I was really going to go all out and hire Robert Stack to do a voiceover for this post but he passed away 17 years ago. Then I looked into Dennis Farina and he too left us seven years ago. I couldn’t afford them anyway, just like I can’t afford to pay someone to edit my ramblings. Instead, here is someone I saw cosplaying as Boba Fett at Star Wars Celebration Chicago in April of 2019.

If this is your first visit here, welcome. This is more or less a journal for myself and what it’s like to live with chronic regional pain syndrome. The best way to describe what it is like to live with CRPS is the meme of the dog drinking coffee and everything is on fire and its response is “This is fine.” It feels like my leg is on fire and the more credence I give it, the more it hurts. I’ve found that the more I distract myself, the less pain I feel. This blog is one of my many distractions. On that note, I truly apologize for the bad editing and the poor usage of words. I never studied to write or actually claim to know anything of importance. However, one day I'm going to sit down and actually learn how to use hyphens correctly. I promise.

I’ve been thinking about my dental issues that I wrote about recently after coming across that Tweet:

“Many people with CRPS develop swollen gums and brittle teeth. Some reports suggest that 75% of people with CRPS have dental issues.”

My conclusion after some more thought: Yes, I have CRPS, but that’s not the reason my teeth are in decline. I mean, if I really wanted to go QAnon-like conspiracy deep I could connect the two, but I think that it’s much simpler or, from a certain point of view, more complicated depending on how you look at it.

First off, we moved to that home in Ottawa last year that had lead pipes and we needed to drink filtered water. After some investigation, I learned that the type of water filter our refrigerator used had removed most impurities including fluoride. Up until we moved to that home I drank tap water like it was free. Public water departments like to add fluoride to your drinking water as well as LSD (check out Wild in the Streets if you would like to know more). I rarely used the Brita filter — as seen in that article I linked — because it’s a pain-in-the-ass to use and the photojournalist just needed to illustrate the story quickly and move onto another assignment. Why does the filter annoy me so much? Who wants to pour water through a pitcher and wait for it to filter? Why not call me on the telephone next. Ahoy-hoy.

NOTE - If you have a Brita water filter have no fear, I have learned that it leaves most of the fluoride in your water. However, I didn't look into the other additives.

Secondly, all that medical cannabis I was consuming to help with my insomnia, which has since improved from last year, would leave me dehydrated like the sarlacc in the Great Pit of Carkoon. I’m talking pre-special edition sarlacc when it had no fast-moving beak and resembled something else entirely. If you look into what that creature symbolized back when Return of the Jedi premiered (first movie I saw ever at Meadowdale Cinema!) and knowing what Lucas was going through at that time which led to a divorce... ICKY. I will provide no link to this theory or images. Anyhow, how about that Boba Fett return? If you are one of those that says that’s not possible, let me tell you something ***CLEARS THROAT FOR GEEK VOICE*** back in 1991 according to Dark Horse’s comic book series Dark Empire which takes place after ROTJ, we find Boba Fett is still alive after the sarlacc finds him “somewhat indigestible.” I know it’s not canon, but seeing Mando come blasting out of the krayt dragon’s acidic mouth with his jetpack in this season's first episode, clearly a precedent has been set... Oh, where was I? That’s right: DRY MOUTH = CAVITIES. Pot, aka weed or ganja, whatever you want to call it, makes me like desert thirsty and it gets bad. Even the tonsil stones (more gross) have increased ever since I started using the Acapulco gold. I’ve since cutdown on my intake of the Maui wowie, since it leads to dry mouth, which leads to cavities… and I now have a surplus of Bubba Fett. Anyone interested in a season two finale watch party of The Mandalorian next week? Ah, but Covid-19. UGH. I can’t wait for that vaccine. Spring Break 2021 here we come! Or 2022!?!

Finally, the last thing I point to as to why I had that bad dental checkup last month is because I did a poor job of taking care of my teeth as a child. I still remember being bummed out when my old man scoffed at the price of an in-home soda fountain machine after we watched a demonstration at Spring Hill Mall circa 1990. If he could've gotten over the sticker shock of the initial price, that machine would've paid for itself in a week if he realized how many cans of pop I went through in a day. Back then I was really living the Buddy the Elf lifestyle. LIKE A BALLER. Speaking of Buddy, Happy Holidays!

