working

Feb. 2nd, 2012 06:30 am
bluedog: (Default)
An American businessman was at the pier of a small coastal Mexican village when a small boat with just one fisherman docked. Inside the small boat were several large yellow fin tuna. The American complimented the Mexican on the quality of his fish and asked how long it took to catch them. The Mexican replied only a little while. The American then asked why didn't he stay out longer and catch more fish?
The Mexican said he had enough to support his family's immediate needs.

The American then asked, but what do you do with the rest of your time?

The Mexican fisherman said, "I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, take siesta with my wife, Maria, stroll into the village each evening where I sip wine and play guitar with my amigos, I have a full and busy life, senor."

The American scoffed, "I am a Harvard MBA and could help you. You should spend more time fishing and with the proceeds buy a bigger boat, with the proceeds from the bigger boat you could buy several boats, eventually you would have a fleet of fishing boats. Instead of selling your catch to a middleman you would sell directly to the processor, eventually opening your own cannery. You would control the product, processing and distribution.

You would need to leave this small coastal fishing village and move to Mexico City, then LA and eventually NYC where you will run your expanding enterprise."

The Mexican fisherman asked, "But senor, how long will this all take?"

To which the American replied, "15-20 years."

"But what then, senor?"

The American laughed and said "That's the best part. When the time is right you would announce an IPO and sell your company stock to the public and become very rich, you would make millions."

"Millions, senor? Then what?"

The American said, "Then you would retire. Move to a small coastal fishing village where you would sleep late, fish a little, play with your kids, take siesta with your wife, stroll to the village in the evenings where you could sip wine and play your guitar with your amigos."
bluedog: (Default)
a pretty good rant about religion in America (and pretty much the world, I guess) that sums up my own feelings on the matter.

http://www.balloon-juice.com/2012/01/31/i-dont-care-about-your-invisible-jeebus/

cops

Nov. 16th, 2011 09:23 pm
bluedog: (Default)
I don't see how a young person could look at the news and see what is going on in America today and say "I want to be a police officer!"

Which probably means that only half-ripe sociopaths will choose to be police, making the problem even worse in the future.


Seattle activist Dorli Rainey, 84, reacts after being hit with pepper spray during an Occupy Seattle protest, Nov. 15, 2011 at Westlake Park in Seattle. (AP)

urgh

Nov. 15th, 2011 07:11 pm
bluedog: (Default)
Between the Occupy Wall Street news and the election news I'm ramping up towards being pissed off constantly.  

Maybe I need to quit reading about what is going on in the world.

It doesn't help that the internet is full of trolls, people that get off on making stupid comments just to get an angry response.

That shit is getting really old.

time

Oct. 30th, 2011 04:55 pm
bluedog: (Default)
It's really annoying that human perception works in such a way that when we are miserable, like with a head cold from hell, time passes excruciatingly slow, but when we are doing something enjoyable, that same Sunday afternoon would pass in the blink of an eye.
bluedog: (Default)
I was born in 1965. My dad was in the army and I lived on army bases till he retired from the army when I was about 13.

I was pretty sure the the world would be destroyed by nuclear war before I hit 30.

I suspect this inner surety of the world's imminent destruction is part of the reason I'm not particularly ambitious about what job I work.

Anyways, the point is, I'm very happy to read this news.   

The last of the nation's most powerful nuclear bombs — a weapon hundreds of times stronger than the bomb dropped on Hiroshima — is being disassembled nearly half a century after it was put into service at the height of the Cold War.

The final components of the B53 bomb will be broken down Tuesday at the Pantex Plant near Amarillo, the nation's only nuclear weapons assembly and disassembly facility.




Old dog

Oct. 12th, 2011 07:26 pm
bluedog: (Default)
He's getting on in years and he's not allowed to fetch his ball anymore, but he can still run around.

bluedog: (Default)
My aunt died last week. She was my mom's younger sister. They were the two youngest in a pretty large family and they were best friends when they were younger.

