Superwife wakes us all up early. Ms. Pikachu did not finish her peanut butter cup last night. It is now covered with ants. The ants know good chocolate when they see it. Or feel it. Or whatever it is ants do. The kids smash well-fed ants. We go swimming. Who’d a thunk?
Then we head back to Rochester. I say, “Why don’t we eat at the IHOP over there?” It’s only a block away. Ms. Pikachu said she wanted to eat there last night when we drove by. Silence. Okay, fine. Drive on.
By the time we get to Rochester everybody is hungry. Superwife decides to pull into a Golden Corral. We like buffets. Everybody can find something they like, and then gorge themselves like the good Romans we aren’t.
While we’re eating I notice Trainboy is drinking brown gravy by sucking it through a straw. I say, “I’m sure I’ve never seen anybody drink gravy through a straw before.” The Superwife replies, “He really likes gravy.” Trainboy is pleased, “Well, you’ve seen it now.” Yeah, he showed his old dad a thing or two.
We get back to Mayo, and I see the eye doctor, whose name I don’t remember either. Forgetting names is nothing personal for me, I just usually don’t remember them. In contrast the wife never forgets them. Which is why when the doctors ask me questions, she usually answers.
The chairs in the waiting area are lined up side by side and they're covered in a grey vinyl. This is not the neuro area at all. You can see the reasoning- neuro makes them lots of money, neuro gets the best of everything. The optic area is not a money maker selling glasses, they don't invest a lot of money there. At least that's the way I'm calling it.
The eye doctor turns down the lights. He’s wearing a hat with a light on it, kind of like a coal miner. He tilts my chair back. I tell him I’m suddenly flashing on a prior alien abduction experience. Not even a smile. This guy is so sedate he’s probably getting pharmaceutical help. Or maybe he’s a believer. I dunno.
Then we’re done and it’s time to head for home. Dr. Uhm had told us he would call Tuesday. If we don’t hear from him, we’re to call him Wednesday. Alrighty, it's a plan.
Friday, August 29, 2003
Thursday, August 28, 2003
My first appointment was at 7:30. We figured we should leave by 3:30 to make it to Mayo on time. The Superwife woke us all up at 3:30. Uh oh. Everybody dresses and we’re out the door. Superwife drives because she has to be safer than her cross-eyed husband. I sleep almost the whole way there. She drops me off at the front of the Mayo building and she finds a place to park. I walk up to the desk on 7th floor at 7:25, that’s right, I’m five minutes early.
The neurosurgery waiting area is very nice. Tasteful, clothe upholstered chairs arranged so it doesn’t feel too crowded.
I see Dr. Uhm, a neuro-oncologist. He’s very pleasant and has a good sense of humor. We like him. He is skeptical of surgery. He thinks the problem is my high cholesterol level. Perhaps I’ve had something like a stroke that has affected the nerve.
While we’re talking to him the kids get bored and go back to the car. I’m just amazed that an 11 and 6 year-old are self-confident enough to just head back to the car. The parking ramp is across the street and connected by an underground tunnel. So it wasn’t a matter of crossing traffic, but still I’m amazed.
We fetch the kids from the car and head for the Mayo cafeteria for lunch. On the way we pass a chocolate shop. Ms Pikachu goes manic. I buy her a humungous peanut butter cup. We bag it for later. We arrive at the cafeteria. The food is unremarkable but the prices aren’t. Even a freaking egg salad sandwich is about $3.00. But it’s food, and we eat. But just a few words of advice- if you ever go to Mayo, find some other place to eat. There are plenty of them downtown within walking distance.
In the afternoon we do a consult with the neurosurgeon, whose name I forget. Dr Uhm is present also. Both doctors wonder, “Your one of Spetzler’s patients, what are you doing here?” Spetzler is in Phoenix and did my first surgery. He’s the big dog of brain surgery. These guys obviously respect him and that’s nice.
They keep asking me questions. The Supernurse keeps answering them. She knows the answers; I don’t, so it’s just as well. They ask about my recovery in Phoenix, the Supernurse gets downright technical, I have no idea what she’s saying. But the docs are impressed. Uhm tells us I have a rare kind of tumor. Well I feel special.
