doctordra

It was a stormy night in Austin… No really, it was the night that Hurricane Ike hit the gulf coast.  And where was I? Singing karaoke at Graham’s Central Station with my friend of course….and drinking “Hurricanes”, about 12 of them or so throughout the whole night.  And that was where we met.  It had been 8 months of dating hiatus since that last heartbreak and I was finally ready to move on.  I probably should have not gone home with him and his friend, but I did.  I probably should have figured it out when he said that he needed to go inside and “clean up” before we walked into his apartment, but I didn’t.  I made my opinions on marijuana very clear that first night but he convinced me to take a chance on him, and I did.

The next week was a whirlwind. I admittedly fall very fast and we went on our first date that very next day.  Hung out almost every night (it helped that we lived right across the highway from each other) and just a week into it I got a little tipsy and had to stay the night there.  God forbid that I should have to use the bathroom in the middle of the night.  But I did, which was when I discovered that he had hot boxed it while I was sleeping.  Come on dude, I’m a probation officer, did you not think that I wouldn’t know what it smelled like?

Feelings instantly changed and I pretty much ended it within the next few days.  He tried to get me back, left me alone for a few weeks then told me that he had quit.  He did, supposedly, and we started dating again, but it wasn’t the same.  The damage was done and I had already felt disrespected.  And then I ended it again…. Right in the middle of making out with him.  Bad timing? I’ve never really been good at that.  I was proud of myself that I did it at all!

The best part about it was that 8 months later when I joined match.com, guess who came up on my matches?  That’s right, the pothead, 84% match to be precise.  Guess they didn’t put the illegal drug use as one of the compatibility markers or at least a disqualifying one.

Ooo another good follow up.  I was at a football game last season and discovered that his friends were sitting behind me.  In my beer induced stupor, I might have revealed some aspects of our relationship that will make him the laughing stock of his guy friends for years to come.  Definitely got a text from him later, oopsy! Yet, he is still doesn’t hate me.  He even gave me a discount on my new car battery.  Yay me!  Take heed kids, crack is whack, er pot is… yah

So, the other night I took a look around my room. I looked at my dresser and my night stand. If you would have told me this time two years ago, that I would have tons of pill bottles layin around, and I would practically live in the pharmacy, and be in Dr.’s office every few weeks, I wouldn’t believe you. When I was growin up, I was the one kid in class that NEVER got sick, and perfect attendance. I thought it was weird. But I didn’t really pay it any attention. I got sick for one day, for a few hours, then that was it. But NOW….. oh how the times have changed. About two years ago, I started to not feel like myself. I was always in the pain. How do you go from never being sick, to always in pain. I always had migranes, but they had stopped. But as of two years ago, they came back, and they came back HARD! The straw that broke the camel’s back was, one weekend I had a ‘migran’ that kept me in bed for three days. “/ If I knew then what I know now, I probably would have ran to the ER. But I hated the Dr. They never did anything for me. They never gave me anything that worked, for my migranes, so I just stopped going. After that weekend that I spent in the bed, and after missing soo much class time, from being home in bed, not being able to do much moving, I decided to go to the Dr. I was scared out of my mind. I had no idea what she was gonna tell me. But I bit the built and my nerves.

She did things that ordinary Dr’s don’t do on the first visit. I thought I was just going to get a physical, and she was gonna ask me some questions. She did that, AND she did blood work. That surprised me. Not too soon after I went to see her, who by the way is my mother’s Dr also, we went down to Maryland to my aunt’s house for Memorial Day/vacation. That weekend, I got a phone that would rock my world, and one that I was not expecting. She told me that my blood work had come back. *heart drops* First she told me the not so bad news. I had a calcium/vitamin D deficiency…. Ok, I can live with that. A slight Asthma. *shrug* Ok….Then she went on to tell me that I tested postive for Sickle Cell…… WTF?! I swear I didn’t hear anything she said after that. Sickle cell? Me? How? WHY? My vacation had officially been ruined. How was I supposed to enjoy after that. Usually, people who have sickle cell know from birth. All I knew was that I had the trait. But apparently, over time, my trait had developed. FML! I had no idea what this meant for me. All I ever heard about Sickle cell was bad things, and when I did my own research, it didn’t really make me feel any better…….

I’m not gonna lie, I was lowkey depressed. I had no idea what this meant for the rest of my life. From what I read, this means complications with my heart…(keep reading), complications in pregnancy, passing it on to my child, long hospital stays…. The list goes on. But I had the best people around me. They prayed, and hard, and so did I. I was in a BAD place, and I had to get out. I had to pick up the pieces and figure out how to move forward. But of course the bumps in the road didn’t stop there.

