Eye, Doctor

While Dr. Harvard began what would become a very long and drawn out process of discovering what was making my body, essentially, try to kill itself, there was still the pesky problem of a gray map of West Virginia clouding the vision in my right eye. What that meant, was that it was time to follow up with a retinal specialist. So i was off -- again -- to another medical appointment.

I knew from the name on the card that my optometrist had given me that my retinal specialist was of Indian or Pakistani descent. I only bring that up, because as you read the very true account of the events that transpired, it's much more entertaining if you can imagine it being said with a pronounced Indian accent. Not quite as much as Apu from The Simpsons, but close. As I did with the nephrologist, Dr. Harvard, I've changed the name of the retinal specialist to protect him. I will refer to my retinal specialist as Dr. Jovial.

While Dr. Harvard was smart and clinical and very dry, Dr. Jovial was was outgoing and I assume slightly hyperactive. He is also very smart. I mean, come on, the guy's a retinal specialist. He was a very friendly guy. I think he may have liked me more than his other patients because, from the looks of the waiting room, at nearly 35, I was the youngest patient there....by a good 30 years.

As Dr. Jovial burst into the exam room, he first introduced himself and then said (and this is where you start imagining the accent), "So you're here to see us because you have swollen and/or burst blood vessels in your eyes, hmmm?"

"Yes," I said, "mostly in the right eye."

"And is it obstructing your vision?" Dr, Jovial asked.

"Yes, and to be honest, it kind of looks like a little gray map of West Virginia?"

"Really?" Dr. Jovial laughed, "I've never heard of that before. You are very funny."

Dr. Jovial then began to examine my eyes. He confirmed the swollen blood vessels, and said both eyes were in pretty much the same condition. The spot I was seeing was caused by a small amount of bleeding from one. He asked me if I had a history of high blood pressure or diabetes. I briefly recounted the story of my trip to the doctor, my outrageous blood pressure readings, and the conclusion that this somehow tied in to my kidneys.

"I can't believe that," Dr. Jovial said in genuine shock, " You have kidney problems? I seriously can't believe that. You're so fit. And you're young. What are you, 28?"

"No, I'm almost 35"

"No you're not. Do you work out a lot or what?"

"Well, I have been lately. . . "

"I just can't believe that someone like you is having these health problems," Dr. Jovial continued, "When I look at you, with you musculature, I mean, there's no way I'd ever imagine that. Amazing. What do you bench press?"

"Oh, I don't know, I don't really max out, I just try to lift some to..."

"Oh come on, you can tell me. What's the most you've ever benched?"

"Well, I put up 245 once. But it wasn't like a max out or anything, I did it like six times..."

"What? 245??? Wow, I'd hate to work out with you. I put on the little 35 pound weights and I'm laying there struggling with those. You'd make me feel bad about myself. HAHAHA!"

I just had to smile and laugh through the whole conversation. After all the bad news I'd been getting from doctors lately, it was kind of nice to at least find someone who was a little more upbeat. Dr. Jovial had to get a better look at things, and he informed me that they were going to inject some dye into my blood, then take some pictures of the insides of my eyes, and he'd have a better idea of what kind of shape my eyes were in.

I went to another room with a nice nurse who was going to inject me with dye. It seemed like something reminiscent of a sci-fi movie. She loaded up a syringe with a chartreuse colored goopy mixture. She told me that the dye had no real lasting side effects. The only thing I might notice is that for the next few hours I might notice that my urine was more yellow than usual. I kind of blew this off, because with all the testing that Dr. Harvard had me doing, I'd become pretty accustomed to seeing my urine in all sorts of colors. I wasn't really prepared, though, when on my way home I stopped at the mall, used the Dillard's bathroom and noticed that my urine was actually the color of the chartreuse goop they injected me with. And I think it may have been glowing.

Dr. Jovial showed me the pictures of my eyes and showed me the swollen blood vessels and the one that hard broken. He told me that I should continue to follow Dr. Harvard's treatment and that he'd see me back in one month. he gave my the internal photos of my eyes, telling me, "Here, you can frame these and put them on the mantle. next to your weightlifting trophies. I still can't believe you're that sick with your musculature."

