Manical Ravings from Heathen

Well, after waiting all that time, I finally made it to see a surgeon.  Or should I say my wife said I was to see the surgeon.  And like any smart husband, I didn't argue too much about it.

Now the Dr.'s office is in the new wing of the hospital.  I was told that it was for the convenience of the doctor and the patients.  But I know that it is so once they trap you there, they can slide you down a chute and right onto an operating table.  You can't get away.  Did I tell you how much I dislike hospitals, before?  Well, they still smell and I still don't like them.

Anyway, The wife kicks be in the behind, which gets me through the door of this very nice waiting area, where the office people were behind bullet-proof glass.  Maybe they had heard of me before I got there, who knows.

The receptionist takes my insurance card and my driver's license and then hands me a stack of forms that would make the Tolkien Trilogy look like a comic book.  Don't they know that making a guy with a hernia carry that much weight isn't good?  Or maybe that is a way to make sure that hernia shows up real well for the Doctor.

As I sit down and start to write in those little boxes, I realize two things.  One, they make those boxes too damn small to write all the info in, and Two, that woman still has my driver's license.  That must be their way of making sure you fill out you entire life story on these pretty multicolored pages.

After what seems like forever and a case of writer's cramp later, I get done and take the mountain of paper back to the desk, where she hands my license back and then takes half the papers and tosses them in the trash.  As I try to put my license back, she then wrestles $50.00 out of my wallet for the copay.  I am then told that I can sit down and wait for the Doctor.

The wait was shorter than many others and I only had to shave once before I went back.  This nice nurse led me down a hall and made me stand on a set of scales.  I won't tell you what I weigh, but the metal sure screamed in torment when I stepped up on it.

Then we (the wife went along to make sure I didn't find an escape route) were led to a nice, peaceful exam room where I was instructed to sit on the patented "Bed 'O Torture"  better known as the exam table.  She took my blood pressure which was surprisingly normal, pulse and temp.  Then she left, and as she closed the door I swear I heard the 'clank' of a jail door locking.

The Doctor is really a nice guy.  He asked a few questions about where it hurt, etc.  Then he had me lie back onto the table, where he proceeded to feel around and asked the stupid question that all doctors ask at one time or another, "Does this hurt?"

Hell Yeah, that hurts!  It gonna hurt when you are tying to feel my spine by going through my belly button!  The torture part ended a little while later (he called it an exam) and I was told I could sit up.

He then told me that I did need surgery (duh), and then we talked about risks, time spent in the hospital, and so on.  Then he dropped the other shoe, so to speak:  I have to wait.

Seems that I don't react well to anesthetic.  I can't wake up and my oxygen level drops dangerously low.  The wife says that the waking up part is normal for me, she can't get my lazy butt out of bed most days anyway.  But the low oxygen part is troublesome.  So I get to see another doctor, this time one for my breathing and see what can be done.

THEN, I'll get to go in and get rid of this pain in my abdomen (and elsewhere if you know what I mean)  The worst will be that I will spend some time in ICU so they can watch me and then a day or so in the hospital.  Guess that is a fair trade off.

I had the CT scan and it wasn't bad. The hard part was the contrast that I had to drink. I had a choice of Apple, Orange, and Berry flavoring. I chose the berry since I like apples and oranges better and figured that if I was going to get sick from it, (a distinct possibility) that I would rather associate the smell of berry with it.

They said put it in the fridge and get it good and cold, it helps the flavor. If that was the improvement, I sure wouldn't want it warm. Since the appt was at 1:00, I had to drink half at 11:00 AM and the other half at Noon. I shook the container while I was getting up the nerve to try and get this nasty concoction down, so it was VERY well shook up. I took a couple of deep breaths (so I wouldn't have to smell it as much) and started to chug it down.

Now it wasn't like chugging a beer. First thing it tasted nothing like beer, not even those nasty "piss-water" local beers that the drunks prefer because they are cheaper. It was more like drinking the left over chalk that always sits in the holder at the school's chalkboards. That was combined with the unmistakeable taste of the barium they scrapped from the reactors at Homer Simpson's job and a faint smell of fetid berries.

About half went down in the first try, which was good since there wasn't going to be a second for a while. An hour later, I worked up the nerve (or maybe it was my lovely wife's prodding) the rest of it went down, came back up for a moment so I could enjoy the taste before it decided to stay put. Of course they don't want you to drink anything, but I did rinse my mouth and brushed my teeth to help.

