Life Is Such A Sweet Insanity.

As the week progresses, I must say that my recovery is going well. Things itch where I can’t scratch them and I’m accepting that as an undeniable indicator of the healing process. Monday is just around the corner (when I can take out this catheter once and for all), even though it feels like it’s taking forever to get here. I’m not using my pain medicine during the day and it’s all quite bearable so I guess I’m doing o.k.

One thing that this surgery has given me the opportunity to do is to see what actually comes out of me. Having been instructed to drink a LOT of water this week, I’ve been drinking about double my normal consumption of water, I’m guessing about 2 gallons or so a day. That doesn’t include the iced tea that I have with lunch or supper or the juice I have in the morning. I used to also have a Diet Pepsi for my afternoon treat.

Notice I just said “used to”.

I’ve dinked (no pun intended) with the idea of giving up soda for the past couple of years but have always given in and started back up again. When I started having the difficulties, I read online that soda consumption can aggrevate the your bladder and associated plumbing. I began to look for a correlation and sure enough, when I drank soda, it made it even harder for me to urinate (which wasn’t an easy task to begin with). Then I read my friend Kook’s experience with drinking soda and the ulcers it gave him. So I cut way back to one 20 oz bottle a day and pretty much whatever was available to me on the weekend. I shudder to think that when I was doing the night shift on the radio, I was drinking at least a two-liter bottle of Pepsi (or sometimes even Jolt!) during my four hour air shift! I was so jacked up I think I licked the ceiling a couple of times.

Anyways, I’ve noticed that my urine is much darker and a little thicker after drinking the diet soda I’ve been having in the afternoon. It’s only for about an hour or so, then it goes back to the pale yellow, almost clear stuff that I’ve been seeing otherwise. It’s kind of neat being able to see what’s what, because usually everything mixes in the toilet and you get an odd shade of green (when mixed with the blue treated water) or some other derivative of the rainbow. Except magenta or violet. Magenta or violet in the toilet would make me nervous.

So today I am going without my little caffeine boost to see if the pattern continues. If it does, then I have to figure out what else in my diet is affecting things. But I have my money on the soda.

Just say no!

As I mentioned near the beginning of the year, I’ve been faithfully following along with the latest incarnation of American Idol. I thought the initial auditions were a little outrageous. I haven’t really cared for the semi-finals, as I did not agree with the new voting process where you vote off a guy or girl specifically to make the Top 12 evenly balanced. I didn’t see the point.

Especially since I find the talent to be a little bit lacking this year.

Now, I have been trained in various aspects of music. And I know that there’s a ton of technology out there that can make a relatively good singer a superstar. But to me, this use of technology is cheating. To make it big, you can’t be a good singer, you can’t be a great singer, you have to be an incredible singer. You have to blow the socks off your audience, even without accompaniment, even without a microphone and even without a computer boost. Granted, it may not sound as polished. It may not sound as smooth, but the notes should be on and the feeling should be there.

You have to have talent to be a true superstar.

There are many true superstars in the music industry. Unfortunately, there’s also a bunch of computer generated imposters littering the landscape. I think there’s only a couple of contestants on American Idol this season that can become true superstars: Anwar and Nadia. I’m hoping they’ll make the final two. I hope America gets it right. Let’s sit back and watch the show. Even if we have to cover our ears sometimes.

I am writing this blog entry from office. Yes, I’m back in the race, sloshing around my cubicle. I feel somewhat like I work for the OSI, keeping my bionics discreet and hiding my secret from the likes of mortal men and women. Musn’t let my tubing show for they’ll expect me to move in slow motion making ch ch ch ch ch sounds.

I’m making it through the day and it feels good. Please cue “I Made It Through The Rain” by Barry Manilow.

I spoke with the doctor today and explained the situation to him. I don’t have a follow up appointment, but rather, will be taking the catheter out myself this coming Monday. We don’t want too much irritation in that area but we do want everything to heal up pretty well. So here we are.

Not only do I feel like a million bucks, I feel like Six Million Bucks.

Again, this blog entry is a frank discussion of a somewhat adult topic. If you or anyone in your traveling party feels uncomfortable or unwilling to proceed, please let the flight attendant know and they will kindly reseat you in a tamer blog entry. Thank you.