At the one month visit, Dr. Jovial told me that I was showing incredible improvement, much better than he'd expected. He again said I should take my meds and keep doing what I was doing, and see him again in six months. At my six month visit, he pronounced me cured (or as cured as I would get -- I still have a gray spot but its much smaller and resembles the Big Island of Hawaii), and said I didn't have to see him anymore.

I was a little sad that I didn't have to see Dr. Jovial anymore. He was, quite honestly, one of the best doctors I've ever encountered. On that last visit, I took Lukas with me, since it was during the summer. Dr. Jovial took an instant liking to Lukas and let him play with equipment and showed him the cool stuff. Before I left, he told me, uncharacteristically serious for a moment, "You know, this recovery is quite amazing. I never wanted to say this, but f you had asked me that first visit what I thought the outcome would be, I would have said that you would never recover the sight in your right eye. I never expected it to turn out this way. That's a tribute to you for taking care of yourself and doing what you needed to do," he then looked over at Lukas who was coloring a picture, "But, then again, that looks like a pretty good reason to take care of yourself."

I told you he was smart.

My Trip to the Nephor...Nephra....I Go See a Kidney Doctor.

I left the general practice doctor with Lukas in tow and an appointment card in my hand telling me where and when I needed to go see a kidney specialist. I later learned that he is technically called a nephrologist. At this moment, all I knew was to call him a kidney doctor. The words "acute kidney failure" kept ringing in my ears. Even as Lukas carried on in his usual, effervescent, three-year-old way, the only thought I had was, "I'm not going to see you grow up. I'm going to die." Since the day Lukas had been born, my wife had always ribbed me that I'd be 50 by the time he graduated high school. I always laughed it off, telling her I'd still be the coolest dad around. Now, i tried to wrap my mind around the concept that I might not be there to see him graduate from high school. That I might not even be there to see him turn four.

Since this period of my life, I have seen many people close to me go through way worse health problems. In no way do I mean to make you believe that what I went through compared in any way to what they went through. This ends up being pretty mild in the world of health concerns (Spoiler alert!), but at the time, I was pretty concerned and feeling very mortal.

I got to the car and pulled out my cell phone. The first call, obviously, was Jodie. I told her what was going on. i will admit, that I was impressed by my wife that day. She is one to usually blow off any "health concerns" I have, telling me to suck it up and get over it (When I dislocated two fingers, her response upon seeing them was "Oh, whatever" -- not making that up). This day, though, there was genuine concern in her voice. This scared me even more. She said she'd check on the nephrologist and see what she could find out about him. The she said something I never thought I'd hear from her; she told me she was taking the rest of the day off to go with me. We agreed on a time she'd get off and meet me.

The next call I had to make was to my mom. In addition to everything else, I had already made plans to meet my sister in McPherson and drop off Lukas so he could go to Kansas City and spend New Years with Grandy, Grammy, and his cousins. I explained the situation to her, and I'm pretty sure she freaked out a little on her end. She would have freaked out more, but I'm pretty sure I remember leaving out a lot of the details, specifically the phrase "acute kidney failure." After I assured her that I would be fine, and that she didn't need to come immediately to Wichita, I called my sister and we made plans to meet in Hesston. It was good, because I was feeling very guilty dragging Lukas around, and I had no idea how much longer all this would take.

I dropped Lukas off and then turned around to head back to Wichita to meet my wife. By this time it was around 2:00 PM and neither of us had eaten lunch. I wasn't particularly hungry. We went to the Artichoke, since it was close to the kidney doctor. Those of you who live in Wichita know that the Artichoke has some of the best sandwiches around. Mine tasted a bit like cardboard that day. I had no interest in it and I ended up taking half of it home. My wife talked to me a little bit about things, but I still couldn't get over the words "acute kidney failure."

We went to the nephrologist. I sat in the waiting room and had to fill out a sheet about my symptoms. I still have to fill this same sheet out now when I go to see him. One of the questions it asks if you've had any significant life changes since your last visit. Since I only go once a year now, I always get to mark this box. My significant life changes always end up being our topic of conversation. It seemed like forever before a nurse came and got me and took me back, got my vitals and told me to wait for the doctor.

