Do Cyborgs Dream of Hybrid Sheep?

I was going to go without an image, but here is a hybrid Shaun the sheep for illustrative purposes.

A few days ago our kid woke up from a nightmare where a squirrel bit my wife’s face and we couldn’t help her. I’m sure it was real gruesome. Squirrels are beasts. If mail carriers didn’t exist, those rodents would be our dog’s arch nemeses. (That means, until the mail is stopped due to covid-19, you’re still on the hook, Marlon the Mailman.) My wife took notes and went to the internet to decipher what the squirrel dream may have meant. As she processed the information, I came to the realization that I can no longer recall my own dreams. For real.

I used to have vivid dreams. When I was about my daughter’s age, I had a dream about attending Space Camp. (At one time, I think a trip to Space Camp was a grand prize for completing the obstacle course on the television show Double Dare.) That dream was AWESOME. I escaped earth’s gravitational pull aboard a space shuttle and even went for an emergency space walk to fix an invaluable scientific instrument. It felt so real that as soon as I awoke, I wrote the whole thing down so I wouldn’t forget. Then I threw that piece of paper in the trash because I felt so embarrassed about it. Who writes down their dreams and takes notes like that? I’m not a weirdo. 

In my initial post, I mentioned drifting in and out of reality at the time of the accident. I didn’t share the dreams that accompanied the immediate aftermath, but I had truly bizarre Kafkaesque imagery happening in my brain. Here are some in no particular order:

I’m on a football field. (I’ve never played football except in grade school before school and at recess. Two-hand touch. A first down was achieved by two forward passes in a set of downs.) In this dream the coach is firing up the team and I’m on board. I’m ready to run through a wall to win the big game! Next thing I know, someone is using a stapler to attach a gladiator-like chest plate to my torso. Testosterone!

The accident occurred January 14, so the NFL was in the midst of the playoffs. Also, I woke to a lot of staple holes all over my body from when they were piecing me back together after the surgeries. We even kept some of the staples and they are now adhered to some scrapbook pages. Want to see them?

My wife and I are in the desert. There’s no color. Only black and white. It’s much like an episode of The Twilight Zone. We happen upon a town. It’s empty. As we approach the buildings, I begin to realize that something is off. As I get closer, I observe that the buildings are one-sided structures that are supported by 2x4s, like on the set of an old movie or high school play. A fake facade. A car salesman appears and asks if we are ready to sign the papers for the new car. Why are we buying a car? Ours is nearly brand-new. What’s wrong with ours?

In the real world, the car, which happens to be white, is nearly paid off with barely any mileage. My brain telling me we need a car now because our’s is toast, but that can’t really be true, or can it?

Now, I find myself in a diner. As I squint my eyes looking out the dingy, dust-covered window blinds, I can tell that it is winter outside. The ground is covered in snow and the sky is a dark blue. The sun has already set. I’m sitting at a table with my siblings. There’s a toy train that goes around a track which lines the wall inside the restaurant near the ceiling. No one says a word.

It was winter outside. I like trains. We still don’t say much to each other as a family. 

“Do you believe in God?” a voice asks me. 

“What?” I answer. 

I can’t see anything. It’s not dark or light. It’s a void. I don’t know where the voice is coming from. 

“I said, do you believe in God?” the voice repeats. 

Without hesitation I say, “no, not your God.” 

Yeah, I don’t believe in a deity with a staff wearing a flowing robe looking all Gandalf, sitting upon a throne at the controls pushing buttons and pulling levers as alarms sound and lights flash. A power, yes, but, no, not in our likeness. That's not to say I don't find solace in attending church either, because I do at times. I just have a complicated relationship with religion.

I’m sure I’ve had dreams since the hospital, but I can’t recall any of them. It probably has to do with the traumatic brain injury. Except for events that transpired during the accident, my long term memory is intact, but my short term leaves something to be desired. For instance, I often find myself watching television and I’ll fall into a trance and realize I have no clue what I’ve been watching for the past hour. However, impactful events remain, such as getting married, our daughter’s birth, friendships, etc.

Dreams, for me, are my mind’s free creative entertainment that I never see coming and I’m afraid I never will again. How do I pursue a dream if I never have anymore? Perhaps I am now a replicant. Until next time, stay away from other humans like it is a real game of life and death.

I'm Back, Again.

This clip has very little to do with the text below, but I've read that photos and videos in a blog post help drive up traffic, whatever that means. Anyway, it's a LEGO land shark that our kid built. 

I turned the stimulator on after two weeks because my pain increased and it was making me cranky. Turns out that I do find much needed relief from the device. It’s only been a few minutes since I flipped the switch, but I already feel sensations in my calf and I’m feeling better. I’m hoping the temperature of my leg and foot will rise, because it’s been colder than normal. That’s really all I have for now as far as DRG updates. 

***Continue reading at your own risk***

I changed dispensaries today because I wasn’t satisfied with the selection at the Ottawa location and I traveled to Morris and picked up some kushy Bubba Fett. What can I say? I’m a geek for Mandalorians. I didn’t even have to leave the car, since I’m a medical card patient. Fancy. 

The shelter-in-place order hasn’t changed my routine very much, if at all. I’m still walking daily and I have to say, it’s exciting that there’s nobody around. I like to imagine I’m the lone survivor as I walk around a post-nuclear war torn city with my dog. Obviously, we are talking neutron bomb here, since the buildings are still intact. So not quite A Boy and His Dog, but definitely still on the Fallout side. I so need to find a Brotherhood of Steel suit and take out some raiders occupying a supermarket trying to hoard that tasty Cram. Speaking of, I went to the grocery store this morning for my weekly visit and it seems like things are finally calming down there. This week they had eggs and they erected sneeze guards made of plexiglass in front of the cashiers stations, so that was new. I say we should explore utilizing scuba diver suits, including flippers, next to protect ourselves from the virus.

