Just because I’m losing, doesn’t mean I’m lost; doesn’t mean I’ll stop

I can’t even begin to describe the amazing clusterfuck that is my life right now.  Honestly.  Until last night, I really had very little knowledge of what exactly myelofibrosis is.  What it does to the body; what it does to one’s life.  You know what?  Right now I feel like I’ve lost.  Right now, after reading what other’s have gone through and what what others are going through, I feel… Hopeless.
It’s not like I’m trying to be this way.  And it’s certainly not for the effort of the people around me.  It’s kind of my mind just taking over.  I mean, I’m not a betting man, but if I was, would I bet on me?  Of course not.  My life has been absolutely riddled with bad luck; there’s certainly no reason for that to stop now, right?  But as I said, it’s not for the efforts of the people around me.  Especially my sister’s and my mom’s friends.  My sister has been basically attached to my hip through all of this and that’s somewhat of a surprise and something that I very much needed (though I would never admit that to her face).  When I was carted off (by ambulance) to the emergency room, three different sets of my mother’s friends were there for me which is incredible.  Sebika Mashi actually came over and called 911; Saikatda met me in the ER, and Chumki mashi drove me home (and gave me the yelling that was coming to me).  With my mother visiting her family in India and while  miss her presence immensely, these people have filled in brilliantly while I settle for long distance phone conversations with my mom (for now.. She’s finding her way back to NJ probably as we speak).  Friends of mine that don’t let me brood too much and give me pep talks.  Co-workers visiting me and spending time…  Even Anita, with her finals these past 2 weeks has dealt with this as much as she possibly can.  I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the fact that my friend/co-worker Mike let me steal borrow  his copy of Madden 10 to have at home.  Sure, it sounds silly, but having a distraction (that lasts HOURS AND HOURS) really helps my mind from imploding.  Better to think about screen plays rather than my next blood screening.  I really commend everyone involved for their efforts because I know for certain that I don’t think I’d have the strength to do the same in return.
But even with all this, I feel alone.  I feel helpless.  Madden, visits, and phone calls are all fine and dandy, but nothing is making me better.  In fact, at this point, nothing can make me better. 
This all came to a head on Sunday night.  In search of normalcy, I went to my friend Tom’s house.  Him, Steve, and I were to watch NFL Red Zone (as us men do) and enjoy the day watching football and Scott Hanson not pee while directing traffic on the channel.  It started out just fine.  I got to Tom’s (early, believe it or not!) and we sat around and bullshitted.  We ordered buffalo chicken pizza and prepared the chips and dip (read: opened the bag and container).  It was perfect.  It was everything I needed it to be.  The three of us enjoyed the 1:00 games like any other Sunday of any other year.
Oh, but this wasn’t any other Sunday and this is not another year.  Almost just as the 4:00 games started, I felt a little fatigued.  Being quite the veteran at gauging my own levels of energy, I figured I should leave before I become plain useless (Mind you me, before this night, useless basically meant “so lazy that I did not feel the urge to get up, talk, or basically do anything").  Now, we were pretty much doing this anyway, but I figured I wouldn’t want to drive home that tired so I took my leave.  Slapped Tom on his hand and made my way out the door.
Still felt pretty normal.  Then about half way home, I started to feel REALLY tired.  This is not completely abnormal to me.  I thought nothing of it to the point that I called Anita to whine about it.  Nothing new here, I call her to whine about absolutely nothing all the time.  In fact, calling just to bother/annoy her is really one of my favorite things to do.
By the time I make it back home, I’ve felt fatigue like I’ve never felt before.  I felt like I couldn’t left my leg enough to step forward.  I walked in the house and could barely walk.  I stumbled over to the couch and literally collapsed.  I actually tried to get up and I literally couldn’t.  I can’t describe how that feels.  For your brain to WANT your body to do something, but your body not being being able to carry it out.  It’s an absolutely frightening paralysis.
Cut to the chase:  Ambulance takes me to Robert Wood Johnson and we discover that my hemoglobin has dropped below a threshold at which I am at least functional.  Can you imagine that?  I didn’t have enough blood in my system to move.  Think about that statement for a second.  Realize that it’s not any kind of figurative language.  I could not move.  Send shivers down my spine just to type it.
My sister, my brother in law, Saikatda, and the Basus all spent time with me at the hospital.  My sister came all the way from South Jersey and stayed until I was admitted (at around 12:30).  The second she left the room, I started at the dry erase before me informing me of what room I was staying in, what my nurse’s name was, and what my nurse tech’s name was and wept.  This was everything I was trying to avoid.  This was everything I was trying to deny.  With everyone around me warning me to be cautious and to act within my situation while I was running around pretending to be “normal”, I actually stopped believing I was sick.  Hello Paulash, it’s reality.  I know we haven’t seen each other in some time, but I thought I’d surprise you.
A transfusion and an endless wait for an evaluation by a team of doctors later and Chumki Mashi took me home(I didn’t get to leave until about 5:00pm… Just because I was waiting for doctors to see me).  She wanted me to stay at her house, stay at my sister’s house, stay anywhere but at alone.  But that’s all I wanted.  I wanted to be alone.  To sit and realize my new reality.  A seemingly endless battle with illness and fatigue punctuated by a few respites of normalcy.  It’s my life or rather, what’s left of it.  Guess there’s nothing left to do but “make the best of it”.
I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy.