I ask him about the Decadron, should I keep taking it? He asks if it’s had any affect. “It keeps me hungry.” All the medical people laugh, it’s the biggest laugh I get. Uhm tells me to stop taking it.
They ask me to show them where Spetzler entered my skull. I turn my head and pull my right ear forward to show the crease. “Oh, he went under.” They sound a little excited. It’s almost like I’ve just given away a trade secret.
The neurosurgeon, who shall remain nameless because I still don’t know his name, looks at the MRI’s and says he doesn’t see a need for surgery either.
Well okay, that’s fine; just get me my vision back.
My next appointment is for tomorrow with an eye doctor. We go to the eye doctor’s unit to see if I can get in today, so we don’t have to stay overnight. The receptionist says it’s impossible, but if I want to get in earlier I can show up at 7:00 in the a.m. and wait and see. Like that’s going to happen. We can safely forget that idea and show up at the appointed 2:30.
Trainboy has always wanted to go to a Legoland. There’s one at the Mall of America. So we hop in the car and away we go.
We pull into the Days Inn across the street from the mall. It costs about $110. Hokey smokes Bullwinkle. I can’t remember the last time we spent a hundred bucks on a room. Decision time. Pay for the room, or drive around looking for something cheaper? We have a limited amount of time to spend at the mall and we’re losing it minute by minute. I pay for the room. It’s nice. The room’s nice. It has a nice pool/sauna/whirlpool. Everybody’s happy. I do not tell the Cheapwife how much it cost. That would make her unhappy. Don’t ask and I won’t tell.
We head over to the mall.
We head straight for Legoland. Because we have to make sure Trainboy gets to browse the Lego displays. And there are certainly plenty of displays showing how you can use Legos. We must blow at least a half-hour in there. Trainboy gets a Lego kit, and a Legoland flag T-shirt. He’s a happy boy.
Hungry. The decadron keeps me hungry. It hasn’t worn off yet. We eat at the Rainforest Café. It’s a restaurant that’s geared to kids. Everythings done up to look like a rainforest. There are large aquariums with saltwater fish. It’s impressive. So are the prices, but not the portions. It doesn’t matter, the wife is happy, the kids are happy. I should be happy, but I can tell it won’t be long and I’ll be hungry again. How expensive? $15 for fish and chips.
Trainboy does not like his pizza. I try it. For a kids place this is not kid’s pizza. The sauce does not taste like kids’ pizza. Definitely a gourmet sauce, how could they blow it so badly? He won’t eat fish unless the tartar sauce is the way he likes it. The tartar sauce is spicy, so he won’t eat the fish. He eats my French fries instead. Is everybody happy? Yes, they are.
We head over to the Critter Cove, or something like that. It’s an aquarium. Part of it is a moving walkway that takes you through a clear plastic tunnel where the aquarium goes overhead. So you’re virtually surrounded by fish, turtles, and sharks. Have I left anyone out? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?
It’s a nice aquarium. It is. But it’s nothing compared to the one in Gatlinburg, TN.
Then it’s on to Camp Snoopy. An indoor amusement park, this must be kid heaven. The kids go on the ferris wheel. I am not going on any rides with my vision screwed up. It’s too easy to imagine blowing fish and chips all over Minnesota. We wouldn’t want them to think Iowans are rude. On the other hand I could tell them I'm from Nebraska. Naaah.
The Superwife and Ms. Pikachu ride the rollercoaster. Trainboy rides the train and a couple more rides. There are still a few points left on the ticket. Ms. Pikachu rides the roller coaster again, all by herself. She flies by, arms over her head. She’s happy, you can tell by the smile on her face.
There’s a little time left, so we go through Legoland again. Happy Trainboy.
Back to the hotel. Everybody wants to swim. Can’t swim. The pool closes when we get there. Oh well. Tomorrow we shall wake early and swim. Uh huh, yeah.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
The neurosurgery waiting area is very nice. Tasteful, clothe upholstered chairs arranged so it doesn’t feel too crowded.
I see Dr. Uhm, a neuro-oncologist. He’s very pleasant and has a good sense of humor. We like him. He is skeptical of surgery. He thinks the problem is my high cholesterol level. Perhaps I’ve had something like a stroke that has affected the nerve.
