Disaboom AndyZ Blog

Best Served Cold?

AndyZ — Sat, 26 Apr 2008 14:48:00 GMT

"How sad! He looks like he had been a very active man at one time."

came from over my shoulder just loud enough for me to hear from a group of women gathered outside in the hall. It stopped me in my tracks. I felt the anger welling up. Was I supposed to acknowledge this woman's feigned compassion, the one who'd been so insensitive and obnoxious? I bit my tongue. She was holding court with some community council members. The formal meeting had adjourned minutes before, and I had happened by, my laptop in tow.

I thought about turning around and hobbling over to her, and waiting for her to shut up long enough to put her down in front of her friends. Easy peasy. (okay, I stole that line from Capt. Malcolm Reynolds/Firefly. So what?) Like shooting fish in a barrel. Better?

"Sad? And what do people say about you, lady? You can't help it that you've grown senile? Or no, it's not senility, rather it's the unfortunate fact you've always been ignorant of the truth but never let that get in the way of putting your foot in your mouth? You're stupid and proud of it."

What was the truth? I'd been left paralyzed by a sudden stroke. Prior to the stroke I'd been a runner, never took medications including aspirin, hadn't smoked in 25 years, rarely had anything to drink. When I found myself in this condition in the acute care facility at Maine Med Ctr I thought about my options. It didn't take a genius to realize I had only two - become despondent, feel sorry for myself, oh woe is me, and fall into a permanent state of depression, or... figure the best way to get the most out of this situation.

That's not to say I never contemplated feeling sorry for myself. The therapists tell me that's part of the natural order of things. I was lucky in that I had the words of a psychologist friend to guide me. He told me whenever he began a session with patients he took them to a place of peace and tranquility in their mind, a babbling brook, a mountain vista, a forest glade. He said that did more for them than anything he could have told them. I went thru them all. Thanks, Don Skekel. I owe you, brother.

It's been a year this month, so here's the truth lady. I can walk with the aid of a cane. I've lost fifty pounds. I'm writing again, with one-handed typing skills. I don't feel sorry for myself, so don't feel sorry for me. I may not be the man I once was, but in many ways I'm better. I won't say anything to you because that's not the person I am today. And I still can kick your husband's ass.

Catching Up

AndyZ — Thu, 24 Apr 2008 20:56:00 GMT

Well, the move to the city is complete. I'm sitting here at the public library wifi-ing this installment of the director's club. I decided not to go with an ISP until I'd gotten back into writing mode. The internet is like heroin - it can take over your life before you realize it's happened.

This week I'm nominating two guys, the Coen Brothers, Joel and Ethan Coen. Between the two they've worn several hats on almost every film they've become involved in, including writers (both screenplay & original story), directors, & producers. Sometimes they went off on their own, and sometimes they used other's material. I haven't done a study of them or their work but it deserves notice. Four Oscars and a hundred or so other awards speaks for itself.

They have a tendency to be drawn to stories about extraordinarily bad acters (not actors) and an odd sense of karmic justice. Tom Hanks played a grifter in one movie, The Lady Killers, who got his come-up-ence. My GF hated the movie (I loved it) but had to admit it captured the essence of the Deep South as seen from a poor Southerner's perspective. That's another one of the brothers' trademarks. They have a unique ability to see people for the sum of their non-didactic idiosyncrocies. In Oh Brother Where Art Thou? George Clooney and John Tuturro are brilliantly cast as stereotypical West Virginia mountain people, in Fargo, it's Frances McDermand and William H. Macy as North Dakotans on opposite sides of an unraveling mystery, you betcha. (my GF loved it, I hated it.) In their latest, it's Harvard educated Tommy Lee Jones doing what he does best, potraying a throwback Texas lawman facing a cold-blooded killer in No Country for Old Men.

Remember the premise for the Director's Club? If you like the movie search for other movies by that director. You won't be disappointed... at least one of you won't be that is.

