I'm baaaaaaaaaaack!

I've learned a few things in the last week or so:


1. No more surgeries - ever!


2. A spouse who will take care of you is very good to have


3. I get bored


4. All the members of .38 Special have found work on the set of Dead Wood


5. Surgery on your eye socket requires a radical change of style

Surgery Recap

I just filled up the Old Dog with his cocktail of Vicodin, antibiotics, and steroids. While he's soaking that in, I'll give you all an update on the surgery et al. It's long--I'm wordy, sorry.

The surgery itself went well--his doctor, J.C. (I won't divulge his full name here), is great--you gotta love a guy who uses Rocky Balboa as a reference point when telling the wife what to watch out for during the recovery period, and who later calculated for us how much money Roger Clemens makes per pitch.

The surgery and recovery took a total of 4 hours. During that time, I ate breakfast in the hospital cafeteria while reading Jane magazine, dropped a strawberry on my white t-shirt, and resisted having tater tots at 9:00 a.m. Then I spent the next 3 hours in the surgical waiting room, reading Hard Times and watching the other people in the waiting room, who were watching everyone else, too.

OD can explain the more technical aspects of the surgery: canthoplasty, orbitotomy, and sutures. The doctor inserted an implant at the base of his eye socket and in the back. There is a conformer in the socket right now; in about a month, the doctor will try to fit the current prostethic in there, and if that doesn't work, it will have to be modified to fit the smaller space.

However, we do not know what any of that looks like right now because his eye is sewn shut--and no, we won't be posting photos of that. The doctor's initial are written on his forehead over the left eye, too. The doctors do that in the presence of the patient, prior to any anesthesia, to make sure that the patient knows exactly what's going on.

OD was in good spirits the rest of the day. I was able to sit in the room with him, and later his mom and sister came to visit. The nurses were really nice and talked to him a lot, had a few laughs. I wasn't prepared, however, for when one nurse held up a clear baggie that contained the prostethic eye and asked "What do ya want me to do with this?"

The pain wasn't too bad because he had a morphine drip, and over the course of the next 20 hours or so, he could press a little button every 12 minutes and give himself a healthy dose. Too bad we couldn't take that home with us.

I spend the night at the Holiday Inn, and when I went back to the hospital this morning, I was very pleased to find OD sitting up in bed, finishing breakfast and watching cable news--that's when I knew he was going to be just fine.

The doctor is extremely pleased with the success of the surgery and very confident about the recovery process. We feel great about it, too. The difficult part right now, until Tuesday at least, is keeping the pain at bay and keeping the sutures clean, which I do 3-4 times a day. Next Tuesday, we go back to the doc's office and hopefully the sutures will come out.

In the meantime, OD's schedule will consist of taking lots of medication, putting a bag of frozen peas on his face, and wearing sunglasses indoors. His appetite is great (thanks for the superb mostaccioli, KJ!), and he sat through an episode of What Not to Wear with me.

If you want to give OD a call, please use our home number instead of the cell. I am also checking his email, so if you want to send him a more personal message than a blog response, go ahead. I'm checking his email and blog a few times a day. I will relay everything back to him.
Also, if you want to visit, please do--just give us a call first.

Now, I'm going to put another bag of frozen peas on that eye, and then I need to work off the two 16-oz. pudding parfaits that I consumed while hanging out at the hospital (not both at once; I split them up between yesterday's lunch and today's breakfast--pudding and iced tea, yum).

OD wants ya'll to know that he appreciates your well-wishes. Thanks for being good pals.

More Junk on the mp3 Player

I love this thing!

I'm trying to catch up with decades of music that I've missed. So, forgive my goings on about stuff that the rest of you cool kids who didn't waste time listening to total crap have already been through.

P.J. Harvey - Eh. I might have been more impressed then.

Sampling of 60's Dylan that edP gave to me - Some I've already heard and liked. I can't say that it makes me a huge fan, but I can see why it's so regarded. As an aside, I still like the old Springsteen stuff (generally dislike much of the post Born To Run), but I think he owes royalties to Dylan.

Shame - No shame in that. Kurt is a madman.

US Maple Talker - Good, but not nearly as good as Purple On Time.


I'm really sensitive about my lack of exposure to music, and therefore am somewhat bashful about my opinions, but I'm trying to get over that. For a guy who is supposed to be a musician, I really know nothing about music.

