Caturday

That's Bandicoot. The big one. Gustav, the normal-sized kitty sitting next to him, has been desolate for the past two days.

Bandicoot was very, very sick this weekend, and we have no idea what happened. He spent all of Thursday night vomiting (yes, all fucking night, like every couple of hours). As you all know, certain people at La Casa de Los Gatos have extremely sensitive stomachs. We're talkin' hear someone/thing yarking within the limits of hearing distance, and barf along in tune. We're talking smell anything barfacious, like shit, stale piss, vomit, rotting corpses, and it's technicolour yawn time in old Hollywood city.

We're not naming any names now. We are not. But let me tell ya, anybody who has hardwood floors and can sleep through cat barfage, well, you're a better man than I am, Nelson.

Cats barf all the time, right? No big deal? I mean, do you know how much cats barf? If someone could figure out how to turn cat barf into a power source, we could probly run the whole planet very efficiently with low pollution thankyewveddymuch.

Wrong. If your cat barfs a LOT? Like all night a lot? Take the little fucker to the ER. They're really sick, and chances are their core temperature has dropped really low and they're completely dehydrated from all the vomiting, and if their gums are white or bluish, they may have been poisoned and could be close to death.

He was crying in a strange voice, and no beast in pain goes unheard in these parts. That's the policy. So we bundled him up and took him to the vet, and he had a chest x-ray and a sonogram and a blood panel, and I plan to plate him in gold when he returns. Lets just say it cost an arm and a leg, but I am grateful.

He has feline enteritis. Not the panleukopenia (FPV) kind. It made his tubby hurt a lot. He's on painkillers, antibiotics, and an IV drip for fluids and has been in the hospital for two days now. We're leaving in a little while to bring the babby home.

Oh, and Gustav, up there? When Gustav's mom threw a blood clot and had to be ... killed, OK? She was killed. Gustav was desolate. He had never really been separated from his Mom and didn't know how to cope. Bandicoot very kindly took him under an enormous Maine Coon paw and kept him company and kept him out of trouble and slept next to him to keep him warm, and put up with his bullshit. (Gustav was extremely neurotic and crazy when he first came, attacking all the other cats constantly and yowling in a voice like a Siamese on crack. Rescue kitteh. Bad history. Tranquilizers for two years.) So ever since The Coot has been in the horse spittle, Gustav has been inconsolable. And when he's inconsolable, he yowls. LOUDLY. You know, just in case you don't realize he's, like, suffering, or whatever.

Geezus, I can't wait for it to stop. He didn't let us sleep much so I ended up taking a pill, which I hate (I don't like taking medication of any sort and react badly to most of it, but two days without sleep is too much) and I have a splitting fucking headache from the medication. I sure hope he quits yowling soon or I'll have to kill myself.

Just kidding. If I killed myself I would miss out on the joy of bringing our own dear Bandicoot home at last, after two whole days away!

Just look at that little punim. Who could resist such a one?

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For All Teh Nice Lady-People

This one's for you.



Yup. "Git fucked" sounds about right, and if you can't find a convenient page to fuck, yer hand will do fine.

More delightful bare-knuckle beating available here.

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Health: Kidney Donations and Transplants

Today's health story is about a kidney donation.

I can't use the real names of the people featured in this story, so I'll call them R1 and R2. They served together in Vietnam as young men forty years ago.

As young draftees, they were part of a tight-knit group that repeatedly risked life and limb in the course of duty.

Yes, we all have strong opinions about that "war" that was never declared a war, about the millions of Vietnamese peasants and farmers who lost their lives, their homes, their farms, their families, their limbs; and the 58,000 Americans who came back in body bags. But the young draftees were not to blame for any of this, even if a few of them went on to commit war crimes. By and large, they were serving in the military for a myriad of reasons and most of them conducted themselves decently.

They are now in their sixties. Silver-haired men who continue to stay in touch, forever connected by the ties that bind, watching friends and old comrades drop away due to the ravages of old age.

So R1, a man who suffered many grievous wounds in the course of service, suffered a recent insult to add to all his injuries: his kidneys started shutting down. For close to two years now, he's been on dialysis. If you have healthy functioning kidneys, you probably don't know what dialysis is. Thank your lucky stars. It's not for the faint of heart.

Essentially, because your kidneys can no longer filter harmful wastes and extra fluids out of your body, you have to go to a location (a clinic or hospital) where you get hooked up to a machine that slowly filters your blood for you. This is called hemodialysis. Because only a few ounces can be filtered at a time, the procedure takes up to five hours. And you have to do this three times a week.

In addition, you don't get to eat tasty stuff anymore. No bacon, no salt, no cheese, no ketchup, no crackers, no chips, limited quantities of potassium-containing fruit and vegetables, or items high in phosphates (like chocolate), or protein (meat, dairy products, whole grains, nuts).

Fun, huh?

In the event, R1, after suffering through this and waiting patiently for a kidney donor, was finally told he didn't have much time left if he couldn't get a kidney replaced. So he put out the word to his old buddies: can ya spare a kidney for a fellow trooper?

Unbelievably, to this old cynic, at any rate, replies came pouring in. Yes, they would spare a kidney if they could, said his brothers in arms. Dutifully, they submitted to the tests required to determine if any of them qualified — and if they didn't make a perfect match, they'd donate anyway, if they could, just to bump their old buddy up to the top of the list so he could have the next kidney that did match his needs.

There is a special deity for old soldiers, methinks, and s/he lent a hand. After much trading of insults (which, really, is just another way of saying, "Hey, man, I fucking care,") one of his brothers in arms was found to be both in good enough physical shape to spare a kidney and to be a match for R1. So R2 (the trooper with two good kidneys and a clean bill of health) signed up to give one of his to his fellow serviceman, R1.

Sometime in January, the swop takes place. R2 goes home with one less kidney, and R1 emerges with one working kidney, to a life of, hopefully, no more dialysis. Send some good thoughts their way, peeps. Just because it's so fucking heartwarming that somebody would give up a vital organ for someone else, in commemoration of bonds forged four decades ago.

The deity of old soldiers would like both these fine men to know the following information, published in Science News (175:5):

The Jan. 29, [2009] issue of NEJM (the New England Journal of Medicine) has reported that Hassan Ibrahim and his colleagues at the University of Minnesota in Minneapolis have found that kidney donors have the same probability of survival over several decades as the general population, including adequate kidney function and — surprisingly — even less risk of severe kidney disease. The data was derived from studying kidney transplants performed at U.Minn between 1963 and 2007, including selecting 255 of the donors to undergo kidney function tests. The test results were then compared with similar tests on individuals with two functioning kidneys, and donors were matched for race, gender, body weight, and age.

So, R2, for your great generosity in donating one of your healthy functioning kidneys to R1, the deity of old soldiers wants you to know that you're giving away nothing but your love, man. Power to you both, continued health and long life.

ICHC

And as for those who are all, like, supporting the troops? Consider donating an organ. Especially you rich young Republicans who don't ever plan to sign up for military service but support all wars with your mouths. Now you can show that you *really* support the troops. Sign those organ donor cards and carry them at all times. And if you have two healthy kidneys, go see if there's someone who could use one.

