You know something is not right when your new doctor tells you that you need to have a blood test done. Immediately.
"But I just had a blood test done with my previous doctor, doctor," I told her, attempting to lighten the moment.
What's even worse is, post-blood test, when your doctor tells you your cholesterol is elevated and you'd best be taking medication in order to bring it down. How elevated? Am I going to die in the next 27 minutes or 27 days?
It turns out that it's only 'slightly' elevated. Loosely translated, that means there will be many more blog posts to come, my esteemed readers! It also means I'm 'mostly' healthy, but that is me paraphrasing the doctor's words just a wee bit.
So now my new doctor has called in a prescription that will reduce my cholesterol quickly and efficiently. There was no talk of weight loss, diet or exercise. We jump straight to medicine. Quackery.
Luckily, my father is a doctor. I had him look into my numbers and the medicine that has been prescribed to me and, as these things often are, it's quite problematic.
Why is it problematic? Allow me to tell you. Some of the side effects of Pravastatin, the medicine the doctor was so quick to prescribe, include general pain, fatigue and chest pain. News flash -- at my age, those are the same symptoms of exercise, which is supposed to have a positive effect upon my cholesterol.
Some of the other side effects include dizziness, cough, rash and diarrhea. And these are just the common reactions. I, the English major, can't pronounce or spell many of the less common side effects! What the heck is lupus erythematosus, anyway?! How do you say that?
And yet another side effect is cognitive impairment! I certainly don't need any medicine to impair my abilities to make my subjects and verbs agree. Or, even worse, the medicine could cause me to split my infinitives!
The saddest part of this whole sordid affair is my diet. I've been told that I may... Okay, delete 'may.' I will have to change my diet. And, unfortunately and most grievously, the first thing to go will be my beloved pepperoni pizzas and hot dogs!
fuzzy, black dogs
The original three fuzzy, black dogs -- Bob, Ace and Lilly.
Thursday, June 20, 2013
Thursday, June 13, 2013
Fuzzy, Soapy, Black Dogs
I'm a horrible and mean dog owner. I don't starve my dogs. I don't beat them with the garden hose. I don't stick their noses in it when 'accidents' occur in the house. I do something even more nefarious and cruel. I bathe them!
The staging area for bath time is the walkway that goes from the front of my house to the road. Translation -- fuzzy, black dog baths are a spectator event for all to see in my neighborhood!
Just so you know, bathing one dog really isn't so bad, depending on the dog, of course. If you've got more than one dog, though, you have to keep going, obviously. Bathing two dogs could be best described as a debacle. Three dogs, and one of those dogs just happens to be a spaniel, could be best described simply as a chaotic frenzy!
Dog bath prep time is considerable. First I have to change into a swim suit and an old t-shirt. Then I have to kennel all three foul smelling quadrupeds. This merely prevents escapes. Then the leash and shampoo must be located and placed in the staging area. And, finally, I have to dredge out the dreaded garden hose.
Once the garden hose is out and the water flowing, it's game on! There's pulling, tugging, whining, cuts, scrapes, bruises, leash burns and fur and water flying. And the dogs even cause some of that!
My wife likes to watch. She's even been known to help out. She helps by reminding me that I'm outside and there are neighborhood kids when the muttering and cursing reaches an audible level.
And the dogs? They put up with it, mostly. They always survive bath time, albeit without the stink.
Ace, my best bath dog, dutifully deals with it and doesn't give me a hard time. Lilly, the orneriest of the bunch, gives me an icy stare like she'll sever my jugular vein in my sleep.
And Bob, the water spaniel who hates water and bath time, has learned a new trick.
He stops and gives me that cute, sweet spaniel look and edges closer to me. As soon as our noses are inches away, he utilizes his long floppy ears. He shakes quickly, slapping my face with his now wet, soapy weapons.
Luckily, it's summertime now. Dog washing is so much easier in the summertime. No walls to clean. No floors to mop. No plumbers to call to pull hair clogs. No evil hair-dryers.
Until I win the lottery and can pay someone to groom the fuzzy, black dogs, I'll just have to do it myself. In fact, I'm looking for my swimsuit right now.
The staging area for bath time is the walkway that goes from the front of my house to the road. Translation -- fuzzy, black dog baths are a spectator event for all to see in my neighborhood!
