V Plus 731

At long last, here it is. Two years ago this morning, my journey with short-gut began. An hour on the bathroom floor, a quick ride to the emergency room, and two days later, I woke up in Pittsburgh and began the fight of my life. I'm reminded of a joke that my uncle told shortly after I woke up, after I asked why, o why, was I in Pittsburgh of all places: If you have a heart problem, you go to Cleveland; where else besides Pittsburgh would you go for a bowel problem? It brought a quick smile to my face (being from Cleveland, and as a result a Browns fan, we all hate the Steelers; and the entire city of Pittsburgh is thus guilty by association). As the next few days passed, doctors assured me that there was hope, because the small intestine continues to adapt for two years after a bowel resection. Two years.

In November 2007, November 2009 seemed a lifetime away. In a way it was: Waking up in a hospital. Seeing my extended family file through the hospital room to see me. Taking my first steps. Going home for the first time. Ten confirmed kidney stones. Two that were over half an inch in diameter. Six months of nightly TPN. Another month of TPN for five nights a week. Two blood infections. A commencement address. Moving to college. Coming home from college. Staying home. Two years of "unemployment" during the worst economic meltdown in 80 years. Voting in the presidential election. Seeing the first African-American President being inaugurated. Starting a globally-read blog. A healthy rotation of daily pills. It could easily be a lifetime's worth of events. But it was just two years.

It has been quite the journey, and I realize that it is far from over. While I was initially told that the small intestine adapts for two years after resections; some research shows evidence that it will continue to adapt for five years after resection. I will choose to believe five years is correct, since it is most convenient for my goals. In this case, my intestines are less than halfway to their fully-adapted selves. This would definitely be a good thing. After just two years of adaptation, I have finally started gaining weight, with a net-gain of 11 pounds since after my surgeries. In all, since 11/1, I am down 16 pounds. Little known fact about the small intestine: it weighs approximately six pounds. Therefore, I have just ten pounds left to gain to reach my 11/1 weight, discounting the weight of my lost organs. Granted, this will be a much different weight than it was before V-Day (V for Volvulus). Pre-V-Day, I ran about five miles after school everyday at cross country practice. My senior year I ran a 5k (3.1 miles) in the low 19 minutes consistently. I have said before, I was far from a dominant force on the course, but 19 minutes is respectable enough. Now, I haven't ran since ... well ... V minus 11. October 22, 2007: my last cross country race and the last time a ran more than a few paces. Probably the last time I was shirtless in public, but that's a tangent I simply cannot afford to carry out. Pre-V-Day I was the epitome of teenage health (not quite); now ... not so much. Yesterday, for instance, the fam and I went to my grandparents house. My twin cousins (born on V plus 18) brought large toddler legos. So naturally, I sat in front of the TV and built a castle. As anyone who has ever been to a family gathering with young kids can attest, this inevitable turns into a wrestling match. Being the oldest, I, along with my sister, are the targets for tackling. Luckily, only one of my cousins is older than four. So the wrestling was more keeping my 8-year-old cousin on the ground while my sister and I alternated picking up the young boys and girls and laying them across the 8-year-old. It was surprisingly entertaining. And I am surprisingly sore today. The point I am trying to make here is this: Pre-V-Day I ran 30ish miles per week culminating in a 3-plus mile race. V plus I am really sore after an hour or so of wrestling with four young children.

But two years ago, I would have done anything to have known that two years later I would be wrestling with my cousins in my grandparents house and be fully capable of holding my own.

Now for the bad news. It is possible that my absence has been noticed. I haven't posted in over a month, the longest lapse since this blog's inception. The truth is that it has become a bit of a burden for me. When I first started writing, it was a crutch, another time-waster to supplement my time on facebook during which I filled the time not being taken up by my social life. The last few posts, I noticed that I was becoming stressed about coming up with things to write about. I take this as a good thing: my health is more stable now than it has been since pre-V-Day. But the purpose of the blog was to alleviate stress, not create it. So I am officially saying goodbye. I don't think it will be forever. I foresee myself updating the blog when I reach various milestones that I deem worthy of a blog post. But this is probably the last time I will be writing a blog for awhile.

The blog will still be active though. So if any reader has a question or comment on which they would like the Intestineless Wonder's advice, post a comment. I will receive an e-mail notification. The comment won't be posted unless I give it permission, so if you don't want it published for all to see, just stipulate that in your message. I will do everything I can to get back to you in a timely and efficient manner and with as much information as I possibly can.

This blog helped me a lot since February, and I am eternally grateful for the safety it provided me. A long-running joke in my family is that we have our "happy places" when we are really uncomfortable (one of my young twin cousins prefers to hide underneath the nearest desk). Well, for the last nine months, this blog was my happy place. When I was alone in my dorm room, sitting on my dirty, smelly futon wishing I had something to do, I did have something to do: I could share my thoughts and feelings with my faithful Wondeaders. So I would like to thank you for your support, convincing me that this was worth it. That I was worth it.

It has been two years, and at the same time it has only been two years. It has been such a long time, and yet, if feels as though it just happened. Two years. It was the unreachable summit. The day that never comes. V plus 731. And here I am standing on field of battle surrounded by fallen foes, and I am victorious. (Note: by "fallen foes," I am of course referring to various obstacles that I have had to overcome in the past two years, mentioned and unmentioned earlier and in previous posts)

To all those suffering with short-gut, I hope I can shed some light on this rare, virtually unknown disease. Know that you are not alone in your battles. It is not hopeless, although I know at times it may appear to be so. I hope this blog helps you find your way. It certainly helped me find mine.

Sincerely Yours, now and always,

The Intestineless Wonder

"One of the Most Intelligent and Humorous Responses to Date"

Friends, bills in your wallet, hairs on your head, pixels on your TV screen, and inches of your intestines all have one thing in common: you can never have too many. Initially, I've been under the impression that probiotics also fall into this category. But now I'm not so sure. After starting a new dosage of probiotics I go through the same cycle: bloating, discomfort, gurgling, frequent trips to the throne room, you get the idea. After four to seven days, the symptoms subside. But with this latest dosage, I have not yet returned to my awesome self. It has been two weeks-ish since I started taking the powdered form of the probiotics with the 0.9 TRillion live bacteria, but I haven't normalized. So I'm beginning to think that a TRillion bacteria might just be two much of a good thing. The last few days I have dropped back to just half a packet per day (450 Billion Bumbling Bacteria). We shall see if this helps in the coming days.

So I am taking English Composition II this semester. I took AP English my senior year, and I got a 4 on the AP English Language test, which allowed me to test out of English Composition I. Now, Ohio State may have the dumbest rule about testing out of freshman English, which I did thanks to my 4. At OSU, if you test out of freshman English, you still don't take sophomore English until sophomore year. Essentially they say, "Wow, you're so good at English you tested out of this class. Why don't you stop writing any assignments at all for a year and then come back and see how good you are." Well the joke's on them. My first writing assignment was to select an essay that we read on family values and write a summary, analysis, response to it. The first paragraph summarizes the essay, the second paragraph analyzes the writing techniques used, and the third paragraph is my response to the essay. Well, I hated every single anti-establishment, uber-liberal, anti-religion, anti-traditional family essay in the family values section. That is, all except for one: The Man Date, by Jennifer 8. Lee (Yes, her middle name is 8). It was about the rules and all-around uncomfortableness surrounding one-on-one, heterosexual male bonding that does not involve business or sports. I wrote my essay in about 40 minutes while watching the Titans-Steelers football game. My goal was basically to give him the impression that I am going to do everything possible to write humorously and give my personal twist on every topic I write on, while also following his prompts. I also wanted to see how he would react to what I wrote, as in how much he would let me get away with. His comments at the end of the essay went like this: "An excellent paper. I think you had one of the most intelligent and humorous responses to date. Look forward to your work this semester. A." In other words: "You are the greatest writer in the history of America. Write whatever you want for the rest of the semester, and I'll love it blindly." Ever since he has greeted me at the beginning and end of every class. We had another essay due last week. It was a short research paper about a topic of our choosing about family values again. In the two papers, I have referenced Seinfeld, the NFL, the Office, the Brady Bunch, and Two and a Half Men. Our third paper is due on Friday. The goal is to get a How I Met Your Mother reference in some how. I have a few ideas.

Speaking of the NFL (go back, you'll find it), I have always been a Browns fan, except for the three years that they did not exist, and my fandome was in a brief state of limbo. I have never, EVER seen a football team as wonderfully awful as the 2009 Cleveland Browns. They are terrible. They are simply awful. Take away a Josh Cribbs kick return and a garbage touchdown in Week 1, and the Browns have scored just 15 points. Five field goals. In 12 quarters of football. If you aren't a Browns fan (lucky you), they drafted Brady Quinn out of Notre Dame a few years back, and that year Derek Anderson went to the Pro-Bowl. Ever since that season D.A. has been awful. This year Brady won the starting QB position. He has not been good at all. So Mangini decided to put D.A. in for the second half this week against the Ravens (the team formerly known as the Browns), and he promptply threw three interceptions. I was embarassed for them. So I have made my final decision on the matter. I am now a Titans fan first and a Browns fan second, instead of the other way around. You may be thinking, "Hey wait, the Titans, like the Browns, are 0-3." There's a difference between the two records, though. The Browns have been outscored 357-29 in three games. The Titans have lost their games by 3, 7, and 7 points. They are close games. And with Chris Johnson they are exciting games. So go Titans.

Speaking of football, the Zips football stadium is fantastic. InfoCision Stadium at Summa Field is a total gem. It's beautiful. Really. Well, at least it was. We in northeast Ohio have been having our yearly early fall wind storms the past day or two. Every year, usually during the last few weeks of September or early October, we have this weather pattern that rolls in with hurricane-force winds and rain. It marks the end of summer and the beginning of pre-winter. You're probably asking yourself what this has to do with the stadium. Well the eastern edge of the stadium is a seven-story facade that contains the press box and all of the private seating areas. The prevailing winds, in northeast Ohio, come out of the east and slam right into this facing. Long story short, the D, I, U, and M blew off the face of the stadium. It now says, "InfoCision Sta." I find it humorous that the school spent millions of dollars on this stadium and the sign isn't even strong enough to make it through the first season. You would think that the designers would have thought to make the outdoor northeast Ohio facility weatherproof.

