But, here’s a post for here! Click the link for a lovely wall of text.

As I may have mentioned a time or two on this blog in the distant past, I’ve got Crohn’s Disease. And, since I think everyone who reads this also knows me personally, you likely knew that already anyways.

What some of you may not know, is I’ve been having a really rough patch with it the past 6 months. Constant flare-ups, which for me result in intense, unmanageable pain (and missing days of work from being unable to drive while putting up with said pain), and a lot of time spent unable to eat anything solid. For a couple months, an increased exercise regiment seemed to be helping, and had the bonus of helping me drop over 20lbs. For those couple months, I felt like I had finally gotten a handle on my Crohn’s. Exercise, good sleep, and avoiding certain foods (goodbye forever, popcorn. I’ll miss you), combined with my Cimzia medication, seemed to have finally beaten my condition into remission.

And then the flares came back. With a vengeance. So badly I couldn’t even keep up with the exercise. I finally broke down and went to my gastroenterologist. He put me on budesonide for a month. It helped. A little. Went back, and this time he put me on prednisone. That helped more, as always, but came with the unenviable side effects (for me) of weight gain, emotional instability, and trouble sleeping. However…even on prednisone, my symptoms persisted. Which was highly unusual, prednisone had never before failed to eradicate them quickly.

Went back in, and was scheduled for a CT scan. One large payment later, scan is done. Had to wait over a week before I went back to doctor and heard the results. This was the end of March. The night before my appointment, I had dinner with friends, and Michele was out of town visiting her family. I ate too much of the delicious meatloaf. The next morning at the doctor, I was feeling it. A lot of pain, and nausea…and that was then compounded when the doctor informed me I had severe scarring in my intestines due to previous Crohn’s flares, but fortunately had no current inflammation thanks to the prednisone. My problems were coming from the scar tissue partially obstructing my intestines. And the only solution for that was surgery.

I stumbled home from that visit and collapsed into bed. Was there for 2 days before the pain and irritation subsided and I was able to go back to work (and that’s far from the first time this has happened; I’m good at noticing my flares in time to stop eating, but its not an exact science). Waited over a week before I finally got the call scheduling my consult with the surgeon. I’d chosen a surgeon in Charlotte versus one closer, because of the two options he gave me, the one in Charlotte had the potential to do the procedure laparoscopically. The closer one did not. It wasn’t a guarantee, but the chance of a minimally invasive procedure and correspondingly smaller recover time, was definitely appealing.

The consult was today, April 15th.

I’ve spent the interim weeks in a state of denial, for the most part. I could tell someone “I have to have surgery” and then move the conversation elsewhere, and be ok. However, if forced to actually confront the intellectual reality of having surgery, I handled things a bit poorly. And by poorly I mean full blown, fight-or-flight inducing primal terror. If I thought about it overly long, I’d be reduced to a mental wreck. So mostly, I didn’t think about it. Intellectually I knew it was silly to feel like that, but the primitive brain told my intellect where it could shove itself, and that was that.

Prior to my consult today, I spent 25min fighting off a full blown panic attack. I wanted to talk to the surgeon, to finally learn what I was in for and at least remove some of the unknowns (the unknowns are probably responsible for 2/3rds of my panic, despite some helpful posts from folks on reddit). But I was still terrified, and going in and talking with the surgeon was going to force me to confront the reality of someone putting me to sleep and then cutting me open and removing parts of me. And just typing that gave me goosebumps and made my hands shaky. So yeah. Panic attack. Regulating my breathing, closing my eyes, and just trying to force myself to chill.

And, frankly, it was all for nothing.

I waited at the doctor. And waited. And waited. Filling out the first-visit paperwork took no time at all. Practice, that. But I waited. Seemed a very busy little office, and he was the only doctor there. Finally was taken back to a room, and I could hear him talking to people all around me (the walls, they stop nothing!). And I waited some more. Got up and paced the small room. Fought off another panic attack with a side dish of claustrophobia. Waited some more. And finally, after almost an hour, the door opened. Oh, just a nurse. Letting me know he’ll be with me soon. Alright then.

Finally the doctor comes in, shakes my hand, and launches into a hyperactive stream of words. There was no conversation. Just him talking a lot. He’d ask questions, and cut me off before I came close to finishing answering them. He’d reviewed my CT scan, but he likes to be careful with Crohn’s patients. Doesn’t want to remove parts of their intestine without reason. Ok, that’s fine. I can respect that. But dude, I’m not eating. Every meal is a potential intestinal landmine, and I’m almost afraid to eat. And have been in that state for weeks.