My aunt impacted my life in many ways. For one thing, my mom says my aunt always wanted to be an American. When they were little she would walk around talking in fake American and pretend she was one.

When she was old enough she got an American GI as a boyfriend, got married and took off to America and became an American for real. Before she left though, she introduced my mom to her boyfriend's buddy, and that guy eventually became my dad.

Soon after she got to America she had two boys and got divorced. She spent pretty much all her life from that point forward living in that same part of America she ended up in, which was here in Northern California, where her American husband was from.

I spent a lot of time with her two sons when I was growing up. One was slightly older than me and one slightly younger.

After my dad retired from the Army we lived in Indiana and he started working for the Post Office. He had a severe personality clash with the guy who became post master there and my aunt happened to know the post master in a small town here, got him an interview with the guy and we all ended up moving out here. Another big impact she had on me.

The thing is though, I really didn't like this aunt. In fact, the last time I saw her, I called her hateful and walked out on the dinner we were having. I was very angry. I had sat through this dinner listening to her go on and on about 'them' (which meant 'the gays') and how she wished that San Francisco would just slide into the ocean and how she was upset at even having to share the road with 'them'. I sat there and kept my lid shut until finally, like a pressure cooker, it got blown off. I was shaking mad and I think I really surprised her. She wasn't used to people calling her on that crap

But my dislike didn't start there. I had always felt uncomfortable around her. She was ... brassy and a bit raucous. Her laugh was like fingernails on a chalkboard to me. And she was very conscious of social status. I imagine it had a lot to do with being dirt poor in Germany as a kid and her idea of what it meant to be an American.

Anyways, I never wanted to have much to do with her. Once we got older, even my two cousins and I never got along very well. My mother and her were still very close though, even though my mom is a pretty strong liberal and my aunt was the other side of that coin, they were still two sisters in America, and I know my mom is in pain from this, so for that reason only, I grieve a bit at my aunt's passing.
bluedog: (Default)
My aunt died last week. She was my mom's younger sister. They were the two youngest in a pretty large family and they were best friends when they were younger.

My aunt impacted my life in many ways. For one thing, my mom says my aunt always wanted to be an American. When they were little she would walk around talking in fake American and pretend she was one.

When she was old enough she got an American GI as a boyfriend, got married and took off to America and became an American for real. Before she left though, she introduced my mom to her boyfriend's buddy, and that guy eventually became my dad.

Soon after she got to America she had two boys and got divorced. She spent pretty much all her life from that point forward living in that same part of America she ended up in, which was here in Northern California, where her American husband was from.

I spent a lot of time with her two sons when I was growing up. One was slightly older than me and one slightly younger.

After my dad retired from the Army we lived in Indiana and he started working for the Post Office. He had a severe personality clash with the guy who became post master there and my aunt happened to know the post master in a small town here, got him an interview with the guy and we all ended up moving out here. Another big impact she had on me.

The thing is though, I really didn't like this aunt. In fact, the last time I saw her, I called her hateful and walked out on the dinner we were having. I was very angry. I had sat through this dinner listening to her go on and on about 'them' (which meant 'the gays') and how she wished that San Francisco would just slide into the ocean and how she was upset at even having to share the road with 'them'. I sat there and kept my lid shut until finally, like a pressure cooker, it got blown off. I was shaking mad and I think I really surprised her. She wasn't used to people calling her on that crap

But my dislike didn't start there. I had always felt uncomfortable around her. She was ... brassy and a bit raucous. Her laugh was like fingernails on a chalkboard to me. And she was very conscious of social status. I imagine it had a lot to do with being dirt poor in Germany as a kid and her idea of what it meant to be an American.