Walker-Festus Stranger

AndyZ — Tue, 15 Apr 2008 22:51:00 GMT

Kara had a great blog today which tickled my corrupt sense of humor. Liesl was quick to point out Kara would not think in those terms I used. I know, I know. I admit I went off on a tangent, but the seeds were planted. It's Kara's fault! If only she hadn't gone and labeled normal folk "walkers" LOL. They shall forever after be known as walkers.

You have to understand how my last two days've gone. I'm moving into an apt complex - actually moving day's Thursday but I thought I'd get the kitchen set up and my clothes hung ahead of the movers. Yesterday someone left a note on my p/u truck. Imagine the shakiest penmanship ever and it was shakier than that.

"You parked in my spot," it read. "This parking space has been assigned to Unit 141. Besides that, you're blocking the path to the maintenance dept."

Actually my truck was parked directly under a sign that read Visitors Parking. Whoever wrote that note was probably eighty-five from the looks of his or her handwriting. I didn't have a problem with moving my truck. No way did I want to be anywhere near that person when she was driving lol. I decided it was a she, guys up here don't live that long, and she'd scolded me like a redheaded stepchild, sort of like my high school Latin teacher, Ms. Barnes. I wonder if Claudius Maximus had been afraid of his Latin teacher? Sic semper tyrannis!

Today was the showdown at the Okay Corral - the back stairwell. I'd hauled my stuff in with my rollator and now I faced the ultimate test, my K-2. How was I going to get my stuff, pots & pans, microwave, bags of laundry up two flights of stairs unassisted, and me with no Sherpa? I had one good arm and one good leg. Jest call me Festus. The other day was the first time I'd managed a flight of stairs post stroke.

"I'm a'comin' Mr. Dillon!"

I managed to get a bag of laundry to the first landing when a voice came down from above.

"Are you kidding me?"

It was... The Walker!

No, hi stranger, how're ya doin'? No welcome to the building. He blew by me without saying another word. This was incredibly fortuitous. He had no idea who he was dealing with. I felt like Dexter upon discovering his next victim. It was energizing. I did it! Got everything up to the second floor. All I'd needed was a little motivation.

The Directors Club

AndyZ — Thu, 10 Apr 2008 12:06:00 GMT

We all have our favorite movies. What makes them a favorite? The story/screenplay? The actors/actresses? The score? The action? The setting/costumes/special effects? Quite often we can't put our finger on what it was that made it a great flick, we just know it was extraordinary. I like to think of a good movie as one which has all of these ingredients blended in the correct proportion, and baked for the proper time at just the right temperature. In other words, the chef is responsible, and in the business of making movies it is the director who wears the chef's hat.

If you're heading out to Blockbuster's to look for a rental, don't go blindly, hoping you'll stumble upon a treasure. Think back. What were your favorite movies and who directed them? Just for a change of pace go for the director rather than the big name, larger than life actor. You might surprise yourself.

As a courtesy to you (and myself as well - I'm always looking to learn from the masters), I'll be posting my Director of the Week here on Thursdays, and I'll keep a running list of directors we'll call The Director's Club. If you have a candidate, please let me know by dropping me a PM.

Last week we mentioned the recently deceased Anthony Minghella, director of The English Patient and his last best effort, The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency. The week before it was Joss Whedon, the director of Firefly and Serenity. This week it's the late Fred Zinnemann, who directed the following movies among others:

High Noon, A Man for All Seasons, Behold a Pale Horse, The Sundowners, The Old Man and the Sea, The Day of the Jackal, From Here to Eternity, The Nun's Story, Oklahoma!, Julia, The Men, and Forbidden Passage.

Some of these I've seen a dozen times. From Here to Eternity may be my all-time favorite.