To protect my nephrologist, I will refer to him as Dr. Harvard, because he is really smart -- which is one of the things I like about him. I don't think he went to Harvard, but I bet he could have. The first thing I noticed about him was his voice. His voice was very calm and reassuring. He reminded me a lot of the late Carl Sagan as he began to explain what he was seeing in the tests. I won't go into too much detail, but ill give you a few of the specifics. My body was leaking protein all over. The protein in my urine was around 250. Average is 20-25. My blood creatinine level was 3.5. Anything oer 1.5 is considered high. All this, Dr. Harvard told me, led him to believe that I was having major kidney malfunction. The problem, he continued to explain, was that these symptoms could be any of a range of kidney disorders, some minor, some major. We would just have to run more tests to figure out exactly what the deal was. We did get some good news from Dr. Harvard at this appointment -- for the time being, it didn't look like I would need to start dialysis. At least it was a positive.

Next time: Eye, Doctor.

The Slow and the Serious

What the nurse told me hit me like a ton of bricks. Usually under these types of circumstances, I'd have some smart aleck remark. But this time I only sat there in awe. 210/140??? How did that happen? I'd just lost close to 45 pounds. I'd been working out regularly. I was under some stress at work, but not THAT much stress. Things began to move around me, and I just followed along in a kind of fog, only half listening to what was being said to me. I was taken down a hall and i had blood drawn, followed by a urine test. I was concerned at this point, but not too concerned. Having a nurse for a wife -- and having watched hours of Mystery Diagnosis on Discovery Health -- had taught me that blood and urine tests were the customary.

The nurse led me back to an exam room, where the doctor came in to talk to me. To this day, I still don't remember his name. Later on, I'd spend hours wondering why his name escaped me, unless it was some trick by my mind to block everything out. He asked me some questions, many of which I had covered just days before with the optometrist. Did I have diabetes? No. Did I have a history of high blood pressure? No, not really. He asked me a lot about the knock on the head I took and the broken blood vessel in my eye. He kept telling me that we "needed to get to the bottom of this."

As he spoke to me, the nurse came in and handed me a little plastic cup. In it were two tiny white pills. I took them in my hand, then swallowed them with a drink. In retrospect, I probably should have asked what they were. I didn't have to wait long. The doctor told me the pills were a beta blocker, which would help to bring my blood pressure down in a timely manner. I believe that they gave me 200 mg of atenolol (my memory is a little fuzzy on this, it may have been only 100 mg). Later, I would have to take this same drug on a daily basis. Of course, that dosage is a mere 25 mg. As I swallowed the pills, I was sure that there would be a quick discussion about calling me with test results, and then I'd be on my way.

I was wrong. Instead, the nurse looked at me and asked, "Have you ever had a CAT scan?" I told her know and she smiled, leading me further back into the office. There I was prepared for a CAT scan. I asked why.

"With your BP this high, we're very concerned about bleeding on the brain, clots, or any other kind of damage. The doctor wants to take a look and check things out," the nurse told me pleasantly.

I, however was less than pleasant. I had come in for a supposed sinus infection, and now I was being told there was a possibility of brain damage. I thought back to Christmas Eve, and how I had struggled to follow conversations, and had felt like I was slurring my speech after only one beer. I began to worry.

To add another variable to the equation, Lukas, three years old at this time, was still with me. I still remember how sweet the nurses all were to him. During the CAT scan, they took him behind the partition and showed him how everything worked. I was able to smile briefly as he bounced around the corner and said proudly, "Daddy, I saw pictures of your brain!" He was an amazing and patient little trooper during this whole ordeal. He was much, much too young to understand the gravity of things, but I think he understood that there was something serious going on.

I didn't worry a lick about Lukas until I was taken back to a hospital style bed, laid down and hooked up to a blood pressure machine. At that point, the nurse asked me, "Is there someone who can come get your son if we need you to?"

"I think so. Why?"

"Well, we're going to monitor your blood pressure for the next hour. If the beta blockers don't bring it down, we're going to have to admit you to the hospital. There's a very real chance you might have a stroke."

I looked down at Lukas, happily coloring in a coloring book at the foot of the bed and my whole world dropped out from under me. I was 34 years old. People don't have strokes at 34. I couldn't wrap my mind around any of this. Fortunately, the drugs did their thing and my BP began to lower. After an hour, I was unhooked from the machines and led back to the exam room and the doctor. I happened to look at the clock. What had seemed like whirlwind had actually taken place in just under three hours.

