Who says you can't run from your troubles?

It has come to my attention that not many people understand why some people run, or even work out at all. Guys at work think that just because it's winter we should all sit around and be lazy. I'm reminded that had I not been in excellent physical condition when I had my surgery, I would not have healed as quickly or as well. I think that's one of the best reasons to not just stay healthy, but strive to be in amazing shape. You never know when you'll have to deal with either physical or mental trauma, and being healthy and in shape can only help you get through that. Facing the daily onslaught of "why don't you just not run today? do it tomorrow! and so forth, I wrote down some of the most important reasons for why I lace up my tennis shoes when it's cold outside, or hot, or snowing or whatever.

I run because my days of swimming 2-3 hours a day, 6 days a week, are over and I need something to help quiet my mind and help me sleep at night. I run because I'm not naturally gifted with the strength and speed of a mountain goat and the next time I hump 40 lbs of gear up the hill may be my last. I run to forget what's best forgotten and to remember what worth remembering. I run to forgive those who have wronged me, and most importantly, to forgive myself. I know what it feels like to be unable to take a deep breath, so I run in order to fill my lungs with as much air as possible. I run so that I know that my legs can take me miles from where I stand, while some people are unable to walk at all. I run to let off steam, or prevent it from building in the first place so that I don't kill the next guy who ticks me off. So the next time I say I have to fit a run into my schedule, don't try to talk me out of it. The life you save may very well be your own.

Hell, Part I

I live in "God's country", where trees instead of buildings line the horizon and meth labs run by tweakers and pot heads are hidden blemishes beneath goopy concealer that's one shade too light. Noah lives down the road in Lockwood Valley and his ark is parked in his driveway; I saw it on my 5 mile run this morning. He's waiting for the valley to be washed out and all the heathens with it and I don't doubt the ark is filled with heavy artillery. I believe I'm only one of 6 people who don't drop acid in this town of 200 that has 3 churches and no Starbucks. Self-described back country folk talk down about the city and its dirty crime and heartless citizens, but I've seen more filth and ugliness in small towns than I ever have in large cities. In cities it's proportional; in small towns it takes over like the Plague. You can see it in their pocked faces, rotted teeth and fried hair, with their eyes not set quite right and their expressions hardened into a permanent sneer. You see it in their six children and subsequent marriages that hang on despite the beatings, cheatings and drunken fights.

I pound the rubber soles of my tennis shoes against hard pavement, dodging stares from everyone who's wondering why on God's green earth anyone would be out exercising on Christmas when it's one more day you could be tweaking at home without having to call in sick to work. Sorry folks, Santa didn't leave crack in my stocking this year so I'm loading up on endorphins and a nice big cup of "I'm getting the fuck out of here" with all the money I'm saving by living in this hell-hole.

The county sheriff hardly patrols the streets anymore because they know if they arrested everyone who broke the law, this place would become a ghost town and there'd be no one to serve the masses of snow bunnies that flock in from the valleys everytime we get an inch of snow. The town caters to the outsiders they hate because they know it brings in the only business they'll ever see, outside of the gas stations posted by the freeway. The snow bunnies see this town as a paradise of fluffy snow covering a forest of trees and cute little shops with small town names like "A Spot of Bead" and "The Screaming Squirrel". Stay awhile and you may find there's more "snow" to be bought if you knock on the door of one of the shacks at the end of the unkempt dirt roads that weave through town. The best view I ever saw of this place was from the rear view mirror as I shifted gears and stepped on the gas. Take a photo of that.

Leaping

Every once in awhile, I like to take blind leaps into the unknown. I have no idea where I got it from, and some might say it's my sense of adventure. But let's not kid ourselves. We all know blind leaps don't always go as one hopes.

Case in point: a blind leap got me to lovely Frazier Park. While I have developed a few very awesome friendships that I wouldn't give up for the world, it has also brought me quite a bit of hardship and negativity.

Leap two landed me in the bathtub in the middle of winter with the window open, locked in the bathroom to get fresh air. Apparently my roomate thinks it kind to disguise her pothead ways with large doses of incense that unfortunately for myself and the dog, got swept into the air intake vent and pumped into the living room where we were both sitting peacefully. When I realized where it was coming from I shut off the heater and opened both my bathroom window and my bedroom window. I'm so thrilled that we have another winter storm moving in. If this keeps up I'm pitching a tent in the back yard and taking the dog with me. I think he's getting high in the living room as we speak. Maybe we'll get burried under a couple feet of snow and I won't have to go in to work. Brilliant idea.

So what am I going to do about this mess? I'm going to do what I do best: leap. This morning I put in a couple applications for hotshot crews in Salt Lake City, Fort Collins, Durango, Flagstaff and Prescott. Damn right I'm feeling froggy. Ribbit.

Merry Christmas!

I'm here in beautiful Frazier Park (insert sarcasm here) enjoying the peace and quiet that this holiday has brought me.... besides the sound of Dylan snoring while using my foot as a pillow. It's really quite cute. Dylan is my friend (and roomate) Shelly's dog, and Shelly is in Wisconsin for the holidays. Unfortunately I don't run as fast nor as far as Shelly so I'm having a hard time wearing him out. Dylan is Australian Shepherd and Border Collie mix and has herding blood in him like you wouldn't believe. Corey also has a herding dog, but at least he's smaller and has less of an effect on the direction of your path. I had a super cute picture of Dylan moping from our too-slow run yesterday (too slow for him anyway) but it's on my phone and I can't figure out how to get it from my phone to my computer. Dylan is the most well behaved dog I know... unless he has some bottled up energy to release. Then he forgets his manners and etiquette and can be quite frustrating.