While we’re talking to him the kids get bored and go back to the car. I’m just amazed that an 11 and 6 year-old are self-confident enough to just head back to the car. The parking ramp is across the street and connected by an underground tunnel. So it wasn’t a matter of crossing traffic, but still I’m amazed.
We fetch the kids from the car and head for the Mayo cafeteria for lunch. On the way we pass a chocolate shop. Ms Pikachu goes manic. I buy her a humungous peanut butter cup. We bag it for later. We arrive at the cafeteria. The food is unremarkable but the prices aren’t. Even a freaking egg salad sandwich is about $3.00. But it’s food, and we eat. But just a few words of advice- if you ever go to Mayo, find some other place to eat. There are plenty of them downtown within walking distance.
In the afternoon we do a consult with the neurosurgeon, whose name I forget. Dr Uhm is present also. Both doctors wonder, “Your one of Spetzler’s patients, what are you doing here?” Spetzler is in Phoenix and did my first surgery. He’s the big dog of brain surgery. These guys obviously respect him and that’s nice.
They keep asking me questions. The Supernurse keeps answering them. She knows the answers; I don’t, so it’s just as well. They ask about my recovery in Phoenix, the Supernurse gets downright technical, I have no idea what she’s saying. But the docs are impressed. Uhm tells us I have a rare kind of tumor. Well I feel special.
I ask him about the Decadron, should I keep taking it? He asks if it’s had any affect. “It keeps me hungry.” All the medical people laugh, it’s the biggest laugh I get. Uhm tells me to stop taking it.
They ask me to show them where Spetzler entered my skull. I turn my head and pull my right ear forward to show the crease. “Oh, he went under.” They sound a little excited. It’s almost like I’ve just given away a trade secret.
The neurosurgeon, who shall remain nameless because I still don’t know his name, looks at the MRI’s and says he doesn’t see a need for surgery either.
Well okay, that’s fine; just get me my vision back.
My next appointment is for tomorrow with an eye doctor. We go to the eye doctor’s unit to see if I can get in today, so we don’t have to stay overnight. The receptionist says it’s impossible, but if I want to get in earlier I can show up at 7:00 in the a.m. and wait and see. Like that’s going to happen. We can safely forget that idea and show up at the appointed 2:30.
Trainboy has always wanted to go to a Legoland. There’s one at the Mall of America. So we hop in the car and away we go.
We pull into the Days Inn across the street from the mall. It costs about $110. Hokey smokes Bullwinkle. I can’t remember the last time we spent a hundred bucks on a room. Decision time. Pay for the room, or drive around looking for something cheaper? We have a limited amount of time to spend at the mall and we’re losing it minute by minute. I pay for the room. It’s nice. The room’s nice. It has a nice pool/sauna/whirlpool. Everybody’s happy. I do not tell the Cheapwife how much it cost. That would make her unhappy. Don’t ask and I won’t tell.
We head over to the mall.
We head straight for Legoland. Because we have to make sure Trainboy gets to browse the Lego displays. And there are certainly plenty of displays showing how you can use Legos. We must blow at least a half-hour in there. Trainboy gets a Lego kit, and a Legoland flag T-shirt. He’s a happy boy.
Hungry. The decadron keeps me hungry. It hasn’t worn off yet. We eat at the Rainforest Café. It’s a restaurant that’s geared to kids. Everythings done up to look like a rainforest. There are large aquariums with saltwater fish. It’s impressive. So are the prices, but not the portions. It doesn’t matter, the wife is happy, the kids are happy. I should be happy, but I can tell it won’t be long and I’ll be hungry again. How expensive? $15 for fish and chips.
Trainboy does not like his pizza. I try it. For a kids place this is not kid’s pizza. The sauce does not taste like kids’ pizza. Definitely a gourmet sauce, how could they blow it so badly? He won’t eat fish unless the tartar sauce is the way he likes it. The tartar sauce is spicy, so he won’t eat the fish. He eats my French fries instead. Is everybody happy? Yes, they are.
We head over to the Critter Cove, or something like that. It’s an aquarium. Part of it is a moving walkway that takes you through a clear plastic tunnel where the aquarium goes overhead. So you’re virtually surrounded by fish, turtles, and sharks. Have I left anyone out? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?