LEGO World is coming along nicely and I’d like to add that it is badass and nearing completion. It was supposed to take years to finish, but it’s a period of self-isolation and I’m an addict. For real, I learned that I’m prone to addictions when I got the results of my neuropsychological evaluation a couple years ago after the accident. I was also told not to drink, which I’ve cut back on quite a bit.

Screen time is up everywhere and I'm no exception. I purchased a new battery for my phone a couple months ago and I’m already draining the battery at a rapid pace while catching up on current events in realtime. Yesterday, I began reading my third book of the year. I should get back to that. Reading is good. Tonight, I think we will begin watching Tiger King. I met and photographed this exotic cat guy in Lockport in 2014 (below). He brought a tiger cub to a bar and someone called the cops on him. He couldn't understand why. I wonder if this show is similar to genius brains like that? We shall soon see. Until next time. 

P.S. My foot is warm again and the pain has dulled since I began writing this post. Radical!

John Basile, owner of the Big Run Wolf Ranch, plays with a tiger cub inside his kitchen on March 27, 2014. Basile was charged with two misdemeanors for bringing the cub to a Lockport bar on February 16, 2014.

Shutdown

Sorry folks, park's closed.

A week ago before bed on Mario Day (Mar10), I had a thought, what would happen if I turned off my DRG stimulator for a day? So, without much more thought, I did. The following day, I walked the most I've walked since my accident. 7.3 miles to be exact. To be honest, I didn't notice much of a difference. Sure, it was more sensitive and my pain increased, but for the most part I felt good. 

I decided to keep going and at the moment, the stimulator is still off. That's an entire week. I've walked an average of 3.4 miles since I started this experiment. My toes feel like they are in a vice at times and the temperature of the CRPS affected foot is about seven degrees cooler than the 'good' one, but really, I think I could survive without the stimulator, which is good to know in light of the current world we are living in. And if you're interested, with the stimulator off, I'd say on the pain scale that I'm sitting at about a constant three with a little fluctuation.

Since my last post I've pretty much given up thinking about going down to that clinic in Arkansas. In fact, my mole that was relaying information to me from the inside has gone silent. It's been two days since I had my last message delivered and I still haven't had any response. I hope all is well and she didn't have to swallow the cyanide pill. Gulp.

This COVID-19 is something, huh? With the parks now closed, I am walking around the neighborhood more and I can't believe the amount of Fireball that is consumed here in Ottawa, Illinois. I was only joking when I decided I'd start keeping track of how many empty bottles I saw during my daily walks. It's been 70 days and I've found 187 empty bottles of Fireball. I am probably going to hold off collecting more bottles I find, because that would be one of the stupidest things to get sick over. I did wear one of those blue nitrile gloves today while collecting, but I don't want to deplete my supply. Especially when I may have to use the gloves for frontier surgery in the near future since the hospitals will become overcrowded because people are selfish and need to eat at Bob Evans like the governor of West Virginia has decreed.

Break the Bank?

At this rate our 2010 canoe trip is never going to happen.

Winter weather increases my pain sensitivity due to complex regional pain syndrome. Lucky me! It snowed Saturday and my wife shoveled around our home while I stayed inside feeling useless. I could've helped, but nobody wants to hear me complain for hours afterward about how much I hurt because I cleared the snow on the ground, not even me. Complaining gets old fast and negativity leads to stress which increases my pain. After the snowfall, it got real cold for a few days and I did basically nothing while staying indoors, but thankfully the bitter cold is over for now and I'll be out and about more often soon enough.

I mentioned in my last post that I learned about a pain clinic down in Arkansas that is supposed to be life-changing for those suffering chronic conditions such as CRPS. I've been looking into it more and more. However, it's disgustingly expensive. It costs the average patient $30,000 for 12 weeks and they don't take any insurance. JESUS. That's more than what my college tuition cost me and that took forever to pay off. 

While I'm interested in the program, I have already completed a pain program 3 years ago. It was not the same, but I did learn techniques that I still use to this day to help deal with my ongoing issues. I had already hit my deductible that year so I was all about it. Also, with the stimulator in my back, I really wonder how much more of an improvement there could possibly be? 

I don't know if the program is snake oil, but for someone who thought that all potential avenues of pain relief were exhausted I can't help but feel optimistic about this program. Or maybe it's just a dead end and I need to stop thinking about this. I don't know.

Coming up with the funds would be difficult for sure, but people will do anything for pain relief including dying by overdosing on opioids. Sorry enemies, but I'm not going out like that. That's lame. I have a better plan. All I need to do to fund this program would be to rob a bank. (I'm kidding. I think.) I'm sure there's a Safe Cracking for Dummies book. They have a dummy book for everything nowadays. In fact, I have one on Bee Keeping that, hopefully, I'll be using this spring.

As far as living in Arkansas for 12 weeks straight? Yikes. What is even in Arkansas? I think Walmart was founded there. I think they have razorbacks, too. Those things frighten me. Have you seen that movie, Razorback? I don't want to be gored and devoured by a mutant feral pig. That'd suck. My wife would only know that the pig consumed me after finding my wedding band in its shit. Gross, man.

Building Toward a Better Future

LEGO World construction has begun. 

I didn't wake up with a blog post in mind, but today marks the fourth year since an accident that left me disabled. FUCK DISTRACTED DRIVERS. This isn't a doom and gloom post. I can't be that person anymore when living with a shitty chronic condition. It's all about positivity now.