I’ve often commented about how time is flying by. The world is moving at a near hypersonic pace and I am desperately trying to slow down and savor what’s around me.

Time has now come to a grinding halt. When you have a tube sticking out the end of your penis for 2 1/2 weeks, the days, hours, hell, even the minutes tend to stretch out to infinity. And it’s only day four.

I am doing better this morning than I was yesterday at this time. I am definitely healing, but I’m feeling like all the healing done during the day is getting undone at night when I try to sleep and end up having erotic dreams. It hurts like hell and doesn’t allow me the luxury of completing the dream or getting back to sleep. I have a call in the doctor’s office to see if this is normal or if it should be a concern, I’m awaiting their return call.

I have been parallel parked on the couch since Friday afternoon, save for getting up for a few meals, taking a shower on Saturday and going to the bathroom to empty my bag of fun. My Mom stopped by for a visit yesterday, and she was a most welcomed site. She added another stuffed animal to my collection and brought some delicious cookie-cake type things that are just delightful!

Earl has been working hard playing health care attendant. And we’ve been watching television. Lots of television. And even more television. Last night we watched the movie “Big Fish” (excellent movie, by the way). Yesterday I watched “Airport 1975” with Charleton Heston and Karen Black. I have a bunch of disaster movies geared up for TiVo. This morning I couldn’t sleep so I watched a documentary on how they build the great Ice Hotel in Iceland.

Slowly but surely, however, I am losing my mind. I’m just bored. I want to go to work as I’m scheduled to go to work tomorrow but I’m nervous about the blood that I’m still seeing. I really don’t know how I’m going to work all rigged up like this. I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. I’ll just await the doctor’s return call for now.

It’s my third day of recovery from my surgery. I feel like I was whipped in and out of the hospital so fast on Friday that I include it in the number of recovery days. I wish I could say that I feel great and everything is coming along wonderfully, but I don’t really feel that way. I am slowly losing my mind.

For the faint of heart, you may wish to skip the rest of this entry and wait until my next witty dialog before reading my blog again. What follows is a frank discussion of a personal topic. You’ve been warned.

I don’t think my urologist took into account that I am a horny little bastard. I’m not experiencing any pain from the surgery. My urine is clear, as it should be. It’s been eight hours since my last pain pill (which usually last four to six) and I feel like I could go a couple of hours before taking one again. But I do have one remaining problem. I can’t sleep. When I sleep, I dream and when I dream, I get erections, and having an erection with a catheter has got to be one of the most painful experiences I can imagine. So I’m dogged tired and when my mind tries to give me sweet dreams I feel like I’m being tortured.

While I was in the recovery room, the doctor met with Earl to discuss post-op stuff. Knowing Earl like I do, he was very thorough and asked many questions. One of the questions he asked was about erections. The doctor said that my body would sense that something is different down there and when I started to feel pain, the erection process would come to a halt and I wouldn’t have difficulty with that. Problem is, I’ve always felt pain down there. Peeing or otherwise, I’ve always felt a little pain and its never slowed me down. So much for that theory.

I don’t know if it’s suppose to be like this or not. Everything feels fine down there, except when I’m trying to sleep. I don’t know how in the world I am suppose to keep this catheter in me for two more weeks, I’ll pass out from exhaustion long before that.

I’m going to call the doctor tomorrow and see if there’s another course of action that I can take. It probably won’t do any good, but maybe it’ll make me feel less miserable.

Inspired by my friend Thom’s blog, I took a listen to “Reelin’ In The Years” by Steely Dan on iTunes. His current blog entry talks about The iPod Playlist Book. I’ll have to get a copy.

Anyways, I never knew the name of that song and I never knew the lyrics. I just sort of hummed along to the track whenever it was on. I love that song, but I never knew the title. I feel like I’ve been let in on a little secret or something.

A similar thing happened to me about 10 years ago, when I thought “I’m not talking about movin’ in…” in “I’d Really Love To See You Tonight” was “I’m not talking about the linen…”

I wish I could blame that misheard lyrics on drugs, but I just started my pain medication today.

I am typing this blog entry from the comfort of the couch in our great room. Earl has been playing nurse all day, tending to my needs. I think I’m a little loopy from the pain medication I’m on, so if I’m incoherent, I apologize.