Take yesterday's run for example. I was already cranky and sore from a 5 mile hike (with a 45lb weight vest on) and had several blisters on each foot. I got home and still had a 5 mile run to do, that both Dylan and my current marathon training plan were depending on. Well everywhere in Frazier Park is uphill, and my house sits at 4,500 ft...and only goes up from there. Dylan doesn't seem to mind the hills...or the altitude. He's used to running marathons at a 7 min pace with Shelly. And he's a herding dog. Imagine my frustration as he herded me up and down the hills of Frazier Park while I attempted to keep him out of the traffic. I had his leash clipped around my waist, and he knew it. So he grabbed the leash with his teeth and pulled me up the hills. Yes that does make it easier to run up the hills but at some point it gets irritating as well.

He's also well trained to run along side the roads. We run on the left side, facing oncoming traffic. When a car comes, I say "Get over" and Dylan gets off the road and onto the shoulder. This only made it that much more difficult when I decided that for our safety, on the way back we would run with traffic being as it was the only side of the road with any shoulder at all. Dylan didn't agree. He grabbed the leash in his teeth again and yipped at me to cross the street. We were at a curvy area where we'd be sure to be hit by a car if we were on the other side, so I disobeyed him. That didn't make him any happier and for some reason we were heading back uphill (seriously, uphill both ways) so I got cranky again. We continued to argue about the situation until we finally crossed the street.

Today was a shorter but slightly faster run. At least this time he was actually breathing hard when we got home. Yesterday we got home and he was yawning from boredom. I think he needs a treadmill.

Running in the altitude and almost always uphill is making me an angry runner (yes, I know how you feel now Corey). Not to mention there's not really a whole lot of running routes in Frazier Park except for the trails out in the mountains. Besides being at much higher altitudes (6,000-8,000 ft) there's also no one out there to rescue me if attacked by a mountain lion or bear. As much faith as I have in Dylan, they might outweigh him by a couple hundred pounds. Other than that, the running consists of either high speed roads (the safer bet) or running through town (not so safe). No one runs in Frazier Park, and it shows. I get some pretty crazy stares from the locals who can see I'm so obviously not from around here. We just recently got sidewalks put in in town but they only go about half a mile or so. And since no one expects runners to be on the road (or any pedestrians at all) they drive as if vehicles are the only things out there.

Yeah, actually.

I went for a walk along the beach with Debbie today and it invoked an epiphany. I love my epiphanies, especially the good ones. And here's what it comes down to...

I didn't think I was ready to move back to San Diego because I feel if I do it will be for good. I'll buy a house or condo and spend the rest of my life hanging out with my friends, surfing year round (especially in the winter when I have more free time) and permanently joining a masters swim team. And maybe, just maybe, I'll find a guy who won't mind hanging out with me and having something sort of resembling a healthy relationship- but that's not as important as the fore mentioned items. I didn't feel I was ready for all that because it means I'm settling down, and who wants that? Am I getting old? I feel like I'm too young to be settling down. And by settling down, I'm not talking about with a guy. Let's just get that straight. I mean finding a place where I could live out the majority of what's left of my life, except for when I retire and I plan on moving to Mexico or Florida or some other exotic place like that, start smoking cigars, playing poker and dating men younger than 30. But that's still years down the road.

But then I started thinking about what I want out of life and what I'm getting out of it now.

By the way, maybe this epiphany really came from the coffee shop by Crystal Pier. They have really amazing mochas. I think Debbie did this to me on purpose, it's a conspiracy.

Back on topic, when I left to move to Frazier Park I needed a change. Let's back up a little. Most of you have heard this story before but I need to explain it to those who haven't. My Grandmother tells me I'm part Bohemian. I had to look it up because my mother told me that just meant Polish. Well it doesn't. Long story short, Bohemians became gypsies because they were chased out of their land and the country became one of the many "Slovakias" that are over in that part of the world. Or something like that. So as genetics usually go, the gypsy trait was passed to some, carried by others, but also missed quite a few. I was one of the "lucky" ones to inherit this restless trait. Yes, I get restless. Has anyone seen the movie "Chocolat"? Exactly.

What does all this mean? That the thought of living the rest of my life in the same place terrifies me. I feel like that means I've decided I'm through with what life has to offer and I'm ready to settle into the place of my death. I know, it's absolutely ridiculous but I can't help it. So chances are, even if (when) I move back here, I'll find some other way to wander off into strange places where I don't know anybody. It's in my blood, what can I say?

Where was I going with all this? Oh yeah. So I was thinking about what I want my life to be and where I'm at now, and more importantly- what I'm NOT getting out of life right now. I want to be near my friends. For several reasons:
1. If anything happens to me or one of them, we need to be close so we can take care of each other.
2. We can have girls night without me having to drive 3 hours or get on a plane. Girls night should be more frequent.
3. I can just meet up with one of them for coffee without having to plan weeks ahead of time.
4. Sometimes girls need emergency hugs and bottles of wine and that also can't be done long distance.

I also need to be near the ocean. Yes, you heard me right. I NEED to be near the ocean. Also somehow in my blood. I think if you breathe enough ocean air, it gets absorbed into your blood system or something. Do you know how long it's been since I surfed? No wonder why my vein collapsed, it didn't have enough ocean water in it!!

I need to be near a pool. Another absolute need here. Extensive research on myself and my moods has revealed a huge difference between the me with chlorine and the me without. We're talking a chemical dependency here. There's no pools in Frazier Park. Not to mention that I spent $24 on two Heartland Masters Swim Team swim caps and I left San Diego before the order came in. So somewhere there's two swimcaps with my name (literally) written on them. I'm sure they've been thrown away by now, but that's not the point. I need to get back on a swim team. It's good for me. It's cheap therapy.