The test wasn't bad, (And I hadn't even studied - <rimshot>) and they were done within 20 minutes or so. I was hooked up to an IV and the other end of the tube was connected to a device that looked like it should have been in a James Bond villan's lab. It was a huge plunger that sent a different contrast through my blood stream at the proper time. The old phrase "No Mr. Bond, I expect you to die!" was running through my head at the time. And when I saw the notice above the machine that stated that I shouldn't look into the laser, I knew I was pretty much screwed. I knew that long before they even got close to Stanley and the boys with that laser, I would tell them secrets that they didn't even care about.


Anyway, I came through with no loss of appendages, and the report was good, with only the hernia as the problem. All the other parts looked alright and in working order except for a fatty liver.

So now I wait until the 24th. Seems like forever when I can't pick even my laptop up without it hurting. I'm just hopeful that they will get me in soon after the appt. I'm trying to keep a good mood about it and the amount of drugs I have stashed will pretty much guarentee that. Vicodin, muscle relaxers, and other things, make it fun.

Next stop, the surgeon's office. And another fun filled day of poking and prodding.

As many know, I spent at least part of every day for almost 20 years caring for my ailing mother.  In the months before her passing over, she had to be helped  to get anywhere, and I was the one who did the majority of it.

Well after all that, we had a mountain of heavy boxes that we brought in from our storage area and combined two houses into one.

I am telling you this because it appears that because all the lifting in crazy positions I've done, it seems that I have a hernia that runs from the bottom of my ribcage to past my navel.  Yep, the muscles have separated to allow about 3" wide to poke out.

At the advice (threats) from my better half, I went yesterday to the doctor.  She poked and prodded and asked if it hurt.  After they pried me off the ceiling, I informed her that yes, it was rather uncomfortable.  She looks over at me and says, "you have a hernia".  That's like telling me that our utility bill is going to increase.  I mean, how closer can you get without calling for Captain Obvious to help you.

Then she uttered the two words you NEVER use around me.  SURGERY and HOSPITAL.  I'd rather wrestle Samantha Fox in a pool of jello than I would  want to hear those words directed at me.  Actually I'd rather  wrestle Samantha Fox in a pool of jello, than most anything else I could think of.......

Anyway, I'll wipe off the sweat that came with those thoughts, and continue.  I have a thing about hospitals.  People routinely die in there.  They don't let you know what is going on.  In general they smell, they try to keep you on a schedule, and they enjoy waking you up for a sleeping pill.  I've checked myself out of a hospital before when they kept lying to me about what was going on.  Besides, I never get the cute nurses, and you can't imagine the shock to your heart  when you are shaken awake to give blood and you open your eyes to see a combination of Hannibal Lector and Nurse Ratchet leering down at you with eyes that tell you that you better fake death and hope they don't try and cook you too soon.

But it looks like I'm not going to have a choice.  Friday, I get to dring some kind of nasty looking berry flavored gunk that's supposed to make my innards glow and every fart is an atomic explosion.  That's for the CT scan. 

I'll write about that experience this weekend.

As my better half pointed out to me, I never gave the results of my Functional Capacity Test.  To make it short, I failed -- miserably.

Most of the tests were simple things, moving cans, lifting weight off the floor and carrying it, trying to pick up small objects and putting them in a container.  Things that you think you couldn't screw up if you tried.

All I can say is that according to the therapist I ain't worth a Tinker's Damn as far as working goes.  Here are just some of the restrictions I now have:

No sitting or standing for more than 30 minutes at a time, No frequent lifting, pushing pulling AT ALL.  No repetitive motion (including typing) without resting the same amount of time, lifting 10 - 14 # no more than 2-3 times a day,  Well, you get the idea.

Hey, I knew that I was in pretty bad shape, but this really floored me.  It's hard to find out that you can no longer do the things that you love to do.    Hell, even the writing that I used to do is on hold until I can get some speech to text software.

And they wonder why a person is depressed when they get hurt.  You go from being mad, to depression, to wondering why the hell it happened to you.

Anybody know of good speech to text software for writing high-class porn?

We had 70MPH winds the other night, keeping me awake all night.  Just something about the wind that keeps me awake. 
Anyway it took down a 30 foot section of our back fence.  Really I shouldn't complain, the danm thing is over 15 years old. 
I went out and checked today for the damage.

It broke the 4X4 post off at ground level.  It wouldn't be a big deal except when I built the fence, I used two bag of cement around that one (it is holding half a 15' gate.  I ended up just putting some steel poles on both sides and wiring the fence up.  It will hold for a while, but sometime this spring I'll have to dig out all that concrete and put a new post in.

Oh and I sprained my right wrist bad!!  Damn thing is swollen enough that my wrist is completely round instead of oval.  I think I better quit typing now and take some more of those wonderful pain relievers that they gave me.  La-la Land here I come!!