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Health Care: What YOU Can Do

If you've been following the Health Care Reform fight, then you know that the Senate Finance Committee met today to vote on Max Baucus' bill.

Well, five Blue Running Dogs joined the Republicans to vote against the public option authored by Senator Rockefeller (D-W.Va). This, despite the fact that two out of every three of their constituents (or more) FAVOUR a Public Option. And despite the fact that the CBO (Congressional Budget Office) has already published a report stating that Rockefeller's version of the public option would save the government between $50 billion and $150 billion over a ten-year period.

Needless to say, ALL the Republicans voted against the Public Option. So down it went in flames.

The time has come to fight back, people. Get off your duffs. A commenter at HuffPo left the following information on who to contact, and how:

BAUCUS: Phone: (202) 224-2651 Fax: (202) 224-9412
LINCOLN: Phone: (202) 224-4843 Fax: (202) 228-1371
CONRAD: Phone: (202) 224-2043 Fax: (202) 224-7776
NELSON: Phone: (202) 224-5274 Fax: (202) 228-2183
CARPER: Phone: (202) 224-2441 Fax: (202) 228-2190

If you are a constituent of any of these primo assholes, then it is your DUTY to call or fax them and demand to know why they have rejected Rockefeller's money-saving public option. They're now debating Chuck Schumer's version of the public option, a much weaker, watered-down version which won't save the country as much, if anything.

Any constituents of Charles Grassley out there? If you believe you deserve as good health care as he gets thanks to your taxes, call or fax him too, and ask him why he made this statement:

"Government is not a competitor. Government is a predator."

— Sen. Charles Grassley (R-Iowa).

Does he really mean it? Has he given up HIS taxpayer-financed health care? Who is his private health care insurer? Why does he not switch over to private health care? If they're good enough for us, they should be good enough for him.

ICHC FTLOL

Give them all an earful, peeps. They deserve it. They've earned it.

Note: This blog does not advocate violence against anyone. However, we reserve the right to mercilessly mock our so-called elected representatives.

Additional note: Although it would be great if the people's representatives could be spayed or neutered, it is, unfortunately, too late, as most of them have already flung their obviously unworthy genes into the pool.

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Health Care: Who's the Real Victim, Here?

Well, Will Farrell wants YOU to know the TRUTH about the public option:

Protect Insurance Companies PSA from Will Ferrell

Mr. Ferrell, you da man!

Laugh your ass off, peeps. It's one of the few moments of Teh Funny in this long and bitter fight.

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Health: Swine Flu

Since we had so much success with the Large Hadron Collider Rap posted here, we absolutely (and our kittehs are unanimous in this) had to, had to, fucking HAD to post this heah H1N1 Rap:



Dr. Clarke, that handsome gentleman you see, is the Medical Director for the Long Island Rail Road. He's a finalist in a contest for the best PSA about swine flu. The denizens of La Casa de Los Gatos are way too fucking hot to dance to this, but we sure did give it two pointy ears up. OK, how 'bout four pointy claws up?



Science sure is sexy, ain't it, boyz and grlz?

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Politics: Health Care

ICHC FTW!

Our fine President shows you that he knows EXACTLY what he's talking about.

Here, in his fine speech at the Portsmouth, New Hampshire Town Hall on health care, he lays out clearly, point by point, what he's been doing and what he is doing and what he WILL BE doing.

So, listen to our President on CNN — listen to the whole fucking speech, OK? Because he states exactly what his vision of health care reform is. And he is so fucking right. Everything he is saying is backed up by facts, statistics, reports, studies, and individual anecdotes. And he is right, goddamn it, right!

"No one in America should go broke because they get sick," he says. No more ludicrous out-of-pocket limits! Preventive care and routine screening to take care of illness before it becomes costly and unaffordable.

"Our deficit will continue to grow because Medicare and Medicaid are" on an unsustainable path, he says. Within eight to 10 years, Medicaid will go broke. "Change is hard, and it doesn't start in Washington," he says. He's asking for our help. Knock on doors, talk to neighbours, spread the facts. "If health care reform was easy, it would already have been done," says our President. And he's right.

He's got the figures to back him too. He talks about the $177 billion dollar subsidy to the health insurance industry. He talks about the $80 billion in rebates that the drug industry has agreed to give their customers under the Reform Act. He talks about the administrative problems inherent in transitioning to single-payer healthcare. He's thought the issues through. He talks about the need for the reform to be self-sustaining, and about the ability of private insurers to compete with the government as a provider of health coverage, and about the cost to small businesses.

He won't sign a bill that adds to the deficit or the national debt. He points out that the previous health care legislation signed was Medicare Part D, which was not paid for at all and created a huge problem with the national debt, as well as creating the "doughnut hole" that forces seniors to pay for costly medication out of pocket. He wants to pay for the reforms by rolling back the Bush tax cuts.

He points out that 14,000 Americans lose their health coverage each day; that insurance company bean counters currently decide whether people can or should have a procedure or a medication. And you know what? He is right.

Nataline Sarkisyan

This, folks, is the face of our current health care system. Nataline Sarkisyan was a teenager covered by her parents' supposedly excellent health care plan. But when she needed a liver transplant, the insurance company that covered her decided that they wouldn't pay for her liver transplant, in essence condemning this child to death.

So if anyone starts yawping about government-run "death panels" (Yes, I'm looking at you, Bible Spice, you unregenerate attention-whore)? La Casa de Los Gatos recommends you print out Nataline Sarkisyan's picture on some good heavy board, roll it into a tube and stick up their collective asses. Alternatively, a couple of "edjumacations" with the trademarked Golden Bat o'Clue might help them towards a faint hint of enlightenment.

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Human Rights: Why Reproduction Should Be

a licensed activity

Otty Sanchez and her baby

This is Otty Sanchez, a 33-year-old woman from San Antonio, Texas. Otty is in the news today because she killed her only child, a 3.5-week-old boy named Scott Wesley Sanchez Buchholz. Ms. Sanchez then proceeded to skin, gut, and decapitate the infant, and then, according to one or more news reports, eat parts of its body.

This last fact is disputed by Ms. Sanchez' family. Understandably. While the specter of your sister or daughter killing her kid is bad enough, the idea of said person actually cannibalizing the defenseless sprog has to make the toughest stomach churn.

Also understandably, the tabloid press, or gutter press, or yellow press, whatever you call it, is going hog wild with cries of "Cannibal Mom!" while a large number of Ms. Sanchez' fellow-Texans and fellow-Americans, most likely Republicans from the tone of their comments, are calling for her death, accompanied, preferably, by prolonged suffering.

La Casa de Los Gatos has only this to say to this last pack of hyenas: Shut the fuckety-fucking-fuck UP! You fucking morons. You fucking-fuckety-fucked-up fucking morons. Exclamation points, multiple. Do you seriously think a human being who has been trying to have a baby for something like five fucking years is going to kill and mutilate it just for fun? Do you people have any idea what pregnancy does to a woman's body and mind? No, of course not, or you couldn't make your moronic pronouncements. All you want to do is cannibalize the tragedy, and it is a tragedy, you worthless fucking fucks.