Light 'Em Up

Christmas and the holidays were always special to me growing up. As I aged, not so much, but when you have a child, making that magic happen is rewarding. I’m no Clark “Sparky” Griswold (how about that Randy Quaid, huh?), but I have found that I like multi-color lights along the roofline, as well as vintage blow molds. Sorry, but your air-blown Olaf from Frozen that you leave deflated during the day looks like dirty laundry in your yard and is lame. 

In 2014, I went to the hardware store for an after Christmas sale and purchased 13 strands of the classic C7 lights, not the safe LED-style that probably last forever, but the classic glass bulbs that burn your fingers and need to be replaced about once a year. I put them up on our two-story home for the first time in 2015 and quickly learned that you can’t combine more than four strands at a time, otherwise the fuse in the cord blows. And you have no idea which fuse it is, so you have to move the extension ladder to each connection and check the tiny fuse box and it always is the last strand you check without fail.

Then just days after I removed those lights after New Year’s 2016, I was in that near-fatal accident and developed CRPS and my decorating skills for the holidays became limited. Yes, we purchased one of those star shower laser light shows due to my inability to do anything more than insert a plug into an outlet and jam a stake in the ground (as long as the ground wasn't frozen yet). This is mostly because I couldn’t tolerate the pain of standing on a ladder rung, specifically, the arch of my foot. It’s much like stepping on a nail. (Yeah, I’ve done that too.) However, now it feels like an electrically charged nail. It is excruciating and it makes you want to puke. Don’t even get me started on making fists with your toes.

But now I have the DRG stimulator and the pain has been reduced and I wanted to give it another shot. (Last year, our home in Ottawa didn’t have many outdoor outlets and we were figuring out how to pay that $5k rabies vaccine bill, so we never called an electrician to get more outlets. Then we moved to our current ranch home in August and I felt it was time to try decorating the exterior of our home again.)

I got started on Saturday afternoon as my wife and our kid trimmed the newly culled balsam fir we procured the day before at a tree farm in Somonauk. The first climb up the new Little Giant ladder was the most difficult. I still felt discomfort, but it wasn’t vomit inducing. My confidence grew as I became distracted from the pain as I planned every next step. When your mobility is limited and every physical move hurts, you try your best not to waste those movements, like the saying ‘measure twice, cut once.’ The biggest hurdle, after the pain, that needs to be accounted for with having CRPS is weather because it directly affects the pain levels and I couldn’t have asked for a better forecast on Saturday where the high was near 50. I did struggle with my foot drop on the roof’s slope and had to slowly shuffle, but that’s better than a face dive onto the ground from the top of a one-story house. 

I finished the day worn-out physically, but mentally, I was satisfied. I retrieved my wife and daughter to take a look at my progress knowing full well I had more to do Sunday, but I knew they wanted to have a peek. They came outside and I expected the obligatory “good job,” which I got, but they meant it, especially the kid. She lit up. Her enthusiasm and smile melted my heart and I got a little teary-eyed. She then gave me a hug that I wouldn’t trade for anything. Like the season, it was magic.

If You Want to Crown Them, Then Crown Their Ass!

 

I went to the dentist a week ago and I am still reeling from my visit. I received some not-so-good news and I’m having a hard time accepting it.

If you’ve ever had a cavity, then you know that when the hygienist starts poking around the scraper in the same area more than once, you realize there may be an issue. Then, if your hygienist sighs like Marge Simpson multiple times, you know without a doubt, that something is amiss. So after my hygienist, who I will call Allison, finished polishing my teeth and went in search of the dentist to have a look inside my mouth, I tweeted a dumb joke about my visit, because humor is how I cope with bad. After five minutes of Allison’s departure, I started to feel uneasy and I put down my phone and began drumming my fingers on the armrest of the slightly reclined leather dental chair I was seated in. I needed to calm down and to stop fretting. I clasped my hands together, interlocking my fingers to stop the repetitive, compulsive habit and took a deep breath. I looked around the room and began counting the ceiling lights that needed to be replaced. How do they change those bulbs? A pole? Not helping. Then I found myself nervously staring out of the office’s huge plate glass windows at birds, squirrels and chipmunks filling their bellies from multiple feeders that had been placed outside for the patients’ amusement. It’s really an impressive forested view and it is one of the reasons why I like this particular dentist office. Suddenly all of the smaller critters disappeared as a hawk swooped down and landed on the ground. Boss! Have I mentioned that I am fascinated by dinosaurs? Birds are modern day dinosaurs, if you didn’t know. Anyway, I wasn’t sure if the raptor had trapped some prey in its talons, so I tried to get a better look by leaning forward when at that moment the dentist had entered the room and I forgot all about the badassery of nature that I was witnessing. 