I need to be in a city. It's important for me to have access to all the important things: trauma centers and hospitals, grocery stores, sushi restaurants, DSW, Target, and post offices that deliver mail directly to your door. Imagine that, by the way. Don't our taxes pay for those guys to deliver our mail? I don't pay taxes so that I have to drive on the ice and snow to get to the post office to pick up my mail out of my post office box. I thought only people with stalkers had post office boxes. Not so. In Frazier Park, everyone has one, or they don't get mail. Even on paved roads!

And while we're on the subject, I'm now working on banning myself from ice and snow altogether. I know right now that's kind of impossible, but it's for my own health, safety and emotional well-being. It's depressing, it's dangerous, and it's cold. Ice kills more people per year than toasters in bath tubs. I made that up. I tried to research it, but apparently "ICE" can also mean Immigration and Customs Enforcement, or be in reference to crystal meth. People die from both of those as well I guess.

Also, the quality of gyms in Frazier Park reminds me of the small stuffy gyms we had in high school. Not very impressive.

I had to buy a "trainer" for my bicycle in order to ride it year round in Frazier Park (FP). It converted it into an indoor bicycle. Maybe I need to live where I can ride it year round.

If the electricity goes out in San Diego, it's not usually a big deal. If it goes out in FP, I can literally die of hypothermia. At my age, that's not really a legit way to die. Kinda stupid if you ask me. And no, I can't start a fire in the middle of my living room, people. Then I would die of carbon monoxide poisoning.

So here's my plan. I'd really like to take another stab at Redding Hotshots, but I've got a feeling (for a couple reasons) that my home unit (FP) is not going to allow me to go. If they do let me go, I'll decide after this summer where it is I'm going to next. And that may or may not be San Diego. If they don't allow me to go, I'm going to seriously consider moving back to San Diego. I think I'm ready. Or at least ready for now. I guess I can still reserve the right to pack up and leave if the itch comes back (and it probably will). And I can always take vacations to strange, faraway lands in order to satisfy the urge.

So that's my epiphany as well as I'm able to describe it. That means no ladies, I'm not leaving for good.

San Francisco!

For the 8th time in my life, I found myself in the foggy city of the north. I flew in on Friday for a pre-op appointment and it drizzled all day long. On Saturday, my friend (and partner in crime) Corey flew up to hang out with me, baby me for my surgery, and see the town.

So on Saturday we had Sushi at the Sushi Boat restaurant and went on to Union Square. We shopped in a couple stores and then walked up to Chinatown. Corey bought a tea set. There was a store called Red Blossom Tea Company (http://www.redblossomtea.com/) where we learned a lot about the fine art of tea, smelled many great teas, and bought a few.

From there we took a cable car to the Wharf to have clam chowder in the famous San Francisco sourdough bread bowls. We walked around Pier 39 and then back to Ghiradelli Square to have hot fudge sundaes. After a long day, we were happy to climb on the bus and work our way back to the hotel to nurse our food comas.

On Sunday we got up early and had complimentary breakfast at the hotel (a major plus in my book). We headed over to Golden Gate Park to see the Japanese Tea Gardens and the Conservatory of Flowers.

Corey and I tend to get so distracted by things to do that we push ourselves to the brink of starvation. We made a plan not to let this happen anymore, but I think it did. Lunch was gyros at the Park Gyros place and then on to the Wharf to rent bicycles to ride across the bridge! From the Wharf to the end of the bridge and back is about 13 miles I guess. It was getting close to closing time and the lady told us it takes the average tourist 2.5-3hrs to do the ride. Well, Corey and I are not your average tourists. I guess you could call us super-tourists. We did the trip in just under 2 hours. And that's with plenty of picture stops along the way. Yeah, we know we're awesome.

After the long, arduous bike ride (dude, SF has hills) we were ready for some pasta in Little Italy (North Beach). After wandering around in the dark with a crappy map, we finally found it and stuffed ourselves on lasagna and ravioli. We found a cute little gelato place to finish up the meal. We hiked up to the cable car stop with our gelatos to end the perfect day. Back at the hotel, it finally occured to us how we could make tea without a microwave (or stove). We used the coffee pot in the hotel to make hot water, then placed one of our blooming teas into the pot. This one was a jasmine lilly and tastes like jasmine tea. Very cool.

Early Monday morning we got on the train to the hospital for my surgery- a necessary evil of the trip. It went much better than I expected. The surgeon removed the fistula and did one last (crossing fingers) angioplasty. I no longer have a noisy little frog jumping around in my wrist. He took me off the coumadin and put me on Plavix, which is kinda like coumadin but works a little differently. I have a follow-up scheduled for December 3rd, but if I'm feeling good and not having any symptoms I just have to call in. I only have to go if things aren't looking good. At that time he'll send me back to work and take me off the Plavix. By the time Corey and I got back to the hotel, my groin was quite swollen from the angioplasty and looked like I had a "package". I called the nurse to be sure it was ok and she just said to watch it for the next hour. It didn't get any bigger, so it was no big deal. It hurts a little though, but I've got plenty of pain killers saved up (and they gave me more).

That night we took the hotel shuttle back to Union Square and ate dinner at the Cheesecake Factory on the roof of Macy's. For dessert we each had a cheesecake of our own. I had a chocolate mousse cheesecake and Corey had a red velvet cake layered with original cheesecake. They were very good.

