Knee.

There's swelling most of the time in the left knee. After a workout, it throbs for a couple of days. I went to the hotshot orthopedic surgeon who replaced the knees of a couple of my friends and close family. He ordered an MRI, and I went in yesterday to have him explain it to me: "Your knee is borked. You will need a total knee replacement."

I asked when, and he said that he'd like me to try to hold off a few years, because the service life on these things is only about 15-20 years for an average person getting them, of average weight, of average physical activity for a person receiving them... who are generally much older than me. I am well above average in most of those categories.

In the meantime, he wants me to use ibuprofen (which I'm responsive to) to keep the swelling down, and drop 50-100 lbs. (The last time that I was 100 lbs lighter, everyone asked if I had end-stage cancer or AIDS. I'm not going that light again for a LONG time.)  50 lbs would put me at about 242, which isn't a bad weight for me. Of course, running and walking to get my cardio are out, and he's not big on elipticals trainer machines, which I have been using. Maybe bicycling, and definitely swimming. There is a natatorium in the  town next to my town, and annual passes are $125.

I'm looking at bicycles in the 22.5" frame size.

So, I've got some stuff to do, and a body fitness level to trice up.

Of course, that very evening, a "CPR In Progress" call came in. I drove quickly to get to the scene, out in the county. The mobile homes at the site were scattered with no rhyme or reason, and most were not marked. I got out of my cruiser, and ran to a house, which the residents declared to be a different address. Seeing the engine and the ambulance pull up and block my cruiser, I ran south, down the hill toward the next house 100 yards away, and upon finding that address on the porch (please post your address in very large, reflective numbers), I sprinted another 50 or so yards to the next house, and found the appropriate mobile home behind it. I ran in and made patient contact, bringing in the ambulance and fire guys. Once we had the patient buttoned-up in ambulance to go to hospital, a couple of firefighters laughed and said, "Dang, Matt G, we haven't ever seen you run like that before!" I let them know that it does happen, from time to time, though it was amusing that it should happen the same day that a fancy orthopedic surgeon told me not to.

The next morning, the knee was throbbing, some. Eh.

So, less food. More pushups. More coffee (obviously, because that's usually the best answer when you don't know what else to do). Less (I won't say "none at all") beer.

To paraphrase an internet friend of mine who is rapidly recovering from a hernia surgery with post-op infection: Getting fit isn't complicated; it is merely hard.

Since last we spoke.