The doctor began by telling me that some of my tests were back. I had an unusually large amount of protein in my blood and urine. His big concern, he told me, was linking all these things together. I had high blood pressure, I was bursting blood vessels in my eye, and high levels of protein in my body.

"Everything," he said, "seems to be pointing towards something going on with your kidneys. Would you be able to go see a specialist this afternoon?"

I had Lukas with me. I was supposed to meet my sister in Hesston that afternoon for her to pick up Lukas and take him to Kansas City. My wife was working and my in-laws were all busy. I didn't feel like I had time to breathe, much less meet a specialist. So, of course, I said "Sure."

Dr. Whozzits then picked up the phone and made a call. I listened in on my end, trying to piece something together.

"Yes, I need to see if I can get a patient in this afternoon...Dr. [BLANK] if possible...male....2/17/71...The reason would be acute kidney failure...I'll fax test results over"

I sat there on the exam table listening to him talk about me like I wasn't in the room, and I'm pretty sure my jaw hit the floor (I would later learn from my wife that Dr. Whozzits was not renowned for his bedside manner). I'm not a doctor. I don't even play one on TV. But I am not stupid either. I knew that the term "acute kidney failure" had nothing to do with the physical appearance of my kidneys. All I knew was that people who's kidneys failed them died. Period.

And that's when I began to freak out a little.

NEXT TIME: My Trip to the Nephor...Nephra....I Go See a Kidney Doctor.

Tommy Boy, the Pipes Are Calling

In my last blog post, I detailed my struggles with weight loss/gain throughout most of my life. The last part of that dealt with me losing a considerable amount of weight due to a health condition I wasn't even aware of. Some people know all of that story. Some people know some of that story. And I'm sure there are some of you who know nothing of that story. If I've learned anything from my friend Terry's blog and the blog/comic strip of Mark Teel it's that readers seem to like personal stories. Since it's now the fifth anniversary of that experience, I will tell you that story (in several parts). . .

It begins like this: Chris Farley saved my life. That may sound very odd, but it's true. I've spent the better part of my adult life being compared to Chris Farley, so it was only natural for me to appreciate his body of work. As a stressful first semester of the 05-06 school year as winding down, I was allowing my students to watch the epic film Tommy Boy as I graded finals and put grades into the computer.

I happened to look up during one of my favorite parts and the screen was obscured by a large gray blob shaped like the state of West Virgina. I blinked and looked back at the screen. It was still there. I rubbed my contact a little. Still West Virginia. Finally, I asked the class, "Does anyone else see a large gray blob on the screen?" The consensus agreement was that I was crazy.

I convinced myself that it was probably time to change my contacts, so once I got home I changed them out. I opened my refreshed eyes to see . . . West Virginia. I took out my contacts and put on my glasses. Still saw the blob hovering in the middle of my vision. I told my wife, who is a nurse, about it. Even though she had no explanation for it, she told me she'd get me an appointment with our eye doctor ASAP.

In the meantime, I did what any normal person would do under these circumstances -- I got online and went to Web MD and Yahoo! Health and any other site I could think of. This, of course, did nothing more than scare the crap out of me. Explanations for my symptoms ranged macular degeneration to AIDS. I sorted through all the information, assured myself I'd know if I had AIDS and that I was most likely too young for macular degeneration. The only thing that made sense was a detached retina. It made sense because a few days prior to the appearance of the blob, I had banged my head hard enough to see stars and black out momentarily. Heck, I once had a soccer player detach his retina heading a ball, so it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility.

I went to bed that night convinced that I would go see the doctor the next day and he'd tell me that I had a detached retina and they would have some cool plan for fixing it. This did not help me sleep well that night. Actually, I hadn't been sleeping well at night for quite some time. I would rarely go to bed before midnight, and my sleep was constantly interrupted by me laying awake listening to the blood rush through my ears. As I said previously, I had had a very stressful first semester, and I attributed my lack of sleep to stress. I'd also been fighting a sinus infection for quite sometime as well, which was giving me pounding headaches. I'd often go to bed at midnight, wake up at 4:00 AM, and then not go back to bed. At least I'd be able to get the eye thing figured out quickly and be able to look at people without West Virginia being in the way.