The football team at Akron is not the football team at Ohio State. They are not the pride of the school. The pride of Akron would be the men's soccer team. The #1 nationally ranked men's soccer team. While I was there, my high school's soccer teams were very, very good. The men's team won a state title, and the women's team won a national (yes, national) title. I went to many of the big games. I don't know much about soccer, but I like it a lot. Being the sports connoisseur that I am, I am pretty good at picking up rules governing a game by watching for a short time, which is what I've done with soccer. I've simply watched and learned. I think I've picked up most of the basics, but few of the subtleties. Anyway, the Zips men's soccer team is the best I've ever seen play. They dominate every game I've been to. The problem with soccer, though, is that the score doesn't always indicate how dominant one team may have been over the other. For instance, a few weeks ago, the Zips beat the #6 ranked Indiana Hoosiers 1-0. It sounds like a close, competitive game. It wasn't. The Zips controlled the ball for nearly the entire 90 minutes. Needless to say, I missed the only goal. That's right. The Zips had a penalty kick, were setting up, I looked to my left, and the student section erupted in cheers while the team chased the Walsh Jesuit-alum who scored up and down the pitch (that's right, WJ-alum scored the one and only goal and I know that the soccer field is called a "pitch"). Wednesday night the Zips play the Buckeyes of Ohio State. I'll be there to watch Akron once again destroy the Bucks.

If it isn't obvious, I'm not really sure what I should write about sometimes. This post was mostly a self-indulgent, journal/diary entry. I haven't had a post in almost three weeks so I feel it is necessary to post something. But I don't always have material. I am simply going by the thought that something is better than nothing. Feel free to comment or e-mail me with any questions or comments you may have.

Later, yo. -IW

Does All This Weight Make Me Look Fat?

You may remember that a few weeks before my freshman year of college ended, I wrote a blog effectively jinxing the freshman fifteen (and by effectively, I mean ineffectively). For various reasons it didn't work, and I was as low as I had been when I returned home in the middle of June. And it stayed that way until just after my final (knock on wood) kidney stone annihilation procedure. Then, my weight jumped two pounds and plateaued for a week and a half or two weeks. Then it jumped another two pounds and plateaued again. In all, I have gained 8 pounds since the middle of July. I know what you're thinking: "What the what?!" It's true, though. 8 pounds in just under two months. Four of the last five days have been my four heaviest morning weights since my days on TPN.

I've been reflecting upon this weight gain for a while now (just under just under two months). I know that it is partially because I am home. I am home, eating good food prepared with a short-gut diet in mind. I am home, eating a lot of good food prepared with a short-gut diet in mind. But I've eaten good food before without results like this. I think, nay, I know it's something else.

It has been 22 months, and one week, since my resection. I remember being in the ICU in Pittsburgh, and the surgeon told me that the small intestine continues to grow and adapt after a resection for two years. Well I am on the eve of my two-year anniversary, a day that once seemed so unreachable, and yet, here I am. My doctor at the Cleveland Clinic told me that some research suggests that the small intestine will continue to adapt up to 5 years after a resection. Thinking about this, I think I finally figured out why I am gaining weight. My intestines finally woke up. They realized that there was no way we could get by weighing as much as Babe Ruth's bat. And the window for peak adaptation was approaching. I am guessing that peak adaptation occurs between 2 and 5 years after a resection. It's just a hunch. I could be wrong (although, I rarely am). But I think the scale is currently speaking for itself.

8 pounds. It doesn't sound like much, but it is. I can feel those 8 pounds. I can feel it when I get up in the morning, when I walk around campus, and when I am reheating dinner late at night. I feel like I am getting closer to the pre-11/2 me, again. I am standing up straight when I walk again. I am holding my head at a confidently high angle again, high enough to suggest that I am quite certain of how awesome I am, but not so high that you can be sure this is the message I am trying to send. And I have my crooked, pre-11/2 smile back, complete with both dimples on my freshly plump, yet not bloated cheeks. All in all, I have my swagger back ... well, almost. Another 20 pounds or so, and I'll have it all the way back.

The campus I am walking around, I feel compelled to add, is the University of Akron. It's only the third week of class, but I am 100% certain that I made the right decision to transfer. In terms of professors: at Akron, they are there to teach me; at Ohio State, teaching me was time that could be better spent doing their own research. In terms of on-campus food: Akron has a Subway; Ohio State didn't. In terms of people: yesterday I was in the library doing a little homework in between classes, and a friend of mine that I used to work with happened to walk in and sat down; at Ohio State, I saw a few friendly faces around my floor, and that was it.

Sure, the University of Akron football team is no Ohio State Buckeyes. I mean Akron lost to Penn State last week. It's not like the Buckeyes lost to the Nittany Lions- oops. Well Ohio State was closer to Penn State last year than Akron was this year. Akron lost 31-7. The Buckeyes were never embarrassed by that much- oops.

Sure, OSU has the legendary Horseshoe, but Akron has InfoCision Stadium which will host its first game this Saturday. This first football game on Akron's campus since 1940. Since then the Zippers have always played at the Rubber Bowl (basically a less flashy, less well-known Horseshoe with a less-successful team). But this is a state-of-the-art facility, being called "a gem." Plus, I get in free. I paid about $150 for football tickets last year. And I was four rows from the top, behind a support beam, and not in the student section. This year, if I get there early enough, I could be in the first row right on the end zone line in the student section with the rest of the AK-Rowdies. And that's exactly where I plan to be.

The final point I'd like to discuss tonight is perhaps the most important to those living and dealing with short-gut. PROBIOTICS. Live bacteria that I have been taking to deal with SIBO. I have been taking VSL-3 which costs $50 per bottle containing 30 doses. My mother, ever the frugalista, has found a way to get -wait for it- two months worth of doses at - wait for it - four times as many live bacteria for - wait for it - $40. I'll give you a minute to let that sink in ... ... ... That's right. Eight times as much for $10 less. The probiotics she found are in powder form that need to be mixed with a non-carbonated beverage. One dose of this is nearly a trillion (with a "TR") live bacteria, swimming eagerly in my Powerade Zero, ready to take on the bad bacteria in my small intestine. I know what you're saying: "What the what?!" She took the prescription to the pharmacy, the pharmacy filled it, and she paid $40 because insurance covered the rest of the cost. The same insurance company that told her on the phone that it didn't cover this medication because it "isn't a necessity." Well joke's on you Anthem Blue Cross/Blue Shield, we only paid $40. Deal with it.

That's all for now, but expect a post about how awesome the game is this Saturday.

Go Zips! -IW

Author's Note: I will, as soon as I return from InfoCision Stadium, change into my James Laurinitis jersey and scarlet hat, and plop down on the couch to watch Ohio State return the favor to the men of Troy. Go Buckeyes!

I'm in Love with my Car

So for a while now, my car has felt dangerously close to falling apart every time I have driven it. A few months back, my mom needed to borrow it. When she was done she said she would never get in it again until we had it repaired. I drive a 2001 Oldsmobile Alero. It's dark blue, and one of the coolest affordable cars in America. It looks fairly nice, aside from the inexplicable rust on the right front edge of the hood. And the right mirror is missing the right half of where the glass is. And the horn no longer works (that's a funny story). And the driver's seat no longer moves up and down as it is supposed to (or at all).

Anyway, the problem was that every time I would step on the break pedal the front of the car would violently shake, the pedal would thump and pulsate against my foot, the breaks would squeal, and it felt as if the car would never, ever stop. So naturally I drove it to Cedar Point last week with a few friends. I know that sounds irresponsible now but last week we knew it would be fine to make the hour and a half, all highway drive. While Subster and I were driving up there, though, three dashboard lights spontaneously lit up, in addition to the light that has been on for weeks (Service Engine Soon). The three that lit up were Service Vehicle Soon, Anti-Lock, and Trac Off. I had Subinator look through the manual to see what danger we were in, but it said we were in no danger at all - except we no longer had anti-lock breaks and slip-resistant drive. It was a dry day, so I decided we would be fine, and we made it there and back alive and without any accidents.

But since I will be commuting to school everyday this year, I figured I should take it in to make sure it is in good enough condition to drive, have it put in good enough condition to drive, or make the decision to trade it in, pray it qualifies for cash for clunkers, and get a better car. The mechanic eventually found that the dashboard was malfunctioning, I needed new Tye rods (sounds made up to me), and - o yea - the front two rotors were completely destroyed. Sounds simple enough. So he fixed it. Then it turns out the right front bearing (made up?) was malfunctioning and that is what caused the lights to come on. Then it turns out the same thing was happening to the left front bearing. This means that - here's the funny part - as long as the breaks have felt bad, the front tires have been in severe danger of freezing - spontaneously not turning anymore, to the mechanically un-savvy. Good thing I didn't take this car on a 3-hour road trip last week.

The important thing, though, is that now we really know that the Alero is in not just good condition, but great condition. That's coming from the mechanic: "once we fix all of this the rest of the car is in great condition." And it passed its E-check today, too, so it's environmentally acceptable! Woohoo!

The Alero lives on. Which is great, because I love my car. I really do. Even though before a cross country practice senior year, I went to my car and saw my rear view mirror dangling from the wire for the light, because it decided to come unstuck from the windshield. But I fixed it (twice). And even though the Walsh Jesuit sticker is peeling off of the back window. And I love that I have never washed it while it's been "mine" (since December 2, 2006). Through the WJ renovation construction, and cross country, and three northeast Ohio winters. And even though nobody but Subakkah understands the allusion made by its name, Mr. Fahrenheit. Or few understand the allusion made by its shortened name, Mr. F.

It's cool though, because it's my car. About 7,000 miles of the 104,700 are mine. It's been to Cedar Point twice under my watch and it rained on both days. It made countless 2-mile drives to and from Acme grocery store during junior and senior years. It was the car I learned to drive in, the car I first drove myself to school in, and the first car I drove after my surgeries. It sat in the driveway, neglected, for nine months while I was in Columbus, getting only a few trips around the block to keep the engine "fresh." But, hey, it still gets more attention than the Expedition (Anybody want to trade for an Expedition?). It's my car, and it's awesome.