Last week I met with a reporter from the local paper, The Times, to talk about lead in our water. Apparently, our home has the fourth highest lead level in the city of Ottawa out of 30 sites that were tested in September. After we finished talking heavy metal, we discussed CRPS and the DRG stimulator in my back. I tried to answer the reporter's questions as best I could, but I wasn't concise with my answers as there is a lot to share and I was afraid of how much I should actually share. (Also, my family had a completely different health scare that was weighing heavily on my mind that day which turned out to be positive, even though the results were negative. Yes, I'm talking about the cancer.)

I shared with the reporter that I had to wait one and a half years to be accepted into the Medicare program. The pain doctor I was seeing wouldn't schedule my DRG surgery until I had Medicare, because Medicare is one of the few insurances that will cover the surgery. My Blue Cross Blue Shield health insurance that I had wouldn't cover the surgery. I think the bill was over $200k. Since the surgery I've had about a 50% reduction in pain. However, the pain isn't gone, but it's way, way better when compared to pre-cyborg me.

At one point the reporter asked if I could work since having the surgery. I don't remember how I answered his question. I want to work. I hate not working. Not only do I feel like a drag on the system, but to my family as well. I mean, if you met me and I never told you that I had a chronic condition, then you'd never know. I have gained about 20 pounds because my mobility is now limited. Sometimes I walk like Frankenstein's monster, but most of the time I'm able to walk fine, especially when I wear comfortable footwear. Even though my pain is improved, my ability to accomplish tasks is still limited and can become quite difficult. Yes, I can walk much farther now, but I still can't stand in the same place for more than a few minutes without turning into an antsy five-year-old ready to have a seat on the ground no matter where I'm at. If it's below 20 degrees outside, I'm of no use and I need to be indoors under a blanket. I still have to take breaks like a person 25 years older than me when I do anything that even moderately raises my heartbeat. Sometimes I gotta nap after completing simple chores because it zaps me of energy. Also, I have to be careful bending and moving so I don't disrupt the leads in my back. Eventually my stimulator will need new batteries... if I go back to work and get different insurance will that surgery be covered? Or will I have to quit, wait another two years with pain at a 5-6 level before becoming eligible for Medicare again, hopefully? Our health care for a First World country sucks. The DRG stimulator masks the pain. If I turn it off, I'm screwed again. There are so many variables with the stimulator and I still am looking for potential cures, so I don't have to rely on a battery operated stimulator. What was I talking about? Maybe I should run for president. Oh, yeah, can I work? No, and it disappoints me to say and to accept that. I wonder how I answered that question when I was asked? I probably have shared too much.

Speaking of cures, yesterday my sister texted me a story about a therapy clinic in Arkansas, as well as a link to the clinic. The clinic doesn't guarantee a 'cure,' but what they do say about their treatment intrigues me. They offer a holistic approach, but it's 12 weeks long and the cost would be completely out-of-pocket and surprisingly, they don't have costs listed on their website. I sent out an email and I'm waiting to hear back from them, so maybe there's still a magic bullet. But, I have a feeling that it'll be more like the movie Man on the Moon when Andy Kaufman realizes that the removal of his cancer wasn't real and it was all a hoax. WITCH HUNT! FAKE NEWS! Thank the do NOTHING DEMOCRATS!.. sorry, just practicing for my presidency. At least if I went to the clinic it'd probably make for an entertaining and humorous story, right?

In other news, I have built a table in the basement for our LEGO World. I always wanted to build a model train set and that's exactly what I've done, but with blocks. LEGO is one of the greatest distractors for me. I know it's a toy, but you can build anything you want and our train set is way cooler than your lame Lionel O-Gauge. It's all about the L-Gauge.

End of the Line... sorry, Year

Since there is a war on Christmas, we played it safe and went with 'Happy Howlidays!' on our card this year. Actually, not really, it was my kid's idea and she's at an age where puns are the funniest shit.

It's the end of the year and it's warm outside. FIST PUMP, bitches. As I've said before, temperatures above freezing make CRPS manageable. The warmer the temperature the more I can move and the less cramping I have. In fact, on Friday I visited with an Abbott representative for a DRG stimulator adjustment. My pain had been on the increase and I wanted an adjustment before winter really sets in. So I drove myself to the clinic (74 miles one way) and afterward I even went to the grocery store on the way home. That's something I simply couldn't do a year ago alone. I still am not sure how much of an impact the adjustment has made or will make since it's been unusually warm lately, but I'll find out soon enough.

I've noticed many positives since getting my stimulator in February. To reiterate, the stimulator hasn't eliminated the pain, tightness, hair loss or the change in temperature in my leg/foot. However, the overall incessant debilitating pain has decreased by about half and more importantly to me, I can tolerate walking and exercising way better than pre-cyborg me. To date my daily average walking distance is 2.2 miles, according to my phone. That's an increase of .9 miles/day over last year. My phone has also indicated to me that I don't walk when it's cold, so come on already global warming!

As for everything else... don't wake up to a bat in your home. That shit has cost us over $7k between vaccines and sealing up our home. I created a new Twitter account because for some goddamn reason our Chicago Tribune delivery person couldn't decipher our address from the neighbor's. When calling to complain every week failed me for the last time I went to the social media app for help. I don't know if it did anything, but the paper has made it to our home for two weeks in a row now. As for Twitter, I don't know what the hell I'm doing. I also thought I could use the app to learn more about how others deal with CRPS, but most posts I've come across are negative and I've found, for me at least, positivity is the key to dealing with the disease. That and humor. We went to a new church for Advent since our kid has shown interest in religion. I'm not sure if we will continue into the new year, but we've made an attempt. My insomnia has improved with the help of edibles and for some reason the dispensary has been running low on all items for over a month now. I speculate they have been holding product back and that will change on January 1st when the public can buy legally. So much for medical patients being a priority. Finally, I saw Star Wars TROS and I enjoyed it.