What is going on?

So, after certain events this weekend, it's dawning on me just how serious this condition is.  I've gone now as far as finding a support group to help me cope.  The problem is...  Reading these people's experiences with myelofibrosis scares me.  Their lives seem so difficult.  Is this what I'm in store for?  Is this what I have to look forward to?

So much of my life is up in the air right now.  I don't know how to place it all.  I can't figure anything out.  I'm lucky to have as many supportive people around me as I do.  My sister has been unbelievably incredible, even for a sister.

Still, I can't shake the feeling that this is not going to end well for me.  Maybe returning to writing my experiences will help with exorcising some of these demons.  Probably not.  It's worth a shot, right?  I guess my New Year's resolution will be to try and write 1 post a week.  Or at least average 4 posts a month.  Yeah.  That sounds a bit more liberal. 

Let's hope this works.

I suck at updating

Well, I suck at updating this thing, but it's really not my fault.  If you notice, the last post was sometime at the end of September.. Well.. With October comes postseason baseball and that pretty much consumes my life right now.

For a some quick updates:

I'm back to work, but it feels different there.  Being reunited with my work-spouse Mike has been great.  We have a lot of douching to catch up on.. And we're trying.

I started back playing basketball with co-workers.  When I told the hematologist, she specifically forbade it, but I'm doing it anyway.  Playing basketball (as HORRENDOUS as I am), makes me feel healthy, even if for an hour and even if the aftermath is having to be helped into the house because of the pain.  I need to exercise and doing stuff I like is REALLY the only way I'm going to do it.

I have today off from work.  I have a bunch of vacation days that I have to use before the end of the year, so I'm taking random days off.  Today, I have a fun day of romping around NYC with my love, PK all day.  YAY!  These Peek a Poop days we have are really awesome.

Living at my mom's house has been great in the sense that I'm literally in the middle of everything.  Being around everyone that I’ve grown up with has been absolutely refreshing.  Of course, as everyone predicted, being away from Anita has proven to be difficult.  I think that being in PA, even if we didn’t see each other during the, we knew we could… But now, we actually have to PLAN to see each other and that puts a strain on things.  Plus, Anita has become little miss busy and has SO much on her plate right now, even our phone time has been severely cut.

That’s basically it.  On the illness front, my blood clot is being well managed.  I’ve actually been promoted from seeing the doctor every few days, to once a week, to now every two weeks.  With any luck, in a few months, the clot will be dissolved and I can go on to live a semi-normal life for the first time in my life.  Wow.  Just typing that is amazing.  A normal life.

 

 

Anyway.. until next time, folks..

Newsflash

I’ve decided that if I need to, I’m gonna be blogging in between The Lost Summer posts.  So much is going on in my life RIGHT NOW, I don’t want to skip it simply because I want to write about the past.  Make sense?  Good.