The next morning my wife called and told me she'd been able to get me into the optometrist that day. It was a pretty routine appointment until he looked in the right eye. His diagnosis shocked me. I didn't have a detached retina. I had a burst blood vessel in my eye. West Virgina was actually blood in the goopy stuff (vitreous humor -- i know the real term) inside my eye. Furthermore, I had a couple more blood vessels in both eyes that were quite swollen. he went down a checklist with me. Did I have diabetes? No. Did I have a history of high blood pressure? No. I'd been on blood pressure medicine once several years ago, but through exercise and my recent weight loss it had been great lately. I just had it checked recently (in fact it had been four months). Had I had any major blows to the head recently? Check! I told him of hitting my head in the closet. He agreed that may be the cause of my problem, and set up an appointment with a retinal specialist about 10 days from then. I felt pretty good as I left the optometrist's office.

That night, my wife and I discussed things. I told her what the doctor had said.
"Well, do you think your blood pressure might be high again?" she asked.
"No. It's been fine. Last time I took it -- like a month ago -- it was 120/80, The lowest it's been on forever. And I've been exercising, and I've lost 45 pounds. Why would it be high?" I said.
"well, you keep having those headaches, and that can be a sign of high blood pressure."
"I have a sinus infection is all. You know I get those all the time."
"Well, Maybe you should go to the doctor and find out for sure. At least to get something for the sinus infection, because the antibiotics you've been taking aren't working, obviously."
"OK, I'll go."

Like any man, I put off going to the doctor. A few nights later we had Christmas Eve at my mother-in-law's house. I could barely do anything, since my head was pounding. My mother-in-law kindly gave me an 800mg ibuprofen tablet she had leftover from a recent surgery. It helped a little. I did notice, though, as I ran around the house with Lukas and his cousin, I was winded easily and sweating profusely. Sweating profusely is not a state of concern for me usually, it's just my usual state. This night, however, was different. It was almost like a cold sweat. I also noticed I was having trouble following a conversation whenever I took a break and sat down to talk with the adults. I brushed it off, and the next day I felt better.

My wife kept after me about seeing the doctor about my sinus infection. Finally, on December 30th, I caved in and went to immediate care. I went in early, at 8:00 AM, Lukas in tow, to beat any rush. I got in quickly and the nurse took me back.

"What are you here for today?" she asked.
"I think I have a sinus infection," I replied.
"And what makes you think you have a sinus infection?"
"Well, I keep having these horrible headaches right here," i said as I made a motion to the general area of my sinus cavities.
The nurse laughed and said, "OK, let's get your vitals and then we'll get you back to see the doctor."

I sat down and she took my temperature. It was fine. Then she hooked me up to a blood pressure machine. It started and then beeped that it was finished.

"Well, let's check that again," the nurse said, " Do you get nervous when you go to the doctor?"
"A little. It depends on the doctor, " I said as she started the machine again.
"Hmm. That's the same again. Do you have a history of high blood pressure?"
"No, not really. I usually run a little high on those machine things, instead of the arm cuff though."
"Well, this is more than little high," the nurse said with a look of concern on her face.
This led to a look of concern on my face, "What is it?"
"210/140"

Next time: The Slow and the Serious

The Battle of the Bulge

I am writing this having just returned from an arduous workout at the nearest YMCA. It is the second such workout of this week (which is two days old). That is more exercise than I've had in months. But following Thanksgiving dinner, and a lot of heavy breathing (OK, it was gasping!)following the annual fathers vs. sons family football game, I decided I should start getting serious about losing some weight. After all, I will be turning the big 4-0 in a few months and I have my yearly check up/lab tests with my nephrologist at the end of the month, and I'd kind of like it if my doctor didn't admonish me about my weight in that very calm, pleasantly soothing voice of his.

Before any of you get any ideas about giving me hot tips to lose weight, I'll just let you know I've been down this road before. I have to eat less, eat healthier, and exercise. Period. Just so you know, I have a long history of losing weight (and putting it back on). What follows is some of the high and low lights of those endeavors. . .