My Favorite Line From a Song Right Now

I don't know who it is, but it's on my mp3 player and I'm too lazy to make the effort, but my favorite line from one of their songs is:

Note to invading aliens - avoid this town...

Vince the One Eyed Eye

Chris B remined me of my old buddy Vince. Vince is the first fake eye that I had.

When they make a fake eye, your name is printed on it. They do this in case it gets lost and the staff at the old folks home has to sort out Vinces eye, from Thelma's, Dan's and Betty Lou's eyes. I'm told this happens fairly often. When I was being fitted with my eye, the woman that makes them gave me a loaner. Seeing her sifting through the loaner bin to find one that might fit was pretty cool. Imagine a plastic shoe box filled with fake eyes. The one that I got had "Vince" written on it. It looked a little funny, but better than what the real eye had looked like, and it was only temporary. My only concern was that this "Vince" guy might come looking for it in some X-Files or Twilight Zone way.

I had to give Vince back about a week later when my eye was finished. Instead of my name, I had the lady write "Old Dog" on my eye. Thousands of years from now, if anyone finds my remains, all there will be is 4 titanium screws where my feet were and a fake eye that says Old Dog. Maybe they'll they'll think I was a robot dog.

The Haps

I was reading the 2005 PGA tour book at the opthalmologist's office yesterday. They have a little bio on each golfer that includes off the course interests. By far, the best was from Jonathan Kaye, who described himself as an "avid indoorsman". I'll use that from now on to describe our friend, the famous William T, the man who says that "nature is itchy".

The reason for the visit with the good doctor is that I am scheduled to have surgery on June 22nd.

For those of you unfamiliar with the saga of the eye socket, I had my left one (eye) removed way back in the Dark Days. The reason was that, back when I was a pup, I had cataracts removed from both eyes at about age 3. The left one hemoraged. So, they had to go back in and stop the bleeding, leaving scar tissue. When that happens, it is usually the case that when you hit your mid 20's, you develop glaucoma. The mechanism that regulates the pressure in the ol' Auge goes to hell. The pressure builds, and builds, and builds, causing very, very, very painful breaks in the cornea and an almost constant dull ache. As I am exceedingly usual, naturally, it happened to me. I lived with it for several years, managing the pain with over-the-counter, bottom-of-the bottle and other means. That was a significant feature of the Dark Days.

Turns out, when they take out your eyeball, the fat in the surrounding tissue gets absorbed back into your body, things settle down and you can end up with a fairly large, empty space in there - like I need more empty space in my head. What the highly skilled, proficient (I keep telling myself that) doctor will do is what is called canthoplasty. Essentially, he will insert a piece of plastic at front of the lower region of my eye socket. There is already an implant at the back of my socket, attached to the muscle, against which my prosthetic eye rests, allowing it to move (more or less) in unison with my right eye. He plans to extend that to further reduce the sunken-socket look that is now a facet of my devilishly handsome mug. Oh, who am I kidding. I look like Mr. Rogers or Randy, depending on who you ask - both fine looking gents in their own right.

As you might imagine, it's done under general anesthetic. I'll schlaf at the Krankenhaus that night, just in case of bleeding. I'll then be on the DL for about a week. Which means I'll be on my ass watching movies. I'd appreciate some suggestions in that department.

While the subject of bleeding from the eye socket is up, I'll continue my longest post ever with a funny story that I only heard for the first time yesterday. This is doubly funny, because it's about me. Let me explain:

Immediately after the removal of my left eye (no overnight stay that time) my mother and my sister, Cathy, drove me from the hospital in Maywood to my home in DeKalb. Along the way, though, I managed to convince them that it would be a good idea for us to stop at Garibaldi's pizza in Arlington Heights and have lunch. That was the high quality painkiller talking. My sister describes me as the unfortunate counter help at Garibaldi's saw me that day: a greasy haired, totally out of it guy in a green army-style jacket with a bloody eye patch, swaying back-and-forth. By her report, the poor guy asked me what I would like and then, as though on cue, blood began seeping out from under the patch and running down my cheek. He looked at her with "a horrified look on his face". She then said, "Oh, we're together. He just had surgery." What else can you say? I even convinced them to stay and eat in the restaraunt. I remember being there, but I don't remember all the blood. I'm sure a few sides of marinara went to waste that afternoon.