Don't forget to donate to the Intestineless Wonder Super Awesome Jet Ski Relief Fund for America.

Drive Safely and Buckle Up -IW

Spare the Rod

I had my latest biannual appointment at the Cleveland Clinic last week. It was just a routine check up to make sure I'm still doing alright, adjust some medications, and collect a $25 co-pay. The first thing my nutritionist said when she walked in was, (I'm paraphrasing here) "Wow, look how awesome you look!" It's amazing what four pounds and a summer's worth of sunshine does for a previously pale, sickly looking teenager. Currently, our biggest foe is still the SBBO (Small Bowel Bacterial Overgrowth). As you may remember reading, a few months ago I began taking one dose of VSL-3, a probiotic meant to fight the SBBO. It began to help a lot, but I never really got to enjoy it because shortly after that I began my war with kidney stones (stone free for over a month!). For the past few week, though, I have been able to enjoy all that the probiotics have done, which includes cutting down on the persistant gurgling noise, stomach discomfort, and all-around horribleness that comes with the Short-Gut experience. My nutritionist has recommended that I double my intake of the VSL-3. It is now up to 500 billion good bacteria per day. 500 billion. Billion. With a "B".

I haven't yet noticed a lot of difference, but my expectations are pretty high. This VSL-3 stuff has helped so much, and that's with just one dose per day. The bottle says that a patient can take up to 4 doses each day (that would be an even trillion). That's a lot of good bacteria. I will know when it starts working when I have significantly less gurgling. I like to think of the gurgling as the battle cries of the two bacterial armies, a microscopic, less Scottish William Wallace shouting to the hills: "they may take our lives, but they'll never take our FREEDOM!" (Translated from: brrgullahgabrgrburlagehdaahhh").

And now William Wallace's army will be twice the size. And if they should fail, his good friend, Delios will be right behind, preaching: "The enemy outnumber us a paltry three to one. Good odds for any GREEK (Greatly Reduced, yet Effective Eliminator of Krap). This day we rescue a world from stomach discomfort and bloating and usher in a future brighter than any we can imagine. Give thanks men, to our other GREEKS and the brave VSL-3! To VICTORY!"

If Delios' speech is not quite inspiring enough, perhaps V will do better. "We're oft to blame, and this is too much proved, that with devotion's visage and pious action we do sugar on the devil himself." (Quoting Hamlet, of course).

William Wallace, Delios, and V. A more powerful leadership force has never been assembled. Fictional? Sure. Effective? Totally.

Switching modes for the rest of the post, the fam and I had our semi-cation over this past weekend. I call it a semi-cation because, while it was our vacation this year, we simply spent the weekend at my grandparents' lake house while they were at my grandfather's -0th high school reunion. It was wonderfully relaxing. We played a round of golf at the nine-hole course, grilled steaks one night, and played cards. But then we realized something. Swimming in a murky, seaweed-filled lake with no goal is not much fun. We need to upgrade our frisbee and splash balls for a more age-appropriate toy. So if any of you would like to donate to the Intestineless Wonder Super Awesome Jet Ski Fund for America, please leave your e-mail address and I will contact you. Jet skis are expensive people, so don't be afraid to be generous. It's not just for me, it's for America.

A special Happy Birthday wish goes out to my cousin Kyle, who turns 8 on Thursday. Hi Klye!

-IW

P.S. Those speeches may have been loosely based on similar speeches from Braveheart, 300, and V for Vendetta. Don't tell anyone.

Hungry, Hungry Kiddo

Greetings. Today, I'm going to focus completely on Short-Gut and how I deal with it. First off, my case of SG is not nearly as bad as most. During my initial surgeries, the surgeons were able to salvage a little bit of every section of the small intestine (there are three) and most importantly the ileo-secal valve (that's how it sounds but, in all likelihood, is not how it's spelled) which keeps partially digested food in the small intestine until it's ready to enter the large intestine. Many people who had bowel resections lose this and that is the reason why they require frequent trips to the restroom. My parents and I have always said that as bad as everything was when this all started, from when I first went into surgery to when I finally came out, everything went right.

So on a daily basis, I eat a lot. Very frequent meals. But meals nontheless. They aren't huge meals, but they're definitely more than a snack. And I thought, I know I've said that before on the blog, but I doubt my point has been made. So today I give you A Day in the Menu of the Intestineless Wonder. This particular menu took place on Tuesday, July 21, 2009.

Breakfast: 3 egg omelet with ham, cheese, green onion, white onion, and tomato; two pieces white toast with (I Can't Believe It's Not) butter and (Sugar-Free) strawberry jam; Activia Light Vanilla yogurt; 100 calorie Little Debbie brownie.

Lunch: Taco Salad - ground beef, cheese, tortilla chips, lettuce, tomato, green onion, light sour cream, fat free Catalina dressing, hot sauce.

Second Lunch: 3 pancakes with light syrup.

Dinner: Macaroni and Tuna Salad - Macaroni, tuna, mozzerella cheese, hard-boiled egg, green onion, special sauce (light Miracle Whip, ketchup, and milk); two slice white Italian bread with (I Can't Believe It's Not) butter; three cookies.

Second Dinner: Cheeseburger - homemade hamburger, swiss cheese, light Miracle Whip, ketchup, wheat bun; handful of regular potato chips.

Third Dinner: Pizza flavored Lean Pocket; handful of regular potato chips.

Fourth Dinner: Taco Salad again.

Late-Night Dessert: Rootbeer Float - two scoops sugar-free vanilla ice cream, diet A&W rootbeer.

Beverages: 32 ounces of Powerade Zero (I prefer blue, because we all know blue flavors are the best in all brands of sports drink); 12 ounces of Diet Rite soft drink; 12 ounces of skim milk; 12 ounces of Diet Sunkist Lemonade (it sounds weird but it tasted delicious); 20 ounces of Vitamin Water 10 (they don't have blue).

As you can see, it's an extensive menu. Keep in mind, too, that I am a bum. Which means I wake up at 11:30 and go to sleep at 1:30. Which means I ate all of this in 14 hours. On most days I only have three dinners. I'm not exactly sure why I felt the need for a fourth on Tuesday. But that night I weighed more than I have since May 2008, and ten pounds heavier than my average weight just a month ago. It seems that the good home-cookin' is helping the cause. All of the meals I eat are made with the leanest meat my mom can find at the store and all "light" or "fat-free" ingredients. The most important part of a delicious meal, though, is the fresh vegetables. They turn an egg and cheese omelet into a southwestern omelet, nachos into taco salad, and a hamburger into ... well, a more delicious hamburger.

Keep Eating. -IW

Good News

So last time I posted, I was one day away from what I now know to be called a lithotripsy (that's how it sounds, but perhaps not how it's spelled). Basically they were going to send sound waves at my kidney to break up a large stone. I expected to be in a lot of pain for a long time, mostly because that's what usually seems to happen, and my urologist said I would be. I was obviously in pain the day of the surgery. I felt like I fell into a doorknob or something. It was really sore, but it didn't look like a bruise. It was more of a scrape. I was scabbed for about a week. Initially the scab was a little larger than the size of a coaster. The day after the surgery, I felt virtually no pain at all. A little soreness but nothing else. The next three days or so I felt as if I was passing kidney stones. But the percocet mostly killed the pain, and I have been pain free since then. Believe it or not, I think it is safe to call the surgery a success! Good news for me ... and my urologist.

Now on to more mundane matters of the short-gut variety. While I was away at school, and even the first few weeks of my summer at home, I usually got a stomach ache late in the evening, after dinner. Being a nineteen-year-old boy who tries to be perceived as normally as possibly, when I eat a meal, I eat larger portions than, say, my mother or sister would eat. And I always, of course, cleaned my plate. But for some reason in the last few weeks, I have found myself eating dinner, reaching the point where I feel content, and, instead of cleaning my plate on principle, I have been leaving food on the table. I must say, I have felt better at night. The grumbling that used to be a staple of post-dinner relaxation has subsided, allowing me and the fam to focus on what's really important: whatever we are watching on TV. Ha.

I have also been having other positive reinforcement lately. Since going down 20 1/2 months ago, my doctors have advised me to keep on eye on my weight. I lost about 25 pounds in the two days following the vovulus. In the six months after, I gained 20 pounds with the help of the Leash. In the two months after coming off TPN, I lost those 20 pounds. I have been almost completely level since then. Not losing any, but certainly not gaining. I was always slightly below the nearest 10 pound mark. Every once in awhile I would venture above that level for a day, maybe two, but would quickly drop back to where I was. But get this, it has now been over a week since I was below that mark. Which means, I think I may be gaining a little weight. Knock on wood.

My family says I look better too, even since coming home for the summer. They say my face looks fuller, and I am standing up straighter. The posture is one thing that really bothers me. Growing up, I was always the short one. Always. I was 5 feet even on my first day of high school. Naturally, I always wanted to be taller. This resulted in tremendous posture throughout my entire life. I was always doing everything I could to appear taller: back straight, shoulders back, chin up. But after my abdominal surgery, my abs were incredibly sore. So I slouched. Back hunched, shoulders rolled forward, elbows back. I have made conscious efforts to improve this for the past year, which is when I really started to feel a little normal again because I no longer had the catheter in my chest.

In sporting news, the Indians are a poor excuse for a baseball team. That's not so good news.

My sister and I are going to the midnight showing of Harry Potter tonight at the local cinemas. I remember the first time I became aware of the Potter series. I was in fourth grade: ten years ago. The fourth book had just been released, and I was just reaching the reading level necessary to read the early books. I read the first four in the summer between fourth and fifth grades. When the fifth one came out, I read it in about two weeks. Then the sixth one came out. For some reason I bought it, but never read it. I'm not sure why. Then it came time for the seventh book to be released, so I needed to read the sixth one. I read it in three days. In the town just north of where we live, they had a big Potter-themed festival culminating in the midnight-release of the seventh book. A few friends and I went. It sounds kind of lame, but it was so much fun. I got home around one in the morning, sat down, and read about 200 pages. That day, my mom, sister, and I were driving to Chicago for a softball tournament my sister was in. I finished the book during the six-hour ride. That was the summer of 2007, so I was in between junior and senior years in high school. So, yea, I read the seventh book in a twenty-four hour period, not to brag or anything. Ha.