Not to worry! While ignoring what I’m trying to say, he has a solution to offer. Kids today eat too many processed foods. So I’m to eat mostly organic foods. Oh, and I’m also to drink this special brand of flax seed oil, and to buy some expensive mail-order fish oil pills. Do all that for a month, then come back and we’ll see how you’re doing. And then he rushes out of the room before I can get a word in edgewise.

So…I wait a bit more. He finally comes back in with his ‘prescription’ (pictured here), and proceeds to explain that I’ll need to blend the flax seed oil with some almond milk or yogurt, else my body won’t absorb it. He keeps right on talking as I try to explain that I don’t eat any of those items, trying to get other suggestions. Here’s the fish oil brochure, I can use his clinic number to get a discount. Oh, and also, chamomile tea. It’s a natural anti-inflammatory, so be sure to drink it as needed to help keep your condition under control. You can sweeten it with honey. But only *organic* honey.

‘So do this stuff for a month, and then we’ll see how you’re feeling’, he says. ‘Any questions?’

Yeah…I CAN’T EAT. I’ve barely eaten anything solid for a month. I’ve been drinking ensures to just keep a minimum of calories and nutrition in my system. I’ve had so many servings of soupy mashed potatoes I almost never want spuds again. My original doc told me my CT scan showed no inflammation, and I’m still on the prednisone…so if I have no inflammation, and I’m still having my symptoms, how is a diet I can’t eat anyways going to help in any way?

In the end, after that brief moment of actually listening to me (interrupted by him rushing out to check my gall bladder on the CT, because having pain in my abdomen could also mean gall bladder issues, nevermind that the location was wrong), he then revises his original orders…lets just try all this for 2 weeks, then we’ll see how you’re feeling and maybe discuss surgery.

At this point, I just wanted escape. Actually, I wanted escape after the first spiel, when he left to get the scripts (oh, and also to see other patients and talk to 2 people on the phone. Did I mention the walls don’t stop anything?). I didn’t care anymore. I did not like this guy. I’d told Meabh as much during one of his absences from the room, and she wanted me to just leave as well. But some part of me still hoped to actually learn something about the surgery and what I might be in for. A vain hope as it turns out. Fighting to control the building rage and sense of betrayal, I left, and sat in my truck until I calmed down enough to drive.

Part of my rage was directed at myself. I knew I was overreacting, but I’d gone through all that angst and terror at the thought of surgery, and the consult had been something of a light at the end of the tunnel; at least after it was done, I’d be more educated and have some knowledge of what I faced, and that would let me analyze and conquer much of my fear. Instead, I got a surgeon who thinks he’s a dietician, advising I (not) eat some foods in lieu of other foods I (can’t) eat. Fat. Lot. Of. Help. That. Is.

So, I’m very likely going to be ignoring his orders, and calling my original doctor and asking for a second opinion. That dude was just a quack. Seriously. And in the meanwhile I’m left still with every meal a potential source of extreme pain and missed work, a ton of stress and worry over the state of my guts and the fact that a partial obstruction could very quickly turn life-threatening if it becomes a bit less partial, and a complete inability to conquer the still-present fears about surgery and what it will do to my insides.

This has not been a red-letter day. But at least my taxes are already done.

Wow, it’s been a while. is a post from: becd.net

I decided that, since Igor lives at the office now (to stare down a coworker’s superhero action figure collection), he should have a costume for halloween. I was going for Steampunk but didn’t really have anything to give it the edge needed, so we’ll settle for Dapper Victorian.

A Dapper Dinosaur is a post from: becd.net

Currently, the not-water is vibrating rather impressively, to the tempo of the department manager giving an inspirational speech. I’ll spare you the gory details. Just watch any of the approved classic movies, and you’ll see basically the same speech. A thousand sports coaches, professors, parents, and mentors run their mouths for cumulative weeks in those films, and somehow manage to say nothing at all. And they don’t even say it in an interesting way.

This, of course, makes it doubly impressive that my boss manages to be even less interesting. But at least he does it loudly. Any brain cells that decided they wanted the day off are quickly abused of the notion, at top volume.