On Tuesday we hit up the stores again in Union Square. Corey and I got new shoes at DSW. If you've never been in a DSW, I highly recommend it. This one was two stories and almost twice the size of the one in San Diego. We went to Sephora and The Body Shop then headed out to the Embarcadero. The Embarcadero has lots of shops and a farmers market, as well as the ferry boats that shuttle commuters across the bay. We ate at a highly ranked sandwhich shop and had another dose of gelato. We met up with one of Corey's friends from high school and had hamburgers and ice cream (yeah, I know) for dinner.

Gelato and new shoes!

Wednesday was time to go home, so Corey's friend drove us to the airport where we made oragami creatures and drank hot chocolate until it was time to go. We had a lot of fun, and Corey being there took a lot of focus off my surgery and allowed me to enjo myself. I can't wait until the next adventure!

I'm running across the U.S.!

I just found this website while looking for a similar one. You log in your progress for running, walking or cycling across the United States. You can put in past mileage if you know it and start tallying current mileage. You can even have partners that you sort of race across America. You can get notifications if your partner passes you, you can set goals for the week and also view pictures of the road you're currently running on. Then you can look at the map to see where you're at. You run/walk/cycle from Virginia to Oregon. Check it out! Who wants to be my partner? I've logged almost 60 miles of running since my surgery!

http://exercise.lbl.gov/index.html

Halloween Fun!

The night before Halloween, Candace and I went to Craig and Margaret's (adult only) party. I was a devil (I know, it's a stretch) and Candace was a Beer Maid. We were supposed to go to another party last night but apparently we're at the age where only one is feasable.

I didn't change out of my pajamas at all yesterday. Last night Emily got all dressed up as a 'Bat'erina- a bat ballerina.

She went trick-or-treating with Mom and Dad while I stayed home to hand out candy.

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Here's a video of her doing a dance to "Thriller" which was playing at the neighbors house. She ran outside and said "Carrie, this is my favorite song!" and started dancing. Unfortunately I didn't realize that I can't rotate video like I can rotate pictures, so it's sideways. Sorry, don't know what to do about that. The Iron Sheik that appears halfway through is Emily's Uncle Ian. They were the perfect pair. Apparently they had practiced their moves at a dance party they held with stuffed animals the night before while Candace and I were at the party.

Good Morning

I'd like to welcome Robin to the fan club, thank you Robin- you will be receiving the action hero of me in the mail.

I was looking through some pictures of mine and came across the only halfway decent photo of my arm before surgery.

I'm not going to get into why there's tape wrapped around me, but I'l have you know that's exactly why my belly is sticking out like that- along with my poor posture.

So if you compare the tape on my right on to the tape on my left arm, you can see my left is quite a bit larger that my right. I really wish I had a better picture of this.

And here are some pictures of my beautiful scars:

This is my chest, the scar is doing really good. It could be better (it illicits stares once in awhile) but it looks like it'll fade quite well in time.

This is my leg where the vein graft was taken out of (and put into my chest). It's much less attractive than the one on my chest. Post-surgery it got a rather large hematoma (bloody tumor basically) so it didn't heal so well. Not to mention that my dissolvable scars decided to peak out of the skin, and once those are outside of the body they don't dissolve. But you can't pull them out either because they're attached to the inside of your body- so the wound doesn't fully close. The gunky residue from the hematoma is still in the tissue in my leg but it's slowly working its way out. It's got some hard areas and is still a little discolored. From what I'm told it can take a year or two for that to totally dissolve.

This is where the fistula is in my wrist. I'm crossing my fingers to hopefully get it removed in a week. I'll be going back to San Francisco on Nov. 9th for a venogram (picture of my veins) and if everything looks ok the fistula is coming out. I hope to wake up with stitches in my wrist!

So that was just an update. Happy Halloween everyone!

The Pumpkin Patch

First of all, I see my Aunt Pat is my only fan. The rest of you stink.

Yesterday I took my very first trip to the pumpkin patch with Candace and Emily. Until then, all my pumpkins just came from the grocery store. Who knew they actually grew on vines? Just kidding.

It was pretty crowded when we got there but lightened up not long after. We picked out a couple of pumpkins with "character" and had to haul them back to the car.

Emily went in to the little petting area to pet little goats, sheep and a duck. I don't think she touched the pig; even in its sleep it looked rather scary. Plus it was bigger than her. She hugged and kissed all the goats.

Then she got her face painted and got a little Halloween crown.

This is how she truly feels about getting her picture taken these days. She went through a phase maybe two years ago where she would smile so big for pictures that her eyes disappeared. Now she's been much more serious for things like taking pictures and riding ponies. Not anything to be taken lightly obviously. Somehow I captured a little smile during the very serious pony ride.

At the end of the day she didn't want to go home so I told her if she wanted to stay she'd have to pose for pictures in front of everything. It only worked for a few minutes before she was over the picture-taking. It was one of those days when you appreciate having a child around because you're seeing everything as new and exciting like when you were a kid. Who knew kissing a goat could be one of the most wonderful things in the world? And what better child to spend the day with than Emily? She's pretty neat... but I also enjoy getting to walk away and leave her with her mother when she's getting cranky.

New Addition

So I added a new little gadget to my blog called "Followers". I'm really not sure what it's supposed to look like since Blogger didn't have a very thorough description of what it is but I thought I'd give it a try. On the right you'll see a section for followers and you can add yourself if you feel so inclined. No, it probably won't make you famous. But when I get famous you can say you knew me before the papparazzi started chasing me, and you'll be on the blog to prove it. If the gadget turns out lame I'll probably just get rid of it.

You may be wondering what I've been doing with myself. The short answer is not a whole lot. I've been sentenced to at least another month of forced laziness due to my uncooperative vein. After a couple days of pouting about it, I decided to become a famous writer.