Mr. Spleen, Mr. Spleen AKA The Lost Summer (Part 2b)

Not all Doctors are created equal, in fact some doctors should have never been created…

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So, where were we?  Ahh yes.. Pocono Medical Center.  So, I’ve been getting platelets all night to stabilize my condition; I remain in the ICU in case something catastrophic happens.  Poor Anita is stuck having to be with me.  Strangely, what I am worried about most is losing my job.  I had missed so many days this year due to this illness, I feared any more sick days and my boss would have it.  Him and I already had a little bit of a “sit down” due to the amount of sick time I was taking from the company and while he understood I was dealing with something completely off the wall, he also made clear his need to have someone he can rely on to put their butt in the seat when he needed them.  What made the situation worse in my head was that I was actually on call that weekend.  The last thing I needed was to be sick that weekend in case something huge had happened.

 

And all the while I was worrying about this… I was actually ill, too… Or so they told me.  The orange juice flowed, eventually my mom came up from NJ, and the barrage of specialists came in; all wanting a piece of the mystery disease that was so far above their capabilities, they must’ve been dizzy in their research.  I don’t remember any of their names, but I don’t remember liking most of them save for two.  The worst part?  The doctor in charge of my condition was a hematologist that wanted no part of my situation from the second he saw my chart.   I don’t remember what he looks like, really.  White man, lab coat, indifferent look on his face.  While having my first conversation with this man, I already know that his main goal is not to find anything out, but to get my platelet count above 50K so he can ship me off.  Now, while the prospect of being stabilized is wonderful, I (and everyone else) was more concerned with the fact that no one knew what was going on inside me and the fact that every time they’d infuse me with platelets, every time they drew blood and checked it thereafter, the count would drop.  When I bring this up to the hematologist, his response was an indifferent phrase to the likes of “don’t worry, we’ll getcha outta here.”  At first I was afraid that I was going to be stuck there forever, now I feared that I’d be given the proverbial band aid and left to fend for myself. 

That first day in the ICU was difficult to deal with.  I was so afraid and so confused and so worried about so many things that I just felt awful.  My mom came in and has no idea as to what is happening which naturally throws her into panic mode.  Anita is her usual calm self, nut her concern is as visible on her face as her smile.  Even more wonderful is dutiful James who basically sacrificed his Saturday night to spend it with me there in the ICU.  Sitting there in my little half room, watching TV with me until he fell asleep.  Having those people around feels reassuring.

What is not reassuring is the massive confusion between the doctors.  They are sending in infectious disease specialists, the douche hematologist, endocrinologists, and various other unidentifiable doctors that all come in, ask the same questions that I am forced to answer again and again; they all poke and prod and press and do whatever other uncomfortable procedure they deem necessary.  Of course, after all the prodding and answers I give them, they all walk out of the room just as baffled as they entered.  Of course, I would expect nothing less from doctors that have had absolutely no experience with my illness that has had no diagnosis for 20+ years.

After what seems like an unending line of idiots, my knight in shining armor (white lab coat??) appeared.  He is the attending physician and while he understands that this may be above his head, his interest is not in setting me free, but in getting to the bottom of whatever was causing the issue.  I remember him very distinctly because he was the only one in that place that made any sense to me.  He was the only one who spoke with any sense of urgency.  I believe his name is Dr. Kemed.  Aside from his doctor clothes, he really didn’t look like a doctor.  Short, pasty-white, intentionally shaved head, even an earring in his ear.  He kind of looks like Chris Daughtry if he had decided to become a doctor instead of a rock star (did I just admit to listening to Daughtry?); just shorter and with less eyeliner.

Instead of trying to discharge me and was the hospital’s hands of this problem child, he insisted that I remain in the hospital for my own safety and that he would try to have me transferred to UPENN ASAP to see Dr. Stadtmauer (the hematologist that had been studying my issues for 3 years).  Great, right?  My prayers have been answered!  Wrong.  UPENN does not accept hematology transfers on the weekend save for acute leukemia patients.  Dr. Kemed and one of his associates said they would see if they can pull some strings and make some phone calls and get me transferred and have this if not taken care of, at least looked at.  All I had to do was sit tight (as if I had another choice).

While these two fine doctors try to call in favors or promise favors or whatever doctors do when they push their problems onto their friends, the douchatologist comes in revealing what we already knew.  With every transfusion, the platelet count increased, but with every hour that passed, the number would diminish.  Great deduction, jack ass.  Tell us something we don’t know.  Please.  Anything.  Have it be the weather, the color of your eyes, your birthday.  Anything to justify the bill your office is going to send my insurance company for this bedside visit here.  Anyway..  Another bag of orange juice was in order and he went on his merry way.  Wonderful.