La Casa de Los Gatos is also using this tragedy, but for a different purpose: to point out that procreation is indulged in way too casually by all and sundry, with never a thought to the consequences. To argue for contraception as a basic human right (and, yes, that includes abortion, adoption, birth control, chemical or mechanical, sterilization, and anything else in our population control armory). To call attention to the incredible hypocrisy with which our society yawps about the sacredness of sprog and human life and procreation while ignoring the real needs of children, mothers, mentally ill people, poor people without resources.

This issue is our favourite (if one can grace it with such a description) bugbear.

Otty Sanchez was diagnosed as a schizophrenic approximately a year ago. The father of the baby, Scott Buchholz, is also a schizophrenic. Otty and Scott met at a local college where they were both training for careers as dental or medical techs. It is not clear whether either of them has a job. What is clear is that both of them are seriously mentally ill with an illness that requires them to remain on medication for the rest of their lives, and that, absent regular medication, they are or could be a danger to themselves or others.



So riddle me this, children. What are two seriously mentally ill people doing having a fucking baby? Srsly. We don't know if schizophrenia is hereditary, but the NIMH (National Institutes of Mental Health) has this to say on the topic:

If you have a close relative (parent or sibling) with schizophrenia, you have a 10 percent chance of also developing schizophrenia. In identical twins, the chances are much higher, at 40 to 65 percent.

Theories/Speculation

In July of 2008, a study came out looking at the genetic causes of schizophrenia. So far, it looks as if there are three kinds of genetic material (microdeletions) present in non-schizophrenics and lacking in schizophrenics, and it's thought that this factor can make a person more prone to developing schizophrenia, but may not be the actual cause. These microdeletions do seem to run in families. Other factors thought to combine together with these genes include problems with brain chemistry, injuries to the brain during birth that leave the brain smaller than normal, and traumatic or very stressful events.

NIMH states that one per cent of the planetary population is schizophrenic. That would be some sixty million people who suffer from this mental disease. Most mentally ill people pose no danger to others. However, symptoms of schizophrenia include hallucinations, auditory and visual, and disorders of thought. Schizophrenics might not understand the nature of the thoughts they are having and might not understand cause and effect when in the grip of their personal, let's call them, demons.

This would explain why a woman who wanted and loved her child might pick up a knife and inflict fatal damage on the child and near-fatal damage on herself.

Otty Sanchez was also diagnosed with post-partum psychosis. Post-partum psychosis (PPP) is a rare mental illness that affects one out of 1,000 women who have borne a child. Unlike the more common PPD (post-partum depression), PPP, which results from the same causes as PPD, can cause a new mother to suffer hallucinations, lose contact with reality, and become a danger to herself, her child, and possibly, others.

Ms. Sanchez has been institutionalized in the past for mental illness. And, to the credit of her poor, disordered mind, she tried to get help shortly before she killed her child. Surprisingly, the hospital to which she went released her. Or perhaps it's not so surprising. She went to the emergency room for treatment (let me guess — no health insurance). And, as everyone knows, emergency rooms are not staffed with mental health workers, in addition to being horribly overcrowded, overused, and understaffed. So they sent her home to her baby. FTA:

Had deputies been called to the home, they might have been able to intervene, said Deputy Chief Dale Bennett of the Bexar County Sheriff's Office.

"Most of our officers have been trained in mental health awareness, so they had a strong probability of recognizing what was going on," Bennett said.

Many of the people involuntarily committed for psychiatric evaluation initially are arrested by law enforcement officers investigating domestic disturbances, said Kevin McManus, a public defender who works with Bexar County clerk's Mental Health Office.

State law doesn't permit health care providers or authorities to detain a mentally ill patient against his their will unless that person is considered an immediate threat to himself or others.

"A lot of times, the officer is the best person to tell if someone appears to be a threat," McManus said.

Ironic, innit? Would you call the cops on your sister/cousin/kid? Otty Sanchez' family does not appear to be wealthy. In addition, they're Latina, and if a renowned scholar like Dr. Gates gets hassled by the cops in an upscale University town, just imagine the relationships between poor Latinos and the cops in Texas.

I'm guessing the family figured if they called the cops, Otty would be manhandled, thrown in jail, and further traumatized, not to mention the issue of what it would do to her already fragile mental health. So they didn't call the cops. They figured, she had a therapist appointment on Monday, they'd tell the shrink she was "hearing voices," and try to figure out how to handle the whole thing then. Except right before that, she killed the baby.

I know it sounds harsh to say that people like Otty Sanchez and Scott Buchholz have no business having a baby. And it sounds like eugenics to ask for population control measures that prevent people who have inheritable diseases that will permanently and negatively affect a child's health or life from having a child. But how do you propose to protect children from danger otherwise? Implementing such a scheme would undoubtedly raise cries of racism, discrimination, class warfare, undemocratic actions not consistent with human rights and civil liberties, et cetera, ad infinitum, ad nauseam.

But I am so fucking heartily sick of seeing the most defenseless of victims fall prey to the needs and wishes of others. How could this tragedy — like Andrea Yates' tragedy, and countless others — have been prevented? Anybody have an idea? All I can come up with is reversible sterilization the minute people's gonads become active, followed by a reversal only when an individual has shown that they are ready, willing, and ABLE to provide the kind of care a helpless sprog needs. Otherwise, what we're saying to ourselves and each other is that the wishes of individuals to procreate outweigh the basic right to safety of the result of the procreation. If we're not willing to do this, then we should just come out and bag the whole "human life is sacred" crap and start using fetii or even children as food material. Yaknow, Soylent Green, and all that.

For the record, I think abortion is far more humane than killing a child after it's born.

And this is how much the issue of PPD is finally affecting the collective consciousness of this country: none other than Rupert Murdoch catbox litter, aka Faux Noise, is actually calling for mandatory pre- and post-partum screening for new mothers. Good idea, Fox, but won't we need to finance this, as in, have some kind of single-payer health plan in order for this to happen? Otherwise, what's the solution? Screen them and turn them loose? So they can kill their kids?

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Health Care: I Ain't Feelin' Too Good Myself, Now

OK, I wasn't till Stephen Colbert did this:

The Colbert Report	Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c
Health Care Hell-Scare - Die-agnosis: Mur-DR
www.colbertnation.com
Colbert Report Full Episodes Political Humor Mark Sanford

People, if you don't know or remember what passed for health care 30 years ago, look it up. A few decades ago, employer-provided health care paid for good-quality medical care at no cost to the employee.

Today, we have co-pays ($5-$50 per doctor visit per family member); co-insurance (calculated percentage of total cost of visit and any procedures approved by insurer); Health Savings Accounts (HSAs - only worthwhile if you're young and very healthy because of the huge deductible, meaning insurance only pays a small portion of your costs and you pay the rest out of tax-free savings that you can't afford, because if you had money to save, you'd get yourself a better goddamned policy, wouldn'tcha?); and critical care, which is a hodge-podge of visits to free clinics (increasingly rare these days, and limited in terms of services), nurse hotlines that give free advice but nothing else, and emergency room visits (also increasingly rare as hospitals shut down emergency rooms which see increasing high-maintenance traffic and very little financial return), where you can wait 12 hours or more to see a doctor or even a nurse, unless you're bleeding to death or cyanotic.