My surgery went well. I had not one, not two, but three blockages in my urethra so the procedure was a little more involved than they initially planned. But as the doctor told Earl afterwards, I’ll be as good as new once everything heals. Since this was a little more involved, I am going to have the catheter for two weeks instead of just one as initially planned. I could be peeing right now as I type for all I know. I’m a little frustrated by the catheter, but I think I’m more frustrated that sex is off limits for a little longer than anticipated. I guess I’ll have to stay away from the internet porn while I’m recovering.

I have to admit that at first I was nervous this morning, and after sharing my fears with Earl, I got past it and thought of the whole experience as a field trip. I decided to remember everything and everyone and to document what I felt as the anesthesia did its thing and such.

The people that helped me out today were named (in order of appearance), Joanne, Maureen, Ruth, a couple of OR specialists that didn’t tell me their name and Nina. Everyone, and I mean every single person I worked with today, was extremely kind and made me feel at ease throughout the ordeal. Maureen even apologized for the pain from the IV, and Joanne told me to savor every drop of water that I got with my pre-surgery pills, as that’s all I was getting for a while. (I had told her I was dead thirsty, having to fast all night last night.)

I’m somewhat shocked that I had a very, very vivid dream during the anesthesia. It began with a visit to Walt Disney World (the OR nurse had told me to think about my last vacation as I was going under) and then for some strange reason, Earl and I were holding hands and sort of floating up Route 11 near Potsdam, N.Y. I don’t know why my brain, or my soul, or the universe, or whomever, decided that I needed to see Potsdam of all places, especially at this time of year, but I felt very at ease and very happy. It was probably the drugs, but I like to think that I had some spirit guides or something along with my on the journey, as my maternal grandmother and my paternal grandfather’s side of the family are both from that neck of the woods.

The actual surgery took just under an hour, I was out of the recovery room by 10:00 a.m. and Earl was driving me home shortly after noon. I initially had planned on going to work on Monday, but the doctor thought that perhaps I should sit Monday out, and possibly Tuesday depending how I’m feeling. I’m a little anxious about having the catheter in me for two weeks, as I’m suppose to emcee Miss Mohawk Valley next weekend, and as I mentioned before, it’s a little hard to mobilize, let alone make love with this thing going on. But I guess it’s all for the better.

So I guess I’m going to embark on building a new empire on SimCity, watch a lot of television, take naps and maybe do some work on the website for the next couple of days before I feel well enough to get back to work. I’m also going to lie still and just listen to the sounds of our beautiful home.

Earl has been wonderful. He bought me a new stuffed animal, a little cat with stripes. His name is Mussy. I know, I’m a big kid at heart. I’ve been an emotional mess this afternoon, mostly because of the pain medication (I got emotional when Blanche was arguing with ‘Big Daddy’ on the Golden Girls for crying out loud), but despite my little procedure today, I feel like a million bucks right now.

If I had one wish and only one wish, I would wish that everyone in the world gets to experience the love that I enjoy.

There I go getting all emotional again.

I have a habit of comparing things. “How were Ames and Hills different? How were they similar?” “What moment in my life is similar to the moment I’m experiencing right now?” I don’t know why I do these things, but I do.

With my surgery all confirmed for tomorrow (bright and early, I may add), I am reminded of the last time I had the surgery. It was my senior year of high school; I believe in March 1986. With my memory not being as perfect as it used to be, I can’t remember the exact details, but I think I’m pretty close. Naturally, I’m comparing the two scenarios.

Then: I was infatuated with the pop music world. I had to get the latest copy of Billboard every week. I spent money on 12-inch singles, including Animotion’s “Obsession” and Shannon’s “Let The Music Play.”
Now: I’m infatuated with all kinds of music. I check out the music charts and keep tabs on American Idol. I spend lots of money downloading music on iTunes.

Then: Lots of hair on my head, styled damn near close to a mullet, with two hairs and a lot of blond fluff passing as a “mustache”.
Now: No hair on my head, a goatee and the start of another beard.

Then: I was just winding down a “relationship” with my high school girlfriend. I knew what I wanted, I knew who I was, I had only shared it with one person and she wasn’t it, in many respects. Being geeky and gangly, I lacked self confidence.
Now: I have found the love of my life. When I said “I do”, I did forever. I know who I am, I know what I want, and I am damn proud of it. I have a good dose of self confidence. I like to think I turn heads.