Another deep breath. I had never met this dentist. She was the wife of one of the other two dentists that own the practice that normally see me. She grabbed a scraper and Allison called out a number. The dentist clutched the scraper and poked a tooth repeatedly. Then Allison announced a different number and the dentist prodded another area. Then we went through the process again and again. I was ready to call “BINGO!” but as you know, it’s impossible to form coherent words when your facial orifice is filled with foreign objects and yet that never stops dental professionals from asking you questions while they work. The dentist finished and then asked if I had an electric toothbrush. Indeed, I do. I’ve been using them for nearly two decades. She looked surprised. 

“Do you brush twice a day?” she asked. 

“Yes, of course,” I replied.

I even offered up that I floss daily. I really do. (I suppose I did forget to mention I use a fluoride rinse too, but was it necessary? No, she had already moved on.)

She then shared her diagnosis and I was left in disbelief. I need four fillings and a crown. What in the goddamn? I just had my first crown done after my last six-month visit and it wasn’t pleasant. 

I admit it, as a child I was terrible when it came to oral hygiene. It didn’t help that I drank soda and ate candy for meals as if I lived at Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory.

(Remember when Johnny Depp played Willy Wonka and saw his dad, the dentist, who gave him an oral exam and he had perfect teeth? What was that? Why did they remake that Gene Wilder classic? And Johnny Depp as Wonka? I once had an editor who sent me to a film location to try and snap a photo of Depp in Aurora more than a decade ago like I was paparazzi. She, the editor, was a big fan apparently. I missed his face but I did manage to capture his hand as he waved to the small crowd from an SUV behind the Paramount Theatre. They’re Just Like Us!)

By age 10, I already had seven cavities filled all without novocaine. My parents didn’t believe in paying for anesthetics, because, duh, that costs money. When I was 13, I face planted into the gym floor while attempting to block a shot as if I were Dennis Rodman during a co-ed basketball game during P.E. That didn’t go over well with the ladies. (Two years later while pretending to be Chris Chelios this time, I accidentally gave my future wife a black eye with my elbow while playing floor hockey. I’m very serious about winning (check my last name) and that we all should be treated equal, male or female.) Anyhow, I cracked my front teeth in half and the nerves were exposed. I collected my teeth and put them in milk, like it was going to help, actually thinking they could be, like, stitched back in place. It doesn’t work like that. My teeth needed to be repaired with bonding and without any novocaine ($, remember?). I went through hell, so I developed a fear of the dentist. 

Fast forward to my twenties and I was eating fries - you know, that extremely hard food - and I cracked a molar and had to have the tooth pulled. Before the tooth was extracted I was offered and accepted the novocaine since I was paying and it didn’t cost much from what I can remember. Guess what? Anesthetics really helps with the pain. Who knew? From that point on, my dental habits changed completely and I’ve made every six-month visit since I was 23. I even had my wisdom teeth pulled and it really wasn’t that bad. I went 13 years before my next cavity. It was after my accident in 2016 when I developed complex regional pain syndrome, aka CRPS. I didn’t think much of it. I mean, I was sedated with Haloperidol in the ICU for over two weeks with a ventilator tube jammed down my esophagus. Suffice to say, I took a vacation from brushing my teeth. Only having one cavity after that trauma is pretty, pretty good, if you ask me.

Then I had the crown earlier this year and now my current situation of four more cavities and another crown needed is a lot at once. What is going on, I wondered.

That very same day I came home from the dentist, coincidentally, I saw a tweet from a CRPS organization that I follow on the Twitters that states:

“Many people with CRPS develop swollen gums and brittle teeth. Some reports suggest that 75% of people with CRPS have dental issues.”