After a few hours (which was passed wonderfully with more visitors.  Anita’s family was wonderful enough to come in and visit… And bring KFC.  My God, do I love KFC), I learn the results of the doctors’ attempts to parcel me off to UPENN.  Nothing.  There would be no way for UPENN to break with policy and free up a bed for someone not having complications from Leukemia.  Isn’t that just selfish?  I mean, come on people!  I WAS BLEEDING FROM MY GUMS!  Haha.  I’m just kidding.  Totally understandable.  They need to keep beds open in the hematology ward for people that really deserve them.  I would have to wait until Monday to be transferred.  It is Sunday at this point, so one more day without some sort of medical disaster and at least I would be someplace with people that were familiar with my condition.

Monday comes.  More orange juice, terrible hospital food (seriously…  Thank God for Anita’s parents bringing me KFC.  I can’t say that I wouldn’t have survived without it… But I also can’t say that I would have survived without it… You decide), and one final blow to the jugular.  The douchatalogist walks in with a smugness about him as if he had just accomplished some great feat.  Guess what?  The hospital is sending me home.  Yep.  They had brought my platelet count above 50,000 and they could now legally release me.  Doesn’t that sound great?  After an entire weekend of doctors telling me how dangerous my situation is and that any number of normal every day activities can lead to my death, now I get to go home and partake in those normal every day activities!  Hooray!

Needless to say (but I will), I am completely horrified by this news.  What kind of practice is this?  Scare the pants off the patient into believing anything beyond the hospital walls can kill him and then…  Release him beyond those hospital walls?!?  I am horrified while everyone else involved on my side is furious.  We don’t even get a say in the matter.  One of the doctors tries one last plea to UPENN to no avail.  With a platelet count above 50,000, no one even thinks my insurance would pay to have me transferred to UPENN because.. Well.. They legally don’t have to.  Ain’t our health system grand?  Of course, in hind sight nothing happened and everything worked out fine, but at the time, it was just absolutely infuriating. 

So, I am released.  A weekend sojourn to the Pocono Medical Center was concluded only to be followed by what I fear to be endless out patient testing at UPENN.  I toy with the idea of writing an email to Dr. Stadtmauer at UPENN asking (read:begging) him to admit me so that I (and whoever else.. or rather EVERYONE else involved) would not have to travel between either The Poconos and Philadelphia and/or my mother’s house in Somerset, NJ and Philadelphia.  Also, if I was going to be an outpatient, I would have to return to work and that would just have been a scheduling nightmare.  And for what it’s worth, I just wanted this whole thing to be over.  Spending another who-knows-how-many days driving back and forth to UPENN to get whatever tests they wanted me to take would drive me crazy.  I just wanted to stay there, let them poke and prod me for however many days they deemed fit and have this be done with once and for all.  Through the grace of my job and my boss, I would be eligible for short term disability for up to six months (granted I didn’t think I’d need anywhere near that long) and not have to worry about my salary or losing my job.  It just seemed to make sense.  Let’s just hope Dr. Stadtmauer sees it the same way.

I write the email first thing when I get home.  If nothing else, with all the thoughts of danger swirling around my head, it feels good to be home.  It feels good to sleep in my own bed.  It feels good to be surrounded by my stuff and not tubes, dinging monitors, nurse call bells, and strangers in white lab coats.  Much to my amazement, the next day Dr. Stadtmauer replies to my email.  I wrote him a long plea trying to tug at his heart strings in explaining my situation and my frustration with my condition seemingly deteriorating.  The email must’ve translated to two and a half pages of whiny drivel.  Maybe even more.  I’m actually surprised he read it.  I wonder if he made it all the way through.  Thankfully, his reply was short and much more succinct.

He simply wrote that he remembered me and to bring my bag to my appointment as he was going to have me admitted to the hospital and we were going to get to the bottom of this starting that following Wednesday (7/15/09) at 12:00pm.  Success.