One day I had gotten THEE worst chest pain ever. It definitely threw me off, but I didn’t know what to make of it. Then it kept happening. I knew something wasn’t right. I would get these pains, and my heart would skip a beat or two, or it beat too hard or to fast. Something in my brain was screaming SOMETHING IS WRONG! So one day, I was in class, and it was so bad I had to gather myself and walk out. I just couldn’t do it. I came home, and got in the bed. The next day, I went to the nurse, and she gave me some bs story. That didn’t work. So I went to my Dr. Got an EKG, and the first one came back ‘normal’. I really wasn’t satisifed with that, but the Dr said so, so I took it at that. Time went on, and the pain never stopped. I figured it came from the sickle cell. But one day I had come home from class, it was becoming a problem. It had been about three days of this constant pain. So I asked my best friend to take me to the ER. A few weeks later, my Dr sent me to have an echocardiogram (2D ultrasound of my heart). I should have been used to waiting for these phone calls by now. I had an idea of what it was. But the wait, and the idea of hearing come from the Dr’s mouth scared the sh*t out of me. So my results came back, and sure enough…. It’s called Mitral Valve Prolapse, it when my left valve sometimes flutter back and forth, cause irregular heart rythyms, and chest pains. Shit just don’t get no better does it?…. smh And of course me being me, I did my research. And again ….. The side effects from the meds alone had me lookin at the screen like WTF?… Well we can just add that to the pill bottles on the dresser. “/

All this going on, while I’m thinking, how can I be the sick one, when I have to be Superwoman. I’m the strong man in my house. My mother, who has R.A., can’t do much, so that leaves me. How this happening to me?! I didn’t get it. Of course, I thought it wasn’t fair. Me being the private person I am, I don’t have many people I trust, so I didn’t have many people I could keep by my side through all of this. But I swear I have the best friends in the world!! My sister Rosanna, has been by my side through EVERYTHING! From every panic attack to every dreadfully painful day and night to waiting for those phone calls. Then came my wifey, Lucy! From the first day we met, we clicked. But little did we know we had more than that night in common. She understands my pain, and my pride. She understand the fear I have of people seeing me at my worst. And then there’s my closest male friend. I call him Superman. He knows me, well, a lil too well. And it’s a lil scary. Lol But he understands everything. And he’s there. I am soooo grateful for them.

I took a look around, and I smirked. Idk what this journey is about. But I’m learning as I go. It’s by no means easy. But I’m on it, and I can’t stop.

I wonder if you'll read about the following in the Korea Times any time soon?

http://www.torontopolice.on.ca/newsreleases/pdfs/18456.pdf

http://www.vancouverite.com/2010/03/18/toronto-cops-four-women-gang-raped-repeatedly-by-six-men/

Can you imagine the reaction in the local media if the roles were reversed and this happened in Korea – and the accused were foreigners? Even worse, how about if the accused were foreign English teachers?Okay, I knew things were getting weird in mid-February when the “climate change” loons said the unusual amount of snow we were getting in otherwise temperate parts of the country was somehow due to global warming. Go figure. They already had their minds made up, and didn’t want to be confused with facts.

Normally, our corner of the biosphere gets a few inches of snow at most every winter. It’s here for a day or two, then it’s gone. Between December and the end of February, we suffer through about six weeks of what people in other parts of the country would refer to as “serious winter weather.” The rest of the season is just mildly cold and sufficiently gloomy.

This year we got a lot of snow. I am always enamored of the stuff, figuring if we’re going to have cold temperatures, we might as well have some rare seasonal beauty to accompany it. Miz Possum is a Michigander by birth, and has been devoid of any enchantment with the white stuff since she was a teenager.

With snow comes ice, and that turned the narrow road curving up Scorpion Hill into a ski slope worthy of the Olympics. Shaun White is welcome to stop by with his snowboard any time the weather's right for him. Miz Possum had to abandon her car in white-out conditions long before she made it into the neighborhood when “the big one” caught her at work late one Friday afternoon. Two days later, the sun was out and it looked like things were melting off sufficiently, so she retrieved the car and made a run at the 30° incline. The little red car spun out halfway up and ended fetched up against a fence post. Two of our intrepid and fully ambulatory neighbors showed up the following day with a come-along hand winch, chains, and tow straps. What followed looked like—as mentioned in the previous post—the German army’s retreat from Russia during War II. The neighbor’s Jeep 4X4 got mired in the ice as well. He was able to slide back down to dry ground without too much trouble, but Miz Possum’s car had to be winched inch-by-inch up the hill to a thawed spot, accompanied by a lot of shoveling and chipping at the black ice/gravel mix, where some professional stunt driving finally got it across the tundra to a parking space.

The next day, a large delivery truck tried its luck and failed. The driver spent over an hour hacking and shoveling to prep enough road surface to gain traction and skid onto the dry spot for a turnaround. (No one in their right mind tries backing down Scorpion Hill in any sort of weather.)

