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