Who are the people telling us we don't need universal health care? Our Congresscritters, for one. Well, they have government-provided health care that WE pay for, so why do THEY get to say that WE can't have the same thing? You know all those Republicans and Blue Dog Democrats who say that we don't need universal health care, and the government is a fuckup that couldn't administer its own left foot without help?

Tell them to drop their universal healthcare NOW. Call them up and ask them if they are covered by the government. If they are, then they need to switch to private insurance NOW, because they can afford to. For us working stiffs, private insurance is just too fucking expensive. For them, with their six-figure salaries, it's a tiny little blip in the bank account. Since they think private industry does this shit better than government ever could, it is their fucking DUTY to select a private option. NOW. No excuses. No more waffling, no more bullshit.

If they're not willing to drop their taxpayer-funded health care, then they should shut the fuck up and give us the same healthcare that they get. After all, we're already paying for it. Widen the pool, lower the cost, lower the risk.

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Politics: Opinionifying

Douchebag

If you haven't already seen it, Ross Douchehat wrote a sanctimonious, assholistic, ignorant, lame-assed editorial for the New York Times that absolutely reeks of having been pulled out of his bung. For maximum benefit, take blood pressure and psychoactive medication before reading. You'll be glad you did.

Why the Times decides to let this worthless motherfucker opine on abortions he is never going to have is beyond me. In any event, it is my sincere hope that you will give them what-for. Until right-wing hacks like Douchebag disappear off the horizon, this country doesn't have a prayer of moving in a progressive direction. As always, Douchebag shows us that rightwingnuttia is far more interested in having its collective nose up the panties of women and LGBTQ folk than in, say, stopping war, apprehending war criminals, fixing the economy, making the switch from an exploitative, war-based economy to one that puts the environment and all its ecological components first, with health care for all and an end to starvation and poverty, respect for science and preservation of the world we inhabit. So. Fuck Douchebag. Figuratively, at least. At editorial@nytimes.com.

I took it upon myself to start the tirade:

Dear Sir or Madam,

I realize that you may have difficulty scavenging for "Op-Ed" writers, but really, do you HAVE to scrape the bottom of the barrel quite so obviously? Ross Douthat is hardly qualified to speak about so powerful and emotional an issue as abortion, having neither the capacity to ever experience the need for one, nor any other particular skillset that entitles him to make any pronouncements whatsoever on the topic. If you must have someone other than a person with pregnancy capabilities (or "woman," if you prefer, since it appears you are unacquainted with the female sex to any overwhelming degree), then you could at least find a writer who was either an obstetrician or a gynecologist, a psychologist or psychiatrist, a mental health worker of any other type, an educator, an embryologist - good heavens, there must, literally, be hundreds of people you could have selected! And some of them might even be women, which would give them a more realistic and appropriate perspective on pregnancies and the termination thereof.

Instead you chose this rambling idiot who does not back up his yammer with anything worthy of being called "proof." In addition to that, his idiocy is unmitigated by skillful prose, insight, sense, sensibility, meaning, empathy, or even, lacking all else, knowledge. Surely The Gray Lady can find SOMEone, ANYone, with better credentials than this emptyhat. Let me offer myself for the position. I can do no worse. No, wait, my cat could do no worse, so let me nominate her. I assure you, her fetching, winsome visage on the op-ed page, together with a collage of her pawprints and various household items that she has destroyed in her search for art, meaning, or amusement would appeal to your readers far more than the lard-faced apologist of the lower depths that is Douthat.

Sincerely,

thepoliticalcat

Look at that face. Who would want to fuck that pathetic thing? No wonder he can shoot his mouth off about abortions. He will never need one, or even cause anyone else to need one. After all, let's face it, if you thought something that looked like that was gonna crawl into or out of your twat, wouldn't you just give yourself a twatectomy with razor wire?

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Science: Stem Cells and Stuff!

How cool is this? Science Daily is reporting that researchers at the University of New South Wales in Australia have figured out a way to treat victims of corneal disease — by culturing stem cells on a therapeutic contact lens that is placed in the sufferer's eye. Dr. Stephanie Watson, who performed the surgical procedure, described it as "simple, inexpensive," and requiring a minimal hospital stay and inexpensive lab equipment. A great breakthrough for Third World countries which cannot afford expensive techniques. Hell, it's a great breakthrough for everybody!

The procedure involves harvesting cells from the patient's cornea, culturing them in the lab, then placing them on a therapeutic contact lens. The lens is placed in the patient's eye and left in for ten days, during which time the stem cells recolonize the damaged cornea. No animal products, no invasive techniques. Shout it for SCIENCE! Yay!

Also from Science Daily, an interesting report about new drugs made from the mineral selenium, easily available at health food stores. Remember this blog's report on clostridium? Clostridium is one of the bacteria that could be thwarted by development of antibiotics that interfere with the selenoprotein process in both human and bacterial cells. Another likely candidate is Treponema denticola, which causes us to fund our dentists' annual holidays in the Caribbean. Could this be the end of tooth decay AND the superbugs? Keep your fingers crossed.

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Food, Health, and Acid/Alkaline Balance

My esteemed colleague, PolCat, blogs so frequently about food and health. PolCat, thank you.

Here are two of her most recent food blogs:
Food
Food II

I'd like to add some information to her encouragement about eating vegetables and fruit. It's also important to have a balance of acidic and alkaline foods.

Recently, I have been suffering from heartburn mostly ... with some reflux. This health problem doesn't just affect your stomach. It really can become a systemic problem: your throat burns, you can develop a cough, it can affect the health of your lungs. It can make you feel really lousy ... it really drains you of energy and takes away your joie de vivre.

If your body is out of balance because you are eating too many foods that are acidic, your body can become sick in many ways. Some people believe that it can lead to cancer if your body is badly out of balance for a long period of time. But you can become smarter about what foods you eat by checking the Acid/Alkaline Food Chart posted by Google.

I looked at the chart and realized that so much of the food that I'm drawn to is acidic. Dang! Plus, lately, I've been drinking too many cappuccinos -- which is one of the highly acidic foods. I do like/love many of the foods in the Alkaline column too. So, I'm going to really try to balance it all out. And I intend to drink a cappuccino ... just every once in a while.

Enjoy eating again. Enjoy the right foods!

Stumble It!

Food! Part II

Five servings of vegetables and fruits means five of each, childrens! What, you will ask, is a serving. Good question. No one seems to know. However, eating five different fruits per day is a good start.

Most Americans are reasonable about eating fruit. It's their vegetables they have problems with. My theory? They don't know how to cook the goddamn things. No, srsly. Because left to themselves, most Americans will happily eat that stuff raw.

No, no, no. Raw veges are good for you, but cooked veges are good, too. And you can't eat *every*thing raw, yaknow? I've had too many people try to feed me raw cauliflower and broccoli. You know, don't you, that cooking that stuff rids it of some of the compounds that make your stomach hurt?

I'd throw in a few fart jokes at this point, being a coarse type, but these recipes are really appreciated by teh ladees, who do not care for coarse behaviour. But srsly. Most vegetables have adapted to defend themselves against those who want to eat them by having some unpleasant compounds that can cause various problems. Cooking them (well and sensibly) reduces these compounds and makes it possible to eat them safely with maximum health benefits.