I quietly walk up to join the crowd, thankful that the no-slip treads on our jumpsuits don’t squeak. As I settle in behind Jenkins, I put on my motivated face. Vacant eyes, perked up cheeks, the occasional nod. When you know the speech, its easy to tell when things are wrapping up and important information is forthcoming, so I just check out until then. My boss slides his eyes over the crowd, lingering briefly on me. He’s probably noticed my absence in the last sweep, but to scold in public is bad for motivation. The only public punishment received is termination. Let That Be An Object Lesson and all that.

I sense that he’s winding down the peptalk, and quickly refocus my attention. Sectors are being handed out now to each technician. With a barely noticeable sigh of relief, I hear the manufacturing sector assigned to Jenkins today. Might be I’ll scrape the rest of that dust off before a new coat gets applied! And…wait…he’s running out of sectors and still I remain unassigned. This cannot be good.

At this point there are only two options left: hydroponics and floater. Hydroponics is actually worse than manufacturing, of course. At least the dust from manufacturing doesn’t try to grow and eat you, like some of the plant life in hydroponics. I may be exaggerating there, but only a little.

Floater usually isn’t too bad, and is considered something of a plum assignment. You get to float around between each sector and offer assistance where needed. It’s the touchy-feely IT assignment, wherein someone gets sacrificed to the other departments as ‘that guy’ who can fix all those little computer issues that don’t interrupt business, but still just bug you. And all in all it’s not that bad. With some creative walking you can lose yourself for ages in corridors and on slipways, and even when you have to work, you almost never have to crawl into corners. Personal terminals are in far more ergonomic (and sanitary) conditions. In the end, floater is for all intents and purposes a paid daylong vacation by comparison to being assigned to a specific sector.

I’ll just let you guess which assignment I got.

Just Another Day at the Office, chapter 3 is a post from: becd.net

Cool, that is, until you looked to the side. The blur of buildings whipping past evokes primal images of…something. A cartoon coyote…quick drops and sudden stops…its not the fall that kills you…you get the idea. Fast humans and immobile objects never play well, and despite my conscious brain telling me the safety field won’t let me out at this velocity, my body rebels. As always. Just another exercise in the end, the sudden tension from adrenaline surge helps browbeat my muscles into quiescence. Just in time for me to…craptheresmyexitport.

Having seen the blue notification sign with my department name on it, I grab more firmly to the loop and do my best Tarzan impression. Few people these days seem to know who Tarzan is, but I’ve always been a fan of the classics. Especially the classics that haven’t been gutted and re-imagined as yet more ways for the company to slam its motivational spew into my unwilling eyes. Kicking my feet up and praying I started in time to catch the deceleration zone, I swing back to the exit side of the slipway, slowing down from terrifying speeds to speeds that are mildly unpleasant. And with a slight jolt, the loop exits the slipway and drops me off outside my department building. With a bit more velocity than it should.

Dusting myself off, and making sure everything is still attached after my impromptu tumble, I glare at the slipway.  I know I should exit slipways at a fast walk, to let my body use the momentum rather than forgetting that it will be there and more than ready to interact with the floor and its buddies friction and gravity. But lets face it, the 3 minutes on the slipway are going to be the best part of my day. No forced conversation since everyone else is already at the office, plenty of time to ponder high velocity impacts, or what might be for dinner tonight, or just to indulge in woolgathering. Provided its a small sheep and an even smaller bush.

See, there I go again with the classics. Folks these days don’t even know what a sheep is, and an obscure turn of phrase regarding collecting bits of them from shrubbery…well, lets just say I don’t use that expression around the watercooler.

Speaking of which…if I’m extraordinarily lucky, I might be able to catch the morning peptalk at said watercooler without anyone noticing my tardiness. Not that the door sensors won’t compile it for my boss to review later today, but at least that will be a few minutes, or maybe even hours without anyone complaining at me.

Just Another Day at the Office, chapter 2 is a post from: becd.net

I woke up late for work again today.

Third time this month, and it was only the 4th. This was not going to go over well on my monthly review. Deadlines are slipping left and right, quotas are seldom being met at all before a new program replaces them. Every manager exhorting his minions with the old college try speech, 110% effort all around. Extra overtime is all but required. Unpaid, naturally. We can’t make ends meet if we don’t sacrifice for the corporation.