Keys to a Longer Life

AndyZ — Wed, 09 Apr 2008 14:14:00 GMT

The Blue Zone, a book, and its author, Dan Buettner, were featured on Martha Stewart Today (yes, I watch Martha occasionally. I'm secure enough in my manhood, lol). Dan has travelled the world for National Geographic seeking out people who have led and continue to lead long and productive lives. What's he consider long? 85 to 105 is a good range. Thats the age group his story revolves around. Dan has identified Blue Zones, places where long-lived people are more likely to reside, hence the book's title, and he's spent time in these areas trying to identify what factors could be attributed to this phenomenon. To illustrate, Martha showed a clip of a 100+ yr old woman chopping wood and her 85 yr old son bicycling over to visit her.

Many of us here have struggled just with living. My experiences have given me a glimpse into this day-to-day world of my fellow disabled friends. For a while I was paralyzed from a brain infarction, a stroke if you will, had to deal with a catheter and be assisted in getting in and out of bed and wheeled around, went through a long period of constant and intense pain, and still have my moments. I was very fortunate to have had a terrific series of doctors and therapists who orchestrated what has been described more than once as a miraculous recovery. It's far from complete and probably never will be but I really can't complain. I didn't, and that may have been my own contribution to a rapid recovery and my salvation.

THE KEYS http://www.bluezones.com/

You can check out the keys to a long life here. There are parts of Dan's book which I think can be helpful to many Disaboomers. I'll leave it up to you to decide if it's something you'd be interested in pursuing.

From what I've observed, many are despondent about their plight. They may be adding to their woes because of the stress brought on by their attitude. At times it can take hard work and courage to remain positive. On the other hand, there are those who have conquered their feelings and emotions and retaken control of their lives.

We are a community of people, people who are whole in spirit if not in body. I say that in all sincerity. There are no I-Pods to be won this week. You all have taught me much in the short time I've been here. The way we see ourselves is the way the world will see us. We can teach them.

Misanthropes R Us

AndyZ — Tue, 08 Apr 2008 13:03:00 GMT

So much for yesterday's rant. Truth be told I'm a hypocrite. Once every year or two I allow myself the enjoyment of a good cigar (outside in the backyard of course). Quitting cigarettes was hard, very hard. I tried and failed many times until I hit upon the secret which would finally work for me. That was twenty-five years ago, before "the Patch". I'll gladly tell you, but don't expect miracles.

There"s one universal element common to all the How I Quit Smoking success stories - you have to want to quit, and if you don't failure is inevitable. Let's face it. I was doomed, and I knew it. Then one day it happened.

I'd decided to quit once more. I was doing good. No wait, let's keep this real. I wasn't really. It was the third day, and I was Jonesin' in the worst way for one drag off a Winston. A Marlboro just wouldn't do. One drag, and then I'd go cold turkey again, promise. Don't exactly know who I was making promises to, but that was part of what made my rationalizations seem okay. Suddenly Ronnie Boyce walked around the corner.

Ronnie Boyce was a dink. He'd played the court jester in the CYO play about Old King Cole and his parents had secretly gone out and rented a professional green silk and silver costume for him, complete with pointy shoes and belled hat. The rest of us had homemade costumes. He stole the show (guess who'd played the part of Ole King Cole?). Who ever heard of people cheering for a bad guy in a play? Now we were adults and he was dating my buddy's ex whom my buddy was still in love with.

"Hello, Andrew."

Hello, Newman, I mean, Ron.

"What's new, Andrew?"

Not much, Ron.

He pulled out a cigarette and lit it. "Cigarette?"

Naw, I'm trying to quit.

Hearing that encouraged him. "Go on, take one."

I looked at the open pack he held out, cigarettes thrust out in my direction. Kents. Not my brand. So what. Ya sure, I'll take one, and I pulled one out. And then I thought, why you assh... you'd love to see me light up, wouldn't you? I ripped the cigarette into tiny shreds.

Well, his jaw dropped, and the look on his face. It was priceless. You'd have thought I'd just run over his dog. I'd never felt so empowered.