If only it worked that way. Why do all of the really great writers live in Maine? Am I missing something? It's cold there! Maybe that's the point: it's too cold to go outside so they sit inside and write all day. I would too. Not that I'm getting outside a whole lot here in the sunny side of the world.

I've submitted a few of my poems to some literary journals and a couple more are ready to go out to journals that only accept snail mail submissions. I would love to write a book and have been toying with some ideas. It's tough to hold on to inspiration though. Yes, I already know that writing involves a lot more discipline than just writing when you're inspired... I'm trying to adjust. Being as my income doesn't depend on it, it's hard to make myself do it some times.

Follow Your Instinct

I have really great instinct and I think I’m fairly smart. The problem is I sometimes have a hard time telling the difference between my instinct and my wild imagination. Imagine mixing those two up. Well I do. The only person who has really caught on to this is my best friend Candace. We’ve known each other for 13 years now, and she’s finally starting to question the things that come out of my mouth.

It started when we were 16. Candace had her license and I only had a learner’s permit. Who in their right mind gave that girl a license is beyond me, but it enabled us to branch out to bigger adventures than those that could be found within walking distance. It’s hard to get into trouble when you have to get a ride from your parents in order to get there. One night we were bored and decided to drive up to a fire her dad was working in Riverside. We didn’t know exactly where it was but figured we would get in the vicinity and then it would be obvious from there. Did I mention it was night time? We were pretty clever though, I must admit.

We got into Riverside and I stuck my nose out the window. When the smell of smoke got strong enough, we took the next exit and continued following my nose. We pulled into a gas station and inquired about the fire. Apparently the fire had blown through there the previous day. See what we didn’t know was that smoke can settle into an area not even close to the fire and all we were doing was following our noses. I’m not sure what our plan was once we got to the fire. Her dad probably would’ve given us an ass chewing if we showed up at one unannounced.

That little adventure was the spark that set us off on all kinds of excursions. Candace would drive (I have another story about her driving my first car) and I would give directions. Anyone who has driven with me more than twice can tell you that every trip is an adventure… meaning we take the scenic route, but always get there. That same year Candace and I went in search of Mt. Soledad- again at night when my direction is at its worst. She drove and I gave directions with enough authority that she followed every single one of them without questioning whether or not I knew where I was going. I guess I didn’t. We never found Mt. Soledad that night. You might be asking yourself why I wasn’t just honest with her and tell her I had no clue where I was or where we were going. That’s where it gets a little sticky. My instinct speaks rather loudly and generally knows what it’s talking about. However, my imagination speaks just as loudly and may or may not know what it’s talking about. Sometimes my imagination sounds like a general in command of an elite force: it knows what it’s talking about, it’s been here before and it’ll get us out of any situation that may arise. Don’t question the general.

After several years of Candace and I taking the long (and scenic) route to get everywhere, I asked her why it was she followed my directions at all.

“Because you sound so sure of yourself” she said.

“Well I am sure of myself” I replied, but now slightly confused as to how I could be so sure of myself and still be so wrong. I still wonder about that. From my understanding, if you don’t know what you’re talking about you should feel like you don’t know what you’re talking about. There should be some doubt when asked “Left or right?” What is a person to do when the voice inside says “Right” and there’s no tiny echo that says “Maybe left?” Don’t get me wrong, there’s plenty of times I’ve experienced what I would call doubt and usually express that to whomever I’m speaking to. What is this voice inside me that keeps speaking up when it has no idea what it’s talking about? And how do I shut it up?

The most recent escapade was what I think finally convinced Candace that she should question the consistency of my discoveries. I recently had my rib removed during a major surgery to correct a scarred vein in my shoulder. Of course I decided to keep the rib- who would pass up such a great opportunity? I considered bringing it back to the barracks and offering my crew and the smokejumpers that lived with us a taste of it. I thought that to be a great opportunity as well. Not many people get to say they’ve eaten human flesh. Unfortunately the rib had to first be sent to the pathology lab to be scanned for diseases that might kill me. After they were done with it they placed it in a jar of Formalin which nixed the possibility of anyone taking a bite unless they wanted to die an early, and probably painful, death. When it was ready to be picked up it was packaged in alcohol and water. It took great pains to reunite my rib and I, but one beautiful sunny day in San Diego my rib showed up at my front porch and all was well.

I spent all day boiling and plucking the preserved flesh off my rib. Once I got it cleaned up enough to see the details of it, I decided to compare it to online anatomy photos so that when I posted pictures of it, I could point out all the details of its tubercles and grooves. I was proud of my rib like a mother is proud of her child. Unfortunately, what I found led me to believe I was holding a right sided rib. Without a doubt (seriously this time) my left rib was removed. I poured over anatomy notes and tried every which way to figure out how this rib could sit on my left side. I figured it out. There was a girl who had her rib removed a day or two after mine. Her rib and mine must have been mixed up in the lab. I was pretty bummed because she didn’t seem like the type to hang on to her rib (in other words, she didn’t recognize opportunity when it came knocking) so I figured mine was gone for good. I called the doctors office and reported the mishap to my surgeon’s assistant and she informed me she would call the lab and find out how such a thing could happen.

Meanwhile I searched for better pictures of a rib and came up with one that hinted I might indeed be holding a left sided rib. I consulted Candace’s (rather wise) mother, which is probably something I should’ve done before I called the doctor’s office. She confirmed that with all evidence considered she believed it to be a left sided rib. Thankfully the lab had a sense of humor and wasn’t insulted at all and to my knowledge my surgeon never heard of this little mishap.