Look, I understand I haven’t always done a good job taking care of my chompers and I knew eventually I’d pay for my neglect as a youngster, but I speculate that there may be a correlation between oral health and CRPS.

The Dog Days are Over (they ended Saturday)

 

It's been 62 days since we moved back to Newark and there have been numerous challenges, but Here Comes the Sun[flowers] 

The DRG stimulator in my back has been put through the wringer for the past two months and, like the Energizer bunny, it keeps going and going and going... I was instructed by my doctor not to overexert myself, nor lift anything heavier than a gallon of milk in the first year after surgery. Since it has been 18 months since surgery, it's now time to go balls-out! (That idiom probably doesn't mean what you think it does, just like "over a barrel," which just sounds filthy. I learned the origin of that one recently after looking it up when we were negotiating the price of our new home with the sellers, i.e. the sellers put the buyers over a barrel.)

The first challenge we overcame together as a family was living out of boxes for 53 days. I am okay feeling cramped and uncomfortable for a spell. I once lived in a pantry during college. The dimensions of the pantry were approximately 5 feet by 9 feet. A friend built levels for me, like Cosmo Kramer’s vision for his apartment from the Seinfeld episode, The Pony Remark. The room was a real tight fit. I had a clearance of about 18 inches between my bed and the ceiling. I could hear squirrels, or perhaps it was rats, crawling about the ceiling and walls early in the mornings. They were my all-natural alarm clock. That pantry still felt more spacious than living at my in-laws with boxes piled floor to ceiling. Trying to move about in crowded spaces is the pits, especially for a no longer able-bodied person. It’s no wonder my average daily walking distance during that time dropped to about two miles.

At the beginning of August we visited Devil’s Lake and that’s when I really started challenging myself physically. When the pandemic began we figured our annual camping trip would have to be canceled, but Wisconsin don’t care. Originally, we planned on going to one of the coasts or Colorado. We made our campsite reservations back in May, thinking if we needed to back out, no big deal. We ended up going and believe it or not, tent living was a nice getaway from box living. 

Camping during the pandemic was different. The bandanas our daughter designed for our vacation doubled as a mask this time and we used them just for that. This year’s theme she came up with was “Camp Covid.” We didn't mask up full-time, but some of the hiking trails are narrow and at the top of the bluffs things can get crowded. Most hikers were not wearing masks, but that didn't really concern me. What did, however, was the bathrooms at the campgrounds. If this virus is airborne (has that been confirmed yet?), I don't want to share a communal bathroom. Fortunately for me, I used the handicap accessible restroom with a shower. This made me feel a little safer from the virus. Now, I know I look normal and you'd think nothing is wrong with me if you didn't know me, so every time I would exit the restroom I did so very slowly, half-expecting a line of wheelchair-bound persons outside the door just waiting to use the special bathroom and then I'd feel real shitty. Or I imagined Tonya Harding's ex-husband lurking in the shadows waiting to take my knees out like he did to Nancy Kerrigan in 1994 as retribution, since it appears that I don't have any special needs.

There was only one time that the private bathroom was in use and I had to use the 'commoners' bathroom. You better believe I wore a mask. While in that bathroom I noticed someone had scratched "Fuck Obama" into a dispenser. You could tell that the bathroom had been painted and remodeled within a year (we go to Devil's Lake that often). It's weird thinking that someone feels that much animosity toward our forty-fourth president and here I am at Camp Covid wearing a mask to protect myself from a goddamn potentially deadly virus that could have been contained if we actually had better leadership. Christ, this country and the people that live here.

In the end, I personally hiked an average of four miles a day and climbed 75 floors. I am very proud of that accomplishment, considering I didn't use a cane and I still have foot drop.