--I made eggnog again. This time, I went with a recipe recommended by Zercool. It is buttery meringue fluff, with bourbon. Not bad.
--Donald Trump, the man whom I called "un-electable," has won the election for President. I don't care for him, but I hope that he is a successful President. Because how could I desire my President to fail? I cannot. I was wrong about his ability to get elected; let us hope that I'm wrong about his competency as POTUS.
--My dad and I went hunting with some friends, last month. My dad shot a nice buck (with his own handload, a 165g GameKing out of his .308 Savage Scout rifle), which has its antlers in a European mount on his living room wall. I'm pleased.
--I am walking some in the mornings, and am trying the gym again. --I'm training a guy at work. This kid is going to be a great cop. Hell, he already is. But don't tell him that; nothing good comes from a big head.
--The boss is leaving town for a week, and leaving me in charge of the shop, again. It's a small shop, but it's mine for the duration. I don't mind, on a temporary basis.
--My elder daughter is in her last week of her first semester at university. Her grades are good-- it looks like she may have a 4.0. There are, naturally, some minor stressors.
--My younger daughter is in her last week of her first semester at high school. Her grades have been good, but she has a couple of B's right now which I find unacceptable. I recall my elder daughter found freshman year to be very stressful, and sophomore year to be a breeze.
--I'm about to lay a new Invisible Fence around my dad's yard. Any advice? Seems like mostly I can just lay it in the furrow cut by me edger.
--I've got three Safariland holsters which I don't wear, because they are dropped too far, or the slot for the belt is the wrong size (too big, which is almost as useless as too small). Surely there are adapters to fix this. This is about $300 in leather/plastic.
-- My pickup is loaded right now with an estimated 1300 lbs (I'm guessing, but we'll find out) to take to the dump. Yesterday I took a trip which netted 560 lbs. Storage and back yard cleanout! As soon as I've drunk my coffee, I'm headed there.
--My results from my Wellness check came back, and my doc just wrote all over the 9 page report and sent it to me. That's seriously awesome, and I'm going to send him a thank you note for it.
Here I attach the highlights, for me to refer to in the future. It seems that my combined cholesterol is too high (HDL: 38 (needs to be above 40) LDL: 165 (needs to be below 100) Total: 225 (moderate risk)), and he included scripts for statins. Shame-- I like grapefruit. My triglycerides are down. My hemoglobin A1c is "great," which makes me happy, because adult-onset diabetes runs in my family. The kidneys, liver, thyroid, prostate-- all look good. Lipoprotein is low, which apparently means that my risk of heart attack is lowered. "LP PLA2 Activity" is elevated to "not good." There's a page on "Lipoprotein subfractions" which I don't pretend to understand, but apparently LDL Peak Size of 217.4 angstroms is a high risk category. I gather that the statin will address this.
Apparently I need to take supplementary Niacin, fish oil, and supplementary vitamin D3, along with my prescription statin (trying Lipitor). Fortunately, that whole plan is doable for about $10/month.
--According to Wikipedia, that supplemental D3 that I'm going to take is produced by the ultraviolet irradiation of 7-dehydrocholesterol extracted from lanolin found in sheep's wool. Interesting. I don't have an allergy to sheep's wool, but my wife does; I wonder if she would have a reaction to it, or if the 7-dehydrocholesterol is refined enough to where the allergens would not be present?
--I gave the Drug Talk to my elder daughter today: "You will be exposed to drugs. You will see them, and you will be surprised at who uses them. Those people are making a mistake. It is not immoral to take drugs; it is unethical to do so, because it is against the law, and because you will have to lie about it. It is desirable to be able to tell the honest truth, when asked if you have used drugs. It also exposes you to less risk. If you have experimented, don't do it again. If your friends have, hope that they don't again. A person is not ruined when they have tried drugs, but it makes their life a little harder. Don't make that error." She told me that she hasn't, and that her friends don't. I believe her (I hadn't asked.), but I told her that she'll eventually see it, and to be prepared. Many will say that this talk is too late. If it were the first time that we've discussed the issue, it would be. But this was more of a recap of what I've said all along.

Tuesday morning thoughts.

--Supply and Demand: Remington is reportedly expanding production of ammunition. They'd be fools not to.**

--In a more perfect world, a real-live astronaut who plays guitar and sings Space Oddity while in the International Space Station would be a bigger rock star than any of the current rock stars out there on the airways. I watched this yesterday, and thought: 1. That guitar sounds a little tinny. Too bad they couldn't get a bigger one up with some more bass tones. 2. But they sent a guitar up to outer frickin' space. 3. What's it cost to boost a properly-padded or cased small acoustic guitar to the ISS?
--Oh, look-- Homeland Security is using pin traps and wire taps on the Associated Press. Way to wake a sleeping giant, guys. Ambulance Driver calls this statement by Miguel Gonzales the
Quote of the Day:

"So what's the big deal about the Justice Department secretly viewing AP reporters' phone records? The Obama administration has every right to know what its employees are doing on the phone during working hours."

--The docs are trying to claim that firearms are a legitimate health concern, again. If they can show that pathogens are being passed by firearms in the home, then they've got my support. Otherwise, they can butt out.

--This weekend, my dad had a birthday. I arranged for him and his wife to come over to my house for burgers, but on the sly invited other friends and family. Given that it was Mother's Day, we had spotty attendance... thank heavens. We had lots that did show, and I grilled 3 pounds of bratwursts, 5 pounds of hamburger, and a pound of wienies. My wife made a pot of beans. We had a big pan of iced brownies, a locally-produced* cake, potato salad, chips galore, and lots of fixings. We were left with one brat, one wienie, and half a pound of potato salad. The rest was consumed.