I guess the point is, I've been a Harry Potter fan since I was in fourth grade, which was ten years ago. Since I am 19, that is more than half my life. And the final movie isn't set to be released until 2011. Which will make me 21. And I will be as pumped as ever to go watch a movie about wizardry in the fantasy world created by J.K. Rowling. And let's face it, it won't be released in 2011. It will be pushed back at least until the summer of 2012, which means I will be 22. I can't wait. Although, I would be more excited if there were another book in the series than I am about the movies. Not that the books are great literature. Trust me, they aren't. They're just creative, interesting, and engrossing. I doubt that a hundred years from now Harry Potter will be a staple in high school British Literature courses. But maybe that what they said a hundred years ago about Frankenstein and Dracula. "They're entertaining stories about monsters, but I would be surprised if they last past our generation."

Other good news about the new film: the Vatican approves of this one because one of the major themes of the final episodes is the good should and will overcome evil. So even though Rowling never hints at the existence of a transcendent being, Hogwarts is no longer a home to sinners destined to walk the primrose path to an everlasting bonfire. So good news for Harry and the lot of them. And good news for those who have heard the Good News: we no longer have to confess to enjoying a work of fiction that is not supposed to be real at all. I think that's about all I have to say for now.

Until next time, mischief managed. -IW

The Leash

My apologies for taking nearly two weeks off since my last post. It's not like I was even doing anything important instead. I was just watching a lot of tv and such. But anyway, I'm back.

I had a few friends over last weekend. We went golfing, grilled some steaks, and had a bon fire. One of them claimed that he hadn't been to my house since my graduation party last year. My party was on June 29. So had been quite literally one year. And then I realized something, a lot of things happened that week that have not happened since.

First of all, the party was supposed to be on Saturday, June 28. It was postponed because I was in the hospital that week dealing with my second line infection that month. This is why that week was so momentous. My doctors feared I would simply continue to contract infections every few weeks, so we decided to give life a try without TPN. They took out my Hickman catheter and put in a PICC line for my antibiotics for the next few weeks. I have not had TPN since. It has been one full year since my last round of TPN. It had become such a routine during the seven months that I was on it, yet it was forgotten so easily. Every night my parents would get the pump out, pull a bag out of the refrigerator, and call me into the kitchen for my nightly calorie fix. And every morning they would wake me up to unhook everything and get ready for another day.

Those who have been on TPN or have been consistently around someone on TPN realize the rigors of this task, the mental fortitude needed to deal with being attached to a bag for 12 hours every night. I used to call it the leash. Someone would call to see if I wanted to go see a movie on a whim, and my reply would be, "Sorry, I can't. I'm on the leash." Again, unless you've been on TPN or have been consistently around someone on TPN, it's hard to comprehend the mental toughness necessary to handle such treatment. Especially when you're 18 years old. I had been in school for 13 years, waiting for this summer, and it was finally here. I was supposed to be out running around, painting the town red with my friends. Instead I was on a leash.

This also means it has been one year since my last extended hospital stay. I was at Akron City Hospital for five days, I believe. Since then I've been to E.R.'s a few times as written about previously, and I spent one night the weekend before exams, but that's it. Nothing more than one night. Anyone who has ever been a hospital over night, I'm sure, will agree that no matter what illness or medical malady you are dealing with, you will never get better in a hospital. No matter what Jada Pinkett Smith's "HawthoRNe" leads you to believe, nurses don't seem to care too much about their patients. They come in and out once every few hours to see if you need anything. If it's easy to get, they take their time getting it making sure you know just how inconvenient it is for them; if it's difficult, they wait until their shift ends and dump it on the next nurse. It's just like any other job. And in the hospital, doctors are like the cable company. O sure, they'll come by, but it will be sometime between 2 and 7:30. They come in, talk like an auctioneer using words familiar to them but foreign to you, and they move on to the next patient. Hospitals are loud, hot, and uncomfortable. The food is quite simply awful. At Akron City, they charge $7.50 for the use of the TV per patient per day. That's right. $7.50 per day to do the only thing there is to do in a hospital.

It also means it has been one year since I was not the lightest person in my immediate family. Once off of TPN permanently, the scale dropped like the Cleveland Indians' win percentage. Needless to say, my jinxing of the Freshman Fifteen did not work. But I'm home now, and I eat constantly (re: like Brad Pitt's character in Ocean's 11). And I have a little less than two months until school starts at the University of Akron, and I am officially christened a Zip.

Tomorrow, I undergo shockwave therapy to blast the large stone in my left kidney. This one has never caused me any pain, but doctors insist that it's there and needs to be removed. I'm not going to argue. I have to be at the hospital at 7 tomorrow morning. I don't even think the sun will be up that early. Ha. Shockwave therapy is when this outrageously expensive machine focuses intense sound waves at my kidney and the sounds waves (hopefully) crush the stone to dust. With any luck it will be very fine dust, because I will have to pass said dust, or gravel as my urologist calls it. I say that the machine is outrageously expensive because it is not owned by any one hospital. It travels from one hospital to another as it is needed. It probably doesn't help that it isn't need very often. But tomorrow it will be in Akron, focused at the left side of my lower back.

The good thing about this procedure is that it is non-invasive. No cutting and no inserting of objects in places where I do not want objects inserted. But I will be put under, because apparently having sound waves shot at you is a lot like getting beat up in a back alley. They say I will wake up bruised and sore with a lot of blood in the urine. So it's like I got jumped and am waking up the next morning with no recollection of the actual event.

This better work, or I'm going to have to jump my urologist in a back alley and give him a piece of my mind in the form of my sister's new bat. Ha. Just kidding. I'd use my nine-iron. Ha. Just kidding, again. I'd use my driver. Ha.

Don't mess with me. -IW

The Horror, the Horror: Stent Removal, Part II

So yesterday it was time for my stent to be removed. To refresh your memory, I had the stent put in early last week when the monster stone was obliterated. This stent, thankfully, did not have any drawstrings attached to it, so the removal needed to be done in the urologist's office.

I was called back, gave a urine sample, and was taken to the back room. This room has a small chair area for the patient. It reminded me of a birthing room. I was told to remove everything below my waist and have a seat. "This is going to hurt, isn't it?" I asked. "It won't hurt, but it certainly won't be very comfortable. Are you sure you don't want your mom back here with you? If this were happening to me, I'd definitely want someone back here with me," the nurse responded. Naturally, I came back with: "So it is going to hurt!"

I had some topical numbing cream, but it did no good. It numbed the outside of ... where they were. But they weren't sticking tools along the outside. The outside didn't hurt. What did hurt was the scope going in and coming out with the stent. The urologist asked if I had ever seen a stent after he had pulled it out. I curtly reminded him that I had one removed at home awhile back. I think he took the hint and realized how traumatizing this whole experience was. I can honestly say though that it was in fact much easier in the doctor's office than doing it at home. I had spasms again afterward, but percocet knocked them out yesterday, and they didn't return this morning.

It's funny, though; being on percocet is much more enjoyable when I don't have classes to attend, finals to prepare for, or finals to take.

One other thing: the urologist gave me a couple pills to ease the burning during urination. They have one weird side-effect though: blue urine. For some reason these pills turn your urine blue. I'm guessing most of you have never had the privilege of peeing in any color other than yellow, clear, or maybe a little red. Let me tell you, blue really freaks you out when the urination occurs. It's really weird.

On a different note, I had my orientation at the University of Akron on Tuesday. It was, in a word, fantastic. It was 100% better than Ohio State. When dealing with my academic advisor at OSU, I always felt I was more of an obligation that she wanted to deal with as quickly as possible so that she could get back to her research. At Akron, my advisor and I went through and scheduled all of my classes together right then and there. Later, an advisor in the Honors Department got hold of me and had me brought to his office. It turns out whoever was in charge of checking me in did not check "Honors" on my card, so my advisor did not schedule me for Honors classes. The Honors guy, the head Honors advisor, then rescheduled all of my classes with me. I didn't want to go back to the group and sit through a boring presentation so I asked a few extra questions, and he decided to take me on a tour of the Honors building. It was pretty great.

I know what you're thinking: "Hey man, how did this guy know you scheduled incorrectly after just a few hours?" As it turns out, he knew that one of the classes I needed was closing quickly, so he was registering me for it. Himself. Just to make sure I would get into it. The head advisor in the Honors department. How crazy is that?

It's good he caught me, too. As it turns out, Honors status gets me out of a lot of General Education classes that regular students have to take and honors students do not need to take. So my schedule is a lot better than it would have been. And my future classes are going to be a lot better than they would have been. No Intro. to Speech. No Western Civ. No Eastern Civ.

Good times, and Go Zips! -IW

No Strings Attached

So here it is. Finals week. Three gruelling tests were all that separated me from the glorious escape of summer. Ohio State was nice enough to schedule my three exams all on Wednesday (today) and Thursday of an exam week that went from Monday to Thursday. So I decided I'd go home for the long weekend so that I could focus on studying without having to worry about food or comfort so much. Ha. Comfort. Last Thursday the stone moved. Friday I was in a great deal of pain. Saturday was the same. So I decided if I was still in pain Sunday morning, the E.R. was probably in my future.

On Sunday I woke up around 7 in more pain than I have been for quite some time. Obviously, the stone couldn't wait one more week. So to the E.R. my dad and I went. A CT scan showed that the stone had indeed moved and was blocking my ureter. The urologist would have to go in and do what he accidentally did last time, only this time on purpose. But it was Sunday, and urologists take Sunday off. And it wasn't an emergency so I'd have to wait until around 5 p.m. on Monday to have the 5 minute procedure done.

I'd stay in the hospital overnight so that they could manage my pain. That night when the toridol they had given me wore off, they gave me more, only this time the pain never subsided. I went all night buzzing the nurse as soon as I was allowed another dosage of morphine. It's not as though I wasn't up already though, my poor roommate was having trouble sleeping so he watched TV ALL night. The volume on these TVs only had two settings: off and loud. So I would have been up anyway. Being in pain all night was awful, but it did make me a priority for the urologist who had me brought down to surgery around 7 in the morning.