Anyways, I never wanted to have much to do with her. Once we got older, even my two cousins and I never got along very well. My mother and her were still very close though, even though my mom is a pretty strong liberal and my aunt was the other side of that coin, they were still two sisters in America, and I know my mom is in pain from this, so for that reason only, I grieve a bit at my aunt's passing.

dream job

Nov. 25th, 2009 09:06 am
bluedog: (Default)
About the only time I remember my dreams is when I'm woken up in the middle of one. And even then, the memory of the dream fades fast.

Doro woke me up this morning when I was in the middle of a dream.

What I can remember:

I was working at a job that involved me driving a route and stopping at homes and using some sort of device, like pliers on the end of a pole, to adjust some set of wires outside the homes. I have no idea what I was supposed to be doing, but it made sense in the dream.

And I stopped at an old farm house to do my work and the old guy that lived there came out and started telling me how the town was going to take his farm to expand the school and how upset he was and what a terrible day he was having.

As I was getting ready to leave he asked me to drive into town for him and buy him 2 yards of canvas at the hardware store so he could make a new grass catcher for his lawn mower.

And I agreed to do this. He was quite happy that I agreed to go to the store for him.

As I was driving to the store, Doro woke me.

He's probably gonna think I'm a real asshole that just said yes and then drove off.

dream job

Nov. 25th, 2009 09:06 am
bluedog: (Default)
About the only time I remember my dreams is when I'm woken up in the middle of one. And even then, the memory of the dream fades fast.

Doro woke me up this morning when I was in the middle of a dream.

What I can remember:

I was working at a job that involved me driving a route and stopping at homes and using some sort of device, like pliers on the end of a pole, to adjust some set of wires outside the homes. I have no idea what I was supposed to be doing, but it made sense in the dream.

And I stopped at an old farm house to do my work and the old guy that lived there came out and started telling me how the town was going to take his farm to expand the school and how upset he was and what a terrible day he was having.

As I was getting ready to leave he asked me to drive into town for him and buy him 2 yards of canvas at the hardware store so he could make a new grass catcher for his lawn mower.

And I agreed to do this. He was quite happy that I agreed to go to the store for him.

As I was driving to the store, Doro woke me.

He's probably gonna think I'm a real asshole that just said yes and then drove off.
bluedog: (Default)
We drove down to Berkeley for a day trip of visiting book stores on Veterans Day.

Dorothea loves Berkeley and would like to move down there but I don't think so for me. Too many people.

Right now, especially, my mental filters are tuned too highly for walking down the busy streets.

My brain was broadcasting orange alerts constantly. So many people that, for whatever reason, set off some sort of mental pattern recognition in my head which tried to demand my attention and point out a possible threat.

And the beggars along the street. Not used to that many. Reached the point of just ignoring their pleas rather quickly.

There was one though, a very old and filthy man, with raggedy long hair, who was sitting on the ground near an intersection, and as people passed he'd say 'hello' and look at them with these eyes of his. They looked like the eyes of somebody that wasn't quite sure what was going on. Almost a child's eyes.

We walked past him several times and each time he managed to bust through my walls and stab me with those eyes and that plaintive 'hello' but I kept walking, even though part of me was trying to get me to stop and give him some money or just ask him if he needed some help.

***************************
I bought many books.

When I was younger I had tried to read some P.K. Dick book but it just didn't appeal to me and I never tried him again. Recently I got the notion, for some reason, of giving him another try.

In one of the stores I found a paperback copy of Radio Free Albemuth, a book that was basically found after Dick died.

I opened it up and read the first page. The first page was about a guy who lived in Berkeley. And after reading that first page I wanted to keep reading, so I bought the book, thinking that it was an odd synchronicity that I had this hankering for reading this author and the first book of his I pick up, while in Berkeley, is about Berkeley.

****************************

Later in the car, I am waiting for Doro and I pull out the book again to read a little more. I see that it has a prologue that I had missed when I looked at it in the bookstore.