He stomped off. I laughed. The smell of the tobacco was still on my fingers. After three days, your sense of smell is heightened beyond normal. It was satisfying. My cravings ebbed. Later on I borrowed another cigarette just to have around to smell. It got me through the first week, and the rest is history.

P.S. One month anniversary without lisinopril - BP after being out and about, 119 over 74, woo woo! Not out of the woods yet. Bought a blender two days ago and smoothies are now a daily staple - strawberry yogurt, OJ, bananas, apples, pears, lemon juice, cantaloupe, and the kitchen sink. Can't cut out salt altogether. Trying to keep within 1000 milligrams max daily.

Slaves to the American Tobacco Company

AndyZ — Mon, 07 Apr 2008 10:46:00 GMT

Back in high school my English teacher used to call us that - the boys he caught smoking outside at recess. And that's what all you smokers are too. Admit it..

"But I've tried quitting a thousand times." (whiney voice)

That's a lame excuse. Did you really? Think about it. If you'd managed to stay off cigarettes for a week each time we'd be talking about twenty years of not smoking.

"Whenever I've tried quitting I didn't know what to do with my hands." (w.v.)

Lamer. Especially for guys. You can always tell a guy who quit smoking. He's the one scratching himself all the time... in front. In back's another story.

"I don't want to quit. I really enjoy it."

Oh, right. Which part? Doling out six bucks for a lousy pack, or being ostracized from the human race?

"Seriously. Nothing beats that first drag with your morning cup of coffee."

What about those second through the next five hundred hacking, coughing, throat-burning, headache-causing drags? Those we don't remember quite as well.

"Please, let me have my small pleasures."

And I bet your lungs are thrilled with the prospect of facing another fourteen hours of mortal combat, huh? Fighting you for control of their air space in order to get enough oxygen to keep you alive.

"I'd never say this, but it makes me look cool. I've gotta keep up my image."

Yup. Makes you smell cool too. Nothing like stinky breath and clothes and yellow teeth and fingers for maintaining a great image, lol.

"Nothing's worse than a reformed smoker."

Oh yes there is. An incorrigible smoker.

Taxi!

AndyZ — Fri, 04 Apr 2008 11:48:00 GMT

In 2000 a scientific study done on the brains of London taxicab drivers had some interesting conclusions. They learned that a certain part of the brain, the hippocampus, grew to accommodate a taxicab driver's ability to navigate, and recall and locate addresses. The study revealed that we do have the means to adapt and improve upon our cognitive processes. So, what do you think of that?

"Are you talkin' to me?"

In entertainment news, HBO will be airing a two hour pilot, The No. 1 Ladis' Detective Agency starring Jill Scott. It's about a divorced woman living in Botswana who decides to become a private detective. This show is a five out of five stars. It's funny and it's tragic both in it's content and in the circumstances surrounding the show itself. The pilot first aired on the BBC last week, however its London based director, Anthony Minghella (The English Patient), died two weeks ago so the 13 part series has been put on hold. If you get a chance, watch it, and TIVO it too if you can. It's better the second time around.

That was DiNero from the 1976 movie, Taxi Driver, earlier if you missed the quote.

Death in the Afternoon-That'll be $150 Please

AndyZ — Wed, 02 Apr 2008 09:14:00 GMT

Hemingway was captivated with the concept of death and dying. The struggle between those who fought to the death was the basis for much of his work. In the end he took his own life. I guess he decided enough was enough and he wanted to make the decision as to who would prevail himself.

Myself? I don't hold the same fascination for death. I'm not in a rush to find out what's next either. I don't fear it and I'm at peace with the inevitability of dying, but there is one thing about sitting on the precipice that disturbs me; doctors - doctors and their cavalier attitudes in using life-threatening drugs for resolving critical health issues. Are they doing what's in our best interest? Or are they giving us a nudge off the edge? And what really is the motivation for doing so?