For example, dried red beans should be soaked for at least eight hours before you try to cook them because they contain a compound called phytohemagglutanin, which can disrupt cell metabolism. Soaking and cooking the little suckers renders them harmless. Cooking bell peppers till they're soft also removes their propensity to make you burp while simultaneously ripping your stomach out through your ear. Finally, we're not ruminants, goddammit. We only have the one stomach to digest our food with, and it does not care for the brassica family in teh raw form.

Therefore, a wonderful broccoli recipe.

Broccoli Sauteed with Pine Nuts

2 bunches broccoli
4 Tablespoons pine nuts
2 Tablespoons olive oil
1 sweet onion (optional)

Wash the broccoli and trim into bite-size florets and cut the stalks into fine dice (excepting the woody parts which should be discarded). If using onion, peel and thinly slice lengthwise into "angel wings."

Heat olive oil in a skillet till hot, but not smoking. (If using onion, add now and let cook till golden brown and fragrant.) Toast pine nuts, stirring constantly, until golden brown. Add broccoli stems, stir, and cover for about five minutes at low heat. Add florets, stir, add a splash of chicken stock or white wine to keep from sticking, if needed, and cover for about five minutes more. Serve sprinkled with fresh chopped herbs from the garden.

Voila! Tasty, fresh, nutritious, bright-green vegetables that don't require melted Velveeta to be edible.


Sauted Cabbage with Aniseed

1 medium cabbage
2 Tablespoons vegetable oil
1 Tablespoon ginger
2 teaspoons aniseed
salt and pepper to taste

Core and halve cabbage and shred fine. Peel ginger and mince.

Heat oil in a skillet till hot and shimmering. Add aniseed, stir for 1 minute, add cabbage, stir till wilted and well-coated with oil. Cover and let cook over low heat for approximately 5 minutes. Remove lid, stir, add water or chicken stock to prevent sticking and burning. Season with salt and pepper to taste, cover, and turn off the heat.

Ginger is a digestive aid, as is aniseed. Herbs, spices, flavoured oils and the like go a long way to making vegetables taste delicious. These two recipes are dry sautees. If you like your vegetables with a little sauce, try cooking them the Asian way.




Stir-fried Bok Choy

2 bunches bok choy
1 Tablespoon light (or thin) soy sauce
1 Teaspoon cornstarch
3 Tablespoons chicken stock
2 teaspoons ginger
2-3 cloves garlic
2 teaspoons dried preserved black beans
2 Tablespoons vegetable oil

Cook's notes: Dried preserved black beans used in Asian cooking are not the same as the black or turtle beans used in South American cooking. The Asian black beans are fermented and OOH, they smell funky! You can substitute Lee Kum Kee black bean sauce or black bean paste for these. I prefer to buy the whole beans in a bag at the local Chinese market because there's nothing in them but beans and salt. Lee Kum Kee products are made in Singapore and Malaysia, and generally higher food quality standards are enforced there, but still.

You can substitute almost any choy for this recipe (except the triangular-leafed "water-spinach," which requires different treatment).


Soak black beans in hot water to cover for 20 minutes. Strain and mince fine.

Finely mince garlic and ginger. Mix soy sauce, chicken stock, and cornstarch well.

Cut the choy. The stalks should be in one-inch pieces and the leaves should be quartered lengthwise, then shredded fine.

Heat a wok till smoking hot, then add oil. Swirl it around the wok so it coats all sides. When the oil is smoking, add ginger, black beans, and garlic and stir for a minute or two till fragrant. If you like hot food, now is the time to add a little crushed red chilli. Add vegetables, stir to coat thoroughly, then cover for about five minutes. Stir again, add cornstarch mixture. When the cornstarch mixture is bubbling, remove from heat and serve.

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Health: Meat Recall

Dammit! Be careful out there, people. Huffpo informs us that Valley Meats LLC of Coal Valley, Illinois, is recalling 96,000 lb of meat that might have been contaminated with E. coli. Some people have already fallen ill. Here's the pertinent info:

The USDA said the beef was produced in March and distributed in 10-pound to 40-pound packages, sold under brand names including Grillmaster, J&B, Thick 'N Savory, 3S, Klub and Ultimate.

All of the recalled beef products bear the establishment number "EST. 5712" inside the USDA's inspection mark.

Consumers with questions can contact the company at 309-799-7341.

Careful handling does not diminish the risk of E. coli, which, as I've said before, has many unpleasant consequences. Little kids and the elderly are most at risk.

How do you avoid E. coli? No more factory farms would be one good way. Better slaughterhouse procedures. Unfortunately, Americans are addicted to meat, which means we're probably not getting rid of factory farming any time soon. The only way to protect yourself, really, is to buy from trusted butchers rather than Mall*Wart, or other big corporations who buy the cheapest crap and don't bother inspecting or certifying their suppliers. Buy organic, if you can. Eat less red meat, and less meat all around. Between 1 and 2 pounds of beef can make twelve meals, when properly augmented with vegetables.

Some cities worldwide are announcing "meatless days" in an effort to control both the spread of food-borne diseases (including those incidentally related to food, such as Creutzfeld-Jacob Syndrome (a brain-wasting disease), diabetes (linked to obesity), and heart damage) and the negative impact on the planet of eating meat in quantity. Some people are going vegan or vegetarian, a healthy alternative indeed. We each need to do what we can to ensure that our food supply is clean and healthy and doesn't make the planet we live on unlivable.

I'll never give up steak completely, but I don't currently eat it more than six times a year or fewer. Certainly, I don't want to die because of my love for steak - or even have lingering bouts of the nasties.

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Health: Swine Flu Update

ICHC

While y'all are panicking over Joe Biden's latest comment (he apparently announced that he'd told his nearest and dearest to stay off trains, subways, and other such crowded places because of the swine flu), here's the latest news on the swine flu. For those disinclined to click the linky, the WHO (World Health Organization, in case you've been a hermit for the past X decades) is stating unequivocally that only SEVEN people have died worldwide since the supposed "pandemic" began.

Brian thinks large, friendly letters saying "DON'T PANIC" should never be reproduced in red, a colour that is alleged to induce panic just by virtue of it's position on the colour spectrum or the eyeball-friendly wavelengths or whatEVER. Point taken, Bri, you'll notice that we've reoutfitted our friendly warning. So. In short. DON'T PANIC. You'll feel better that way.

The reasons the WHO and other governmental agencies, like the CDC, have declared this outbreak of swine flu a pandemic is that (1) it is safer to be prepared for an emergency than to be caught flatfooted; (2) human lives are at stake. An epidemic of butt-vanishment would probably have elicited a worldwide yawn. (3) the epidemic comprises viruses from several different forms of life — avian and mammalian — that have combined to form a new virus; (4) influenza virii mutate quickly and unpredictably; (5) unlike previous animal-source influenzas, this virus can be transmitted between humans.

That said, knowing that a mere seven people have died, not 152 as reported by some hysteria-inducing media morons, is major cause to NOT PANIC. Sheesh, that death rate is way lower than that from traffic accidents, drinking, drugging, and prescription medication mixups. So, yeah, it's sorta worrisome that the disease can be transmitted between humans, but it is almost to laugh that it is transmitted rather ineffectually and doesn't seem to kill very many humans (of whom many should die just because, like Neal Horsey, Michele Bachmann, and Flush Rimbowl, they're a complete waste of oxygen and protoplasm).