This is the prologue:

In 1932 in April a small boy and his mother and father waited on an Oakland, California pier for the San Francisco ferry. The boy, who was almost four years old, noticed a blind beggar, huge with white hair and beard, standing with a tin cup. The little boy asked his father for a nickel, which the boy took over to the beggar and gave him. The beggar, in a surprisingly hearty voice, thanked him and gave him back a piece of paper, which the boy took to his father to see what it was.

"It tells about God," his father said.

The little boy did not know that the beggar was not actually a beggar but a supernatural entity visiting Earth to check up on people. Years later the little boy grew up and became a man. In the year 1974 that man found himself in terrible difficulties facing disgrace, imprisonment, and possible death. There was no way for him to extricate himself. At that point the supernatural entity returned to Earth, loaned the man a part of his spirit, and saved him from his difficulties. The man never guessed why the supernatural entity came to rescue him. He had long ago forgotten the great bearded beggar and the nickel he had given him.

I now speak of these matters.


*****************************

I wish I had stopped to help that old beggar in Berkeley.


xposted to jakedog.org
bluedog: (Default)
We drove down to Berkeley for a day trip of visiting book stores on Veterans Day.

Dorothea loves Berkeley and would like to move down there but I don't think so for me. Too many people.

Right now, especially, my mental filters are tuned too highly for walking down the busy streets.

My brain was broadcasting orange alerts constantly. So many people that, for whatever reason, set off some sort of mental pattern recognition in my head which tried to demand my attention and point out a possible threat.

And the beggars along the street. Not used to that many. Reached the point of just ignoring their pleas rather quickly.

There was one though, a very old and filthy man, with raggedy long hair, who was sitting on the ground near an intersection, and as people passed he'd say 'hello' and look at them with these eyes of his. They looked like the eyes of somebody that wasn't quite sure what was going on. Almost a child's eyes.

We walked past him several times and each time he managed to bust through my walls and stab me with those eyes and that plaintive 'hello' but I kept walking, even though part of me was trying to get me to stop and give him some money or just ask him if he needed some help.

***************************
I bought many books.

When I was younger I had tried to read some P.K. Dick book but it just didn't appeal to me and I never tried him again. Recently I got the notion, for some reason, of giving him another try.

In one of the stores I found a paperback copy of Radio Free Albemuth, a book that was basically found after Dick died.

I opened it up and read the first page. The first page was about a guy who lived in Berkeley. And after reading that first page I wanted to keep reading, so I bought the book, thinking that it was an odd synchronicity that I had this hankering for reading this author and the first book of his I pick up, while in Berkeley, is about Berkeley.

****************************

Later in the car, I am waiting for Doro and I pull out the book again to read a little more. I see that it has a prologue that I had missed when I looked at it in the bookstore.

This is the prologue:

In 1932 in April a small boy and his mother and father waited on an Oakland, California pier for the San Francisco ferry. The boy, who was almost four years old, noticed a blind beggar, huge with white hair and beard, standing with a tin cup. The little boy asked his father for a nickel, which the boy took over to the beggar and gave him. The beggar, in a surprisingly hearty voice, thanked him and gave him back a piece of paper, which the boy took to his father to see what it was.

"It tells about God," his father said.

The little boy did not know that the beggar was not actually a beggar but a supernatural entity visiting Earth to check up on people. Years later the little boy grew up and became a man. In the year 1974 that man found himself in terrible difficulties facing disgrace, imprisonment, and possible death. There was no way for him to extricate himself. At that point the supernatural entity returned to Earth, loaned the man a part of his spirit, and saved him from his difficulties. The man never guessed why the supernatural entity came to rescue him. He had long ago forgotten the great bearded beggar and the nickel he had given him.

I now speak of these matters.


*****************************

I wish I had stopped to help that old beggar in Berkeley.


xposted to jakedog.org
bluedog: (Default)
Man, this place has really died down.  Hardly anybody on my friends list posts anything anymore.  I suppose everybody has either moved to Facebook or just killed themselves.  That's a joke, son.

I recently had to have the gf take me to the emergency room in the middle of the night due to really horrible pain in my abdomen.  And you women say men can't understand what it's like to have a baby.   Psht.  This was pretty painful.