It turns out the stone had completely lodged itself into my ureter, so they were going to go up after it again. Just like last time it fell back into the kidney, but the urologist's bendy laser tool was able to get it in range this time. I imagine it was similar to the Death Star being destroyed in Star Wars. That's right, the stone has been destroyed. Which means: I don't have to have surgery to remove it! Hooray!

Going in to the surgery, the plan was to push the stone back into the kidney if they couldn't get it and put a stent in. This I was not so excited about. When I was being prepped for surgery, one of the doctors was going over what the plan was with me. He mentioned the stent, and I stopped him and said, "The stent is not to have any strings on it. I don't want to be able to remove it myself." His response: "Did you not like that last time?" The understatement of the century.

When I went into the operating room, the urologist came over, and I told him, "This is not to be a remove-it-yourself stent." He said that he understood, and it would not be. Then the anesthesiologist went to put the mask on me. Before he did, I stopped him and announced to the entire room, "Everybody, the stent is to have no strings attached!" Most in the room chuckled and agreed.

The next thing I know, the urologist is waking me up and tells me they got the stone. Blew it into oblivion. That was exactly what I wanted to hear.

It is amazing, though, how unprepared you are for final exams when you spend the entire weekend prior to them in the hospital. My calculus exam was this morning. I think it went OK. Not great, but OK. I have two more tomorrow. And then I'm done. At 6 p.m. tomorrow I should be in the car pulling out of the parking lot of 404 West 12th Avenue in Columbus and I never have to come back. I'll be on my way home - with a quick stop at Arby's of course.

-IW

"Men and Women for Others"

Tomorrow is June 1. Which means it has been a year since I graduated from high school. For those of you who don't know, I gave the commencement address at graduation. I've been told I did a bang up job on it. I don't remember graduation day as well as I would like; as we now know, I had a blood infection for which I would be admitted to the Cleveland Clinic less than 24 hours later. There is the video tape. My father and his mother both taped it. My dad, however, taped it with the same camcorder that he used to tape the day my sister first came home from the hospital, sixteen (16!) years ago. You know how on sitcoms, they do flashbacks and someone has a cell phone the size of a phone book and the audience laughs and laughs? Well, that's the purpose this camcorder serves. So my Nani also taped it with her nearly-new camera (Hi Nani!). And then at my graduation party she taped my infant twin cousins ... over my speech. And then she taped over that with a family reunion (Love you, Nani!). All in all, the video tape doesn't quite live up to what I would like. Ha.

Anyway, I'm a little upset that LeBron and those other guys lost. It's unbelievable; it's like magic or something. Ha. In place of a new topic, I thought I'd simply post a copy of my commencement address. Enjoy!

{I was introduced by Mr. Hassman. I thanked him, and then I welcomed everyone to graduation, but all of that was handwritten on the speech because I didn't think about saying anything like that until the morning of graduation. I still have the copy of the speech that I folded up and shoved in my pocket just in case, by some miracle, the copy I put on the podium was gone by the time I got up there. Ha.}

"Throughout the past four years at Walsh Jesuit High School, five words have been spoken more than any others: “Men and Women for Others.” The Walsh motto was engraved in our minds on the first day of freshman year. When you pull into the parking lot, the sign says “Men and Women for Others.” The Walsh homepage reads, “Men and Women for Others.” The Walsh Mission Statement ends, “We strive to be men and women for others.” When we hear the phrase “men and women for others,” we immediately think of acting with someone else’s interests in mind, with no regard for our own benefit. We imagine ourselves as a superhero flying through New York City stopping bad guys and saving good guys, or we are a soldier fighting the enemy to protect the innocent, or we are a regular guy helping an old lady with her groceries. In our minds, we are always the “Man” or the “Woman,” but we never imagine ourselves as being the “Other.” I had the unique experience of being the “Other.”

"While we listen to the administration urging us to be “Men and Women for Others,” we are usually daydreaming. I tended to daydream about senior year and how awesome it would be. When it finally arrived, it was everything I could have hoped for. I was having a blast with cross-country, my car was, well, at least I had a car, I had a low-paying job that I hated, and I had a great group of friends. I liked all of my teachers and had nearly zero homework on any given night. Homecoming came and went. The Indians made a run through the playoffs and lost. I finished all of my college applications.

"And then it happened. I don’t exactly know how, and I certainly don’t know why, but for whatever reason, at 12:43 am November 2, 2007 my life came crashing down all around me. I went to the hospital that Friday morning, I remember talking to my dad a little in the emergency room, and the next thing I know it’s Sunday morning, my stomach is killing me, and I’m in a hospital in Pittsburgh. Friday morning, it is believed that my small intestine wrapped itself around my mesenteric artery, cutting off its own blood supply. I had to have most of my small intestine removed. When I woke up, I had wires going in and out of my body and I was scared to death because I wasn’t sure what was going to happen next; but through all of that one thing gave me solace.

"Three of my best friends came into the ICU to say, “hey.” They heard I was going to a hospital in Pittsburgh, and they drove two hours to be there with me. Of course, they had to go home that night for school the next day, but a few days later, they came back, with another friend of mine. Not only did they come back, but they brought cards from my classmates, and a letter from my favorite teacher. Then they left. And a few days later, even more of my friends came to see me. I was in the Pittsburgh hospital for two weeks, and I never went more than three days without seeing someone from Walsh.

"When I finally went home, I still wasn’t anywhere near being strong enough to get back to school. Still, every couple of days a few people from Walsh would come over just to hang out for a few hours. We didn’t do anything special, I couldn’t do much more than watch TV, but they continued to come over, making sure I knew that I was still a part of the group.

"I ended up missing over 40 days of school, but when I came back, each and every one of my teachers showed me kindness, compassion, and understanding of my situation. I had incredible extensions, exemptions, and exceptions made for me, and I appreciated every single one so much.

"My life has been stressful since November 2. I’ve had to deal with a lot of stuff that I never thought I’d ever have to do. I’ve had most of an organ removed. I’ve been life-flighted to Pittsburgh. I’ve endured the pain of 7 different kidney stones. I’ve missed 42 days of school. I’ve had half credit taken off a homework assignment for being absent, twice. I left winter formal early because the bass was so loud it sent shivers down the scar tissue in my abdomen. I’ve had to stay home from a trip to London, England. And I still had to be ready for three AP tests this May. But through all of that there was one constant: support from the Men and Women of the Walsh community. Friends, teachers, the administration, even people I didn’t know stopped in the hall to ask how I was doing, offered to cut me some slack if I needed it, and never let me forget how happy they were I was OK. And I am OK. As soon as my surgeon saw my family and friends in the Pittsburgh waiting room, he told my parents that I would be OK. I would be normal again, thanks to the love and support I had all around me. When you’re feeling down, think about that. Think about your family and friends, think about how much they love you, think about how much they support you. And then thank them.

"In that spirit, I thank God and you, Walsh, thank you for everything. Thank you to my mom, dad, and sister, and the rest of my family. Thank you to all the teachers who empathized with the struggles of high school. Thank you Mr. Lee, Mr. Grescovich, and Senor Gaone for being so awesome. Thank you to everyone who sent cards and well-wishes. Thank you Matt, Andy, Steven, Katy, Dan, Kyle, Catherine, Maria, Metzger, Coffey, Kurtz, Brittany, and everybody else who made the trip to Pittsburgh. I’m going to miss all of you next year. I can only hope that I can find friends half as great as you all. So, thank you Walsh Jesuit. Thank you for being “Men and Women for Others.” Thank you for being “Men and Women for Me.” "

June 1, 2008.

-The Intestineless Wonder

Waiting for Godot

Sorry for making you wait a week+ in between posts. Mid-term week makes it tough to blog. I know waiting is no fun. And that leads me to the topic for this post: Waiting ... for a championship.

The Cavaliers went 66-16 this season. That is not a typo. They won 66 times in 82 tries. They were the best team in the entire National Basketball Association. The first round of the playoffs was laughable. The once mighty Detroit Pistons were left to watch in awe as their dynasty window slammed closed. That's what you get for trading a team player in Chauncey Billups for a me-centric Allen Iverson who doesn't enjoy attending practice (Practice? Practice?). The second round of the playoffs was uneventful as the Cavs swept the surprisingly talented Atlanta Hawks. Two rounds, eight games, eight wins. All eights wins were by double digits. King James, it seemed, was on his way to a second chance at an NBA title: a fitting end to his MVP season.

But we all forgot about one key detail: the Cavs are from Cleveland. And Cleveland teams simply don't win. They don't win when they're supposed to be bad, and they don't win when they're supposed to be good. The Cavs should have been swept by the Orlando Magic last night. If LeBron didn't have super-human basketball skills they would have been. Instead its a 3-1 Magic lead. But just as easily as the Cavs could have been swept, they could be up 3-1. Games 1, 2, and 4 all ended with would-be game-winning shots, only one going in.

So it goes. We shouldn't be surprised. Cleveland sports do no have a very kind history. In 1995, the Tribe lost the World Series to the Atlanta Braves. In 1997, the Tribe lost the World Series to the (five-year-old) Florida Marlins after having a lead in game 7. In 1996, Art Modell picked up Cleveland's favorite franchise and took them to Baltimore where they became the Ravens and won a Super Bowl just five years later. The Browns came back and lost their first game to the hated Steelers by a closer-than-it-sounds score of 41-0. All this time the Cavs were a joke.

But then, by the grace of ping-pong balls, we had our savior: LeBron James. 18 years old and fresh out of high school, he was King. Remember when he scored the final 29 points for the Cavs against the Pistons in 2007? That sent the Cavs to their only Finals appearance ever, which they lost in four games to the dynastic Spurs. Later in 2007, the Indians tied for the best record in all of baseball. They beat the hated Yankees in four games in the ALDS (remember the gnats?). They were up three games to one on the almost equally as hated Boston Red Sox. But of course, these Indians were from Cleveland, and they proceeded to lose the next three games as the Red Sox went on to win their second championship in four years.