 

To be continued…

Mr. Spleen, Mr. Spleen AKA The Lost Summer (Part 2a)

Not all doctors are created equal.  In fact some doctors should have never been created

 

So here I am, driving to the ER against my will.  Almost as soon as I turn they key, I change the radio station to WCBS to hear the Yankees game.  Before I hear one solitary word from John Sterling’s mystical voice, Anita’s protests are met immediately by me explaining to her that I was obviously deathly ill and the only thing that had a chance at keeping me going was hearing a John Sterling homerun call.  She lets me listen to the game.  She loses some respect for me too, but she lets me listen to the game.

We arrive at the completely overcrowded ER and have difficulty finding parking.  What are these people doing here?  Don’t they know that I’m having a serious problem and waiting in line is NOT something that I’m into?  Whatever.  So, we walk into the ER and go to the registration desk.  I’ve been to the ER before, so it didn’t take that long.  The one HUGE mistake that I made when registering was when she asked me to gauge the amount of pain I’m in, I declared I was in no pain.  This will inevitably come back to haunt me.

Anita and I take a seat on the far side of the ER waiting for my number to come up.  I brought a bottle of Gatorade (or G, rather) with me to keep me hydrated.  Of course, Anita wants none of that and is drinkless.  She would later regret that.  One hour passes.  This is not abnormal for an ER and it does not raise any concerns in either of us.  We pass the time blabbering to each other only to be interrupted by me checking the Yankees’ score on my phone.  Finally, we are called into the triage nurse’s area.  As she was taking my vitals and asking me the reason for my visit, I ask Anita if I can have a sip of my Gatorade.  Before I can take the cap off the bottle the nurse scolds me as if I’m a little boy to not eat or drink anything until the doctor sees me.  I really REALLY plan on listening to her.  Seriously.  I do.  She issues me my pretty little hospital bracelet (an uneasy staple for the next two months) and we return to our seat.  Another hour or so passes (as does plenty of G intake) and we are not quite sure, but it seems as though some of the people that have registered after us have been going through the magic ER doors before us.  We aren't completely sure of this, so we ignore it for now.  Another obvious mistake.  A third hour passes.  Now it is plainly obvious that people that have registered before us have been admitted to the ER before us.  We realize what we did wrong.  When we were with the triage nurse, she asked me to measure my pain on a 10 point scale.  I wasn’t in any pain, so I said that my pain was a zero.  Let this be a lesson to you, kids.  Honesty does not pay off in the end.  By the time we actually went through the doors, it must’ve been 1:00am.

So anyway, we finally get into the ER and we’re both waiting for the nurse.  They immediately start me on an IV and draw blood.  We sit and blah blah blah for a while until the doctor arrives.  The doctor walks into the room, closes the door, and asks me what’s going on.  He’s not exactly intimidating, but he’s not exactly benign, either.  A middle aged man with a scruffy face with no distinguishable marks except for the military tattoo peaking out from under his doctor’s scrubs.  Sure, this wouldn’t scare other people, but I’m squeamish and tattoos are scary.  Especially on doctors.  Am I alone here?  Anyone?  Is this thing on?  Anyway, I’m not that scared because last time I was in this ER, I had the same doctor and he was great.  I explain to him that I had been bleeding from my gum for 2 days and I had noticed some petechiae on my feet and Anita noticed it over my body in general.  As soon as he sees the density of the petechiae on my feet, he looks up at me with a look of minor horror.  He looks at my mouth and sees the extent of my bleeding and tells me that there might be an issue with how many platelets are in my body and that he’d have to check the bloodwork and see if I will need any sort of transfusion or anything.

This is not completely foreign to me.  I’ve been having trouble with my blood since I was about 5 years old.  No one has been able to really figure it out (until recently) and I wasn’t completely afraid of the results.  I go through periods of low blood counts from time to time and I figure that this would not be any different.  I feel no fear at all.  Yet another mistake.