Before my stroke I took no medications, not even aspirin. "Humph. Not the sharpest knife in the drawer." I hear you out there. Well, my stroke was the result of high blood pressure and I'd been unaware of my BP problems. After the stroke and the three months in a rehab facility I was released with several prescriptions in hand and told I'd have to take these "for the rest of your life."

Subsequently I had to be hospitalized again when one of the drugs, Toprol, wasn't doing its job and my pulse rate had fallen below 40 beats per minute. I took myself off the drug. I was told I did the right thing because I’d been in grave danger of dropping into a coma. I'd had a TIA to boot. They switched me to Lisinopril, "a much safer alternative" because it was "a tried and tested medication, and proven to be safe." What’s the difference, I asked. “One’s an ACE inhibitor.” And? “Don’t worry about it.”

Two weeks later I was hospitalized again. This time my BP was normal. The doctors said I’d had a seizure. It wasn’t life-threatening – just scrambled brain signals caused from a little confusion - neurons sorting out which of them had taken over doing the jobs of the deceased cells. Along came a physician I’d not seen in the past six days who announced she’d been my “hospitalist” during my stay and handed me a prescription for my seizures.

“Take 100 milligrams a day for a week, double it the second week, and double that the third week.” Four hundred milligrams a day? How long would I have to take this?

“For the rest of your life.”

I’m glad you mentioned that. How long exactly do I have?

“There’s no way of knowing.”

Oh, come on, Doc, I can take it.

“It would be wise for you to get your estate in order.” (She really said that.)

Tell me about this prescription for, what is it? Vonegran? What’re the side effects?

“It’s brand new. I really don’t know. I’ll see if I can find out. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

A quick call on the cell phone to Rite-Aid by me revealed the cost (gag!) $80 for thirty 100 mil pills. Extrapolated out, that was about $320 a month for the 400 mil dosage before discounts “for the rest of your life.”

Back she came. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t find anything on its side effects.”

So, let’s see. You don’t really know anything about this drug, do you? And you’re prescribing it? That was five months ago. I haven’t had a seizure since. I still have that prescription. It's framed and hanging on the wall.

Hemingway said in his novel about bullfighting, Death in the Afternoon, the bull must be killed in the end because it learns too much. If given a second chance it would kill the matador. Read on.

It wasn’t too long before I developed a heart arrhythmia followed by painful swelling of the affected foot and ankle, phlebitis. That, in turn, was followed by a red rash and scaling all over my body, and major problems with the affected shoulder and arm. My neurologist said my BP was still too high, 150 over 90, and he wanted to double the dosage of Lisinopril. Wha..? It was time to do some research of my own.

To my horror, the very first thing I learned was that Lisinopril had been derived from the venom of a poisonous Brazilian viper. The snake’s venom dilated its victims blood vessels allowing the venom to circulate rapidly and rendering its victims immobile while still within the snake’s range. This vessel dilation was the key to lowering blood pressure.

Merck had created it and now that the drug had endured beyond its patent life it was fair game for genericizing. The base synthetic molecule was composed of around a thousand different proteins and such, and according to some opinions, it was likely some of the generic versions contained mirror images of these molecular constructs and were unpredictable as to their efficacy and side effects. Taking a form of snake venom “for the rest of your life” did not sound like much of a long-term plan to me. It was time to get back to nature and get the hell off this drug.

I set out to look for a special diet that would lower my BP and allow me to become drug free.It’s been a month now without BP medication and my BP has been running between 127/71 and 146/82. The swelling, pain and rash have dissipated. I continue to massage my diet. Salt is the biggest no-no, and indulging in too many calories is right up there too on that list. The diet is a story for another day. Let’s just say so far it looks like the bull won this fight. Drugs are wonderful for stop gap emergencies but they are no be all, end all. It's time for doctors to stop using drug companies for every solution and to begin earning those seven figure incomes.

Where do dreams meet reality?