Well it's time to watch the end of Die Hard and Seinfeld's The Strike episode which includes the celebration of Festivus. Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, whatever is important to you and Happy New Year.

Slide

Enjoy a mixed drink. Only $40!

This weekend our family traveled to Wisconsin Dells to spend a day at an indoor water park/hotel to celebrate a friend's 40th birthday.

When this trip was being planned I had no interest in participating in waterslides, but once I saw what we were paying for a room at the resort, I was determined to get my money's worth. It is very difficult for me to walk barefoot, but I walked everywhere and I did every waterslide I could find. I wasn't going to sit on the pool deck like in the movie Wall-E where humans are evolving into blobs without bones that are unable to stand up on their own (I saw evidence of this happening). Nope, I walked from one end of the resort to the other in only my official Star Wars swim trunks.

My biggest concern walking barefoot wasn't so much the pain, but worrying about contracting ringworm and/or athlete's foot. In fact, I brought along a tube of Lotrimin AF. At the end of the day I covered my feet in the paste hoping to stave off any fungus I may have come in contact with. Fingers crossed. 

After six waterslides, four miles of walking and about 25 floors climbed, I couldn't go any longer. The DRG stimulator works, but it doesn't make me super human. To relax, I bought an aluminum pint of Miller Lite at the bar. It was $8, so once I finished it I left the resort and bought six more next door at the gas station for $11 total. Capitalism means I get to decide where to spend my money. This is goddamn 'Merica, right? However, one didn't have to leave the compound and mixed drinks like the one pictured above was only $40.

Even though we were celebrating my wife's best friend's birthday, she got us both a gift:

It has been nearly eight months since I had the surgery to have the DRG stimulator implanted into my back. It works pretty well for me and has improved my overall quality of life. I'd say before my surgery, I was at a constant pain level of 4.5 out of 10. Now, I'm about an average of a constant 2.5. I think weather is the biggest factor to affect my pain, but the stimulator does help some with that. Many doctors have told me to move south to a warmer climate, but with global warming, I can probably stay right were I'm at. Also, the tightness that gives me discomfort, feels like a high ankle sprain, seems like it is here for good. The dry needling helped, but was temporary. One major plus is that I rarely have the burning foot feeling anymore, so there's that. I'm still unable to stand upright in one spot for long. I've learned that I need to keep moving or I need to just take a seat. 

So, unless anything of note comes up I'm going to step back from posting updates as much as I have. Now, of course if the stimulator breaks and I need surgery, I'll be sure to post. There's just no need to post anything if nothing is happening. If you do come across this blog and have any questions about the DRG stimulator, please feel free to email me, because I'd be happy to help anyone with questions about the therapy.

To the Stars

Matinee for $4.50 with free popcorn!

I did something today that I’ve never done, because I needed to do something different. I went and saw a movie by myself at the local theatre in downtown. The theatre is a little over a mile away so I walked there because the weather was picture-perfect and walking is an exercise I can still do which I enjoy. The experience was great, except for the man who I believed to be suffering from COPD sitting across the aisle that was breathing like how I imagine Mr. Snuffleupagus breaths. I saw Ad Astra and there are numerous moments of silence when Brad Pitt is all alone in the vastness of space and all I could hear was this guy gasping for air which kind of ruined the feel. His wife even put an empty seat between them. I’m guessing his breathing annoys her as well, or she's used to it and they just don’t like each other.

The past two weeks have been calm which has been a welcoming change of pace. The bats we had tested didn’t have rabies. Our rabies vaccine injections are done and there hasn’t been any signs of bats in our home since. Whew.

Since things seem to be returning to normal, I started exploring the nearby state parks again. I understand Starved Rock is a well-known Illinois destination with canyons and waterfalls but, man, every time I go I’m disappointed. It’s like the beautiful forested moon of Endor, only covered in boardwalk and you can’t leave the path. How am I ever going to find an Ewok?

I’ve stopped the dry needling therapy. It definitely does help, but the relief is short-lived and Medicare isn't going to continue to pay for the treatment. My therapist did say I could return and she could bill it around $30 out-of-pocket each session if the tightness worsens, so I can always return if it gets too uncomfortable. With the changing seasons I’ve noticed more discomfort in the leg and foot, but so far it’s not as bad as the days before the DRG stimulator. That is all for now. Here’s to hoping for more boring. 

Peace of Mind [Lost]

This post is mainly about bats, rabies and humanity. It's a long post, but what do you got going on?

Where to start? We’ve been under a kind of stress like you wouldn’t believe. Honest to God. It goes back to the bats. Last Tuesday night, the/a bat was flying through our house, again. I woke up at about 4 a.m. to the noise of it hitting the walls. When my eyes adjusted, I could see it flying around the ceiling above our bed. I watched it until it left the room. It went downstairs and I followed. I grabbed the broom, opened the back door and then it was gone. Whew...

The following night it returned at the same bat time, same bat channel. It wasn’t leaving our room this time, so I ordered my wife to stay put, then I army crawled out of bed and fetched my trusted butterfly net. While I left the room the bat grazed my wife’s head. EEK! I returned, caught the bat and released it outside in under five minutes. I’ve become quite the Turtleman. GIT YA SOME! (I read that Turtleman died recently which saddens me. He was a character.)