Two days after our trip up north, my wife and I went to donate blood. It's something I do because had others not donated blood when my accident happened, then I wouldn't be here today. I had 3+ transfusions after that accident. That's a lot of blood, man. Also, the American Red Cross now tests for COVID-19 antibodies. I suspected that I may have had the virus since I came down with something over the winter. I didn't think it was the flu because I get a flu shot every year, not only to protect myself, but because the Jewels gives you a 10% off coupon when you get vaccinated at their pharmacy. Anyhow, when we entered the donation site together, my wife was booted for having a temperature of 99.7 for precautionary reasons, but they let me donate. I found that baffling. I mean, we live together. If she's got the COVID, then so would I, but whatever. I filled the bag that held my unit of blood in 4:44. Even the phlebotomist was impressed. I said it's because I can fist pump harder than the Jersey Shore bros. My antibody test came back negative in the end.

We closed on our house just over a week ago and we are still partially living out of moving boxes while we have new floors installed, which is currently happening. In fact, it's very loud and the workers like to sing along to songs on the radio, including works by the Goo Goo Dolls, Dolly Parton, Pearl Jam and, surprisingly, Elle King's Ex's and Oh's. BTW, fellas, she's got electric boots, not boobs. The home is a small ranch, but the yard is dynamite with plenty of space for a couple honey bee hives (so after I establish the hives, I can teach my dog how to shoot bees from his mouth when he barks.) The house is much smaller than our Ottawa home, but it's definitely our forever home. We knew eventually that we'd have to downsize, but I didn't think it'd be after only 11 months, but when opportunity knocks you should answer. The previous owner built the home in 1975 and the fixtures are still here today. We will be updating, but have a look below. Still in the home are four home phones (including one in each bathroom next to the water closets) and multiple thermometers inside and outside of the home, as well as clocks everywhere. FANCY. My wife thinks that perhaps the previous owner did a Time & Temperature service over the landline telephone like Kramer pretending to be the Moviefone guy. Yes, that's right, another Seinfeld/Kramer reference! It's a shame Michael Richards had that racist rant while doing stand-up back in 2006. I can't look past that, just like when I hear/see a Subway commercial and all I can think of is that Jared Fogle sexually exploited children.

Moving is the worst. Like I said last time, I will never do it again. This time around we didn't ask the same suckers friends that helped us last year, instead we asked different suckers friends from in-town. Honestly, if not for them, I think I would've killed myself and I'm grateful for all the help they provided. Just hours after our closing I started moving items. I didn't wait for help to arrive. I was carrying the equivalent of 12 gallons of milk at a time so I didn't have to make so many trips. I continue to believe that I am as strong as I was pre-accident, which is FALSE. The stimulator provides some pain relief, but it definitely does not make me stronger or even half of what I used to be. And the foot drop slows me down like Frankenstein's monster. About an hour in, it felt like I had a hangover and no matter how much water I drank, I was still thirsty. The way I saw it, the more I pushed myself, the sooner I'd be done, but that just made me more exhausted. Then the help arrived and I took a break.

Since the start of August my walking distance is trending in the right direction again, averaging 3.2 miles daily.

Uh-oh, someone is a fan of Alanis Morissette's You Oughta Know. He is hitting those notes like a BOSS!

That is all for now. Take care of yourself and each other.

Purgatory

We have left Monster House in Ottawa.

We are in housing purgatory. After 11 months of living the city-life in Ottawa, we have moved back to Newark. However, the house we plan on purchasing isn’t quite ready and we are renting from the in-laws in the meantime. Hopefully, we will be moving into our forever home very soon. AND I SWEAR TO GOD THAT I'LL NEVER MOVE AGAIN IN MY LIFE!

Why did we move again? Great question! Long story short, there was a house here in town we wanted, but never thought it’d be available if we stayed and if we moved it’d become available. Guess what? That’s right, in less than a year after moving to Ottawa, the house in Newark is [almost] available. This did not surprise me in the least to be honest. 

Selling a home during the pandemic sucked. We listed in April during the height of shelter-in-place. When we had to leave for a showing there was really nowhere to go since most places were shuttered, including the nearby state parks. So, we’d drive around in the car, the one place our dog hates, just to waste time. Then after getting home, everything needed to be wiped down to kill the covid. Pain in the ass. 

Oh, and I had to dismantle LEGO World. So tragically sad, I swear. 