Spring 1987
The Damage: I suffered through a soccer season in the fall where I was dubbed "The Roly-Poly Goalie" by my teammates, despite being the varsity starter for most of the season. I seriously look a little bit like a beachball with legs, or maybe a cube. Self-esteem is not high. Dates are not plentiful.
The Turning Point: My mom bets me a set of contact lenses that I can't lose 30 lbs in 30 days. I really, REALLY wanted to get rid of my glasses.
The Outcome: I don't lose 30 lbs in 30 days, but I do get 25 off. My mom extends the deadline 30 more days. With her packing my lunch and getting me up to exercise every morning, I end up losing 35 lbs. Still can't get a date. I do get contacts. I don't have them when the family takes a vacation to Florida as I'd hoped. However, once in Florida, the first order of business is to buy a half shirt that says "Life's A Beach" and wear it for most of the trip.
Added Bonus: Returning to school in August, a new student tells a longtime friend that she thinks I'm "hot." Looking back, it may have been the new body, it might have been the new contacts, or it might have been that my mullet was now down to my shoulders. I tend to believe it's all of the above.

Fall 1989
The Damage: I learn that boys are not immune to the dreaded "Freshman 15" when you go to college. I have packed on my 15 by Thanksgiving. I have to ask my parents to buy me new jeans.
The Turning Point: I get back to school and discover that some of the guys I've been hanging out with know something about lifting weights and stuff. I begin to lift weights and stuff. I start to play a lot of pick up basketball -- even though I suck at basketball. I also begin to actually attend that class I have to walk to the other side of campus to attend, and walk to Aggieville less frequently.
The Outcome: As quickly as the Freshman 15 goes on, it comes off, and my weight says pretty steady for the rest of college. I still can't get a date.

Fall 1999 - Spring 2001
The Damage: After working a landscape job and discovering the Adkins diet, I report to my new job in Wichita a good 25 lbs lighter than when I interviewed two months before. I also get to live with my sister for several months, whose husband is also on the Adkins diet. That comes to end when they move to Texas and I have to move into an apartment by myself. All hell breaks loose in the form of Pringles and Little Debbies.
The Turning Point: I actually had a semi-successful long-distance relationship. When that came to an end, I am talked into joining a gym by a couple I'm friends with under the guise of it being a "great place to meet people." I decide that since I am newly single, I should join and begin to overhaul my body so it is more attractive to the opposite sex.
The Outcome: The only relationship I form at the gym is with the elliptical machine. We fall in love. I also hook up with a colleague who worked as a personal trainer. His tips, plus the elliptical, plus the discovery of something called a Stair Stepper help me lose 40 lbs and, once again, I have to buy new jeans. I get some dates -- mostly with crazy women. I dress up, just for fun, to coach a girls' basketball game. One of my players' sister sees me in my tie. We're introduced, fall in love, and (eventually) get married. I no longer have to search for a date.

Spring 2005
The Damage: After having a child, I discover that yummy kids foods with the word "graham" in them are not healthy. It is also discovered that my wife and mother-in-law are awesome cooks. The jeans I bought in 2001 are beginning to get tight.
The Turning Point: I leave school in May pledging not to return in August unless I am at least 25 lbs lighter. I become a regular gym rat at the YMCA working out five days a week for an hour and a half.
The Outcome: My 25 pounds are gone by Aug. 1. By Sept. 1 I've lost five more lbs. After that, soccer season picks up and I find myself unable to go to the gym as often. I lose 10 more lbs. I chalk it up as stress from a miserable soccer season and kind of miserable school year. But I'm 40 lbs lighter and still losing. I go to buy new jeans, and I learn I can almost squeeze into a size two smaller than what I'd been wearing -- a size I haven't worn since 1989.
Further Outcome: I find out that some of my weight loss is the result of a kidney condition. They put me on medication and I gain 20 lbs back in the first month. It's been an uphill battle since then.

And that all leads me to where I am today -- fat, out of shape, and a poster child for what's wrong with America. Fortunately, I want to do something about it. I hope that a year from now, I'll be telling you stories of success. I just know that with three kids, I am ready for a lifestyle change. It's hard to look at them and think of not being able to fully participate in their lives. So I am going back to basics and doing the things I know help me lose weight. I'll also be posting my weight daily on Facebook. It's something called the Public Humiliation Diet. I think it will work, because I can't lie about it, and I won't let myself feel like a chump by showing steady gains. If this doesn't work, I am blaming Corey Gabbert.

Until next time, excelsior true believers!!!