I crawl out of my sleeping pod, taking a moment to stretch my weary muscles. Fixing computers may not require as much grunt work and heavy lifting as some of the guys in the manufacturing division, but no one else has to worm their way into nooks and crannies like the IT guys. Even the janitors have long poles to push cleaning implements back where we seem to spend our entire day. Electricians have trained animals with remote mindlinks, sending them scampering along pulling cable; I hear some of the newest innovations get rid of the animal entirely in favor of robots, but the electricians are an odd lot. I doubt they’ll give up their companions for newer tech anytime on this side of the grave.

Anyways, yeah, I needed a stretch. I’d spent three hours contorted into a corner where someone thought a server could fit, and naturally it had clogged with dust and debris in no time. I had to clean all the circuit boards while the power was cut to that section, replacing two components that had partially melted due to the insulating dust coating them. And because unhooking the machine is against policy, it all had to be done in position. It makes for some serious cramps the next morning, let me tell you.

After doing my best to regain control of my rebellious muscles, I grabbed my kit and jogged for the sanitation room. Water rationing was still in effect on company grounds, so I guess it was good that I didn’t have time for a shower anyways. Sometimes I’d love to live without depending on the company allowances, maybe take a real shower sometime, with running water for several whole minutes. Heh. As if. I’ll never be able to live off-campus and still remain on the team. Especially when I live 5 minutes away *on-campus* and still manage to be late.

Brushing my hand over my scalp and taking a bleary glance in the mirror, I ignore the inspirational slogans posted around the rim. I’ve got to finish getting presentable in a hurry, and I never feel like reading that crap anyways. Which is just another thing they’ll mention on my review. A couple of sanitation wipes later, and I’m feeling like I removed a layer or two of grime. My skin looks almost like…well, skin. I’m no longer quite so coated in the fine debris that somehow managers to escape manufacturing no matter how many door seals and airlocks we used.

Hurrying back to my pod, I pull on a fresh jumpsuit. Time for another glorious day at the office.

Just Another Day at the Office, chapter 1 is a post from: becd.net

TACO SEASONING

Makes enough for over 6 lbs of meat.

Ingredients:

• 6 T (3/8 c) Chili Powder
• 4 T (1/4 c) Garlic Powder
• 6 T (3/8 c) Dried Minced Onion
• 4 T (1/4 c) Oregano
• 2 T (1/8 c) Paprika
• 16 T (1 c) Cumin
• 12 T (3/4 c) Salt
• 6 T (3/8 c) Black Pepper
• 6 T (3/8 c) Onion Powder

Directions:

In the crockpot, use 3/8 c of mix and 1/2 c of water for every lb of meat you’re cooking. See the Chicken Taco post for more information. You made need to adjust the amount of water if cooking on the stove.

Store your leftover seasoning in an airtight jar. I use an old plastic peanut butter jar with proportions for different amounts of meat written on it.

Homemade Taco Seasoning is a post from: becd.net

Buzz Buzz Buzz is a post from: becd.net

Bonus picture:

A Timmy for Thinkgeek is a post from: becd.net

Copyright Valve

Half-Life

Platform: PC-Steam

Ratings:

• Story: 4/5 (I couldn’t hear a lot of what the scientists were telling me, making me miss a lot of plot.)
• Environment: 5/5
• Game Play: 4/5 (Some minor but annoying glitching.)

Review:

Half-Life is a fun mix of FPS and puzzler, and the first FPS I’ve ever finished on my own. I enjoyed the game a lot but found it somewhat hindered by its glitches: I could not adjust the voice levels any higher than the environment, so I repeatedly missed what the scientists were saying to me; more than once I found myself jammed into the wall, unable to move; and ladders SUCK. For the second glitch, at least, F6 (Auto-Save) is your friend. Actually, F6 is always your friend: I pretty much hit the button after every jump by the end of the game. I also spent a good portion of my time with 4 HP, so I’m not so sure that I played this game so much as survived it.

Half-Life (PC – Steam) is a post from: becd.net

I wasn’t expecting to like this movie as much as I did. Pogle and I have already watched it two times, and I wouldn’t be surprised if we watch it again soon. While I wasn’t terribly impressed with the supporting characters, Megamind himself is just awesome. Highly recommended (and highly quotable).

Rating: ★★★★★ 

Megamind is a post from: becd.net