The next morning I called up animal control. FYI, if you tell anyone you are dealing with something such as bats the go-to advice is nearly almost always, ‘I’d call animal control and have them deal with it.’ What I’ve learned through this ordeal is that they don’t want to deal with it, if you sound capable. They’re busy helping incapables. The animal control guy asked me if the bat was flying normal so I shared my observations and he suggested it was healthy, not rabid. He figured it was a pup and that it was just confused and that is why it kept getting inside. Instead of leaving it at that, I went to the Internet, because it’s 2019 and I’m an incapable idiot.

I began searching how to deal with bats and I began calling experts and this is where my fear of rabies went off the rails. The only experience I have ever had with rabies is television, movies (I remember, for some reason, we watched Old Yeller in second grade, that was really fucked up) and Chuck Palahniuk’s novel, Rant. I think the character in that book seeks out rabid animals to bite him. MAXIMUM EXTREME! Anyway, some experts told me to ‘stay calm, everything is cool, man’ vs. other experts who told me, ‘you better get the vaccine now or you are going to fucking die, man.’ Also, I learned nobody wants to work in Ottawa, IL because I’m still waiting for help with our bat eviction. 

I visited the Center for Disease Control website and they advise that if you’ve woken up to a bat in your bedroom, then you should assume you’ve been bitten and it’s imperative that you get the vaccine. In fact, small brown bats, the kind in our home, don’t leave bite marks. Seriously? Do I really need to get the vaccine? I let it go another day, did some more Google searches and then on Friday the fear grew so much that I called the animal control guy again and he tried to talk me off the ledge. This time he told me if the bat is in the house again that I should capture it and bring it in to have it tested. “The way I see it is that it’s open season once it is in your living space,” he said. I thought about getting badminton rackets for every room in the house for protection. He also gave me the number to the county health department. I called and left a message at the health department that was never returned that afternoon. Good thing I wasn’t freaking the F.., wait, I was. That night my wife and I were so worried that we constructed our camping tent in the living room. 

Skip the backyard camping and camp in the living room. All the millennials are doing it!

Saturday morning my wife said she thought she heard the bat(s) in the wall while we were indoor camping. GODDAMN. This was a nightmare. Should we just go to the emergency room or what? We called multiple doctors asking for their advice as well as trying to find out what our out-of-pocket expenses would be. I figure a business knows what the cost of their services are but our healthcare system is so convoluted and the nurses answering the phone think you are insane if you are price shopping a life-saving rabies vaccine. Or, on the opposite end of the spectrum, you’re insane if you don’t have a visible bite, but still want a rabies vaccine. The fear was consuming me. I started believing that I NEEDED the vaccine and while we are at it, I probably need an assault rifle... why stop there? Will I really be put on a government list if I check out The Anarchist Cookbook from the library?

That night I went down to the basement at about 6 p.m. and I saw a shadow. It was another bat. For Chrissakes! This can’t be happening! I captured the bat and put it into a container to have tested on Monday. 

I sweat easily and when I'm bat catching I put on layers like there's a polar vortex for protection from the beasts.

It was now Sunday. Should we get the vaccine? If you've been bit by a dog thought to possibly have rabies, the dog will be quarantined for ten days. If the dog doesn’t show any symptoms, you are safe. Symptoms from bat rabies exposure include bite marks, numbness, tingling and neck pain, none of which any of us had, except me who has the CRPS leg with the constant pain, numbness, tingling and that neck pain that I can’t shake completely, but I had no visible bite marks. We had waited five days so far. It felt like waves of fear hitting us. Just when I felt better a sense of dread would overwhelm me. I even broke down a few times, because I could never live with myself if anything happened to our kid. I felt like I was failing. Every time I thought to myself, ‘there’s no way that thing bit any of us. I’d have known. The reason why I awoke to the bat in the room was because of my insomnia. I am sure I could hear a pin drop after a couple hours of sleep.’ But I got to a point where I didn’t want anything terrible to happen, so we decided to get the vaccine Monday. 

Just so you know, if you think you have been exposed to rabies, just go to the ER. The ER costs our family $1k per person each visit compared to an office visit, which is about $40. However, for some fucked up reason, doctors won’t prescribe you the vaccine. Need opioids? NO PROBLEM! FORM A CUP WITH YOUR HANDS TO CATCH THEM! Life-saving vaccine? NOT ON MY WATCH, FOOL! Five ounces of marijuana a month? COME ON DOWN AND LET'S GET HIGH! I called three of my doctors and none of them helped me. One gave me a bullshit reason, “you need blood testing in order to-.” I cut the nurse off and said, “FALSE! I’m sure I know more about rabies now than probably 95% of the population. All I need is to be weighed and I need the correct dosage for my weight.” It didn’t help. I tried to tell her that I don’t want to pay $960 more for no good reason. It didn’t matter. Go healthcare! USA! USA! So, we just got into the car and headed to the ER.

Just in the nick of time our kid received her rabies vaccine injection. I could see the foam forming in the corners of her mouth and she was about to bite the nurses.

At the ER we were put into a room together to have our insurance and medical history taken. Next, our vitals were recorded and we were weighed so we would receive the correct dosage. Surprise, surprise, surprise. Our daughter volunteered to get the injections first and she took it like a champ. One in the arm and one in the leg. She said the leg felt weird. The nurses told my wife and I that we were getting three shots. One in the arm and one in each leg. Gulp, not the bad leg. My wife and I received the shots simultaneously. The arm was fine. My wife howled after the first injection in her leg. It was definitely uncomfortable and that was my good leg. My second leg injection was going into CRPS leg and I was really nervous. I explained my whole damaged sciatic nerve issue and the nurse looked confused, so I just said go for it, wherever you need to do it, do it. Apparently the DRG stimulator is doing a great job because I didn’t feel nearly as much discomfort as I did in my good leg. Also, I'd like to add that the rabies vaccine is nowhere near as painful as needling, so don't worry if you ever need to get the vaccine.