Rabbit came, and brought Dad a Molon Labe coffee cup, and brought one for me, too. It's on my desk at work, now. I know other people brought gifts, but I didn't pay a lot of attention, because it's all about me, and I'm self-centered like that.

My gift to Dad was a 100 Federal shotshells, with a card explaining that he'd best get to the skeet range to practice, because in November, I've bought him and me a space on a weekend of guided duck hunting. This is a danged selfish gift that I bought him, because it means that I get to go hunting with my dad.

The cousins arrived, and we agreed that we should do this again.

--Reportedly, LBJ turned off a scathing indictment of the US involvement in Vietnam, and said "If I've lost Cronkite, I've lost Middle America."
See now how Obama has got to be saying, "If I've lost Jon Stewart..."

This may well be the funniest piece that I've ever seen Jon Stewart and the Daily Show ever do.

________________________
*We picked the peaches last summer, and picked the pecans out of our yard this past fall. It was kind of like a cake/cobbler thing. Fit to eat.
**I suppose. I just want to see more a bigger supply.

Let's cause a disturbance in the force.

My friend Stingray is crazy.

Wait. That's not quite right. He's sane enough to be moral and to focus his attentions towards projects with worthy goals. But he has NO brake pedal in any game of  Double-Dog-Dare-You. He won't back down. It's, uh, dangerous, to play chicken with this man.

So he's taken this Kilted To Kick Cancer fundraiser pretty seriously.

Stingray just told me: "As of ten minutes or so ago, I'm ahead of Ambulance Driver by $195, behind Jay by $1145."

Now, that lag behind my new friend Jay may seem a bit much, but I promise you that whatever Stingray is promising he'll do to reward a rally? He'll do. It may not be pretty, but I bet it's entertaining.

Go give. See what that nut will do, next. Or? Humiliate him by sending the money to Ambulance Driver, and watch Stingray drop another notch.
I suppose that Jay could just be pushed over the top, too.

Let's put at least a few bucks into the kitty to help end prostate cancer, please.

A good run, but not far enough?

Ernest Borgnine died today, at age 95. Here below, he describes his quick and easy technique to retain his youthful longevity:

Men around the globe were really, REALLY hoping that he'd hang on until age 100 or greater.

Uh, we were all pulling for you, Ernie.

Not feeling absolutely terrible awful. .

My jerk of a partner* has decided to force me off my couch and into the world Not Imminently Expecting A Downturn In Health. He wants me to run. I pointed out quite logically that this was a stupid proposition, as Matt Doesn't Run. So he put this regimen of running to me, to get to running 5k in 8 weeks. I flippin' doubt it, but the first week is easy enough, so I started this:

To give me company, I brought the 10 year-old and the 13 year-old. The 13 year-old was a little hard to convince, until I reminded her that she is attending two summer camps this year, both with lots of swimming, and her swimsuit is a bikini. (Insert suppressed fatherly scowl here.)  She decided that she needed to come along. Note the ambiguity about the total time. Is that 5-minute walk part of the 20 minutes? Frankly, I doubt it, but I was completely prepared to scale it as it it were. We did horribly. The elder daughter finished. I finished. My 10-year-old lagged and didn't really finish. We went home and felt sore and bad about our physical fitness.

Two days later, we went for the second iteration of Workout 1. See, each week, you do each workout three times. We were dreading it. And surprisingly, we did great. All three of us did quite well, today. I can't explain it. I don't ever recall the words "I feel great" coming out of my mouth after a run, before. (I cannot express here how deeply I generally loathe running.)

I'm actually vaguely looking forward to Saturday's run with the girls. They're a great pair of partners to have along. And come on-- we can endure ANYTHING for half an hour.

________________________
*Actually, I love this guy like a brother.

Hey, look. I'm apparently not dying.