Turns out some scar tissue in my colon, a left over from my cancer surgery, combined with a sharp curve in my intestine and a mess of almonds I had eaten earlier to basically put a cork in it.  The result of which was that nothing was passing through and all the stuff that normally passes through was building up and swelling my guts.   Hence the pain.

It was in the ER that I learned something new.  That something new was called Nasogastric Intubation, or NG tube, for short.

What is an ng tube?   It's a clear plastic tube, slightly larger in diameter than your standard drinking straw, that is forced through your nose, down your throat and into your stomach.  It's most often used as a feeding tube for people that might need it, but for me, the flow was reversed and it was used to suck out the bile and other fluids that your body produces in your stomach during the normal course of events and continues to produce even when your intestines are blocked up and there is no place for those fluids to go.  And I suspect, from my usual mental state, that my body produces more bile than is usual.  (another joke. Try to keep up here)

Initially, I assumed that the insertion of the NG tube had to be the worst part of it.  Especially when you've got virgin nasal passages like mine and it takes the nurse and the other nurse FOUR TRIES to get the tube inserted.  If the sight of blood bothers you, you would not have been happy witnessing this.  The first try, the female nurse ... hold on, before I continue, let me say I knew I was in trouble when both nurses assured me that this was going to suck.   Not only did they tell me it was going to suck, the male nurse told me this was his least favorite nursing thing to do.  Think about all the nasty things that nurses do.  Well, it's probably best if you don't.  Just assume they do all sorts of nasty stuff involving body fluids and body not-quite-fluids and body wtf-is-that?-omg-I-need-to-wash-my-hands! type stuff.   And of all that, inserting NG tubes is his least favorite thing to do.   

So, the first try, the female nurse is on the pitching mound and she asks me which nostril to use.  The fuck do I know?  She asks me if I ever have had my nose broken. No.  Does either of my nostrils feel more open?  I finally say 'try the left'.  So, the male nurse holds a cup of water, which I am supposed to drink as the tube slides down my throat.  This helps lubricate the passage and the drinking action apparently helps neutralize the gag reflex.  And once they get it started I'm supposed to hold my head tilted forward, with my chin against my chest.  Again, this somehow puts your body in a posture that helps the tube go down.

She starts.  It fucking hurts as she pushes it through my nose.  I feel the tube meet some sort of resistance and she just keeps pushing it and pushing it and I'm sure that pretty soon she'll be pulling that tube out of my ass and they'll be able to floss me, I'm wondering why the male nurse isn't giving me the water and then, she pulls it all back out.  WTF!  That means she's gonna have to do it again!

The tube is covered in slimy blood.  It's nasty looking.  She decides to try my another nostril.  In it goes, jam, jam, push, push, ouch motherfucker.  She pulls out it out again.

The male nurse says "let me try".  He goes back to the left nostril.  Once again, no luck.  My nostrils reject the foreign interloper like the Mujahideen beat back the Russians.  The he switches over to give the right nostril another try.  By this time there is blood everywhere, at least that's how it looks to me.  I'm sure my nose will never by normal again. 

He shoves and twists and pokes that tube in my right nostril and suddenly I feel it slide past whatever it was that was blocking it.  Drink, drink!  I gulp water as the tube slides down my throat and into my stomach.  I'm glad that's over.

The nurses are apologetic.  I tell them I hate them both.  (not a joke, I really said that).  They sort of smile, not sure if I'm joking.  Neither am I.  They both congratulate me on being a tough guy and taking it so well.   Great. 

Turns out, just having that tube in my nose for the next two days is actually far more annoying than having it inserted.   Mainly because, as painful as the insertion was, it was over pretty quick.   The tube gives me a huge headache.  Any movement of my head causes it to tweak my nose and some sort of internal pain nerves that I, in the normal course of life, never really feel.  Also, it just feels odd to have it in my throat like that.   I'm not surprised that some patients pull this tube out.  I'm mentally with it enough to know though that that would just mean they'd have to reinsert it.  No thanks.