Then: I was chatting and sending e-mail on my first computer, a Commodore VIC-20, at 300 baud using a service called GEnie.
Now: I’m chatting and sending e-mail plus a million other things, on my umpteenth computer, an Apple PowerBook G4. “Baud” no longer applies on my Adelphia Broadband cable connection.

Then: I was driving a 1976 Pontiac Astre and within a year would inherent a 1978 Chevy Impala.
Now: I drive a 2001 Chevy Impala!

Then: I had never done recreational drugs nor drank.
Now: I’ve never done recreational drugs (though I have told certain people that I did in a worthless effort to “fit in” in the past) and I rarely drink.

One of the things that I’m thankful for is that medical technology has progressed in leaps and bounds since my last surgery, and this time will hopefully finally fix the little problem that I’ve been living with since that last surgery in 1986.

I’ll let you know how the bionics upgrade went tomorrow night.

As I’ve gone on about since, well, since I’ve had this blog, I’m constantly trying to lose weight in an effort to be a healtier, leaner, muscular stud muffin. While I have made some good strides in this effort, I still feel I have a ways to go. But if you think about it, who is ever really happy with their body?

I know that exercise is the key, but I just can not get myself motivated to stare at cement block walls and ride a bike to nowhere. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve had some great long distance cycling accomplishments in the past or whether I just don’t like the way I sit on my exercise bike, but I just can not get up the motivation to jump up on there and pedal, pedal, pedal and pedal away the pounds. I find the exercise tedious and monotonous. So I’m thinking of getting back into my yoga practice.

I took a yoga class at Utica College back in the summer of 1998 and it was wonderful. I was the only guy in the class and found that I enjoyed it very much, despite the lack of eye candy. There were some startling aspects, like watching the older women trying to put their nose to the back of their thighs, but for the most part it was a great experience and helped me feel more in touch with my body (nose to the back of the thigh notwithstanding). I didn’t even mind getting showered with sweat from the big Italian woman the was on the mat next to me. It helped me feel butch.

Unfortunately, I think I’ve forgotten most of the poses. One of the important things to remember about yoga, so said the instructor, was that you need to do the poses correctly or you could at the very least negate any exercise type benefit from the practice and at the most really hurt yourself, like relocating your shoulder to your buttocks permanently or something. I do remember a pose called “The Cat” which resembled a cat licking it’s butt but I don’t remember how to get there. Perhaps I need to consult Tom the next time he goes through his routine.

I guess I’ll buy a DVD and start up the practice again. If I get myself into the shape of a pretzel, I’ll share a picture with you.

Mother Nature has given us one more blast of winter to remind us that it’s not quite spring yet. Yesterday was just a teaser, with temperatures in the mid 50s and the sun shining down. Today it’s 18 degrees and we’re under a winter storm warning.

After yesterday’s respite afternoon, I don’t feel all down in the dumps about this weather. I find the public too amusing. People are bundling up like it’s the 1st of January. Shoppers are grabbing the bread and milk at the grocery store and who cares if the cupboard is fully stocked! They can squeeze that one extra loaf of bread to take us through this calamity.

As usual, all rules of the road are null and void. Green lights mean “sissy”, yellow lights mean “move it” and red lights mean “fsck you, I’m coming through.” Parking lot lines that denote where you are to park have become invisible. Either that or they are dancing under the snow, rearranging the format of the parking lot at whim. Parking four deep is a wonderful strategy at the mall. Why we don’t do it in nicer weather is beyond me.

I often complain about the hysteria that grips this area when it comes to a snow storm. You’d think after 15 years here I’d be over it, but I’m amazed at how much difference being 60 miles southeast of where I grew up can make. I mean, I don’t remember this “sky is falling” attitude that seems to overtake here back when I was a kid. It’s a few flakes of snow! Deal with it, people.

Like everyone, I’m ready for spring. And despite the temperatures and the wind and the snow and the slush and the hysteria, you can still feel spring in the air. It’s a little colder than usual. The skies are gray instead of blue. But the wind carries the unmistakeable, indescribeable feeling of “spring”. Let’s just keep it together until it gets here.