It's now been a day later and it feels like the weight of the world has been lifted off my shoulders. I dropped off the bat yesterday morning, as well as a second that I caught later that afternoon. We will receive the results in about a week. I really don’t think there are any more bats in our attic or anywhere in our home. I also don’t think they were rabid, but I didn’t want to risk anything happening to any of us, especially our kid. After my wife talked to another expert, I’m confident that those were the only two bats because the females raise their pups until mid-August and then the pups begin to learn how to fly and hunt on their own. Also, I never saw more than two roosting in the attic at one time. There wasn’t much guano at all. If I didn't know it was bats I would've guessed it was mice. However, some of the other experts have told me there’s a goddamn colony and I probably need to burn down the house if I want to survive and save humanity. All that’s left now is three more injections for each of us. I still need to find an expert that’ll help seal up the cracks near the roofline and not try to make me believe that our home will be ground zero for the real 28 Days rage virus. 

Now, it’s time to pick some fights with rabid wildlife since I’m vaccinated. LIVE ACTION!

Dog Belly Flop

A cock rooster as seen at the Sandwich Fair.

I took the dog for an afternoon walk for some exercise since I'll be at the Sandwich Fair for the rest of the day. We walked around the cemetery near our home where the founder of the Boy Scouts of America, William Dickson Boyce, is buried. It was a nice relaxing walk, but then a passing SUV doing at least 30 MPH with two pit bulls starting barking at my dog and me. One of the two dogs jumped out of the window from the back seat, which was about a four foot drop, and landed hard on the road. Whoa.

“FUCK! What the fuck are you doing, you fuck!?! God fucking damnit!” is what the older female driver of the vehicle exclaimed. Holy shit. I thought the dog was dead. It skidded about 10 feet. Then a kid jumped out of the passenger to scoop up the dog who was stunned, but I think okay for the most part. 

After listening to the driver of the SUV and having just finished watching Jon Gruden curse so terribly bad on Hard Knocks, I’m going to try and cut back on the bad language or at least pretend my kid is always nearby.

Fair Tyme

Years ago my wife came up with fair bingo and it has sort of evolved to a very odd place. This morning we had the draft where we selected this year's squares and then we each made our own cards.

This is my favorite time of year. My wife and I celebrated our 12th anniversary over the weekend, football returns Thursday and the Sandwich Fair begins on Wednesday.

The fair has become a tradition for our family, which is funny because we used to knock it. Last year, I lost our kid at the fair. We both had to go to the bathroom and she didn't realize that the restroom had more than one exit. Of course she exited on the side she didn't enter. That was scary. A Good Samaritan came to her aid and took her to the DeKalb police and we eventually heard our names called over the loud speaker. Talk about feeling like a failure.

It's been three days since my dispensary purchase. I'm still not sure about using marijuana for chronic pain. I don't have an issue with the electronic stimulator or dry needling because those treatments doesn't mess with my body's chemistry. In fact, when I was in the hospital a nurse and my wife had to talk me into taking hydrocodone. I even quit a 3,200 mg daily dose of Gabapentin over a year ago because I didn't want to rely on a drug for the rest of my life. I think the reason I'm hesitant is because yeah, it distracts from the pain, but I also no longer feel in control once I'm stoned. Before our daughter existed, partying was O.K., but now the responsibility of being in charge of her life gives me anxiety. Also, I have an irrational fear the world is on the verge of war at all times. I just checked the Doomsday Clock and it's 11:58. MAGA!

I know as soon as I'm done lighting up that the nuclear warheads are going to start falling from the sky. Instead of going outside to die in the initial blast and quickly being obliterated, I won't be thinking straight. I'll be so confused that I'll probably find a fallout shelter, survive the blast and die alone miserably and slowly in the wastelands at the hands of some raider or Deathclaw. Tragic. I'm that paranoid and that's why I should stick with the indica and not the sativa. See, I've learned something. For real though, I want to go out like Sarah Connor in Terminator 2: Judgement Day holding onto that fence outside the playground during her vision of the end of man and the rise of my kind, the robots.

'cause it's Friday; you ain't got no job... and you ain't got shit to do.

I purchased 1/7 of what I'm allotted for two weeks. This will last me a month or two, easy.

I started my morning by removing bucketloads of landscape river rock from the front of our home so we can plant milkweed and native plants before winter arrives, because we are all about pollinators here. It's backbreaking work and there is no good way to do it. Also, I can't effectively use a shovel nor carry much weight so everything takes forever. My phone rang at about noon and it was the dispensary. SWEET. I was informed that I could make my first purchase. SWEETER. I quit what I was doing, cleaned up and headed over.

When I arrived, my paperwork was lost and I thought I was going to be asked to leave, because they finally realized that I shouldn't be buying medicinal marijuana. Alarms were going to sound, bars would lower from the ceiling to cover the exits and a red light would start flashing, but then they found the paperwork. I sat down in the lobby with two other consumers, a young woman and an older man. It was the woman's first time purchasing, like me, and of course the man had to share everything he knew about cannabis and, well, how he felt about the world.

Some of Chong's quotes:

"There's a sign on the dark side of the moon that says, Don't go down there. They're crazy."

"I've been taking hydrocodone for seven years. My doctor says I'm addicted to feeling good."

"I can smoke an ounce a day, easy, and I'm talking the dank shit."

"It smells good in here. I used to think it was just my natural odor. Like, sorry officer, that's just how I smell."