The doctor returns again after some time with another look of worry on his face, this time one more serious than the previous.  He looks up at me saying that my platelet count was around 2000 and that I would need an immediate transfusion of platelets.  A normal platelet count is between 150,000 and 400,000.  Apparently, at 2,000, a person is in danger of just bleeding out through his capillaries and stuff like that.  Real good news.  This was definitely something I was not suspecting.  I became worried now because I was on call from work this weekend and could not feasibly stay the entire weekend at the hospital.  Anita yells at me for not just worrying about my health.  Hey, when you’ve missed as many days over the last fiscal year due to this crazy illness at a job you’ve only had for 2 years, you’d be worried, too.  I convince Anita to go back to the car get my work laptop and the on call phone.  This way I can charge them and be ready the next day.

Now the waiting game, or rather another waiting game.  Apparently, the platelets had to be special ordered from another hospital because they didn’t have any there (really?!?) and I was waiting for a room to clear up in the ICU because that would be my home for the weekend.  It was not until what felt like 5:00 in the morning until they found a room for me and I was transported and started on the transfusion.  The bag, connected to me through the IV, was full of this disgusting, gritty, orange juice looking liquid that was slowly seeping into my blood stream through the hole in my hand.  Not that I could physically feel anything, but it was just…. I don’t know… Icky.  Not to mention I had to sign all these waivers absolving the hospital of any liability over contracting any number of diseases from the flu all the way up to the mighty HIV.  Doesn’t exactly instill a lot of confidence.

The worst part about this was telling my mom.  At first, I didn’t want to mention anything, but I decided on the car ride there that I would tell her in case something bigger actually did occur, it wouldn’t be as much of a shock.  In the end, I don’t think it made much of a difference.  Really, of everyone that’s been involved with this situation just over the last 2 months, she easily deserves the most credit.  And that’s saying a lot because everyone involved has done SO MUCH, but I don’t think anyone had worried, struggled, or felt the sting of everything I was going through as much as she did.  She’s a champion for having braved the storm as much as she did; I don’t know if I would’ve have been able to do it given her place.  She may not seem like a pillar of strength to look at her, but I don’t think I would’ve been able to handle the magnitude of everything I went through were it not for my mom holding my hand through everything telling me that it will be OK in the end and to trust in the doctors and in God and in the future.  She’s not a pillar of strength, she’s a mountain of it.  But I digress…

So here I am, wheeled into the ICU like some car crash victim, spleen enlarged to somewhere between 22-26CM (normal size is 8) and a platelet count so low that doctors were afraid of blood vessels bleeding out into my brain, rendering me a vegetable.  If they saw me on lazy weekends, they’d see it’s not too much of a change from my regular behavior.  I try to remain calm and strong, but inside I’m freaking out.  My condition has never put me in this much danger and I’m wondering if this is a signal of a worsening of the disease.  It would’ve been befitting my luck; A job that I like with people that I love, A woman that I want to spend the rest of my life, my own house, yeah.. My life’s almost complete.. Why not add a life or death battle with a disease no one has been able to identify for 25 years to the mix.. Just to balance things out.  Right?  Ugh.

If my recollection serves me right, I receive two bags of magic pulpy orange juice that brings my platelet count just about 10,000.  Still in the danger zone, but in any imminent danger.  Once morning hits, I begin being visited by doctors, of all shapes and sizes.  The worst of these is the hematologist.  I don’t remember his name, but it was clear to me that he was solely interested in stabilizing my condition and getting me the hell out of his hospital.  Great attitude to have, douchebag.

 

This is going to have to be continued in a 2b sort of way…  I feel absolutely exhausted…  I’m sorry.  I didn’t even proofread.  Bleh

Mr. Spleen, Mr. Spleen AKA The Lost Summer (part 1)

Who said flossing won’t kill you

So, the last few weeks of my life have been somewhat of a whirlwind.  Well, that’s not actually true.  They’ve been a whirlwind in the sense that I’ve been turned and spun out and been dealing with things that I really didn’t expect to.  They’ve been chaotic, frightening, revealing, depressing, painful, and at times, very very lonely.  I’ve learned much about my life, my illness, my family, my friends, and about how much physical pain and mental anguish I can handle at once.  I’m hoping that when this is all over, I will emerge on the other side a healthier, happier, and stronger person.  At this point, these things are far from certain.

The story begins on July 8th.  Actually, no.  The story begins the evening of July 7th.  I am at home, watching the Yankees game at night.  It gets late and being the lazy ass that I am, I decided not to floss.  I brushed my teeth, washed my mouth, and decided that flossing just wasn’t going to happen tonight.  This is not that uncommon, I go to sleep not really thinking about it.