It’s a nice aquarium. It is. But it’s nothing compared to the one in Gatlinburg, TN.
Then it’s on to Camp Snoopy. An indoor amusement park, this must be kid heaven. The kids go on the ferris wheel. I am not going on any rides with my vision screwed up. It’s too easy to imagine blowing fish and chips all over Minnesota. We wouldn’t want them to think Iowans are rude. On the other hand I could tell them I'm from Nebraska. Naaah.
The Superwife and Ms. Pikachu ride the rollercoaster. Trainboy rides the train and a couple more rides. There are still a few points left on the ticket. Ms. Pikachu rides the roller coaster again, all by herself. She flies by, arms over her head. She’s happy, you can tell by the smile on her face.
There’s a little time left, so we go through Legoland again. Happy Trainboy.
Back to the hotel. Everybody wants to swim. Can’t swim. The pool closes when we get there. Oh well. Tomorrow we shall wake early and swim. Uh huh, yeah.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
Tuesday, August 26, 2003
Okay, I’m depressed. The wife picked up the MRI’s from the hospital for the trip to Mayo. We took a look. I had hoped that the tumor had somehow extended away from the brainstem in some easier to get at way. But that doesn’t seem to be the case. It’s just a little more forward than before and putting pressure on the optic nerves. Crap.
I’m grateful that it hasn’t caused the extreme trigeminal neuralgia episodes it did before. But the whole double vision thing is irritating. It’s like looking through one of those old stereo-opticon devices and not getting the pictures lined up. Driving is a pain, and is best done with one eye closed. You only try merging onto the interstate once, after that it’s just side streets. Fun, fun, fun.
The wife tells me not to worry. We’ve been there, done that. But I don’t want to do it again, because I’ve been there, done that. The brain surgery and after-effects were no fun. I was weak for weeks after I got out of the hospital.
The spinal tap was no fun either. Just a little tip here- if someone ever says you need a spinal tap- while they’re doing it exhale as hard as you can, arch your back, and try to touch your toes with your shoulders. Three times is not a charm, it’s three times the pain. Get it right the first time. No, I am not looking forward to this. But I have to do something.
So tonight, I had to do something about the car’s brakes. They’d been screeching for a while. If would be a bummer to drive up to Rochester and have the brakes fail on the way. It would be… cosmic, in a black hole comedy kind of way. So I did the brakes.
While we’re at it, how about some brake tips? Just in case you want to save a few bucks and get greasy too. Firstly, maintenance manuals will tell you to bleed the brake lines. That would be stupid, that would be making the job bigger than it has to be. Just unscrew the master cylinder cap (where you put in the brake fluid) and pump the brake pedal a few times, it will relieve the pressure just fine.
Loosen the lug nuts and jack up the side. And herein lays the days comedy. By the time I ‘d started to do this it was already late evening. I slide the jack under the car, it’s very dark under there, and I’m seeing double. But everything seems good. Remove tire, remove brake caliper. Easy enough. Remove outer brake pad, leave the inner one on. That way you can use a C-clamp to compress the cylinder by clamping down on the inner brake pad. It’s slick, it would be more work to do it any other way. After compression, remove the inner brake pad. Add new pads, reassemble, and away you go. Manly braking, screech free. So quick it’s a waste to pay somebody to do it.
Ideally anyway. Not tonight.
Because I tried to do it too fast. And I was visually impaired too. And sometimes somebody should pull my Mensa card. As you recall, I placed a jack under a car hardly able to see it. I thought it was a good placement, it was not. I did not bother to set the parking brake or block the wheels. The car was flat, and I’ve never had a problem with a vehicle rolling. It was all done too fast and too familiar.
As I was working on a caliper I noticed the jack was leaning because two of its wheels were in a seam in the concrete surface. But it didn’t seem like a big deal. I just figured, “Don’t put your head in the wheel well.” The wife came out to help. As I tried to line up the bolts in the caliper by feel, and not putting my head in the wheel well to see, she pushed on it to try to help line it up. She pushed in the direction of the jack’s leaning. The jack leaned farther. It slowly rolled onto it’s side like an elephant taking a nap. Kawunmp. Well, that was interesting. Nobody’s fault but my own, I broke every safety rule and got busted. Crap.