So, DON'T PANIC.

In other news, Satan's porcine handmaiden (all praise to Maru, goddess of name-calling and aproposity), KKKarl Rove apparently once mocked President Obama's willingness to spend money battling swine flu. No doubt KKKarl has little to worry about, since his fellow swine will extend him the professional courtesy of "passing-over" him, as it were, you know,making sure they don't infect him. The rest of us, not having that guarantee of rosy health, will just take precautions and pray/work for the day when that oinking swine is in leg chains at the Hague.

Those of you who have given up in exasperation that the li'l porker will never meet the justice he so richly deserves, take heart. Judge Baltasar Garzon of Spain has opened an investigation into the systemic torture at Gitmo, and one can always hope that Dick "Dick" Cheney and Karl Rove get swept up as a result. They'd look so cute in matching orange jumpsuits.

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Health: Swine Flu

ICHC

For all my fellow swine out there (what can I say, I've been in a swinish mood lately, and the pain meds don't seem to be helping), a little pertinent information on the purported pandemic flu we're in the middle of, currently.

First of all: DON'T PANIC!

Hope those letters were large and friendly enough for you. No, srsly, don't panic. So far, the swine flu cases in the U.S. have been relatively mild. No one has died, and no one has become seriously ill. Plus, this strain of flu appears to respond well to existing doses of Tamiflu. So, once again: DON'T PANIC!

ICHC

HuffPo has a list of the things you need to know to protect yourself. As you can see, not a whole lot is known about the flu, except that (1) It's a new strain; (2) Although Mexico reports that 149 people have died from this flu, only 20 of those are confirmed. The rest are still being tested. No deaths have occurred in the U.S. It seems we're being hit with a milder strain; (3) Commonsense precautions should be sufficient — wash your hands frequently with soap and water, especially if you're around people who are sneezing and coughing; Don't sneeze all over your fellow swine, I mean humans; If you're in a health care setting, wearing a mask might help. Ditto if you're in really crowded conditions; (4) Tamiflu and Relenza work fine, although you shouldn't use them as a prophylactic. Older medications are ineffective.

In other words, don't panic. Don't rush to get antiviral medication if you're not suffering any symptoms at all. You're just helping germs and virii develop resistance to the current medication, which is great for those lifeforms, but not so great for you, or pigs, or, for that matter, birds. In the meantime, please don't go to Mexico unless you have an overwhelmingly good reason, like your nonagerian grandma is ill enough to have one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel. If you're European, Asian, or African (that is to say, resident in those parts of the world), don't travel to the Americas unless you absolutely have to.

Symptoms are typical flu symptoms — cold, cough, fever, chills, bone and joint pains. If you live in an area where swine flu has been detected, OR you've recently been to Mexico, call your doctor before deciding to rush in. Chances are, they're up to the eyeballs dealing with hysterics. If you don't have a fever, don't bother calling in at all. Chances are, you have something else — allergies, perhaps, or a sinus infection, which is bacterial, not viral.

The CDC is monitoring the situation. Check with them if you need updates.

You'll be pleased to hear that stalwart Republicans wanted the budget stripped of protection against a flu pandemic — like this one. Sort of like Louisiana Governor Piyush "Bobby" Jindal mocking the budget item for volcanic monitoring right before the volcano blew in Alaska. These are the same people who prayed that rain would destroy the Democratic convention and inauguration, only to find themselves on the receiving end of a hurricane during their convention.

If I believed in Gawd, I'd kinda think Gawd was trying to tell the Republicans to FOAD. Incidentally, they did manage to knock a whole bunch of money out of the funding for flu pandemics. I believe "moderate" GOP Senator Susan Collins was the blockhead responsible. Maine, can't you find someone a little more sensible to represent you? I mean, lookit, the Republicans keep wanting to cut taxes for corporations and rich people, but they don't want to spend a penny on sensible precautionary measures for the sick and poor. Someone should point out to them that viral pandemics don't examine your bank account before deciding to infect you.

Also, Republican idiots have been holding up the appointment of Health and Human Services Secretary Kathleen Sebelius. Now might be a good time to express your wrath to your Republican Congresscritter in no uncertain terms. But then, why should they care? Thanks to us taxpayers, they have a gold-plated health care plan, may they only catch some incurable nasty that gives them permanent bowel drips.

And finally, in an effort to make you LOL and take your mind off this pandemic — Governor Goodhair, aka Rick Perry of Texas, who told us a week or two ago that Texas should secede from the United States (which, incidentally, is not something Texas has any right to do, so ignore his blatheramskate about the agreement made when the State of Texas joined the others, he's either lying or pig (heh) ignorant), is now down on his knees begging the Federal Government to send aid. Can't have it both ways, Governor, I thought you were seceding, you ambulatory pigturd. Well, the fine folks of Texas shouldn't be punished for failing to boot this idiot out of power, but hopefully his next run for office will find him flailing alongside a few other people who NEED to GO — like Susan Collins, Joe LIEberWHORE, Piyush Jindal, Jon Kyl, James "Pig-ignorant AND Liar" Inhofe, Michele "Fruity as a Nutcake" Bachmann, and the like.

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For Sandy

Part of being a gimp, and growing steadily gimpier over a period of five years, is — you don't have time to clean. At all. And if you have five cats as well, your house slowly acquires an impressive coating of cat hair and dander, with an overlay of all the other detritus that a house acquires over such a long period.

I was reminded of this rather forcefully when fellow-blogger Sirenita Lake and her partner came to call. He's violently allergic to cat hair, and after an hour or two, was forced to take his leave. The good news is that I managed to stay on my feet long enough afterwards to vacuum up an impressive quantity of life-debris, including various "knitting kittens," which is my term for the clumps of cat hair that seem to rise spontaneously out of every nook and cranny. In the process, I cleaned out my art materials, so that I could prepare to work on a piece of fabric art that is being inspired by my dear friend Sandy, who often comments here. That's the good news.

Thanks to the deities of health and wellbeing, I am in much less pain than I was a few weeks ago. It's going slowly, but fabric art can be done sitting down, so I plan to start on the project soon.

Pictures will be posted when the project is ready, over at the sisterblog, CultureVultures.

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Tales of the Horrorspital, Part II

Calcium burn at one IV site

So, where were we already? Bemoaning the lack of adequate staffing at our hospital surgery recovery rooms? The paw in the above picture belongs to yours truly. It was actually the better of the available paws. The other had swelled up like a house but was not discoloured, so we went with this photograph for the "roast chicken" effect.

The nurse staffing situation was actually the least of the problems. Or the least enervating, anyway. Pain is pain, and bad as it is, it only hurts until you pass out or fall asleep or they bring you medication to numb it.

My roomie, on the other hand ... think ground glass in underpants. With all appendages tied, so you can't even get it out.