So here we wait. All of our stuff is packed away in boxes. How I wish I knew where the box of video games was at. No more dishwasher or DVR either for the moment. I have been watching antenna television when I can get a signal. I caught an episode of Gimme A Break! the other day and that was rough. The father, played by Dolph Sweet, caught his daughter lying about smoking so he smacked her in the face. She had it coming though, I mean she had a Gone with the Wind poster hanging on a wall in her room. Just a friendly reminder, Nell Carter, who is Black, played the housekeeper on the sitcom and had to see that poster on set all the time. After that show ended, I viewed an episode of Diff’rent Strokes where Mr. Drummond purchased new jerseys for a football team so Arnold could make the team. Talk about privilege. By the way, have you seen the Arnold and Dudley bike shop episode? I have. It’s about as weird as the Small Wonder episode where this kid gets mouth cancer after chewing tobacco for a week or so. Why don't they make shows like these anymore, especially with robots, like V.I.C.I? How are kids going to learn nowadays? The Internet!?! Ye Gods!

As far as the CRPS, since this is a blog about that, the pain is less intense during the summer months with warmer temperatures, so it’s not that bad right now. Now that I’ve tied that loose end up, good night, and good luck. 

Shit's Tight

I believe that is the Fibularis Brevis muscle that you see above. The indentations are the actual muscle that is in a constant state of tightness. Sorry for the gross looking leg. At least the CRPS is making some of the hair fall out.

I’ve read that chronic regional pain syndrome worsens over time. I had hoped and thought it wouldn’t happen to me because I’m a very special, unique, one-of-a-kind snowflake, but I’ve been noticing something odd with my afflicted leg. I have recently become aware of these lines on my leg that look like indentations that form on your skin when you rest your leg on a chair or from a sock that’s too snug. If it's on your face, my wife refers to it as the 'Sleeping Disease.' Turns out that the lines aren’t from resting my leg against something, it is actual muscle that is behaving like a permanent cramp. That tightness I’ve been feeling for years now, the ankle sprain-like feeling, is actually that. The nerves in my leg are so damaged that this is just the way it is. 

I should see a doctor and, yes, I eventually will, but they’ll just shrug, throw their arms up and say, ‘That’s CRPS for you. What can you do? Want some more opioids?’ The wife recommended getting a massage. A massage would offer a temporary fix, like the dry needling, but it will eventually return to this state. Perhaps it’s time to bust out the Magic Wand again. Wink, wink. 

In other news, I took the kid and dog to Matthiessen the other day and, boy, did I look like a tourist poseur. I was helping our elderly dog out by lowering him from higher to lower ground and I lost my footing and fell into the creek near the Mario blocks. Don't worry, the dog was fine since he landed on top of me. Later, I fell again by the Giant’s Bathtub and then again by the waterfall. Two days later and I’m still feeling it from those falls. At first I was concerned my stimulator malfunctioned since I fell directly on the unit, but luckily it’s still working.

That’s all for now. Good luck and see you in the future, which hopefully will be better than lately. 

We have nicknamed the round concrete blocks Mario Blocks.

I Had a Dream

Earlier this week it happened. I was adrift in the land of slumber and it got me. No, not Mr. Krueger, but a leg cramp. When I say that I suffer from extensive nerve damage, it’s an understatement. My shit’s all messed up and the cold only exacerbates the pain and the leg cramps tend to be worse and more frequent from, oh, I’d say about October until the middle of May. Anyway, I woke from a dream due to a scorpion tail-like cramp in the leg, but it occurred in the middle of a dream. That’s right! I do still dream. 

In the dream, I was at a party, but I didn’t recognize any of the guests. Hence, I hypothesize that it was probably family gathering. I was anxious because I couldn’t believe how many people were in such close contact. I started addressing the COVID-19 elephant in the room. That didn’t go over well. I was the Lori Lightfoot meme that nobody asked for. As I began to preach about social distancing and that it’s not about us but of overcrowding hospitals and the domino effect, I awoke.

That is all. I still dream. I just can’t retain the memory for long, that is unless I awake in the middle of the dream, I have now learned. So, WHEW, I still have some humanity. Now, let’s get back to work America. A 2-3% death rate concerns you? So selfish. Right, Dr. Oz?