And then the 2008-2009 basketball season arrived. LeBron and the Cavs were untouchable. And now they face elimination. Let's face it, the Cavs are going to win the next two games to tie the series. And then they will lose. Like all teams from Cleveland, they will lose.

I know what you're saying, "That sports history isn't so bad." Well, that's just Cleveland's sports history since I was born. The entire history goes like this: Indians win a lot in the 1950s, but then lose a lot in the 1960s, 1970s, and 1980s. The Browns win a lot including a championship in 1964. 1965 brings Super Bowl 1. The Browns have yet to play in a Super Bowl. They have come close though.

The Drive: AFC Championship game. Browns are winning with two minutes left to play and the Denver Broncos pinned on their own two yardline. John Elway drives 98-yards to win the game.

The Fumble: AFC Championship game. Browns are ready to score the game-winning touchdown with seconds to play. Ernest Byner has a wide-open path to the endzone and inexplicably drops the ball before scoring. It is recoved by ... wait for it ... the Denver Broncos.

Red-Right 88: Playoffs. The Browns are in field goal range. A field goal wins it. All they need is a field goal. But they want to run just one more play: a pass to the endzone. Guess what happens? Correct, it is intercepted. Browns lose. The play they ran was Red-Right 88.

Then of course, Art Modell takes them away.

The Cavs had some great teams in the 1980s. But the Chicago Bulls had this guy named Michael Jordan. Recall The Shot. Michael Jordan hits a last-second game-winner over Craig Ehlo to send the Bulls to the Finals. Michael kept the Cavs out of it a few other times as well.

All in all, the Indians have not won a World Series since 1948, the Browns have not won a championship since 1964 and have never even been to a Super Bowl, and the Cavs have never won an NBA Championship and have appeared in the Finals just once. Cleveland has not won a professional sports championship in 45 years. Poor Cubs fans? Yea, it's been 100 years since a World Series, but come on? What about the 1985 Bears and the Super Bowl Shuffle? What about that guy, Michael Jordan? He only won six NBA Titles. Poor Clippers fans? Well ... their aren't any Clippers fans. But they had the Raiders and the Dodgers. Poor Denver Nuggets fans? Remember the Drive and the Fumble, those were against your Broncos and your precious John Elway. Poor Bills fans? Yea, they lost four straight Super Bowls, but what about this: they played in four straight Super Bowls! Sure their record in those games was 0-4, but you had 4 great football seasons.

Cleveland is head and shoulders above everybody else when it comes to Sports Suffering. LeBron will eventually win a title in his career. Most likely he will win a few. But he's a free agent after next season and has aspirations of being the first billionaire athlete. He's good friends with Jay-Z, part-owner of the Knicks, who are building a brand new stadium in Brooklyn. The Indians have for the most part the same team as 2007, yet they were 81-81 last year and are looking a losing season dead in the face this year. And the Browns ... I'm not even going to talk about the Browns.

So Cleveland fans keep waiting... And I keep waiting ... Waiting until one day we get to pack downtown for that victory parade. I want it to happen so badly that I have a stomachache every day. Well, that might not be because of Cleveland's lack of a championship parade, but it doesn't mean I don't want it!

Until next time, keep waiting. -IW

Name That Stone!

Two things for today's post.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009 was a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day. I woke up, and everything was fine. I was brushing my teeth, bent over to spit, and BAM! Like a harpoon in my back, I felt the stone lodge in my ureter. I got through my two classes in the morning, but after that, it was evident that the pain was only getting worse. I made the decision to take a pain pill. But then something happened that has never happened after taking a percocet: I vomited. I waited another two hours and took another pill, believing that a two hour lay-over would suffice considering I didn't keep the first pill down. Then a funny thing happened that really wasn't funny at all: I vomited again. I realized something must be wrong.

It was time for the E.R. Fortunately, a floor mate of mine offered to walk over there with me. He offered to wait inside with me as well, but I told him that would not be necessary. Slowly but surely I went through the hospital's protocol and got the necessary pain management. My mother was nice enough (and had a schedule empty enough) to make the two and a half hour drive to be there with me. The ultrasound showed that my kidney was indeed swollen, and then the doctors told me a lot of what I already know: huge stone, follow-up with a urologist, get it removed sooner rather than later.

When I was first taken back, a doctor came to evaluate what was going on. It was evident I knew what I was talking about, and he asked if I had ever had a stent in either of my ureter. O doctor. I told him the story of my DIY stent of early April. And his reaction wasn't exactly what I was expecting. Sure he couldn't believe that something so traumatic was asked of a 19-year-old kid (kid, ha), but he was most surprised that there was even such a thing as a DIY stent. He had never even heard of such a thing. Hmm ... Sounds like a DIY stent is a highly experimental, under-the-table, "keep it hush-hush" procedure that should only be found in the "Malpractice: DO NOT PERFORM" file.

I didn't have any pain yesterday or today, so with any luck, the stone settled back in for a tasty nap until it will be unexpectedly awakened, removed, and destroyed in June. This monster is over two centimeters in diameter. Once again, for those of you who may be mathematically or metrically challenged, that is nearly an inch in diameter, which is real big. I think its size qualifies it as epic enough to require a name.

Here are a few right off the top of my head: Rocky, Indiana Stone, Al Ca-stone, Tony Stone-prano, Sammy Stone-sa, Rock McGwire, The Incredible Rock, Magic Rockson. That's all I got right now. Any ideas would be appreciated though. It needs a name, so that I can refer to it in the third person quickly and easily

And now on to topic number two. Take a look at the map on the side toolbar that shows where the Intestineless Wonder blog has been read. Do it right now. As you can see, it has now been read in 9 different countries and on 3 different continents. It is very close to qualifying as a global blog. I'd like to thank all of you for reading and for spreading it around. Keep it up! I'd like to see red dots in a few more places. So I am commissioning anyone with friends in foreign countries to tell said friends to log on to the Intestineless Wonder, if only to globalize it. If you have any friends who are celebrities and would plug it using their available medium, that would be appreciated, too. Ha.

There's only one way all short-gutters will be aware of this blog: VOLUME! Yes, yelling it is necessary. That way more people hear it and become intrigued and, therefore, more likely to find out who yelled "volume" and for what reason. That reason, of course, being to get people aware of the Intestineless Wonder.

We're also getting close to 1,000 views. That's big time. Thanks to all who encouraged me to start writing a blog and those who encouraged me to continue writing through difficult times. It definitely helped me through some tough times, and I like to think it may have helped some other people. With any luck, it will help someone in the future as well.

Once again, please, tell your friends. Get that readership into the quadruple digits, and let's make the Intestineless Wonder globally-known. Some public recognition would be fantastic, not only for the blog itself and all that that accomplishment would represent, but for those suffering through short-gut out there, helpless, not knowing what else to do or where else to turn. Maybe it helps the families of SGers too by giving a little insight into what goes through someone's mind while they are dealing with short-gut. While doctors charge outrageous fees, can be a little hit-and-miss, and often have bigger fish to fry, the doors to the Intestineless Wonder are always open. Well, as long as you have internet access.

Until next time, keep reading and go Tribe! -IW

Not Reading This Blog Would Be Highly Illogical

Lots to talk about today. Nothing huge, just a wide range of relevant topics.

First, I'd like to extend a hearty congratulatory handshake to myself for being read in seven different countries on three different continents. I believe that qualifies The Intestineless Wonder as being an international blog. I think it needs one more continent and at least double digits countries to be considered global. In due time ...

Second, to all the mothers reading this, Happy Mother's Day. I can honestly say that I would not be where I am right now if it weren't for my mother, and not just because she drove me here. Ha. She's been that rock that I have leaned on for the last 18+ months. Love ya, Mom.

This past weekend was pretty fantastic. I went home for the weekend. My parents and I went to the Tribe game on Friday, where they proceeded to lose 1-0. On Saturday, I hung out with a few friends. We went to see the new Star Trek movie. It was unbelievable. I mean, absolutely fantastic. Everything I could have ever hoped for and so much more. I definitely recommend giving it a shot. Not going to see it would be highly illogical. Bam! Spock reference right in your face!

Then we went downtown for the Tribe game (yes, two in two nights). Our plan was to hit up the Winking Lizard for some dinner before the game because it's about two blocks away from the stadium. We walk in to the Lizard, and the maitre'd asks, "you fellas have your I.D.s?" My response: "For all the not alcohol we're not going to order?" As it turns out, you have to be 21 to eat food and not drink at the Winking Lizard after 5 p.m. on the weekend. So after about fifteen minutes of wondering where to eat (because I thought the Winking Lizard was less of a bar than anything else around us), my father brilliantly suggested walking into the Marriott and asking for a suggestion. They suggested the Irish Pub down the street. I have to admit, I was skeptical, but sure enough, they welcomed us with open arms. It was glorious. I went with the blackened grouper sandwich followed closely by a Gas-X. Then we went to the game where we got our free Cliff Lee Cy Young Award Bobbleheads. We sat in the bleachers and had a grand ol' time. But yet again, the Tribe was shut-out, 4-0.

Late Saturday night, I watched Saturday Night Live, one of my favorite programs. For any loyal SNL viewers, you know that Justin Timberlake has become somewhat of a legend. Well, he was the host on Saturday, and he certainly did not disappoint. Somehow J.T. successfully transformed himself from a teen boy-band member who I hated to a hilarious celebrity who makes me laugh loud and long. You may remember the infamous SNL Digital Short that he was in last time he hosted. This week he and Andy Samberg reprised their roles for the sequel: "Motherlover." In this one, the two are released from prison and have forgotten that it is Mother's Day. They proceed to brainstorm and come up with a gift for their respective mothers that will give them not only a great Mother's Day but also a great Mother's Night. Ha. Hilarity ensues. I suggest giving it a quick once-over. Viewer discretion advised, though.

On Sunday, the fam and I went to the grandparents' house and spent the day there. It was a good Mother's Day.

And that brings us to tonight: the season finale of House. All I can say about the last three episodes is that they are a brilliantly written masterpiece which is far and away the best series of episodes in the entire series. I cannot get over how mind-blowing it was.

Anyway, I think that's about it for right now. I am four and a half weeks away from summer vacation and returning home for good. Which of course means no more campus food, no more campus people, and no more living in a ten by fifteen cell. It can't come fast enough.