There was more severe bleeding when I got home, but I got in touch with the surgeon and she very skillfully directed my actions to mitigate the situation. I saw her the next day. No harm done. I must say that I had the finest treatment throughout that experience. In retrospect, the only thing that I would like to have been differently is to have had an overnight stay for observation. I hope that this doesn't sound sexist, but aside from the anesthesiologist, all of my care was provided for by women. I think that calmed me and put me at ease. I would have sought out that same doctor for this, but I couldn't locate her. This surgeon in Wheaton has earned my trust. Maybe there will be a female surgical nurse that will give me that feeling that mommy is there while I'm under the sleepy juice.

So, it's all set. The only wild card is that in the course of the pre-op physical, my GP found that my blood sugar is low. I went in this morning (well, Saturday now) for some follow-up lab sampling. I'm crossing my fingers that he doesn't put the brakes on this; I've already booked the time off from work and I don't relish the idea of extending the anticipation. It's like that feeling that you got as a kid when you're standing in line for a roller coaster that you've been on before, but you're not REALLY excited about getting on again.

That's it. I'm tired and I have to crash. My rockin' Saturday night at home is over.

Prosper in your various enterprises.

Yikes

I mentioned to someone this afternoon that I have an appointment with a doctor on Friday. I joked that they are going to remove my brain. This person said, "You serious?"


I said, "No. They can have my brain when they pry it from my cold, dead hand."


She didn't get it.

Confessions Of A Lazy Blogger

Ed has a point, but that last one was useful to Kaka. So, it was worth it .

Steener got back last Tuesday from Italy and has been sick ever since. Not good. She's much better now, though. There's some good pictures (of Italy. Not her being sick). I'll get some up (or, maybe I can persuade her to blog) later this evening, maybe.

I should really start carrying my camera. There's a PT-Cruiser parked outside of the library with a giant, blue baseball cap on top of it. The hat is bigger than the car. I want a giant kid in baseball gear to come running after it.

During all of the cat poop blogging, I finished A Brief History of Time. Yes, it takes me forever and a day to read a book. I don't spend enough time reading, and when I do I read slowly. I just started Darwinian Natural Right by Larry Arnhardt. Edp can go into much detail about it, and I hope that he does. I'll try to wrap my tiny brain around the book, but will rely on him to explain much of it, I'm sure. I hope that this book gives me a better understanding of natural right and Darwinism. Next in line is a giant book about Stalin, The Red Tsar.


I haven't filled the mp3 player with anything except what I already had on the computer, because, as I'm lazy, I haven't ripped much of anything in quite a while. So, I've got some Big Drag, followed by Starch, Iron Maiden, edp and Duran Duran. O.K. Liar and Ed, go ahead and rip into me about the Duran Duran. I'm ready. My first response to your crap is; no, I don't confuse the mp3 player with the tampons in my purse.

I'm really looking forward to rockin' with the Big Draggers on Thursday. After seeing Chris rockin' out with the band he's cheating on us with, I also really want to play another show. Gonna have to work on that.

I'm gonna get my scrawny butt back to the office now, so's I can eat my sammich.

Catch you all later.

Litter Blog

Seeing that I am starting to take some crap for not having blogged in a while, I'll address the litter box issue in more detail.

Kaka, the pee can be found outside of the litter box for, I think, several reasons. It could be that the cat is lazy or just happened to be tired. Jimmy the Greek would tell us that the white cat is lazy. But, whatever the color scheme of your feline, it can be that it is a little lazy or tired. I've seen it. Kinda drowsily walks into the box, makes a half-hearted show of moving the litter around and then squats with its ass over the edge of the box. And there you have it. Or, it could be that kitty isn't feeling well. In which case, keep an eye on it.

The litter box is generally a good place to find out what's going on with your cat. For instance, are all of those "snacks" you're throwing its way doing some damage? Check the box. Is it getting enough to drink? Check the box. Is it lazy? Check around the box.

Best cat litter? Special kitty scoopable. You can buy it in the big box for as much as you pay for half the litter in the plastic container. Keep one of the plastic containers around, invest $2.50 in a large scoop and and a funnel, and you're saving big bucks on good quality ground clay litter.

That's all for cat poop talk today.

See you in the blogosphere.