I wake up the next day early for some reason.  What’s stranger is that I actually decided to get out of bed instead of wasting the extra time laying there.  Instead, I actually get up, shower, brush, and get dressed.  I have about 10 minutes of extra time.  Now obviously, I have absolutely NO intention of leaving and getting to work early, so I decide instead that I floss.  Why not, right?  I’m flossing and admiring the gross food particles discovered between my teeth.  Yes, I’m disgusting.  Well, while digging for treasure between my teeth, I accidentally cut my gum and it starts bleeding.  This is not completely uncommon, I’m an uncoordinated dufus and the fact that I’ve survived this long surprises almost everyone I knowl.  I thought nothing of it and continued on to work.  I figure it will stop bleeding in a few minutes.

So those few minutes, they weren’t a few minutes.  My gums bled ALL day.  I didn’t know what to think.  The bleeding wasn’t exactly gushing, but it also wasn’t a small amount of blood.  It coats my teeth, coagulates into this disgusting gooey red-snot like monstrosity, and every few hours,  I would go and spit it out and let the process start all over again.  Pretty disgusting, right?  I get home that night and I’m genuinely worried.  I figure there is something SERIOUSLY wrong with my teeth, but I have absolutely no idea how to deal with it.

My first line of defense is to call Anita.  She’s obviously way smarter than I am and can handle these sorts of situations much better that I’d ever be able to.  I tell her what’s going on and I guess she didn’t realize how severe the situation was as she tells me to rinse my mouth out with warm salt water and it will be fine.  I had already tried this earlier with no success, but maybe Anita telling me to do it would work out better right?  Wrong.  That night was terrible.  I bled all over my bed sheets.  The pillow, the sheets.  I woke up in the middle of the night and vomited because of all the blood I swallowed.  An absolutely miserable experience.  Terrible.  I certainly didn’t get much sleep that night.

I wake up the next morning and I’m officially in full panic mode.  My gums are still bleeding; still at the same rate.  My worst fear is that this was some sort of advanced stage of gum disease or gingivitis.  Ever since I met Anita, I have been taking very good care of my teeth, but I thought that maybe previous years of somewhat lackluster oral hygiene have caught up to me.  The worst part?  I have an appointment with the dentist just a few days away.  Do I wait?  Is there something more wrong?  At this point, I am absolutely and completely freaking out (to myself).

I muster the courage togo one more day without really doing anything about it.  I don’t want to miss any work, especially with me being on call during the weekend.  So, I go to bed with the idea that I’ll be fine and this will pass.  Or at least, that’s what I hoped.  Of course not.  Instead, I spend the night having the exact same problems.  Waking up, vomiting, bleeding on EVERYTHING.  I wake up absolutely scared and exhausted.  I get to work, and by this time, everyone knows what’s going on.  Brian (my boss) asks me if I was going to see a doctor about it.  I am absolutely convinced that my issue is caused by a severe case of gingivitis, but that’s not the kind of news I want to declare at work. I figure I’ll wait for my dentist’s appointment and see what the damage is.  I follow the same procedures as yesterday and make it through the day...  Barely. I feel a small sense of relief when I get home because Anita would be coming over in a few hours and she will make everything better, right?  Right.

So Anita came over around 8:30.  At the time, I was in the bathroom as she entered the room.  As soon as her eyes focused on the scene in front of here, she shrieked as if she had just stumbled upon a murder scene.  She screamed and shrieked absolutely flabbergasted by what she saw in front of her.  She groans at the sight of blood everywhere.  Absolutely coating the bathroom.  The part where I get in the most trouble begins when she notices very little blood on my pillow and asks me how that happened.  Scared of what may happen to me, I softly tell her to prepare herself and to flip the pillow over.  “OH MY GOD, PAULASH!  You bled all over your pillow and then just flipped it over and went back to sleep?  That’s disgusting.  You are disgusting.  I can’t believe you.”  She then just stares at me as if to say, “How the Hell did I end up falling in love with you?”  This is a question that may never have an answer.  This is probably a good thing.