Well, not at an advanced rate, anyway.*
My bloodwork came back, and I had it explained to me this morning.
My PSA looked better than any he'd ever seen.
They checked my blood pressure again, and again it was good.
I need to watch the cholesterol; it was slightly high.
And the good cholesterol was a little low.
No diabetes, which is good. Given that a couple of close blood relatives have it, I'll admit to having been a bit worried about that.
Liver was good, despite occasional efforts in the past to do it harm.

All in all, I'll take this one.


_________________________________________-
*We're all dying.

Uh, I guess that's a good thing?

I suppose that it's a Good Thing when the doctor's office sends you a bland snail-mail form letter, requesting you to schedule an appointment to go over the results of all of your bloodwork that got back from the lab following your physical? I mean, as opposed to, say, a phone call with "ZOMG! You gotta get to the hospital speedy-quick!"

Power Tools

It's easy for me to quip about how we in the emergency response field are defeating natural selection, but the things aren't so jovial, when I park in someone's front yard and run past a girl that's crying because the paramedics are working on GramPaw, who just had a heart attack. As I came into the living room the other day, said grandfather wasn't looking good, as the EMT, who had just finished hooking up a five-lead monitor, began compressions. The paramedic calmly but efficiently began getting out his heart drugs. This looked like a dog and pony show for the family.

As I moved furniture to make access to get the guy out, I watched the paramedic get out a pretty nifty little red power drill. I'd never seen one, but my buddy Ambo Driver had told me about them before, so I recognized it for what it was: an intraosseous infusion power driver. He drove a trocar right into the patient's tibia. As he did so, I could hear the light little power driver motor bogging down as the threaded insert drew down tight to the patient's shin, enough to make the skin pucker just a bit. The paramedic then screwed in a line, and began squirting drugs into that line. Quite a lot of drugs. It hadn't struck me before how big a guy Gramps had been. Wow. More drugs?

They boarded him. C-collared him (why? WHY? He had a heart attack and fell to the floor. No evidence of neck trauma.), and then began to try to get him out of the house. two of us had the head, and the paramedic had his feet. Like many houses, this one was not designed to make it easy to get a gurney in or out of, so we brought he board out to the gurney. At the turn in the hallway, I just took the head, in time to realize that GramPaw had been a big ol' boy. We got him down the stairs, into the box, and I stood by with a deputy, trying not to look at the growing crowd of family members, crying and hugging each other, talking about GramPaw.

This man was loved. But I really didn't feel like GramPaw had a chance.

Later that night, the paramedic dropped by the P.D. GramPaw was stable when they left the hospital, and at last check had a room at the ICU.

Minor surgery.

I've been bugged by a little pimple-like thing in my eyelid for the last couple of months. The first doctor proclaimed it to be a "Stye In The Eye." I checked his name tag; it said "Garcia," rather than "Seuss."

So I took his oral antibiotics and topical steroid religiously for the full course and.... found that my irritation persisted.

So I saw an opthamologist. This guy was wiser in the ways of eyes. He proved it by using words like "sclera" and "conjuntiva" when referring to what lesser humans would call the "white of the eye." I, in turn, dazzled him with my explanation of how a cruller is different from an ordinary donut.

So Dr. Eye Guy said that I had not a stye, but a chalazion. (No, mine looked nothing like the one in the picture. Eww.)

He recommended minor, in-office surgery, to hack that bad boy out.

Well, it says here that fixing a chalazion is pretty benign stuff:

"The minor operation is quite painless, the eyelid is injected with a local anesthetic a clamp is put on the eyelid, then the eyelid is turned over and the chalazion is scraped out."

Lying.
Bastards.

What with the injections and the eye speculum (how very Clockwork Orange), I can tell you that I was just a South American doctor with a German accent away from full-scale torture.

But he seems to've fixed the damned thing.

Now I get to pay him for the privelidge. Feh.

Did I ever mention my ocular phobia? I don't like things touching my eye.