After the nice Vietnamese lady left, and before I regained consciousness, the hospital staff trundled in the Roomie From Hell. Naturally, when I awoke, I was otherwise occupied, as in, trying to get pain meds, but once that was taken care of, I began looking around. The Roomie From Hell (let's call her Dolores, shall we? Dotty for short? As in, that's what I was after two days of exposure to her?), for reasons that will never be clear to me, decided at this point to introduce herself. Thus:

RFH: Hello.

TPC: Hi. (All friendly-like.)

RFH: Can you take me upstairs please?

TPC: ??? (with a silent WTF? for emphasis)

RFH: Hello?

TPC: Yes. (Probly a mistake. I should've said, "NO!")

RFH: I need to go upstairs.

TPC: Uh, well, I'm sorry, Ma'am, I've just had surgery and I'm not mobile. Maybe you should press the call button.

RFH: I need to go upstairs. Can you take me to the operating theater? I'm supposed to have surgery at four o'clock.

TPC: (Squints at clock, which clearly shows the time as being 11, although it's not clear whether this is in the AM or PM) Ma'am, I'm sorry, I'm your fellow patient? And I'm not mobile, so I can't take you anywhere. Please press the button, and a nurse will attend to you.

RFH: (Begins to hum a song, and then talks to herself, first in Spanish (fluent, unaccented AFAICT), then in French.) Excuse me?

TPC: Yes?

RFH: Nurse?

TPC: No, ma'am, I'm a patient. The nurse will be along in a minute. (Begins to long for a larger dose of painkillers to drown out rather annoying RFH.)
Nurse arrives.

Nurse: What's the matter, dear?

TPC: (Cringes at the use of the word "dear." It's pretty obvious the patients are "dear" only in the sense of "expensive.")

RFH: Oh, nurse, could you have someone take me up to the operating theater? My surgeon, Dr. Blarney (I swear, that's what she said) is supposed to be operating on me at four o'clock.

Nurse: (Distinctly unamused) Uh, ma'am, why don't you try to go to sleep, you're not having surgery till tomorrow.

RFH: Are you sure?

Nurse: Yes, ma'am. Let me know if you need something to help you sleep.

RFH: Begins a lengthy gabbling conversation full of extraneous details about friends, family, dog, surgery, clothing, doctor, and blood while TPC desperately tries to sleep. No such luck.

Exeunt Nurse, edging out of room after fluffing RFH's pillow and sneaking away.)

RFH, stymied, picks up her cellphone and begins calling everybody she knows with details about her dog, car, surgery, clothing, and some fireman's luncheon at which she will donate blood. TPC desperately continues trying to sleep.

Some time later (the attempt to sleep was, apparently, successful) TPC is woken by the morphine wearing off and the gabble of voices. Apparently, RFH has now decided that she is actually at the firemen's luncheon and needs to go home.

Nurse: Ma'am, you're here for surgery.

RFH: This is America. You've heard of the Constitution, haven't you? You're holding me against my will!

TPC: (sotto voce) WTF?

Same arm, reverse side

Nurse: Ma'am, we're not holding you against your will. Your doctor will be here in the morning, I suggest you talk to him about it.

RFH: But I'm not supposed to be here. We finished the demonstration, and I have to go home now. My dog, she'll be all alone, and I've never left her alone in my life!

Exeunt Nurse looking annoyed

TPC: (Feeling sorry for the lady despite her obvious lack of anchor to reality) Ma'am, it's in the wee hours and your doctor will be here in a couple of hours more. Why not just take a nap now? I'm sure your dog will be fine, you were talking to your neighbour earlier, and you said she was looking after the dog for you.

RFH: I'm calling the police. I'm being held against my will. This is America. You can't do that to people here. (Calls 911)

Enter young policeman, looking confused

COP: Ma'am, are you Dotty?

TPC: (sotto voce) Hell, yeah, she is.

RFH: Officer, they're holding me here against my will, I've told them and told them that I need to go home, but they JUST won't LET me GO, Office, you've GOT to DO something ... gabble, gabble

COP: Ma'am, this piece of paper here? You signed it, Ma'am, that's your signature there? It says you're having surgery at this hospital. So, no, Ma'am, they're not holding you against your will. You're having surgery tomorrow and then they're going to release you. Do you understand me, Ma'am? Is there someone you'd like to call who could come down and help us explain this to you?

RFH: Gabble, gabble (punctuated with breathy, hand-wringing cries about the firemen, the demo, the blood samples, and other completely incomprehensible blatheramskate).

TPC: Oh, Deity, fucking kill me now. (very sotto voce. Not in front of the cops, and all that.)

Several more hours pass in a stupor, with TPC regaining consciousness at intervals.

Enter a short, brown, efficient-looking man.

MAN: Ma'am, are you Dotty?

TPC: (sotto not so voce) Holy Mother of God, can a person get a little shuteye in these parts or what? Excuse me? Can I help you? (This last addressed to the man)

MAN: No problem, I'm just here to take a blood sample. Dotty, could you roll that sleeve up for me?

RFH: (Complies while engaging man in a lengthy conversation about her youth in Argentina, spec. Buenos Aires, her education at a French convent, her subsequent marriage and move to the US, her membership in the local Democratic Party, et cetera ad infinitum ad nauseam, winding up with her own declamation about what an interesting person she is)

TPC: Oh, Christ. (semi-audible groan, combined of parts physical pain and parts guilt about being not-very-nice to an apparently impaired and elderly woman - also parts sheer crabbiness from meds and lack of sleep)

Man leaves, silence reigns, TPC passes out, only to be wakened by TWO screaming nurses.

NursieChorus: WHAT have you DONE? Oh, my GAWD! What has she done? What happened to you? Who did this to you?

TPC: (Abandoning all further thoughts of sleep) WTFFFFFF??

NursieChorus: Oh, my GAWD. Can you believe this? What are you doing, Dotty? Who did this to you?

TPC: (Wonders WTF is going on but daren't ask. Not in the mood for further gabbling details of woman found dead in her bed or whatever. Hears, with relief, the dulcet tones of ...

RFH: Well, a man came up here, he said he was from the fire department, and he wanted a blood sample, so I gave him some blood ...

NursieChorus: WTF??? Dotty, there are no firemen here.

Apparently, the man was actually a hospital employee who had been sent to get a blood sample, which Dotty generously provided. While in the same generous mood, she apparently decided to provide a poop sample, too. Apparently, the man then fled. Dotty, discovering that her fit of generosity had, so to speak, spilled over onto her dressing gown, took it off. We leave the audience to imagine the result.

Dotty spent the next X hours until surgery railing at me for failing to get her wheelchair, find her dressing gown, find her coat, dress her, and take her upstairs for surgery. She punctuated the raillery with a hearty breakfast, complaining all the while that she was STARVED, yes, simply STARVED, and a person couldn't get a thing to eat around here.

Over the next two days, she somehow managed to persuade a really sweet gay man to wash her disgusting pooped-on dressing gown and insisted to anyone who would listen that I had stolen her lamb-lined floor-length leather coat. In between, she hissed the following repeatedly through the curtains that separated us.

RFH: You think this is funny, don't you?

TPC: Oh, jeez, wouldja leave me the fuck alone?

RFH: I can hear you laughing over there. You took my coat, it cost a thousand dollars! And my Democratic Party keychain, and my watch, and my bracelet. You think I don't know. But I do. I know you took them. And now the two of you are standing there behind the curtain, laughing and staring at me.