The rest of the hospital stay was pretty boring.   Just laid in bed for 2 days, not sleeping (the nose tube kept me awake, mostly) and waited for the blockage to unblock on it's own.  If it didn't, they'd cut their way in with a commando team and blow it open with some C4.  Luckily it didn't come to that. 

I didn't get to eat or drink anything during that time.  I had an IV keeping my hydrated.  The first night I asked the nurse if I could have something for my headache.  She asked me, on a scale of 1 to 10, with 10 being the worst, how much pain was I in.   I said 5.  She left and came back with an ampoule of morphine, for my headache, which she shot into my IV line.  Nice.  

The next night I asked (a different nurse) for something for my headache.  She asked me to rate my pain on the 1-10 scale.  This time I said 7.  She came back with 2 ampoules of morphine and injected em into my IV line.  Had I stayed there another night, I was gonna go for broke and say 10 the next time. 

But they let me out on my birthday.   Yay.  Having the tube pulled out sucked too, but it was worth it to be rid of that bastard.  It's nice to be able to go to the restroom without having to have somebody come and disconnnect you from a bunch of tubes first.

And the other day I got my insurance claim form from Blue Shield.  



You know something is wrong with the system when the hospital bills for $13,872 and the insurance company gets away with only allowing $3,499.  I realize they negotiate for a group discount or something from the hospital, but that is just fucked up.   I assume that anybody without insurance would be expected to pay the whole nearly $14k bill.  

Ah well, I'm sure our Senators and Congressman are hard at work fixing *that* problem right now.  (yah, that's sarcasm).
 
bluedog: (Default)
Man, this place has really died down.  Hardly anybody on my friends list posts anything anymore.  I suppose everybody has either moved to Facebook or just killed themselves.  That's a joke, son.

I recently had to have the gf take me to the emergency room in the middle of the night due to really horrible pain in my abdomen.  And you women say men can't understand what it's like to have a baby.   Psht.  This was pretty painful.

Turns out some scar tissue in my colon, a left over from my cancer surgery, combined with a sharp curve in my intestine and a mess of almonds I had eaten earlier to basically put a cork in it.  The result of which was that nothing was passing through and all the stuff that normally passes through was building up and swelling my guts.   Hence the pain.

It was in the ER that I learned something new.  That something new was called Nasogastric Intubation, or NG tube, for short.

What is an ng tube?   It's a clear plastic tube, slightly larger in diameter than your standard drinking straw, that is forced through your nose, down your throat and into your stomach.  It's most often used as a feeding tube for people that might need it, but for me, the flow was reversed and it was used to suck out the bile and other fluids that your body produces in your stomach during the normal course of events and continues to produce even when your intestines are blocked up and there is no place for those fluids to go.  And I suspect, from my usual mental state, that my body produces more bile than is usual.  (another joke. Try to keep up here)

Initially, I assumed that the insertion of the NG tube had to be the worst part of it.  Especially when you've got virgin nasal passages like mine and it takes the nurse and the other nurse FOUR TRIES to get the tube inserted.  If the sight of blood bothers you, you would not have been happy witnessing this.  The first try, the female nurse ... hold on, before I continue, let me say I knew I was in trouble when both nurses assured me that this was going to suck.   Not only did they tell me it was going to suck, the male nurse told me this was his least favorite nursing thing to do.  Think about all the nasty things that nurses do.  Well, it's probably best if you don't.  Just assume they do all sorts of nasty stuff involving body fluids and body not-quite-fluids and body wtf-is-that?-omg-I-need-to-wash-my-hands! type stuff.   And of all that, inserting NG tubes is his least favorite thing to do.   