So when I approached Candace a couple weeks ago with the fear that my vein had clotted or narrowed again but was doubting myself thinking maybe I was just paranoid, she gave me a stern talking to and referred to the little rib mishap and suggested I may not always know what I’m talking about. I was insulted. Of course I always know what I’m talking about. After I set the hurt feelings aside I realized she was right as history has revealed. I started to wonder what on earth took her this long to start questioning the things that I say with such conviction.

But it’s not really that simple because see, my vein really had narrowed again and I ended up getting another angioplasty to open it up. So now I’m wondering if I’m right the times that I feel doubt and I’m wrong when I feel wholeheartedly convinced. Can anyone really be surprised that I’m so confused as to what is my gut instinct and what’s not? Maybe it’s that my imagination speaks louder than my instinct and I should start listening to the quiet voices instead.

Huh

I get the NSCA (National Strength and Conditioning Association) journal sent to me though email and occasionally read it. The recent one talks about sugar in our diet. Added sugar actually. Women are now recommended to have no more than 25g per day and men 37.5g (yeah they pretty much get the best of all worlds). So out of curiosity I decided to check up on the details of frozen yogurt. It's got less fat than regular ice cream but I've heard it's usually loaded with sugar in order to make up for the lack of taste from lower fat (for those who don't know- fat tastes fabulous- so does salt and sugar).

Since we all know ice cream can be absolutely horrendous to our health, I picked a relatively healthy kind to compare to the frozen yogurt. I chose Dreyers slow churned chocolate ice cream to compare to yogurtland's dutch chocolate frozen yogurt. For 4 ounces (half a cup) here's the results: the yogurt had 44 more calories, no fat (compared to 4g for the ice cream), no cholesterol (compared to 20mg in the ice cream), twice the sodium (68.8mg) of ice cream, twice the carbs (34.4), 7g more sugar, slightly more protein (0.6g) and 6% less calcium. The bottom line? If your cholesterol is high, you'd be better off with the yogurt, otherwise the ice cream is a healthier pick. For the ice cream, 3g of the total 4g of fat were saturated which isn't great. However there were no trans-fats in it. I'm thinking the extra carbs, calories, sodium and sugar in frozen yogurt would probably outweigh the measely 4g of fat in ice cream. Again, this was only for plain chocolate- no toppings added... and only for half a cup. If you tend to eat a cup (or more) of ice cream or frozen yogurt, you can do the math.

For info on yogurtland's nutritional values: http://www.yogurt-land.com/
For info on Dreyer's nutrional values: http://dreyers.slowchurned.com/idol
And for the NSCA Journal: http://www.nsca-lift.org/perform/

Oh and by the way, if you're looking to reduce your sugar intake by choosing Dreyer's No-sugar added, you'd be doubling your sodium intake. Generally not a good idea. Remember if you're taking something out, there's probably more of something else in it. Bummer huh?

Morning/Evening People

I just finished a paper in my Physiological Psychology class that focused on the moods of morning and evening type people after sleep deprivation. In case any of you were wondering, being a morning person (actually- morningness type) is a scientifically proven phenomenom. How we rank on the morningness-eveningness questionnaire dictates our sleeping habits as well as several personality traits. A simple version of the quiz can be found here: http://web.ukonline.co.uk/bjlogie/test.htm

I personally ranked 30 out of 32- being a strong morning person. There's a great study out that describes the personality traits of morning and evening type people, but you have to pay to read it... and I'm currently not bringing in a whole lot of dough, so I just read the abstract. Here's the gist of what I've found so far. Morning people scored higher in the activity category (apparently we do more stuff), morning type men were more neurotic and anxious, neither type women (those who don't fit into either category) showed the highest rate of neuroticism and anxiety- morning type women score low on the neuroticism/anxiety category. Morning people tend to be more introverted and evening people more extroverted. Interestingly enough, another study found that evening type people experienced psychological and psychosomatic disturbances more frequently and with more intensity than morning people, morning people tend to live a healthier lifestyle, and morning people tend to report having more satisfaction with life.

Looking this over, I've got a theory- based solely on personal experience. I feel like the world is covered with extroverts and evening type people. Morning people are forced to be introverts because they're awake long before the rest of the world, and go to sleep before everyone else does so we spend a significant amount of time with ourselves. We're the laugh of every party because the party doesn't start until after our usual bedtime and if we stay up late, we're going to wake up at 6am regardless. I'm assuming we have less friends. Despite my current situation, I am fairly satisfied with my life.

Now onto the neurotic psychos that the evening people are. There's also a simple explanation for this. Apparently there's enough of us morning people out there to warrant early start times for work. If evening people ran the world stores and offices wouldn't open until noon and they'd close at 9pm. Imagine if you could go to the dentist at 8pm. So evening type people are being forced to wake up before their sleep cycle has finished and are unable to fall asleep early enough to compensate for it. Being sleep deprived for the majority of your life can probably lead to some pretty significant psychological issues.

Unfortunately, our circadian rhythms (or sleep cycles) can't be changed, so we're stuck with what we've got. However, evening type people could do well in jobs that start later and end later like maybe bartending. So you could technically shape your life around your circadian rhythm and be perfectly happy-- so evening type people could be as happy as morning people.

Flying lessons

If there's one thing that my frequent flying has taught me, it's that I hate being in a crowd of people. I have no fear of speeding down a runway at 300 miles per hour and hurtling a several ton piece of metal into the air in hopes that it somehow (magically) floats up into the clouds. I'm not one to get antsy in the midst of some turbulence- it actually takes quite a bit of jostling to make me nervous. I am a little anxious on landing but only after all wheels are on the ground and one small jerk to the left could send our jet hurtling wing over wing across the runway.