At one point the older man asked the receptionist if the dispensary was going to sell to the public at the beginning of the year or if they were only going to continue selling only to us. I wanted to let him know that I wasn't like him in any way, but I was so close to making a purchase that I kept silent. Younger me would've told him to shut up and informed him that he was acting like a stereotypical pothead, but I'm nearly 40 and I really just don't care anymore.

My name was finally called and I went to the backroom where the sales take place. Inside was a large window counter and three desks for three separate sales transactions. I was told all the legal mumbo jumbo and then I was presented with a menu that consisted of a binder that was filled with pages of items available. It was overwhelming. The sales representative went slow, because I really don't know anything about marijuana.

Richard, the sales representative, did a fine job explaining what was what and how it may affect me. I settled on Green Crack (because of the name, duh) a sativa, then a hybrid named Orange Herijuana, and indica joints, Mag Landrace. I also went with a pain cream. Richard told me to experiment, take notes and to go "slow and low." I replied, "that is the tempo." It went over his head or he isn't a Beastie Boys fan and then I remembered to cool it, because I was about to acquire drugs legally, so I better not mess this up. My script was taken to the counter and after a few moments another worker brought up my items up in a little basket. So fancy. Excellent choices, sir. Truly, you have great taste. 

I finished my purchase and returned to my car, smiling the whole time. The smell from my bag of goodies filled the car before I even left the parking lot. My God. When I got home I had to put the product into another jar because the smell was so strong. Have a happy holiday weekend everybody!.. on weed.

UPDATE: While visiting a local business, I saw the young woman who was also at the dispensary for the first time like me. She saw me and before I could say hello she said, “lookey here. Hey, it’s you from earlier.”

"Yup, I thought that was you. So, did you try it yet?" I asked.

"Oh, fuck yeah! I’m high as shit right now," she said giggling.
Awesome.

The Dispensary

I took this photo as undercover as I possibly could.

Yesterday, I gathered enough cash money to get the necessary paperwork required to apply for my medical card. This morning I filled out my paperwork, acquired a passport-sized photo at the drugstore and went to the dispensary, but it was closed and so I had to come back after another session of dry needling.

I've come to find that dry needling is great for about two days and then the tightness in my lower leg and ankle returns. My therapist said we'd try a couple more times before throwing in the towel. I think the therapy is beneficial, but unfortunately my CRPS is ruthless and the sprained, wrapped too tight in ACE bandage ankle pain returns after a few days. I'm happy it hasn't spread elsewhere like some people I've read about. The leg is bad enough.

After my needling session I headed back to the dispensary. The business is located just off an interstate in a rundown looking strip mall where everything is covered in blacktop and concrete. The business is flanked by a fitness gym and, of all things, another nail salon. I'm certain the lot is used by junkies that exit I-80 to purchase heroin. The storefront is covered in vinyl wrap so you can't see inside. I tried opening the door and it was locked, so I pressed a doorbell and waited. Eventually a woman opened the door and brought me into a waiting area just outside the lobby. A wall of marijuana smell hit me. I almost giggled. Tee-hee. I quickly looked into the lobby beyond my temporary glass enclosure and saw about a dozen people sitting in comfortable chairs in a mod-decorated room with a flat screen television on the wall. Not what I imagined from what I saw on the outside. The woman who let me in asked what I wanted, but it felt like she was demanding to know why I had rang the bell. I started feeling like I didn't belong. I said that I was here to get my card, so she asked for my driver's license and then allowed me entry. I felt way out of place, but my wife and I always tell our kid that nobody is ever born knowing how to do everything, so I told myself that and I felt better. Fake it till you make it.

Once inside I was then taken to another room just outside the lobby where all the people were waiting on the cushy IKEA furniture. Inside there was a person sorting school supplies and she told me to pay no attention to her, so I did, because I was nervous and I wanted everything to go smooth and without a hitch...but what was she doing with those supplies? God, it was killing me not knowing. I sat down and another woman, Krystal, entered the room and began typing away at a computer and soon she started asking me questions. At one point she left and I began looking over the area. I noticed surveillance cameras in the rooms. I was being watched and recorded. "Be cool," I told myself. So I started looking over the printed materials on the table in front of where I sat and I found 'Bubba Fett' and I nearly busted out laughing. OMG. I feel as mature as a middle schooler. That's so fucking punny! Bhahahaha! Get it? Instead of Boba, it's Bubba. Ha! Krystal was still gone and I wanted to get a photo to send to my wife, but I kept thinking about Big Brother and HIPPA laws. Should I or shouldn't I? Then I heard one of the patients in the waiting room talking on their smartphone so I covertly snapped a quick photo and put my phone back into my pocket before Krystal returned. I've observed Philip and Elizabeth Jennings spy techniques while watching The Americans. The Jennings may have been great undercover agents, but they have to be the worst television parents of all time. Goddamn KGB.

Krystal returned and took some more information and, of course, more money and then told me that she'd call me tomorrow and then I can come back to purchase. What? That's it? Holy shit balls! I can come back tomorrow and purchase? Answer: YUP. Keep cool, Rob. Breath. She said to allow myself at least an hour so I could get a crash course in selecting cannabis. Looks like we are definitely in business. I'll probably update again soon. Stay tuned.

Dr. Love, Smoking

Nobility (left) and Quail hang on a wall of a room within Dr. Love's office.