One more thing... I made an appointment last month to donate blood yesterday. You see, after needing multiple transfusions at the time of my accident, I feel compelled to donate blood as soon as I’m able and allowed. When I was making this appointment, the closest site was 20 miles away, but I went ahead and scheduled because I just want to do my part by donating as often as possible, because I'm a bleeding heart that actually believes we are really all in this together. That is, not just for this virus and the now, but for always. Anyway, I arrived at my appointment right on time, but there was nobody there. I noticed another individual driving his vehicle around the lot of the site too, so I approached him. He seemed confused at first. I kind of wanted to jump out of the car and run at him coughing like a COVID-19-infected lunatic just for fun, but he was in a pickup truck and we were out in the country. Those two facts mean I can only assume he’s a concealed carry-type. As I made conversation with the only other person around, it turns out he was there to donate too. Coincidence? No, not hardly. We both called Red Cross and learned that they had canceled the drive without letting either of us know. Now I probably shouldn’t care, but how in the hell in today’s current state do you schedule people to donate blood and then flake out on them? I thought we were having shortages? Red Cross, you had two willing donors yesterday that both scheduled a month in advance, prepared ourselves to donate, and then you don’t show. The heck, man?

CHALLENGE!

I walk daily. It’s an exercise that I can do that is relatively safe for me. It’s low-impact, causes only moderate pain and I enjoy that feeling of accomplishment at the end of a walk. Throughout the day, I often check my Health application and pore over my numbers like a sabermetrician. OMG! My OPS may be substandard, BUT WOULD YA LOOK AT MY WAR!

During a stroll on Sunday at the furthest point from home, I got an upset stomach which rapidly became an emergency. With most businesses closed due to the virus, my only option was to get home as fast as possible and, boy, oh boy, that was a struggle. My walking gait mechanics are just not there. I'm physically slow with foot drop holding me back the most. When the zombie apocalypse begins (which by my estimation will be any day now), I should be able to stay an arm’s length ahead of the horde, that is if they stick to the World War Z book description and not the Brad Pitt movie where the zombies are all coked up and running like the Flash and creating mountains of dead flesh to scale a fortress wall. Luckily, I made it home without an unfortunate accident. 

This episode got me thinking about how to improve my walking speed. Is that even possible? Could I move faster if I tried hard enough? Like, what if I practice at it? Anything is possible if you put your mind to it…right? I’m not a doctor, but I had a good feeling about it. Thinking about it [il]logically, I came to the conclusion that I should try running again. What’s it gonna hurt?

The next day, while on a walk with the family, we were in the home stretch of a two-mile walk and I was feeling good, so I challenged the kid to a foot race of about 10-yards. She accepted and I notched my first victory in years. I’m sure it looked goofy as I raised my right hip higher than the left with each stride so as to not trip over my dangling foot. It’s like running with a 15-pound weight strapped to your ankle. Gracious in defeat, my child said, in so many words, that I cheated with a head-start. Once that claim was debunked by my wife, the unbiased race official, the kid used the ‘I’m tired’ excuse. So I offered her a do-over and I DESTROYED bested her again. I started gloating and my bighead needed more of this intoxicating fix. As I’ve said before, I’m an addict and that includes an addiction to winning. (For God’s sake, my last name is Winner.) I sized up the wife and challenged her. She accepted and, guess what? That’s correct, I won again. However, before I could bask in my glory and heave an, “in your face!” while aggressively finger pointing in my life partner’s direction, my body reprimanded me with a terrible ache around my pelvis and hip. I was in pain, but I held my head high as I had finished in first place.

Every so often I get to a place where I think that I’m healed or almost back to pre-accident health and if I can just clear that last hurdle then I’ll be normal. Similar to the relief found from cracking your back. I have a hard time accepting reality. I want to have that Forrest Gump moment were he breaks free of the metal leg braces. Run, Forrest, run! Unfortunately, the metal that holds my pelvis together is inside my body. My metal doesn’t break apart and fall to my feet. It stays inside my body which causes my muscles and organs pain due to inflammation. I'd describe the feeling as a balloon being inflated in my waist area. No matter how much I wish this all away, this is it. This is the best it'll ever be. To add injury to injury, my mini competitive fun runs have activated some CRPS pain that had gone dormant and my leg has been restless for the past two nights. But at least I know, and the family knows, that I’m still the fastest. BOOM! IN YOUR FACE, FAMILY!

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.