What really occupies the dark shadows of my mind from the time I get on the plane until the time I have safely set my feet on real solid ground is the fact that I know human nature all too well. I know people panic, I know they do crazy, senseless things when you add a little stress to the mix. I've seen it, I've read about it and I've heard it on tv.

I don't think I truly understood how grave the situation could get until sitting on the runway in New York waiting for the plane ahead of us to vacate our parking spot. People were tense from the long and already late flight from Italy and no one wanted to miss their connecting flight. Most of the people on the plane had been on my plane from Naples to Milan-Malpensa and had missed their connecting flight back to the U.S. We were put up in a rather nice hotel outside of Milan and put on a flight the following day. My luggage was MIA but I figured my luggage would eventually make it to San Diego after circling the globe for perhaps a month... but I didn't really feel like spending the next month in and out of airports while they tried to ship me back to California.

As we sat on the runway that day, people began to get restless and try to move about to get their things out of the overhead compartments. The flight attendants tried to get people to sit down and keep their seat belts on. I could hear the frustration in their voices as these demands were ignored. It was then I began to fear for my life. Obviously the people on the plane were out of the control of the flight attendants. I curled up tightly next to my window in preparation to protect my head should a mass of people come crawling over the seats to get to the exit door- that was closed. An angry man stood up in the aisle and made it clear to everyone that he was unhappy and inconvenienced. The flight attendant decided to take her seat and I could smell her fear from 12 rows back. I think being next to the window and away from any exits would have saved my life that day had anything happened. Everyone would be pushing and shoving (and trampling people to death) toward the exit and if I stayed real still and protected my head and vital organs, I would survive... and climb over all the dead bodies on my way out.

Needless to say, I survived that ordeal but it taught me a lesson. People become wild animals when caged in together for extended periods of time. I would rather hurtle to my death inside a wounded airplane than be trampled by panicked citizens while safely on the ground. It happens. I've seen so many times where people would have survived had they all remained calm. Panicked crowds have caused countless deaths throughout time and I think it's the most awful way to go.

So when my plane bounces about on invisible pockets of air while cups and bags of pretzels slide around, I feel safe knowing that everyone is afraid enough to at least stay buckled in their own seat. I can guarantee you that no one is up and about running around like a madman.

On closer inspection

I'm totally embarrassed. I wouldn't be if I hadn't already spoken to the doctor's assisstant. She said she'd call the lab to see how this could have happened. Hopefully she didn't mention it to my doctor. This is what happens when you have too much time on your hands. Actually I don't. I have tons of school work I should be doing, but obviously have spent 2 whole days on this rib and haven't gotten anything else done.

So here's the picture that convinced me, which I took to Ann and she definately saw it this way. So the flat part of my rib is not the front part, which I initially thought (I mean it's flat, right?). If you look at the blue eliptical shape on this bone (where the scalenus medius muscle attaches) and you slice it about a third of the way up, you will have the flat edge of my personal rib. So the rib I have is indeed a left rib, and most likely mine. Yeah, duh. Hopefully that at least amused everyone for a few hours, and hopefully the pathology lab at UCSF understands.

You can all rest easy now knowing that I do have my own rib in my possession. Now I really have a lot of homework I'm supposed to be doing. But first I'll get a snack. I just called the doctor's assisstant and left a message telling her not to call the lab if she hasn't already. Yeah, I'm a dork.

Who's rib is it?

So I believe we may have a mystery on our hands. I'm starting to get the idea that the rib I boiled and scrubbed and plucked at all day yesterday (with my bare hands) is not mine. I cannot begin to tell you how disappointed I am. I have a decent understanding of anatomy, and coupled with pictures and explanations from the internet, I may be holding a right rib. My left one was removed. I'm serious. Really. I need to talk to my doctor's office today anyway, I'm not sure whether to laugh or cry. If this rib belongs to who I think it does, I don't think she kept hers... meaning the one that really belongs to me would be gone. We'll get to that later, let me point out the evidence so you all don't think I'm crazy.

So here's normal rib anatomy. I'll just point out the basics. Really, every single bone in your body has mutliple grooves, knobs (tubercles) turns (necks) and facets. Every single one of them has a name. The first picture is from instantanatomy.com- very in depth. The second picture is from Gray's Anatomy (no, not the show).

A couple things to point out. There is the head of the rib, which is the rounder side, that from my understanding connects to your spine. This is really important, so if some one can tell me otherwise, please do. The flat portion of the rib (the opposite side from the head) is the part the connects to the sternum (or breastbone). Another important note is that the bottom side of the rib is very smooth and doesn't have all the grooves and stuff that the upper side has. Here's a picture of where the rib meets the sternum:

So if you look on this person's left, below the attachment of the clavicle is the first rib attaching to the cartilage. Notice how it's flat without any protuberances or knobs. This is not the head. The head is on the back, attached to the spine.

Let's take a closer look at my rib... or rather the one in my possession.

First of all, here it is in all it's glory... so if it is indeed mine, I'm proud of it. That's pretty much it's full size, minus a portion of the head. The back is harder to clip during surgery because they go through my chest and make no incisions on my back. So basically he stuck some clippers in there and clipped where he could. So notice the nice flat portion closer to my wrist. That's not the head. The side closer to my fingertips is the head. This is the upper view of the rib as you would see looking down on it. Now picture this. If you're looking down in this rib and the flat part is the front and the round part is the back... and my nose is pointing towards my wrist in this picture- is this a right rib or a left? Let's look closer, shall we?