Just so you know, bathing one dog really isn't so bad, depending on the dog, of course. If you've got more than one dog, though, you have to keep going, obviously. Bathing two dogs could be best described as a debacle. Three dogs, and one of those dogs just happens to be a spaniel, could be best described simply as a chaotic frenzy!
Dog bath prep time is considerable. First I have to change into a swim suit and an old t-shirt. Then I have to kennel all three foul smelling quadrupeds. This merely prevents escapes. Then the leash and shampoo must be located and placed in the staging area. And, finally, I have to dredge out the dreaded garden hose.
Once the garden hose is out and the water flowing, it's game on! There's pulling, tugging, whining, cuts, scrapes, bruises, leash burns and fur and water flying. And the dogs even cause some of that!
My wife likes to watch. She's even been known to help out. She helps by reminding me that I'm outside and there are neighborhood kids when the muttering and cursing reaches an audible level.
And the dogs? They put up with it, mostly. They always survive bath time, albeit without the stink.
Ace, my best bath dog, dutifully deals with it and doesn't give me a hard time. Lilly, the orneriest of the bunch, gives me an icy stare like she'll sever my jugular vein in my sleep.
And Bob, the water spaniel who hates water and bath time, has learned a new trick.
He stops and gives me that cute, sweet spaniel look and edges closer to me. As soon as our noses are inches away, he utilizes his long floppy ears. He shakes quickly, slapping my face with his now wet, soapy weapons.
Luckily, it's summertime now. Dog washing is so much easier in the summertime. No walls to clean. No floors to mop. No plumbers to call to pull hair clogs. No evil hair-dryers.
Until I win the lottery and can pay someone to groom the fuzzy, black dogs, I'll just have to do it myself. In fact, I'm looking for my swimsuit right now.
Sunday, June 9, 2013
Surprise! Happy Father's Day!
I love the month of June. It usually means warmer weather, swimming and other water sports commencing for the season. It also means Father's Day, which ranks as pretty cool in my book!
I'm a little worried about Father's Day, though. The spousal and teenage units in my household have not asked me what I want to do. They haven't even asked me what I want! This worries me.
"Don't worry," they both tell me. "We've got everything under control. It's planned out and ready to go."
Like I said, I'm worried. What's planned out? What's ready to go? My Karman Ghia ragtop I've dreamed about now for... Well, I don't know how many years!
Perhaps the plan includes a publisher. And a kidnapping scheme. They'll tie him up and hold him hostage until he agrees to publish one of my incredibly cool children's stories I've written. But that could backfire, so probably not.
I feel certain that it involves dinner, though I'm not sure where. Instincts, and the fact that I've whined about wanting to go for more than a year, tells me that we may be eating dinner at Shane's Rib Shack in Greensboro. I certainly hope so. However, my wife and son can be quite unpredictable.
Sadly, I have not put 100% effort in to extracting this information from either my wife or my son. It just wouldn't be fair to pit my considerable wit and intellect into such a nefarious scheme. I like a challenge, but sometimes I actually like to be surprised, too.
Regardless, I'm sure it will be most enjoyable since it's been planned and in the works now for more than a month. If my son or wife ask me about tying knots, then I'll start to really worry.
I'm a little worried about Father's Day, though. The spousal and teenage units in my household have not asked me what I want to do. They haven't even asked me what I want! This worries me.
"Don't worry," they both tell me. "We've got everything under control. It's planned out and ready to go."
Like I said, I'm worried. What's planned out? What's ready to go? My Karman Ghia ragtop I've dreamed about now for... Well, I don't know how many years!
Perhaps the plan includes a publisher. And a kidnapping scheme. They'll tie him up and hold him hostage until he agrees to publish one of my incredibly cool children's stories I've written. But that could backfire, so probably not.
I feel certain that it involves dinner, though I'm not sure where. Instincts, and the fact that I've whined about wanting to go for more than a year, tells me that we may be eating dinner at Shane's Rib Shack in Greensboro. I certainly hope so. However, my wife and son can be quite unpredictable.
Sadly, I have not put 100% effort in to extracting this information from either my wife or my son. It just wouldn't be fair to pit my considerable wit and intellect into such a nefarious scheme. I like a challenge, but sometimes I actually like to be surprised, too.
Regardless, I'm sure it will be most enjoyable since it's been planned and in the works now for more than a month. If my son or wife ask me about tying knots, then I'll start to really worry.
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