the family on Sunday morning.
• “Horse Shit.”  It was his favorite thing to say when he disagreed with someone.
• He loved Victoria’s butter creams (milk chocolate, not dark), and those little bags of cheese waffles.  He kept a secret stash of them in his desk drawer at the office. 
• When in doubt, “throw a tarp over it.”
• He cleaned the kitchen whenever he was upset.
• He shopped for groceries every day.  Alone.  He once told me it helped him clear his head.
• He took Taffy (our Collie-Irish Setter mix) for a walk every night.  After Taffy died, he still went for the same walk, almost every night.
• He loved canned peaches and spaghettios.
• Wednesday was auction day, come hell or high water.
• He didn’t have it easy in the business world.  Because of some decisions that were made before he inherited the business, Dad spent a lot of energy and cash making good on those decisions while other insurance agents were raking in wads of money.  In the 12 years that I worked for him, I saw first-hand the way a misguided decision could affect future generations.  Enough said.
• Many days he was so busy with his paperwork that he would forget to inhale his cigarette. There it was (Camel- no filter), hanging from his lip with at least two inches of ash on the end of it.
• He made sure the family vehicles were full of gas, and that they were parked in the most convenient spot, according to the times everyone had to leave the house in the morning.
• He could take a sheet of plywood and a can of pink paint, and turn it into the cutest play oven you’ve ever seen.
• He had a highly evolved (and somewhat twisted) sense of humor, and could make anyone feel good, just by being near him.

This is just the tip of the iceberg.  He was the most generous, kind, gentle man I ever knew.  It is my deep desire to live up to his example, and to impart his legacy of kindness and generosity to my children. 

I miss you, Dad.  Save a place for me.  See you later!!