Here again is the upper surface of the rib. Where my fingertips are is the inside of the rib closer to my neck. Where my thumb is is the outside of the rib, closer to my shoulder. The little round part at the end is a portion of the head... which would be where it meets with the spine. Now of course, if this was the underside of the rib, it would be a left rib. Why do I think this is not the underside of the rib? Because the underside is smoother. Let's look at that.

Notice how this side of the rib does not have the little divits or grooves that the other side has. The underside doesn't have these because muscles attach to the top of it, and the grooves on the top are where the vein and artery pass through. This is definately the underside of the rib. I'm 99.9% sure of it and I'm almost done with an entire cup of coffee, so it's not like I'm totally out of it. So again, if this is the bottom of the rib, and the yellowish (not really sure why it's yellow) is the back, is this a right rib or a left?

So am I totally crazy? There was another girl at the hospital who had her rib removed around the same time I did. I want to say her surgery must have been a day or two after mine because she took over my room when I was sent to a private room (the day Candace got there). I can't imagine they just moved her from another room, she had to have come straight from surgery. So I would have to imagine that when my rib was removed during surgery, it was placed in a container, labeled, and sent to the pathology lab (it's routine). So the mix up must've been in the lab. Either that or it sat around in the hospital for a few days, unlabeled, and some one came along and labeled it. I don't see that happening though. I think it was the lab.

Hmm.

And no, it is not possible they removed my right rib. The scar is on my left side and all my pain was on my left side. Anyone who has broken a rib can tell you that the pain is pretty bad and there's no mistaking where it's coming from. Not only that, but when I lay on my left side, my chest caves in a little under my left collar bone. It's pretty obvious they removed the correct rib on me.

The miraculous arrival of my long lost rib.

I was really excited to come home from physical therapy today to find my rib sitting on the front porch. I didn't expect it to arrive so soon or even at all. It originally could not be shipped because it was in formalin, which is highly flammable, toxic and a carcinogin. But when I picked it up from the doctor's office it had already been packed in alcohol and water. I figured this would make it a lot easier to get on the plane being as it was not a flammable substance... well, I mean not like formalin. Little did I know, the TSA does not really make a whole lot of sense in what they allow on the plane (I mean really- knitting needles versus a 3" knife? C'mon. I can do a lot more damage with knitting needles...anywho.). The lovely representative that I sprung the crazy question on informed me that they do allow stuff like that on the plane if it comes with specific documentation (other than the hospital label on it) and it's medically necessary. Since it's not medically necessary, it would be up to the individual screener whether or not I could take it on. Well that's just ignorant. Anyway, he then informed me that hey- alcohol can't be carried on the plane... so maybe if it had been in the formalin, they would've allowed it on, but since it's in alcohol it can't be. Did they think I was going to drink it? It's rubbing alcohol, not vodka!

For a few days I considered how I could smuggle it through security. It would have to be taken out of it's jar for sure. Then I could place it in a plastic bag and into my pocket. It would have to be taken care of as soon as I got home of course. Then I pictured how it would look if they saw something in my pocket and asked me to remove it. Low and behold, a human rib being smuggled through security at an airport. I really didn't want to be arrested after all I've been through recently. Then I got a great idea. If I wore a sports bra and a t-shirt, I could place the rib in the empty space in the middle. No one would see any sort of bulge and no one would think to look there if I wasn't setting off any alarms. Again, the thought of being arrested disturbed me a little.

So I put it in a padded envelope, paid an extra $2 for a tracking number and placed it in the hands of the US Postal Service. Really I have no faith in any federal government entity. But they pulled through, I have to hand it to them. $7 later, the rib was sitting on my front porch. They never would've shipped it if it was still in the formalin, but alcohol is shipped all the time. I even called the Post Service and asked if there was any restriction against shiping human body parts in a preservative liquid (that's not how I put it of course). The lady couldn't find anything in the rule book, but she suggested I call the shipping department and ensure I met all the packaging criteria for it. I didn't, but life goes on. No, it wasn't labeled according to standards and yes I probably could've been fined for that, but having just had yet another surgery I didn't feel like going through any extra trouble.

Today I set about the arduous task of cleaning the darn thing. Had I known it was going to be that tough I would've just brought it to a taxidermist. Seriously. I put it in a pot (one that's being sold at the garage sale next week) and boiled it along with some oxy-clean that I found in the cupboard. I found a couple websites that instructed me how to do this. I'd recommend some, but really it's better to just take it in to some one else. So every few minutes I'd take it out and attempt to pull, scrub or clip some of the meat off, then put it back in to boil longer. I got most of it off... 3 hours later it's now sitting in peroxide to try to get what's left off of it and bleach it a little. I'm not sure either is happening, but I've gotta have hope. I refuse to seal this thing off until I Know it's not going to rot like crazy. Eww.

So how did I feel about all this? At the bottom of the jar was little pieces of meat that had fallen off on their own (I guess). As I set out to open the jar and dump the pieces of meat out, I felt a momentary sense of loss and sadness as a part of me was about to go down the drain. I'm serious, it was weird. I've become quite attached to this rib in the short time it's been outside of my body. After dumping the floaters and pulling out the rib, the sadness went away replaced by an excitement for my cool little rib. Boiling it started to release a bit of the formalin smell and I started having flashbacks to my anatomy class from my college years with cadavers, kitty cadavers, cow eyeballs and cold steel work stools. It also made me want to revert back to my vegetarian ways. I was starving, but didn't manage to eat a whole lot. After boiling and scrubbing away at that darn thing, the significance of this being a human body part (my body part) was overshadowed by my frustration and determination. There was no way I was just going to call it quits and abandon my rib. So yeah, now it's soaking in peroxide for who kows how long. Then I'll probably take it out to dry overnight and see what it looks like in the morning. I'm exhausted.