Wonderboy held the light. He was impressed. He said his Dad could fix anything, his Dad should be a mechanic. If he were a little older he'd know his Dad had just royally crapped it up. Sure I felt unworthy of his praise, but it was awfully nice to hear him speak so well of me.
Then I got out the scissors jack, jacked it up, and finished the job. Nobody got hurt, it was a good lesson. I promise not to be so stupid again, I can be taught. I got washed up and we took it for a test drive. The wife drove. Manly braking, no screeching. She can pound the brakes all the way to Rochester, we’re good to go. I just don’t wanna go.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
I’m grateful that it hasn’t caused the extreme trigeminal neuralgia episodes it did before. But the whole double vision thing is irritating. It’s like looking through one of those old stereo-opticon devices and not getting the pictures lined up. Driving is a pain, and is best done with one eye closed. You only try merging onto the interstate once, after that it’s just side streets. Fun, fun, fun.
The wife tells me not to worry. We’ve been there, done that. But I don’t want to do it again, because I’ve been there, done that. The brain surgery and after-effects were no fun. I was weak for weeks after I got out of the hospital.
The spinal tap was no fun either. Just a little tip here- if someone ever says you need a spinal tap- while they’re doing it exhale as hard as you can, arch your back, and try to touch your toes with your shoulders. Three times is not a charm, it’s three times the pain. Get it right the first time. No, I am not looking forward to this. But I have to do something.
So tonight, I had to do something about the car’s brakes. They’d been screeching for a while. If would be a bummer to drive up to Rochester and have the brakes fail on the way. It would be… cosmic, in a black hole comedy kind of way. So I did the brakes.
While we’re at it, how about some brake tips? Just in case you want to save a few bucks and get greasy too. Firstly, maintenance manuals will tell you to bleed the brake lines. That would be stupid, that would be making the job bigger than it has to be. Just unscrew the master cylinder cap (where you put in the brake fluid) and pump the brake pedal a few times, it will relieve the pressure just fine.
Loosen the lug nuts and jack up the side. And herein lays the days comedy. By the time I ‘d started to do this it was already late evening. I slide the jack under the car, it’s very dark under there, and I’m seeing double. But everything seems good. Remove tire, remove brake caliper. Easy enough. Remove outer brake pad, leave the inner one on. That way you can use a C-clamp to compress the cylinder by clamping down on the inner brake pad. It’s slick, it would be more work to do it any other way. After compression, remove the inner brake pad. Add new pads, reassemble, and away you go. Manly braking, screech free. So quick it’s a waste to pay somebody to do it.
Ideally anyway. Not tonight.
Because I tried to do it too fast. And I was visually impaired too. And sometimes somebody should pull my Mensa card. As you recall, I placed a jack under a car hardly able to see it. I thought it was a good placement, it was not. I did not bother to set the parking brake or block the wheels. The car was flat, and I’ve never had a problem with a vehicle rolling. It was all done too fast and too familiar.
As I was working on a caliper I noticed the jack was leaning because two of its wheels were in a seam in the concrete surface. But it didn’t seem like a big deal. I just figured, “Don’t put your head in the wheel well.” The wife came out to help. As I tried to line up the bolts in the caliper by feel, and not putting my head in the wheel well to see, she pushed on it to try to help line it up. She pushed in the direction of the jack’s leaning. The jack leaned farther. It slowly rolled onto it’s side like an elephant taking a nap. Kawunmp. Well, that was interesting. Nobody’s fault but my own, I broke every safety rule and got busted. Crap.
Wonderboy held the light. He was impressed. He said his Dad could fix anything, his Dad should be a mechanic. If he were a little older he'd know his Dad had just royally crapped it up. Sure I felt unworthy of his praise, but it was awfully nice to hear him speak so well of me.
Then I got out the scissors jack, jacked it up, and finished the job. Nobody got hurt, it was a good lesson. I promise not to be so stupid again, I can be taught. I got washed up and we took it for a test drive. The wife drove. Manly braking, no screeching. She can pound the brakes all the way to Rochester, we’re good to go. I just don’t wanna go.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-