TPC: Goddammit, where's my book?

RFH: Why won't you take me upstairs? I need to go to physical therapy!

TPC: Look, I've told you before, I'm a patient just like you. I've just had surgery. I can't walk. I sure as hell can't take you anywhere. Now please, leave me alone!

RFH: You're just angry because I'm using logic on you.

TPC: WTF x n???

RFH: Why don't you just come over here and help me get upstairs?

TPC: Lady? I can't walk. But if I could? I wouldn't be pushing you upstairs, I'd push you through that fucking window. It's a three-storey drop. Now leave me the fuck alone, goddammit.

I don't think I slept more than two hours at a stretch the entire time I was saddled with Dotty. And how glad I was to get out of there, you'll never know. I was definitely ready to kill someone by the time I made good my escape.

Poor thing, it really wasn't her fault, though. Her surgeon had her on a pretty toxic combination of drugs and a psychiatrist or geriatrician should have been monitoring her. I think she was suffering temporary psychosis. Ah, whatever, lookit, I'm still feeling sorry for the bitch, and after she deprived me of sleep during the worst hours of my life, at that.

Part I of the saga here.

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Tales of the Horrorspital

Today I'm in a lot of pain, so why not tell how I got here, I asks meself. Why not indeed. Those of you who have been following my saga know that I ended up needing a knee replacement after I injured my knee. The fall broke my heart as well, as the year before the damage, I had hiked 20+ miles in one day and was planning to do a few more of those. In fact, I had my eye set on a lengthy nature trail which spans several counties and would have been a three-day hike altogether.

From thrice-weekly gym workouts, thrice-weekly workouts on the treadmill, and one or more lengthy hikes every weekend, I went to sitting in my bed, walking with a hideous limp, using crutches, canes, and finally just plain grumping in a seated or lying position. By the time I got the doctors and insurance jerks to agree that the knee ought to be replaced, five years had passed. Five years of no hikes and no workouts. For a pretty active person, that's torture. Plus, even as the joint and its surrounding cartilage deteriorate, one gains weight from the lack of activity, weight which can't be taken off except with activity. Catch-22.

So when I finally managed to get those eejits to agree to replace the knee, I thought I was in heaven. You know that old saying, "Beware what you wish for?" I could well have done to remember that.

My surgeon is top-notch, he trains other surgeons in the techniques of knee-replacement, and teaches at a top-notch hospital in an area filled with top-notch hospitals. Many famous people would be hobbling around if not for his surgical skills. He told me he was going to put me in the hospital where he taught, and I was thrilled.

But the gods of comedy and tragedy accompanied me there to ensure I would have some useful tales to tell, some, as it were, learning experiences. No, really.

The surgery probably went fine, although I wouldn't know squat about that. All I know is, he used the latest technique leaving a scar barely four inches long, and less than a month afterwards, it's hard to see the neat scar. This is impressive, because I tend to keloids and have impressive twisty ropes of scars from things as minor as blisters, scratches, minor knife injures garnered from cook-prepping, and so forth. All hail the surgeon. I did, however, notice that all the muscles around the hip socket felt agonizingly painful, as if someone had twisted the joint nine different ways. Pas de quois. It's just a leg, after all, and there's a reason we have a spare, yes?

The fun and games began upon recovery. Begin, if you will, with the spideriest of veins, in which the good nurses had inserted various needles for the transportation of fluids, blood, saline, anesthesia, and so forth. The problem with spider veins is, they pop, or, as the nurses like to say, "blow out." What this means is, the needle pierces right through the vein causing fluid to leak out under the skin and concentrate in the tissues around the vein. Rather than, for example, going where it needs to.

Mind you, the "pain management team" of the hospital had inserted a spinal and a hip catheter to manage pain. The hip catheter is a relatively new technique and, in my personal experience, utterly useless. If they suggest it to you, suggest you will insert it in anyone who tries to use it in lieu of proper pain meds. Srsly. I'm not going through that again. The spinal, or epidural block, I guess, was fine, but when it started to wear off the full worthlessness of the hip catheter made itself, haha, felt. And felt. And felt again.

A word of caution for those about to have surgery. Horrospitals in the U.S. are utterly worthless except for approximately 72 hours during and after surgery. Their sole purpose appears to be to provide a location for the butchery and medications that won't require major DNA samples from everyone handling them. When it comes to taking care of you after the surgery? It's preferable to have unprotected sex with a chainsaw for all the care and effort you'll get.

Now, this is not the fault of the nurses, most of whom are fine individuals who work hard to take care of way more patients than they should. It's a horrible job that I personally would never do, and wouldn't wish on an enemy. It's hard physical labour for a relatively inadequate salary that invariably ends up crippling the performer. If you're lucky you can last two decades and a little more as a nurse. If you walk away without carpal tunnel, permanent back problems, and various musculoskeletal disorders, you're a lucky soul.

So big kudos to most of the nurses.

Of course, with my luck, I wound up with Ilsa, She-Wolf of the SS. On the plus side, she didn't show her face till the night shift. On the minus side, she didn't show her face till the night shift. At least on the day shift, you can call other nurses, the supervisors, doctors, and senior staff are around, you can telephone (or scream loudly) for assistance, and with any luck, you have visitors who will agitate on your behalf. The night shift is called the graveyard shift, and I'm sure it's for the most sinister of reasons. Plus, Ilsa was the senior nurse, and made good use of it.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. My first day in recovery, I shared a room with a very sweet elderly Vietnamese lady who spoke not a single word of English. With gestures and smiles and variously-pitched grunts, we managed to make ourselves intelligible to each other, and I passed a relatively peaceful time, not even noticing that the venuous system on which I relied was busy distributing unwanted substances to unneeded areas.

When I finally noticed (thanks to climbing pain levels), I requested more pain killers. They gave me a patient-operated morphine pump. Well, screw that. The only time you operate it is when you're conscious, and the whole idea is to be conscious as little as possible, which means that you're constantly waking up in pain and pumping the thing like a bicycle tire. With scant effects.

By the time I finally got the "pain managers" to agree to something more effective, the right arm (with the recalcitrant vein) was beginning to resemble a turkey leg in size and consistency. Still being doped up, I only noticed when those fluorescent plastic ID bands they place on each wrist began cutting into the right one.

This caused so much pain and itching that the staff finally cut it off, replacing my meds with something that caused me to, mercifully, pass out. Unfortunately, I apparently passed out for over 24 hours, waking to the worst case of the junkie bugs, which is the crawly sensation your skin gets when you take too many powerful drugs. I began scratching even as they trundled my sweet little old roommate out, and by the time the nurses bothered to answer my increasingly desperate requests for something to take care of the pain and itching (yes, the pain was back, of course), had removed a dime-sized piece of skin under the other wrist.

Unbeknownst to me, the needle in the left arm was beginning to leak. Ilsa the She-Wolf was on duty by this time, and if ever you find a nurse you dislike, please hold your opinion in abeyance until after you meet Ilsa. I'd like to think you will dislike her even more. She invented the term bitch as a self-endearment. Rly.

Next installment tomorrow.

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