Happy Holidays to everyone.  I hope you got all you wanted for Christmas.

It is 10:00 PM and I just put our dinner in the oven.  I know it sounds late, but we all had a late night at my BIL's place, so we decided to sleep in since our two kids are old enough to not worry about presents, and then just goof off the rest of the day.  I messed on the computer a bit, played with the dog, and honestly goofed off.  It really felt good since we have been so busy.

Anyway, back to dinner.  Lasagna.  Not just a regular, everyday Lasagna, but a fifteen pound, 5 cheese lasagna that would have put Garfield into a stupor.  There are 9 layers of noodles, sauce and cheese.  It is about the end of my weight limit set by the doctors.  Ahhh, the doctors, therapists, lawyers, and judges.  But that is for another post.

Actually, it didn't take that long to put together.  The ground chuck had already been cooked, and the meatless sauce had been made last fall when I made 5 gallons of the stuff.  The cheeses were grated for the most part as well.  All I had to do was fry the Italian sausage, and heat it all up, boil the noodles and mix the cheeses.  I must really be getting old because it took me twice as long to get it together than it used to.

Ah, well, at least it is starting to smell like something good is in the oven.  About 30 minutes and our daughter can put the garlic bread in the oven and when it's done, I plan on stuffing myself into a blissful coma.

If I survive, I'll write a post about the fun at the functional capacity test.

This will be the final post on Red Neck Central.  I meant for the post below to be the last on the subject, but we were just so amazed at the condition they left that Modular in, that I just have to say something about it.

Driving by one evening shortly after all the rest of their possessions were kicked to the curb, we saw a couple trying to clean up inside.  Now we knew that it was a mess, but I couldn't believe it.  The floor was almost knee deep in trash and garbage.  There were countless bags from fast food (now remember she told us that she was a gourmet cook) containing half eaten sandwiches, pizza cartons with the "bones" (crusts) rattling around inside, and various other items of household trash.  When they finished, there were at least 7 pickup loads stacked 3 feet above the cab.

We found out afterward that all the carpets were covered in dog shit (they did have 7 dogs in there) and urine stains everywhere.  The kitchen sink and surrounding area was a solid mass of mold, and the ring of dirt and scum in the tub was so thick they had to scrape it out with a putty knife after it set soaked in cleaner.  How anyone could live like that is beyond me.

Anyway they are gone, and the bank has it up on the market.  But with the way the economy is and the housing market in the toilet, I don't think we will be seeing any new neighbors soon.  Actually that would be rather nice considering what we have been putting up with.

BTW, we are still planning a block party in the spring to celebrate.  Come on over y'all and fill a plate.  I'll be cooking the burgers and the dogs.

We have finally been lifted up from the bowels of neighborhood hell, and the Redneck Central have been removed from the area.

Seems they figured that Al would keep paying the mortgage even after they tossed him out.  Well he didn't and they didn't pay either, so the bank told them to be gone.  They loaded up what they wanted, (or at least most of it) and found some new neighbors to terrorize.  It was kind of funny watching them load the rental truck late at night trying to fool everybody that they weren't moving.  Dufus would be at work, and the rest of the clan wouldn't load a damn thing until he got home.  Then they spent most of the time arguing.

To make it short, we went by today and what was left of their posessions were sitting in the front of the house with a bunch of scavengers picking through it.  By nightfall, they had taken about half of it.  The rest is still there along with a panel van in the back, a camper, and trash everywhere.

Dufus demanded his dad put his name on the title, just before they threw him literally out the door.  Little does he know that the bank will come after him for the difference between what they sell it for and what's owed.  He wanted to be bigshot, so now he owes big time.  They can't go after his dad since he is now living on the streets and nobody can find him.

I would usually feel bad about anyone losing their house to foreclosure, but these idiots did it themselves, and the way they treated his dad and everyone else, they deserve it.

KARMA IS A REAL BITCH SOMETIMES!!!!

Two things that I never figured I would do, I went and did.  I'll explain them one at a time.

First of all, I bought a laptop!  Not only mine, but one for Ladyheathen as well.  It is an HP Pavillion with a 17" screen and all the top goodies .  4gig of memory, a pretty fast processor (not as fast as the dual core in my tower though) and a 250gig HD.  I always said that I probably wouldn't need one, since I could use the kids' if I really needed to.  But I'm surprised how nice it's been to have it around.  I take it to the MIL's house and when I get bored with them talking, I just surf the net on my BIL's wireless connection. 