Until then everybody, live long and prosper. -IW

Freshman Fifteen: Consider Yourself Jinxed

Five weeks from today is my last day of exams for this quarter, my last at Ohio State. Five weeks until I get to come home for good. Five weeks until my freshman year of college ends.

Preparing for college, colleges and their students sent countless letters and e-mails to me and all other high school seniors with pieces of advice for enhancing the college experience. One of the most-talked-about topics was the ominous Freshman Fifteen: the inevitable weight-gain that every college student encounters during their first year away from home due to the ease with which one finds fatty or sugary foods.

Last summer, when someone would give a short speech about avoiding the freshman fifteen, I thought to myself, "O God, please, please let me gain the freshman fifteen. You know what? Forget the freshman fifteen; let me gain the freshman forty-five!"

With five weeks left in my freshman year, I have successfully avoided the freshman fifteen. But the thing is, I would like to gain the weight. So with time running out, my only option is to jinx my weight. Unfortunately, I doubt that Sports Illustrated is going to put a picture of me shirtless on a scale on their cover, so I must take matters into my own hands.

"I don't have to worry about gaining the freshman fifteen anymore!" Don't anybody knock on wood. There it is, I jinxed it. By the time I wake up on the morning of June 12, I should be fifteen pounds heavier. That's all there is to it. This better work though, nothing else seems to.

This is a short post today. There isn't a lot happening right now. Just counting down the days until my next trip home (tomorrow). I am currently fighting through back pain ... again. It's the same type of soreness that I have grown intimately familiar with over the course of the past few months. It's not quite as sharp as it usually is though; it is just really sore and uncomfortable. It will probably get worse for this weekend, that would be just my luck. The fam and I have tickets to the Tribe game tomorrow night. Although it might just be a trip for Pa and I, since Shellster has a softball game scheduled against archrival Archbishop Hoban. On Saturday, Subak, another kid, and I are going to the new Star Trek movie and then heading up to the Tribe game. That's right, two Tribe games in two nights. Then Sunday, of course, is Mother's Day, which I will be spending with my mother.

So, I suppose I will talk with all of you later. Adios muchachos. -IW

I Am Ironman

Tomorrow is May 2, which marks 18 months since I went from being a naive, arrogant senior in high school to a bitter not-yet-18-year-old adult, well-schooled in the inequities of the real world. 548 days since I didn't have a stomach ache. When I went to the E.R. that fateful Friday morning, they asked what I had eaten in the last forty-eight hours, or at least I told them what I had eaten; most of that weekend is blacked out from my memory. But anyway, here is what I had eaten.

Two days before, on Wednesday, it was Halloween, which to most of my age group means Chipotle will give you a free burrito if you show up with a tin foil costume. So there was the barbacoa burrito with white rice, black beans, tomato and corn salsa, and sour cream wrapped up in a gigantic white flour tortilla with a free soft drink. I watched that week's House episode that night with a friend.

Thursday began, and I had a bowl of cereal. Surprisingly, I cannot recall which manufactured sugary treat I ate that morning. I left with that same friend to do some volunteering. We had Thursday and Friday off of school, and National Honor Society required so many hours of community service hours from each member. The friend's sister worked with mentally challenged students at Solon Middle School, so we spent the day helping out there. It was easy service that looked good on paper. We went to lunch at an Hibachi restaurant. I had the steak. It wasn't very good, and I blamed this meal for a long time for what happened. I hate Hibachi restaurants. Sitting at a bar-like table with people you don't know. Having to watch a chef prepare your food. Come on: kitchens are in the back of restaurants because people don't want to see their food being cooked. I mean, people get upset when they get seated too close to the kitchen. Why would I want to sit at the stove and eat? But alas, my friend really liked Hibachi restaurants, and I really like my friend. Obviously, I caved (and paid).

Then came dinner. Thursday night was leftover night. That meant it was pretty much a free for all. So I had a big plate of speghetti and meatballs. And two soft shell beef tacos. I had a bowl of ice cream later that night. I went to bed around 11:00 and slept for about an hour and a half, waking at 12:43 a.m. writhing in pain. And the rest, as they say, is history.

Last May 2nd was a memorable day as well. It was a Friday. The last day I ever went to Walsh Jesuit High School as a student. Senior breakfast, senior mass, the senior walk-through, and just like that, it was over. It rained that day.

It was also prom day. Most in my group had dates. By that time, my friend was long gone, so I went stag. One of my friends' dad was at the senior breakfast, heard that I was going stag, and asked why I didn't just ask some girl to go with me as friends to have a good time and all. I had already thought of a brilliantly worded response and had been waiting weeks for someone to ask me that very question. Some of the group was gathered around too, so they were there to hear my response. Here is what I said: "Six months ago today, I got real sick. I missed two months of school. I had to watch my friends go to freaking London while I stayed behind. My girlfriend broke up with me, citing my lack of effort at getting well. I've been on a 12-hour I.V. every night since then, and tonight my doctors have decided to begin to try weaning me off of it. This is my first night of being somewhat normal again. The last thing I want to do is worry about whether some random girl is enjoying her senior prom!" I got a few laughs, a slap on the back, a few handshakes, and an immeasurable amount of respect from those within earshot.

The dance itself was terrible. Everything about it was terrible. Except the steak. The fillets they served were enormous, well-cooked, and delicious. After that there wasn't one redeeming thing about it. At that time it was pretty clear that all but one of my previously loyal-to-the-end friends was ready to move on to a less morbid life style, whatever the consequences. The friend who didn't had a date to attend to.

The music choice represented everything that I hate about my generation. That was when Soulja Boy was well past his peak of underserved popularity yet they still played the song twice. They did play "Don't Stop Believing." But it was the type of "Don't Stop Believing" that makes you stop believing in all of humanity. It was a nameless rapper's lame attempt at popularity by playing a popular anthem's chorus and then rapping indecipherable sexual innuendos in between choruses. I nearly left right then when they played it.

The group went to someone's house to change for after-prom. Guys went to the basement to change out of our tuxes and into street clothes. I began changing without thinking, then when I was halfway through removing my shirt, I remembered that nobody had ever seen a Hickman Catheter and, although they knew I was on a nightly I.V., had probably never thought of how I get the I.V. into my body. So I said, "Want to see something you've never seen before?" And off the shirt came. For one night at least, I was Ironman. Again, respect through the roof, but for some reason most of them seemed a tad uncomfortable. I don't have any idea why; they all had their shirts off too. Ha.

After-Prom wasn't much better. The creatively named fair-like get-together at our high school had a bunch of blow-up obstacle courses and such activities, some casino activities, and the same lame d.j. as the dance. After half an hour they corraled the entire student body into the cafeteria. Someone had discovered beer bottles in the bathroom at the country club where prom was. Which meant everyone needed to be breathalized before returning to the festivities. Everyone got up and got in line (except for one table of conspicuously unenthused prom-goers). When I got to the front, Mr. Dodds said he didn't want to waste his time or mine and told me to just get back to the party. Good thing, or else I might have missed standing around watching other peolple have fun. I wasn't confident enough physically to partake in any of the blow-up activities, and that was all my group of friends wanted to partake in. So I loitered. For three hours. Then we went to a friends house and had a "good time" the rest of the night. Subak didn't come. I was unbelievably let down, but eventually got over it.

Morning came, and I drove home to watch the Kentucky Derby with the fam. The horse I picked to win didn't win. And the lone filly, Eight Belles, had to be euthanized on the track after the race. Once again, this weekend is the Kentucky Derby. "The most exciting two and a half minutes in sports." My pick this year is Hold Me Back, mostly because I like the meaning behind the name. It's how I feel a lot of the time when I think about what happened last year between me and some of my friends. I thought about picking I Want Revenge, but it sounded a little too vindictive. So Hold Me Back, currently 15-1, is my winner. He's being jockeyed by Kent Desormeaux, who, if I'm not mistaken, jockeyed Big Brown to victory last year.

Eighteen months. I can't believe it's been eighteen months already. It seems like I got sick just a few weeks ago still. And yet, it's been the longest eighteen months I could have possibly imagined. But one year ago I had my first night off TPN. No small step, as anyone who has ever been on TPN can tell you. And I spent my first night off TPN away from home. I'm not sure how my parents agreed to letting their son spend his first night with no I.V. driving all over northeast Ohio all night. But then again, I don't know how they could have not let me go. I had already missed out on so much, they kind of had to let me go. You only get one prom. And before you go to your prom, you think it's supposed to be the greatest night of your short life. Looking back, it's just another over-hyped stepping stone. But being the six-month anniversary of getting sick, my first night off TPN, my senior prom, and the night after my last day of high school, it was more than just prom. It was the day I realized I had grown up. The day I realized that I had become an adult nearly over-night and my friends were still kids trying to act grown-up. The day I realized how much stronger I was than everyone around me. The day I realized I had endured and overcome so much more than any of them most likely would ever have to. The day I realized that I was Ironman. And so it ended.

One year later, I can say that May 2 was indeed a turning point. Just not the turning point I had been hoping for. Everytime I reach a turning point, it's supposed to be when things start getting better. Shortly after prom, though, I contracted a blood-infection, only I didn't know it until four weeks later, graduation day. But that story will be left for the June 1 post.

Until then, you stay classy, San Diego. -IW

MLB - Medicinal League Baseball

Cytra-K: the latest supplement to be added to my regimen by my team of doctors. It is intended to increase my citrate level, if I'm not mistaken, which has a correlation to kidney stones. That is, low citrate levels are related to a higher probability of developing kidney stones. Naturally, taking this makes sense. I take 1 mL of the liquid four times daily. After three meals and before bed. It smells like cough syrup, it tastes like I imagine the water in Satan's tap tastes. It is rough. I fill the medicine cup thing two-thirds of the way up with a mixture of the medicine and cold water, and I have a glass of cold water ready to drink and the tap running. I make a toast to somebody (family, short-gutters, American soldiers, etc.) and go bottoms-up. It's probably not as bad as I make it out to be, but it is tough. And having to do it four times everyday makes it worse. But I guess I don't have much of a choice. And it's certainly better than the alternative (kidney stones).