Giving Thanks

I just realized that it's been over a month since I posted anything on my blog. Most of the time I get delayed writing because of time, or more often because I can't think of anything to write. With Thanksgiving approaching, I thought it might be a good time to make note of the things for which I give thanks. Most everyone who reads this blog knows me. Therefore, they already know that I am thankful for having a great family, an amazing and loving wife, three incredible (and cute) children, and my good friends. If you know me, then you also know I'm thankful to have a steady job that pays me well enough to keep a roof over our head, food on the table, and enough leftover to go out to eat occasionally. I'm even thankful for my health. While it could definitely be better, those who know me know it could be a heck of a lot worse. I don't take all that for granted. Those things are the things I give thanks for every single day of my life. Those are the obvious things. So what I'm going to do is let you in on some secrets. I'll let you know all the little things I'm thankful for because they just make my life a little better (listed in no particular order. . .)

Comics Books: Really? You're shocked to see this on my list? Yeah, I'm a nerd, but just like when I was 16, there's nothing quite as fun as picking up your pull list and rushing home to sit on the couch and read them all non-stop. I don't go every week like I did back then, so it's even more fun to get a whole big stack and read them after everyone else has gone to sleep.

E-Books: Why? Because my mom was able to get two of her novels that she has dedicated a significant amount of her life to published as e-books. That. Is. Awesome.

Top Chef: Just Desserts: I got hooked on Top Chef when my first daughter was born. I watched all of seasons 1 and 2 on consecutive days during my paternity leave. I was really into season 3. Not so much with season 4, and then my interest waned considerably. One of the problems with cooking shows is that everything looks real cool, but when you get down to it, I don't think I'd like to eat broiled cod shanks with a pancetta and kumquat chutney. But Just Desserts? I could get into that show. I would eat everything they put out on that show. Very quickly I'm also thankful that Morgan lost because he seemed like a real (something I can't write because my mother reads my blog).

WWE Wrestling: How can you NOT be thankful for something that leads to your kids climbing all over you, giggling, and repeatedly fake hitting you with a fake steel chair suspiciously shaped like a pillow? I'm also thankful that I always win. It also teaches me patience, because more often than not someone accidentally steps on my privates.

Breakfast Dinner (aka Brinner): If you don't know what I'm talking about or why I'd be thankful for breakfast dinner, get off my blog. Really. Close the window and just go back to your friend Tom on MySpace. Brinner is awesome.

DVD Players in Cars: It's the best way to drive to Texas for Thanksgiving. Already planning on having Toy Story 3, How To Train Your Dragon, and Up completely memorized by the time I get home. Here's hoping the boy can somehow sneak The Simpsons Movie into the stack of DVDs for the trip.

TJ's Burgerhouse: Speaking of awesome food. . . best burgers in Wichita, hands down. And it's affordable so I can take the family.

The Colorblind Art Teacher and The Man With the Screaming Brain Blog: Any time I am having a bad day (especially at work), I can go to either site and guarantee myself a laugh. Thanks guys!

The Avengers Movie: Oh man, I think that's going to be pretty BA.

Macaroni and Cheese and Hot Dogs: Because kids never say "no" to macaroni and cheese and hot dogs. They also never say no to brinner. What? You didn't know that kids love brinner? I thought I told you to get off my blog!!!

Nick Jr. and XBox360: Sometimes every parent just needs a little break. Thank you Madden 11 and Wow Wow Wubbzy. And you, too, Ni Hao Kai Lan. But not you, Yo Gabba Gabba, you kind of freak me out.

So that's my list of secondary things that I am thankful for. Hope you enjoyed it, because I enjoyed writing it. I should also mention that I'm thankful for the three people who follow my blog (Terry, Hugo, and my mom). Have a happy Thanksgiving, and until next time -- excelsior, true believers!!!