The second thing I did was to get an earring.  Yep, at 50, I went out and while the wife was getting the top of her ear done, I said I would consider it.  The saleslady, who had a nice rose tattoo on her right breast (Yeah, I noticed), said that we could buy a set and it would be cheaper.  Wifey said she thought it would look good, so I went for it.  It is just a small (3mm) fake diamond and the kids both like it.  I didn't feel much when she pierced the lobe since I was staring at that tattoo and the cleavage just to the left of it.

Anyway it has been a week and no problems.  It was done on a lark, but I'm getting used to it.  What's next?  Perhaps a tattoo.  I'm not into the piercing of other body parts <bends over and grabs crotch>, but I need to do something in my old age to confuse the crowd.

As I wrote before, our local residents of (unfortunate) interest had literally threw Dufus' father out of the new modular.  The old house has been condemned, and they included the van that he had been sleeping in, so now he is homeless and living on the streets.

Al (Dufus' father) rang our doorbell this morning.  We hadn't seen him for a few months and it really surprised me.  He asked to use the phone to call the police to see if they will help him get his wife's ashes back from Dufus and Butthead.  Seems he knocked on the door and they wouldn't answer for him.

He called the cops, and while we waited, I told him about Cora, my mother passing.  It really upset him, much more than I thought, but Al and his wife had been friends with Mom and us for about 30 years.  Al then left our place and went to try and get Dufus to answer.  Since he was looking for things of his wife's that Butthead hadn't stolen yet, we found an angel pin of hers and took it over to him.

By now, Dufus, Butthead, and Butthead's brother were all out in the front shoving Al around.  Butthead's brother/cousin/lover/ who knows is now known as Cupcake, since he only picks on drunk or mentally or physically handicapped people.  Anyway, my daughter ran back into the house and grabbed the video camera and the cell phone.  The first to get video evidence and the second to escalate the call to the P.D.

While Dufus and Cupcake were verbally and physically threatening Al, Butthead was telling us the whole thing was none of our business, and complaining that we were taking video and calling us perverts, etc.  The only thing I said was that we were gathering evidence of an assault.

Once Dufus spotted the camera, they all went back in the house.  We got Al to leave the front of the modular, and we kept him talking in front of the condemned house.  Things were cool for the moment, until Cupcake decided to try and tell us all to get away from his property.  A couple of points of law here.  First of all, he doesn't own shit.  Al is still primary owner, with Dufus as alleged co-owner.  Al's name is still on the property.  Second point, the sidewalk is public access and egress, thus public domain.  I could stand all day on the sidewalk and do whatever I want (as long as it is legal).  Cupcake doesn't know those facts, and I was going to explain it to him in my "lawyer" voice, but Al was so ticked off that he started yelling.  Darling wifey brought the camera into view, and Cupcake took off like he had been bit.

The cops did show, and when one of the officers went to talk to the brood, they refused to open the door.  Al didn't get his wife's ashes, but he says he is going to file eviction papers on them as well as an order to obtain his wife's ashes.  It will be interesting who throws them out first, Al to get his property back, or the bank who holds the mortgage.  From what was being shouted during the assault, the bank has started foreclosure proceedings for nonpayment.

We are also so tired of the bullshit that we are heading to the courthouse on Monday to get a TRO on the whole bunch of them.  In addition to the latest blowup, any time we take our dog out Cupcake steps out of their modular in order to get our dog to bark.  Lately, he has been coming out at night in his "tighty whities" .  He knows that our daughter is usually the one that takes the dog out, so I don't know if he is trying to impress her or what, but she comes back in and says she needs to scrub her eyes with Ajax to get rid of that sight.  A couple of nights ago, Cupcake was standing naked in one of the front windows.  Just the thought of that blubbery hunk 'o fat naked is vomit-inducing, but to actually see such a sight would be something else.  Fortunately, our daughter wasn't out that night.

They have also taken to yelling at us (or anyone) who stops in the alleyway.  We often drive through the alley to check the back of our property.  A week or so ago, the Darling Wife was doing just that and stopped to talk to a neighbor.  Cupcake walked out of their modular and yelled at her to get the hell out of the alley.  Now keep in mind that she was over 90 feet away from their 'property'.    She ignored him, but said she felt like telling him to go f*** himself.  And I can't blame her.

Anyway, this is the latest rant about the CS Hillbillys and their antics at Redneck Central.  I still can't believe that they would hold a woman's ashes hostage from her husband just out of greed and pettiness.  We can't help that, but if they are thinking about messing with our family, they will get a war they will never forget, and will learn some legal things as well, like you touch any of mine and your ass will be sitting in jail.