I went to a new doctor today near my home. It's so close that my wife dropped me off on her way to work and I walked home. As she drove off I took a deep breath of fresh air before opening the door to the office because I half expected there to be patients smoking in the waiting room, because that's what people do in Ottawa. It's nothing new to me. I was smoking and drinking wine in the womb before my birth, that is according to my mother. She even shared that my brother ate cigarette butts from an ashtray once as a baby. Delicious. It's always been around me and eventually I became a smoker. However, I'm a recovering smoker now and it makes it hard seeing it and smelling it everywhere. Heck, if the habit was benign to my health, odorless and cost nothing, I'd be sucking them down, too. You'd think in 2019 there'd be less smoking, but it's thriving here. It's a Phillip Morris dream. Fuck vaping. That's some weak millennial shit. It's all about burning tobacco and kicking it old school. Mmmm...Turkish domestic blend. I think the town is just behind on the times like the South and I expect to turn down a new alley one day and I'll run into a group of Insane Clown Posse juggalos drinking Faygo, wearing JNCO jeans while covered in face paint. YIKES.

There was a news story I saw last night that informed me that the new Illinois governor is making it illegal to smoke in a car while a child is inside. That'll be a challenge for the citizens in our town, because it smells like an early 2000s bar when within a block radius of the elementary school because moms and dads must hotbox a cigarette on the way to school. Driving or walking. It doesn't matter. I wonder if the teachers still smoke in their break room at the school like they did when I was young?

When I entered the doctor's office I found no one else inside, but a receptionist. She took my I.D. and insurance. I then followed her to a room with the beautiful art (above). Once inside the receptionist asked me if I was here for primary care, medical marijuana or both. I answered C. Then she tore off a sheet of paper towel from the wall (the kind that you can only use a half sheet if needed to reduce waste) and asked for my date of birth and name again which she wrote on the towel. Then, almost empathetically, she tells me I'll need to fill out some paperwork and I'll have to come up with $250 cash. I assure her that I can get the money. Then as if a large amount of endorphins were released by her brain she began grinning from ear to ear.

The receptionist leaves me and I was alone for quite some time. I heard a chronic hack, like a smoker's cough coming from a woman a few rooms away as I waited for Dr. Love. That's right, Dr. Love. Cue the Marvin Gaye music. Let's Get it On. The coughing subsided and a little more time passed and then I swear I heard Lucille Ball in the waiting room. It must've been that lady hacking her brains out. Jesus. Stop smoking, lady.

Suddenly Dr. Love enters. He asks me about my ailments. I tell him about my chronic pain and how it came about. He asks me about my hobbies, which I share. Then he tells me to keep doing them because they are great distractions from the pain. He actually listens and tells me that I'm a candidate for the medical card. He goes in depth at explaining everything. It's refreshing. He tells me that I will probably try a variety of methods when using the drug and it'll take some time to figure out what works best for me. From edibles to drops under my tongue, smoking isn't the only way to take it he tells me, but I imagine that's how the residents of Ottawa consume it.

Before finishing with me I tell him about my neck pain. He says it is stress and he makes me lie down. Easy, Dr. Love. Then he grabs onto my head and starts yanking my head back and forth and then cracks it to the right, then attempts to crack it to the left, but it doesn't give and I'm in agony. He tells me I'm fine, it's fine and that I'll feel better in an hour. I then go to the lobby for my paperwork. 

Apparently, I needed that $250 cash at that moment. So now I'm in the process of completing that. It's like The Legend of Zelda, everyday. Once I collect enough rupees it's off to a new unexplored area on the map for another task to complete so I can hopefully obtain the magical elixir.

Dry Needling

I went with an illustration this time, because the real thing looks boring.

I had my fourth session of dry needling today. Dry needling is supposed to help loosen up my muscles that are constantly tight in my leg and ankle area as well as help with the chronic pain.

While waiting for my therapist I listened in on more old people conversations, because that's really the main clientele at these rehabilitation clinics. One man told the young female receptionist that there's a new nail salon down a couple doors, as if she's unaware of her surroundings, and now she could get a pedicure after work. She said she didn't like having her nails done. He didn't like that answer. Then he asked if the women in her family enjoyed having their nails done. She said yes, but it wasn't her thing. He then proceeded to tell her that when the women in his family start talking about manicures and pedicures he leaves the room. So then, why are you so hung up on nails you creepy old bastard?

Another woman was doing the exercise bike and was asked by her therapist what her pain level was at and she answered a 7. Good grief that's high, I thought. When asked how bad it gets she then answered a 10 out of 10. The therapist, flabbergasted too, asked her to confirm it's the worst pain ever, because that's like GET ME TO THE HOSPITAL OR I'M GOING TO FUCKING DIE pain and the patient said yes, indeed. One time I asked a doctor about having my leg amputated when I was actually in the hospital and I was at a pain level of 7, maybe 8 tops. I was advised that I'd probably suffer from phantom leg syndrome and then all I could think about was Venture Brothers.

Finally, my therapist was free and I began another session of dry needling. The needle looks like an acupuncture needle, which is very thin and a few inches long. The therapist takes the needle and pokes the trigger points over and over instead of leaving it in one place as if my calf is being tenderized and made into Soylent Green. IT'S PEOPLE!!! It feels like electricity that shoots down to the bottom of my foot, even though I'm being needled in the calf. My therapist told me the first day that my trigger points are like spongy phenolic foam used for floral arrangements. She said it was difficult to needle me. I even dulled the needles quickly. I'm so proud.

My therapist tried a new area where she had felt tightness, but I don't feel pain. Afterward, my ankle and the bottom of my foot felt much looser, which is what I've been searching for. I don't want to get too excited, but I'm hoping this was the breakthrough and it will last. At the moment it feels like a Charley horse where the injections, or needling, occurred in my calf. That pain improves after about a day. I'm optimistic because six hours later my foot and ankle are still loose. I have two more planned sessions and if I continue to improve there will be more.