Make Room for . . . That Next Guy

In a previous post, I chronicled the rise and fall of our roommate Binky and the outstanding abode of 1215 Bertrand #4. With Binky's early departure, Chris, Roommate Tad, and I were left with an empty room we needed to fill ASAP so that we wouldn't have to spend roughly an extra $57 apiece in rent for the next month. So we did what any logical college kids would do. We put an advertisement in the Daily Collegian.
Roommate Tad, who had gone back to the apartment early after Christmas Break to work at Dillon's (where we all worked) was in charge of Operation: Find Someone To Live in The 4th Bedroom. It wasn't long before Tad called us back in the Greater KC Area to let us know that we had a potential roommate. He was an engineering student, he had just finished his enlistment in the US Army, and he "seemed pretty cool." We reminded Roommate Tad that he had also told us that Binky "seemed pretty cool" as well. Fortunately, Roommate Tad's instincts were on this time. Our new roommate, who we'll call Keflin (because that's his name) was indeed pretty cool.
We immediately discovered a couple of the things we liked about Keflin, that also separated him from his predecessor. He had steady income as a reservist in the US Army and for being on the GI Bill. He had a VCR that he was willing to share. He had a subscription to Playboy which he was also willing to share. (Author's note: These three things are listed in the order of importance as they appear to a 39-year-old, but not necessarily the order of importance as they appeared to a 20-year-old)
One of the things we learned about Keflin was that he had served in Iraq and Kuwait during Operation: Desert Storm. He had stories about his time there, some of them funny, some of them scary, some of them kind of gory, all of them interesting to a bunch of white bread kids from the suburbs. We also quickly discovered that having been in the army for four years, he had no idea to live on his own. He knew nothing about basic survival skills.
I'll give you some examples of how we learned this about our new roommate. First, we found an open bottle of Ranch Dressing in the cabinet. We explained to Keflin that if something said "Refrigerate After Opening" that you actually had to refrigerate it after you opened it. The second example involves a small propane grill we had. Keflin discovered he could operate it, and grill things. He immediately went out and bought a six-pack of KC strip steaks. He opened the package,took out one and grilled it. Then he left the open package in the fridge for a couple days. We told Keflin that when you bought meat you had to eat it, or freeze it. SO the next day we found the open package of five steaks in the freezer. So, being good roommates, we told Keflin that you had to wrap stuff up, or it would get freezer burn and taste funny. Keflin then went ahead and thawed out all five remaining steaks, grilled one, said it tasted OK, wrapped up the four remaining thawed steaks and put them in the freezer. Roommate Tad, Chris and I started planning a new roommate ad for when Keflin would inevitably be hospitalized for eating the steaks, but it never happened.
It became clear pretty fast that Keflin was a decent guy and a pretty good addition. At the very least he attended class regularly, he paid his bills on time and he was happy to buy and share beer on a regular basis. I got to know Keflin pretty good, because during the summer we were the only two living in the apartment. He was an OK guy. Here are some of the highlights I remember from the Keflin era at 1215 Bertrand #4.

• We once had a Halloween party at the apartment. Keflin came dressed in his battle camouflage uniform and a gas mask. I asked him, "How did you get a gas mask off a military base?" He replied that he hadn't, but that he'd taken it off a dead Iraqi soldier. Roommate Tad looked at him and said, "So you're saying that you got that off a dead person's face, and now you're wearing it on YOUR face?" Keflin promptly took off the gas mask.
• He and I went to Last Chance one night during the summer and he told me he wasn't planning on drinking. We got separated shortly after we got there, and when I found him he had a 32 oz Big Beer in each hand. "I thought you weren't going to drink," I said. He replied, "You have to have more than a $5 order to start a credit card tab. You want a big beer?" I said "sure" and Keflin promptly flagged down a waitress and ordered two big beers for me.
• Keflin was Filipino, and rice had always been a staple part of his diet. As stated previously, he had limited kitchen skills, so he bought an electric rice maker. When he messed up using that, too, he found a Filipino lady in Manhattan and gave her something like $50 a week to cook Filipino meals for him. He was a lot happier after that.
• Keflin had a Thai girlfriend named Pang. Pang's best friend was also Thai, and she was named Ping. No, I am not making this up.
• The summer it was just Keflin and I in the house, I once got a phone bill (which was under my name) for $400+. I went to Keflin and asked him why the phone bill was so high. Part of the reason was that he had made a bunch of calls to Pang . . . who was in Thailand for the summer. The rest of it was due to a call he made to a (adult chat) number. "Why did you call that?" I asked him. "I was bored and I saw an ad on TV. It was pretty stupid." was his reply. "Then why did you stay on the line for [looking at bill] 18 minutes?" I asked. "I thought it might get better."

All in all, Keflin wasn't a bad guy. Years later I would become friends with a guy named Mason. During casual conversation, Mason mentioned an old college roommate named Keflin. Sure enough, it was the same one. And most of Mason's stories were like my own. But things were fine with Keflin, and 1215 Bertrand #4 was a happy place again. And then Chris decided to get married. . .