This is just the most recent supplement called upon by my docs. Going with the baseball metaphor that I mentioned last time, that would make me the manager of the team. My doctors at the Cleveland Clinic would be the General Manager (and assistants). My mom I will call the trainer. Short-gut and SIBO are the opponents, and my supplements are the players. So here's the line-up.

1 - Loperamide, CF

2 - Tums, RF

3 - Calcium, 1B

4 - VSL#3, C

5 - Chewable Children's Multi-vitamin, DH

6 - Gas-X, SS

7 - Chromium, 2B

8 - Cytra-K, LF

9 - Glutamine, 3B

And now the justification. Loperamide (nicknamed Lope; baseball players and fans love nicknames) is the all-around best player on the team: the cornerstone, if you will. Without its bat to lead-off the game the offense never gets started (it's the first pill I take in the morning), and its amazing plays in the outfield prevent the opponent from getting any sustained rallies (it's the generic for Imodium - I don't think I need to explain what a "sustained rally" is). Tums is one of the most underrated players. When the opponent gets a liner to the right field corner Tums comes up with the big arm to gun down the runner. A Rocky Colavito-like arm puts fear into all batters attempting to stretch a single to a double or double to a triple (Tums does the trick for quick-hitting stomach aches). Tums also prevents stomach aches when I take it right after meals that may potentially cause discomfort. Loperamide gets it going, Tums moves it over.

Calcium is a solid defensive first baseman. It prevents a lot of potential kidney stones from even getting started, which is kind of a big deal. But the clean-up hitter is the one that does the most damage. VSL#3 clobbers anything thrown over the plate by the opposition (VSL#3 helped the team put up 22 runs against SIBO last weekend). And as a catcher, VSL#3 calls the perfect pitch to make the opposing batter look like a fool. Should a base runner reach safely, he wouldn't think of stealing on VSL#3's cannon arm. VSL#3's big bat is protected in the line-up by the big bat of Chewable Children's Vitamin (currently of the Spongebob variety and therefore called Spongey). Spongey does the obvious with my vitamin levels. Underrated: yes; under-appreciated: no. But it doesn't do anything on the defensive side of the game. So it's a good thing we have the DH.

Gas-X is the stopper, or the X Factor. Should the top of the line-up not do its job, Gas-X puts an end to it. Bad stomach ache: Gas-X. Can't sleep due to cramps: Gas-X. About to eat something not so good: preventative Gas-X. It gets the job done from the plate. But it's the defensive side that really puts it in the All-Star game. Gas-X stops everything hit to the left side. Gas-X is the Omar Vizquel of this team. It is followed by Chromium (called Chromesy). Chromesy is mostly on the team because we needed a second baseman. Chromesy doesn't have any noticeable merits to put it on the team, but without him, he is missed (chromium levels drop like Apollo Creed against the Russian).

Next is Cytra-K (called CK). CK just got called up from the Triple-A club. He's got a big bat and great range in left. His arm needs to gain some strength, but that won't be too noticeable in left. His bat will sit in the lower third of the line-up until he gets used to big-league pitching (or until I'm not so disgusted by its taste and it becomes just another player). Don't be surprised if CK replaces Calcium in the three-hole. Batting last is Glutamine (called Glutes). Glutes gets the job done in the hot-corner at defense, helping my system regulate itself after a couple bad days or a cold, but there isn't a lot of offensive firepower with this player.

Vitamin D (Big D) pitches. He is on a weekly rotation (I take one every Sunday). He gets my vitamin D levels up but beyond that doesn't have much effect. Percocet (Perks) has been optioned to the Triple-A squad finally. Perks was getting the job done, but with CK preventing stones, there isn't much need for him. CK's upside far outweighs the risk associated with Perks (addiction and foggy-headedness). Fiber (called Candy, however ineffective that is) and Viokase (he was never accepted by earning a nickname) are currently on the 15-day DL. I have trouble keeping them in the daily line-up. I'm hoping they will be ready to play by mid-May.

So that is my Medicinal League Baseball line-up. It currently is my best nine. But be aware that it will change soon and then will change again. Probably a third time, too. I hope that was as fun for you as it was for me, even though it was a little silly.

I had a Chem 101 mid-term yesterday. I would call it a confidence booster more than a mid-term. It was thirty multiple choice questions. That's it. Ten times easier than any Chem test I had during my sophomore year chemistry course, which Michelle is currently taking. If you need help Michelle, don't ask me, because this college class is easier than Getz's class. I have my last mid-term tomorrow morning in my Calculus course. It is going to be a killer. This post was my break from studying.

Now it's back to the grind. Wish me luck. -IW

I Have an MBA

Hello all. Yet again, I have become lazy in posting. Yet again, it is due to school. Missing seven days of class takes a lot of previously-had free-time away. I had caught up on all of my homework but still needed (and still need) to catch-up completely on the topics covered. I had a mid-term in my logic-based math course today. I think it went well, although it was difficult and took me the entire class period. Hopefully it turns out well.

I thought I'd make a comment on this post about my latest dietary supplement experiment: probiotics. Heavy duty probiotics, at that. I've been eating Activia yogurt with probiotics for a while now (low sugar, of course). But research has shown that these yogurts don't even have enough bacteria (good bacteria) to do anything against the bad intestinal bacteria. But the probiotics I'm taking have the big bats. They are like the Cleveland Indians line-up while the bad bacteria are like Chien-Ming Wang and a sorry Yankee bullpen. They are Teddy Roosevelt: quiet, but not afraid to get dirty. Everyone remembers his Big-Stick Policy ("Speak softly, and carry a big stick") with regards to foreign policy. They are like Manny Ramirez while the bad bacteria are like every pitcher ever. They are like Omar Vizquel's glove while the bad bacteria are like every ground ball hit to the left side of the infield. You get the picture.

The probiotics I am taking are VSL#3 ("The Living Shield"). Each serving, two capsules, contains 225 billion live lactic acid bacteria which act as my Microscopic Bacterial Army (MBA - I told you I had a MBA, and you didn't believe me. Now how do you feel?) fighting what my Cleveland Clinic doctors have diagnosed as Small Intestine Bacterial Overgrowth (SIBO - Also referred to as Small Bowel Bacterial Overgrowth [SBBO]). I have taken one serving each morning for the past month, and I have noticed a definite decrease in what I like to call "intestinal activity" - the grumblings and rumblings, both felt and heard, within the intestines since having my bowel resection. Less cramping at the end of the day, less class-interrupting stomach noises (re: Seinfeld's "The Voice"). That is not to say that I never feel cramping. I do. But usually I know immediately that I shouldn't have eaten what I recently ate, i.e. a large cookie, a bowl of most likely fatty soup, etc. And I do have stomach noises still. Today's mid-term was incredibly noisy thanks to Jay Junem, Dewy Denim, and Ih Liam (he's Middle-Eastern).

My doctors recommend that I take up to three servings of my MBA each day, increasing upon my one each day. Unfortunately that poses a slight fiscal problem. The bottle that the MBA comes in contains 60 capsules (30 servings). So, at one serving each day, a bottle lasts one month. The problem is that the bottle costs $50. Taking three servings each day means that I would be paying five dollars everyday for these guys. My mother has attempted to get the insurance to cover the cost to no avail.

These pills are definitely making a positive difference for me, though. And I recommend them to other SGers who may be suffering from SIBO. I'm not sure if it would be helpful to SGers without SIBO, but it couldn't hurt to bring it up to your doctors. I know that dealing with short-gut is mostly a guessing game, playing with different prescriptions and supplements in search for the perfect line-up. Like a baseball team, you don't just put your nine best on the field everyday, you have to find your best nine. Meaning you can have nine potential All-Stars on a team (re: New York Yankees) but the best teams have nine guys who sacrifice for the team and play well together (re: Tampa Bay Rays).

This is interesting. Watch out in the near future for a current prescription and supplement baseball-esque line-up. Now I'm excited to put it all together.

In response to Renee's comment on my last post: She wrote about a home-made pizza that she made. I must say, the BBQ style sounds fantastic. I have made home-made pizza as well. Strike that: my mother has made home-made pizza for me. With the ability to control fat content in the pizza, home-made is definitely the way to go. My current favorite is cheese with green peppers and onions, although it isn't the best for the breath. I've also put pepperoni on it. Cutting the pepperoni slices in fourths allows you to cover the whole pizza with just a few slices of pepperoni. For quick and easy pizza, I especially like using Italian buns instead of "pizza crust." Italian bun, covered with a layer of Ragu, some shredded cheese, maybe a little pepperoni (three or four slices would be more than enough), and a few minutes in the oven. It's fantastic.

I know it sounds odd to say, but I'm going to say it anyway: "There has never been a better time in history to have to live with the Short-Gut Diet." There, I said it. The diet, as I've said before, requires low fat and sugar content. Every super market has almost everything you could possibly want in a low fat or low sugar version. Hotdogs, salad dressing, frozen treats. And if there isn't a low fat or low sugar version (like pizza), there are low fat or low sugar ingredients to buy in order to make a home-made version. Pizza, mashed potatoes (Bob Evan's version is fantastic!), you name it. My mother has even made a Short-Gut-friendly version of cheesecake desserts. She's a genius when it comes to creating tasty recipes for her boy.

I think that's it for now. I'm going to do my very best to stop going a week between posts. I enjoy writing on the blog, so I need to make it a priority again, like it was when I first started.

Tribe came through with the comeback 5-2 victory today, improving to a record of just 6-10 though. Starting pitching, though, is looking like it is going to be a big strength on this club through the season. The bats have been dormant the last handful of games, but I still think they will have the best offense in baseball at the end of the season. The bullpen, well, it's not very good so far. Kerry Wood has been deadly to opposing batters, but beyond that, everybody has struggled. Jenson Lewis is coming around again. I say that it should be looking better soon, as long as the starters can continue to go deeper into the ball games. At the beginning of the season the bullpen was being called upon by the fourth or fifth innings. Perhaps their struggles have come because of being so over-worked to start the season. Now, they can start to relax until the seventh or eighth. Look for the Tribe to be third or higher in the central division after the Detroit series during the second weekend in May (Mother's Day).

You heard it here first. -IW