So, the first try, the female nurse is on the pitching mound and she asks me which nostril to use.  The fuck do I know?  She asks me if I ever have had my nose broken. No.  Does either of my nostrils feel more open?  I finally say 'try the left'.  So, the male nurse holds a cup of water, which I am supposed to drink as the tube slides down my throat.  This helps lubricate the passage and the drinking action apparently helps neutralize the gag reflex.  And once they get it started I'm supposed to hold my head tilted forward, with my chin against my chest.  Again, this somehow puts your body in a posture that helps the tube go down.

She starts.  It fucking hurts as she pushes it through my nose.  I feel the tube meet some sort of resistance and she just keeps pushing it and pushing it and I'm sure that pretty soon she'll be pulling that tube out of my ass and they'll be able to floss me, I'm wondering why the male nurse isn't giving me the water and then, she pulls it all back out.  WTF!  That means she's gonna have to do it again!

The tube is covered in slimy blood.  It's nasty looking.  She decides to try my another nostril.  In it goes, jam, jam, push, push, ouch motherfucker.  She pulls out it out again.

The male nurse says "let me try".  He goes back to the left nostril.  Once again, no luck.  My nostrils reject the foreign interloper like the Mujahideen beat back the Russians.  The he switches over to give the right nostril another try.  By this time there is blood everywhere, at least that's how it looks to me.  I'm sure my nose will never by normal again. 

He shoves and twists and pokes that tube in my right nostril and suddenly I feel it slide past whatever it was that was blocking it.  Drink, drink!  I gulp water as the tube slides down my throat and into my stomach.  I'm glad that's over.

The nurses are apologetic.  I tell them I hate them both.  (not a joke, I really said that).  They sort of smile, not sure if I'm joking.  Neither am I.  They both congratulate me on being a tough guy and taking it so well.   Great. 

Turns out, just having that tube in my nose for the next two days is actually far more annoying than having it inserted.   Mainly because, as painful as the insertion was, it was over pretty quick.   The tube gives me a huge headache.  Any movement of my head causes it to tweak my nose and some sort of internal pain nerves that I, in the normal course of life, never really feel.  Also, it just feels odd to have it in my throat like that.   I'm not surprised that some patients pull this tube out.  I'm mentally with it enough to know though that that would just mean they'd have to reinsert it.  No thanks.

The rest of the hospital stay was pretty boring.   Just laid in bed for 2 days, not sleeping (the nose tube kept me awake, mostly) and waited for the blockage to unblock on it's own.  If it didn't, they'd cut their way in with a commando team and blow it open with some C4.  Luckily it didn't come to that. 

I didn't get to eat or drink anything during that time.  I had an IV keeping my hydrated.  The first night I asked the nurse if I could have something for my headache.  She asked me, on a scale of 1 to 10, with 10 being the worst, how much pain was I in.   I said 5.  She left and came back with an ampoule of morphine, for my headache, which she shot into my IV line.  Nice.  

The next night I asked (a different nurse) for something for my headache.  She asked me to rate my pain on the 1-10 scale.  This time I said 7.  She came back with 2 ampoules of morphine and injected em into my IV line.  Had I stayed there another night, I was gonna go for broke and say 10 the next time. 

But they let me out on my birthday.   Yay.  Having the tube pulled out sucked too, but it was worth it to be rid of that bastard.  It's nice to be able to go to the restroom without having to have somebody come and disconnnect you from a bunch of tubes first.

And the other day I got my insurance claim form from Blue Shield.  



You know something is wrong with the system when the hospital bills for $13,872 and the insurance company gets away with only allowing $3,499.  I realize they negotiate for a group discount or something from the hospital, but that is just fucked up.   I assume that anybody without insurance would be expected to pay the whole nearly $14k bill.  

Ah well, I'm sure our Senators and Congressman are hard at work fixing *that* problem right now.  (yah, that's sarcasm).
 
bluedog: (Default)
Some pictures of my newest niece and 'the old one'. 

In this picture you can see she's already politically active as she gives her Baby Power! salute.



more pics after the cut )

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