AndyZ — Thu, 27 Mar 2008 13:11:00 GMT

This lecture was described as the most important message ever. Sent by a friend in California who e-mailed a link to it this morning. It's 18 minutes of compelling video. It takes 2 minutes to load so please be patient. (If you find it's taking ten minutes to load you may have forgotten like I did to double click "play," LOL). It's about a scientist's personal and profound experience with stroke. I'll let you be the judge.

http://www.microclesia.com/?p=320

The Human Comedy - Balzac Was Right

AndyZ — Wed, 26 Mar 2008 14:11:00 GMT

Honore De Balzac

What is it that attracts us to certain people directly or whom we live our lives through vicariously that makes us wish we could be that person or have that person for a friend or lover? Their life's extraordinary in so many ways where ours is so ordinary and dull. We can see what little they need to do to make it right. Why can't they? We can fix them.

No, no, no. Don't get a tattoo. What the hell are you thinking? Your skin is perfection. Your body is perfection. Your face is perfection. Would a tattoo be an improvement on nature? What would you do if you had real problems, like no legs for instance? You need to get your head on straight, woman (substitute man where appropriate). What? What do you mean, another tattoo? Where's the first one?

Men in Trees (ABC Wednesdays 10 PM) examines the lives of people who live in a small town in Alaska. They are on the surface like us, just ordinary folk, but as we learn more about them we can see they aren't. Not at all. Most of them led extraordinary lives, both good and bad, at one time or another and now are in the throes of coming to terms with their personal, romantic, business related and moral failures and tragedies. For them there could be redemption, although it may take a whole season's worth of shows to get there.

It's hard to understand that what we take for granted as perfection in another is anything but. For some, physical perfection is a curse. It is window dressing, plain and simple. Those people have to separate out the millions who can't grasp the reasoning behind their anguish. They seek a partner who will take the time to look beyond their superficial good looks to connect and communicate with them on another and deeper, more satisfying emotional plane. Why is it we have so little sympathy for them?

If you hang out here you've probably got serious issues, physical perfection not being one of them. Rejoice! It's one less thing we have to deal with.

Dancing with the Stairs

AndyZ — Tue, 25 Mar 2008 00:50:00 GMT

How'd she do dat? Marlee Matlin that is. Incredible. She got her freak on last week too. Who needs music?

Enough about her. (She is hot though, isn't she?...ssssssss. Her partner's a helluva dancer too.)

Last week I made a decision to give up my beach condo. I would have had to commit to renewing the lease by the 1st of the month. It was the honorable thing to do. The lease is paid up thru May 1st, but the husband and wife who own it have been gracious landlords and it'd be wrong to string them out waiting for me to renew when they could be showing it for the upcoming season. Much as I love the beach, it's a tough environment in which to try getting around with limited functionality - canes and walkers don't mix well with sand dunes and water.

I'd been scoping out a senior housing complex in the city from afar. Portland, Maine is a happening place, Many people prefer it over Boston. The complex's grounds were nice. I called and had an application mailed to me and over Easter weekend I gathered all the necessary documents stipulated in the app and drove up to check out the units. The idea of living in a 200 unit complex of senior citizens seemed more practical and sociable, and although I don't feel or look like a senior (yah, that's what they all say) it was time I accepted the fact. That it was $400 bucks a month cheaper had absolutely nothing to do with it.

The manager told me there was a one to two year wait for a ground floor unit She said she could put me in a second floor apartment with new paint, new rugs, and new appliances immediately. The kicker? No elevator. Apparently able-bodied seniors couldn't deal with the stairs. How was I going to with one bum leg and one subluxed shoulder? I hadn't tried to navigate a set of stairs since the stroke, and this past winter had been especially harsh, too harsh to get much walking in. No guts, no glory,right? Up we went. It wasn't easy but it felt good to work the legs hard. The unit was okay, so without dwelling further on it I told her I'd take it. Now to figure out how to get the groceries in.