During both of these misadventures, I made fresh coffee, bundled up, and watched from the deck. I wanted to be down there helping, but a wheelchair on a ski slope recalls the proverbial redneck’s last words: “Hey! Watch this!” I was of a mind that I should at least share the suffering in the biting wind, and offer what moral support I could thereby.

That notion was not one of my better ideas. I was already wheezing with some kind of bronchial malfunction, and the hours spent in the cold air aggravated the condition. By the time the vehicular follies were finished and things had really thawed out, I was choking and gasping even in the relative warmth of my living room. At one point Miz Possum threatened to drag me to the doctor, whereupon I gave my standard reply: “I’m not bleeding, so I don’t need a doctor!”

I had my regularly scheduled checkup with the aforementioned doctor the second week of this month. As I was explaining the creeping miseries I had endured the previous month, I broke into another coughing fit. The doctor listened to my lungs and reached for the prescription pad. She said it was a mild infection, and a dose of antibiotics would clear it right up.

That was on a Thursday. Saturday afternoon, Miz Possum and I made our weekly grocery run into Blue Ridge. The store that we frequent has an in-house pharmacy. Since my regular pharmacy closes early on Saturdays, it was strongly suggested that I get my one-up antibiotic prescription filled at the grocery store. Once inside, I went straight to the counter and handed the prescription and my insurance card to the competent-looking druggist. “Come back in fifteen minutes,” he told me.

So, I cruised around on the little electric cripple cart and stocked up on necessities like beer, frozen pizza, nacho chips, cigarettes, and dog food. When the allotted time had passed, I returned to the drug counter. The pharmacist handed my insurance card and unfilled prescription back to me.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve tried for twenty minutes to get verification on your coverage. I tried with your card number, your name, and your birth date. Nothing is going through. I can’t verify your coverage.”

Now, this is vital to this narrative: I have “federalized” health care insurance. My coverage—well ahead of Obama-care as proposed—already has the full backing and blessing of The State. My handing over of that insurance card should be the equivalent of giving a Ferrari dealer a platinum MasterCard and saying “I’ll take the red one.” Instead, I’m suddenly denied a bottle of antibiotics for a simple respiratory ailment.

“So what’s up with this?” I asked. “They haven’t even voted on reforming health care yet. Why am I cut off?” The pharmacist shrugged; that was something I’d see a lot more of in the next few days. I assured him I’d get to the bottom of this mystery, and we talked for a minute about what Obama-care might portend for others. The pharmacist was of the opinion that many of his customers would find themselves in the same situation if “reform” became law.

When we got home, I called the toll-free number on the back of my insurance card, even though it was 4:30 on a Saturday afternoon; not the ideal time to catch a bureaucrat napping on the job. I went through the automated menu, entered my number and date of service as prompted, and the mechanical voice told me I was covered. I noted down, and then called, the other number it gave me for prescription assistance. To my surprise, I reached a live person, who also told me I was covered. Great, I thought. I’ll just wait until Monday and call my regular pharmacist.

Waiting until Monday was yet another bad idea. The cough worsened, and Sunday night I ended up in the emergency room of our local hospital, begging for my life like an illegal alien. They took my insurance card during the admittance process, only to show up at my bedside the next morning asking how I planned to pay for my treatment since they couldn’t verify my coverage. I was too exhausted to rip the IV out of my arm and pitch a proper Irish fit of temper, so I mumbled something about it being taken care of, foamed at the mouth a bit, and went back to sleep.

The next day, on my way out the door, I happened to pass the hospital administrator. I whipped out my insurance card and—reading the address off the back—told her where to send the bill. Had I been less of a gentleman, I would’ve told her where to shove it. Doctors do not like me; I am an irascible patient who loathes hospitals.

On the drive home, I remarked to Miz Possum: “You know what? I think all of this is just a sneak preview of what we’re in for when they pass this health-care crap.”

She just nodded.

A couple of days ago, Senator Lindsey Graham of South Carolina wryly remarked that Nancy Pelosi has her portion of Congress “liquored up on sake” regarding the big health-care “reform” bill. The honorable Senator is obviously familiar with history. A snort of sake was part of the departure ritual for Japanese kamikaze pilots during War II. They knew they were headed for self-immolation, but the majority of them went anyway, diving through a hellfire of flying bullets and exploding shells to their deaths. The film footage of them going down in flames is breathtaking.

Stick a fork in Harry Reid, Nancy Pelosi, and as many Democrat members of Congress as are up for re-election this November. They’re done. If they pass this wildly unpopular health-care bill, they’ll make history, but it will be the kind of Pyrrhic victory those Japanese pilots achieved in the 1940s.

“LOOK, HON! DEMOCRATS!”

