Fruit Mind Salad
So many arbitrary ideas, from Ben Affleck's Oscar win (?) to honkeys once again wanting to use the N word (??!?), skittering around in my head like evasive, one-winged butterflies. And it seems if I can catch just one of these lopsided lepidopterans, I'd be off and running to write my next entry/script/book/opus.
RANDOMNESS... I forbid for it to be a curse, so, here goes...
A lot has transpired as of late. I handed in my piece to The G Man Magazine, the online magazine I've been writing for. It's about (surprise) my life as a gay parent, and contrary to political vitriol it's really quite unremarkable, and not scourgelike at all. In it, I rant--you know how much I love to rant--interspliced with anti gay marriage quotes from the Republican presidential hopefuls (those who've both fallen and are still standing). The G Man Magazine will be subscription based this go around, hopefully putting a shekel or two into my pocket. I'll provide more info to you as I get it. Hope you'll check it out.
Next, health has been a recurring issue as of late. About a month ago, Maxwell's school was having a Bingo Night and I was in charge of the bake sale, having allowed the PTA to talk me into creating a fundraising committee and becoming it's chair.
There's nothing more scintillating *yawn* then elementary school politics.
Anyway, during the night, between selling cake pops and helping Sebastian with his Bingo card, I started feeling feint. I went to the bathroom, splashed water on my face, thought I was all better, and then realized when I stood fully upright that, indeed, I was not. Feeling lightheaded, I went to the ground, called for help, and the half hour that followed was a flurry of paramedics, emergency vehicles, EKGs, gurneys, trip to the hospital, swinging doors, interns, doctors, nurses, the dreaded hospital gown, the even more dreaded oxygen tube, tubes stuck into both my arms (in case of surgery), lots of questions, signature here, signature there, only to land in a scratchy-sheeted hospital bed. I tell ya, they move you fast when they think it's a cardiac issue. I felt like I was in my own private episode of ER.
Selling Rice Krispie Treats one moment, prepped for heart surgery the next...actually that sounds more like House. It was only when the sassy, Black nurse checked my vitals (even she was cast like a television stereotype) that it became evident that my heart was fine. They took all my fluids for testing and then I waited...four hours. Thankfully, I had my own TV, although I cannot recommend watching Grey's Anatomy while waiting for results.
Side note: how much did all this cost...the ambulance ride and hospital care? It totaled almost $8,000! Thank Gaga I have coverage. Does anyone know the refrain to Socialized Medicine, because I'd sing a few bars.
The long and the short of it: dehydration. Doesn't even sound like a real thing, does it? It reminds me when some star is rushed from the set to the hospital and it's announced the next day that they collapsed from exhaustion. Exhaustion, riiiiiiiight.
Dehydration, no big deal. Just send me home, I'll drink a bottle of Gatorade and I'll be fine.
Well, I got to go home, but this ol' bod don't bounce back like it used to. One full week my friends. That's how long it took for me to get back to normal. I was chugging water, Gatorade, coconut water like it was going out of style. If you could pour it I chugged it.
Then, just as I was able to stand without feeling wobbly, I managed to twist my ankle. Bless. And this past week, my sinuses have been doing this Mexican Hat Dance thing. Diarrhea. Aches in my knee (I suspect arthritis). None if it serious, but in entering my fiftieth year on this planet, it makes me realize just how fragile things can be.
Fuck my knee. I'm going spinning.
RANDOMNESS... I forbid for it to be a curse, so, here goes...
A lot has transpired as of late. I handed in my piece to The G Man Magazine, the online magazine I've been writing for. It's about (surprise) my life as a gay parent, and contrary to political vitriol it's really quite unremarkable, and not scourgelike at all. In it, I rant--you know how much I love to rant--interspliced with anti gay marriage quotes from the Republican presidential hopefuls (those who've both fallen and are still standing). The G Man Magazine will be subscription based this go around, hopefully putting a shekel or two into my pocket. I'll provide more info to you as I get it. Hope you'll check it out.
Next, health has been a recurring issue as of late. About a month ago, Maxwell's school was having a Bingo Night and I was in charge of the bake sale, having allowed the PTA to talk me into creating a fundraising committee and becoming it's chair.
There's nothing more scintillating *yawn* then elementary school politics.
Anyway, during the night, between selling cake pops and helping Sebastian with his Bingo card, I started feeling feint. I went to the bathroom, splashed water on my face, thought I was all better, and then realized when I stood fully upright that, indeed, I was not. Feeling lightheaded, I went to the ground, called for help, and the half hour that followed was a flurry of paramedics, emergency vehicles, EKGs, gurneys, trip to the hospital, swinging doors, interns, doctors, nurses, the dreaded hospital gown, the even more dreaded oxygen tube, tubes stuck into both my arms (in case of surgery), lots of questions, signature here, signature there, only to land in a scratchy-sheeted hospital bed. I tell ya, they move you fast when they think it's a cardiac issue. I felt like I was in my own private episode of ER.
Selling Rice Krispie Treats one moment, prepped for heart surgery the next...actually that sounds more like House. It was only when the sassy, Black nurse checked my vitals (even she was cast like a television stereotype) that it became evident that my heart was fine. They took all my fluids for testing and then I waited...four hours. Thankfully, I had my own TV, although I cannot recommend watching Grey's Anatomy while waiting for results.
Side note: how much did all this cost...the ambulance ride and hospital care? It totaled almost $8,000! Thank Gaga I have coverage. Does anyone know the refrain to Socialized Medicine, because I'd sing a few bars.
The long and the short of it: dehydration. Doesn't even sound like a real thing, does it? It reminds me when some star is rushed from the set to the hospital and it's announced the next day that they collapsed from exhaustion. Exhaustion, riiiiiiiight.
Dehydration, no big deal. Just send me home, I'll drink a bottle of Gatorade and I'll be fine.
Well, I got to go home, but this ol' bod don't bounce back like it used to. One full week my friends. That's how long it took for me to get back to normal. I was chugging water, Gatorade, coconut water like it was going out of style. If you could pour it I chugged it.
Then, just as I was able to stand without feeling wobbly, I managed to twist my ankle. Bless. And this past week, my sinuses have been doing this Mexican Hat Dance thing. Diarrhea. Aches in my knee (I suspect arthritis). None if it serious, but in entering my fiftieth year on this planet, it makes me realize just how fragile things can be.
Fuck my knee. I'm going spinning.
Comments
The dehydration sounds truly scary. And waiting 4 hours for test results? Not cool.
There should be a sexier term for dehydration. Like Acute Desiccation or something. Anything that takes a week to recover from should sound more fearsome! Glad you're OK.
Aloha from Waikiki
Comfort Spiral
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Over fifty's nifty, she said on her 69th.