I’ll close with the e-mail I sent to my Congressman, Nathan Deal of the 9th District of Georgia, last Wednesday:

“I appreciate your staying on in Washington to vote on 'Obamacare' after announcing your retirement from Congress. If this disastrous bill ever comes up for a vote, I trust you will do the right thing and deny it any form of support.

“You have my tentative vote for governor, but I do read the Congressional Quarterly. Please do the right thing.”

Let’s pray enough of our elected officials respond to the will of the people and do the right thing.

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Doctor Who is the longest running sci-fi TV series in history. A BBC creation launched in 1963, the British show revolves around an enigmatic space faring and time traveling alien. He looks perfectly human, but Doctor Who is a Time Lord, member of an ancient race of extraterrestrials, which manipulate time as easily as we cross the street.

Long admired for complex character interplay and quirkiness of its title character, Dr. Who was usually produced as economically as possible.. The sets, props and special effects could be politely described as severely low budget. Of course this is in comparison to American shows, which on average are usually produced at many times the cost of British shows.

Overcoming less than stellar visuals, the show employs an unusual, though quite effective plot device to propel each subsequent version into the future. After a certain amount of time, usually when each incarnation of the show ages to the point of cancellation, Doctor Who “dies”, but since his Time Lord race can reincarate themselve, another takes his predecessor's place for the next series.

This unique switcheroo for a lead TV actor has occurred 10 times. The new actor who assumes the role isn't a look-alike, or even an actor who mimics a certain acting style. All Doctors are true individuals, sharing only a sense of high adventure and displaying an appealing sense of whimsy and charisma which charms the ladies, intrigues the guys and has villains either shocked or blinds them with fury at the Doctor's delightful resourcefulness.

Doctor Who's loyal fan base makes the innate experimental nature of the core premise incredibly flexible. Unlike shows like Star Trek or StarGate where fans expect a continuity with the same characters and the same actors, the Doctor Who community looks forward to new actors filling the shoes of the beloved Doctor. Obviously, certain actors connect with the public more, Tom Baker being one of the most popular to ever assume the rule, however with each successive show a new actor gains new followers.

Today Doctor Who is produced by the BBC and is seen here in the U.S. on the Sci-Fi channel. The show is fantastically produced. Unlike the previous versions, it holds it's own in comparison to any action, sci-fi or drama show produced in America. The special effects serve the story and dazzle even the more jaded sci-fi fans.

One of the more effective aspects of the show is the use of real locations. Filming in and around London and other parts of the United Kingdom, Doctor Who has abandoned its use of interior sets, which was the staple look of previous versions. Doctor Who's spaceship is called the T.A.R.D.I.S. – which stands for Time And Relative Dimensions In Space. From the outside, it appears as a telephone booth or callbox as it's known in the UK. When one steps inside, the interior is enormous and this new version retains the basics of the old, but updates the design wonderfully.

Every sci-fi fan owes a trip of exploration to discover Doctor Who. This engaging British Show is filled with humor, sci-fi adventure and gripping drama along with stunning special effects. It provides something for everyone and sets a new standard for science fiction TV.

Most women know how painful it is to deal with a urinary tract infection or a yeast infection. In fact, many women deal with these infections on a regular basis because their bodies are particuarly sensitive.

The first time you think you have a urinary tract infection or a yeast infection, you do not want to self-medicate. You should see a doctor who can confirm whether you really do have these infections, or whether it is something else that needs to be treated.

But if you have to deal with these symptoms on a regular basis, then you will often be able to determine you have the infection without a doctor. You also know that you do not want to wait for a doctor to be able to see you because the symptoms are so uncomfortable.

The best over the counter products for treating these problems are made by AZO.

For urinary tract infections, AZO makes a cranberry tablet designed to help prevent you from getting the infection in the first place. The cranberry tablets have all the benefits of cranberry juice, without having to deal with drinking the juice! Urinary tract infections can often be caused by the E. Coli bacteria and cranberry juice, or in this case cranberry tablets, work to prevent the bacteria from attaching to your urinary tract.

What if you've already got an infection? AZO also makes a urinary pain medication that is also available over the counter. It works very quickly to eliminate the symptoms of the infection. You will likely have a marked decrease in urinary frequency, pain and burning. One thing to look out for though, these tablets will temporarily cause your urine to turn bright orange! It is temporary and is harmless. These pills are sometimes enough on their own to stop your symptoms, but they will definitely comfort you until you make it to the doctor.

For yeast infections, AZO makes a yeast infection tablet. You can take this tablet two ways. First, you can take it daily to prevent yeast infections from occuring. This can be particarly helpful if you are prone to infection. If you already have an infection, you can take three pills a day to fight the yeast infection. You can use them in conjunction with other yeast infection medication, but often they are enough on their own to stop your symptoms.

AZO medications are available at most grocery stores and drug stores. You can also purchase them online. They run between six and eight dollars a box.