She tells me that we need to go to the hospital.  I am obviously against this idea.  I hate the hospital.  I’ve always hated hospitals.  I spend too much time in them to like them.  Especially the ER.  I try to negotiate.  I want to go tomorrow morning so that we can finish watching the Yankees game.  Nope.  We settle on calling Dr. Parikh’s emergency line.  Whatever he tells me to do, I would do.  So, I call and leave a message with his answering service.  Ten minutes later, Dr. Parikh calls me; I tell him the situation and I actually think I heard him gasp in horror in the middle.  As soon as I’m done, he proceeds to scold me as if I’m a little child.  Apparently, “knowing my condition” the fact that I allowed myself to bleed for two days without seeking medical attention was beyond stupid and why even bother with all these doctors trying to figure out what’s wrong with me if I’m going to do something like this.  I just listened and stuttered like a whimpering child.

So that is it.  The decision is made.  I still tried to haggle with Anita for the Yankees game, but she was having none of it.  I reluctantly get into the car and the two of us start to make our way to the ER.  In my mind, I’m thinking that this will be an affair of a few hours and I’ll be home the next day and be ready for work on Monday.  Little did I know the journey I was in for.  Little did I know how unprepared I was for it…

 

To be continued…

Have I become too connected?

I've always fancied myself a pretty technologically progressive individual, but with my recent purchase of the Blackberry Storm as an engagement present to myself, have I crossed a line? Is it possible to be TOO connected? I've found myself caught between two lives; my e-life and my real life. You would think that it would be my e-life interrupting my actual life, but recently, it kind of seems the opposite is true. Is it OK when your socializing happens more on the internet than it does in real life?
For the past few days, I've been basically confined to a bed in a hospital with some ailments. What have I been doing to keep entertained? I've been plastering my life on Twitter which has been cross posting my life on facebook and the madness has followed. I've been sending text message updates to my closest friends and BlackBerry messengering my friends lucky enough to have BlackBerries.
I started questioning a possibly oversaturated e-life when one of my closest friends called me because he read about my problems through facebook. I thought to myself, "Isn't this wrong? I've been like brothers with the guy for more than 10 years and he has to learn about my hospitalization through facebook? Isn't there something wrong there? Shouldn't he have at least learned through word of mouth from another friend from our circle?" I felt bad enough that I called another very good friend of mine and made sure he heard what was happening from me.
I also find myself at times absolutely disconnected from my real life and aggravating. Anita will be talking to me and probably feels ignored because I'm not paying full attention to what she's saying because I'm in the middle of checking my friend feed or tweeting something really clever. Isn't this wrong? This girl is the love of my life and she's playing second seat to my presented life on the internet? Isn't that just a LITTLE bit insane?
While incarcerated here in my hotel room of tubes, wires, and injections, I've had TONS of people come and visit me. What have most of them had to deal with? Me, explaining to people what's going through various mediums available on my phone. Is this not awful? I feel awful. They took time out of their lives to haul themselves over here and had to deal with me typing away on my phone? It feels rude.
The question is... Now that I've entered into this uber-techno-savvy life... How do I turn around? How do I increase the level of my life in... Well... My life. When my phone gives off one of its familiar alerts, I find myself excited to see who has interacted with me and what they have to say and how I'm going to respond. How do I bring that sensation back to my real life? Should I have people make strange sounds before interacting with me? Will that catch my attention? I feel like asking these questions makes me sound absolutely insane. Am I really debating the need to disconnect? Am I whining because I'm addicted to my new toy???
This is ridiculous. I'm not too connected. I've just been a little extra e-ish with my life because I've been reporting the latest medical disaster in my life. Once this whole ordeal is over, I should be fine. I'm just bored and needed a reason to fill the time.



PS - Tweet #wilbur We're trying to make it a trending topic. It's what we've named my enlarged spleen!

Anita Roshini Ramnath

Seriously, the last few weeks of my life have been so blech, I don’t know what I’d do without Anita.  She’s better at picking up the slack than anyone else I’ve ever known.  She’s also even better at not letting me wallow too much in self pity and illness and to keep my head on my shoulders and be realistic.  That’s probably more important than anything else.

Last week, we had our Ashirbad/Engagement party and it was amazing.  I felt like crap through most of it, but it was amazing.  My friend Mike’s wife made us a FABULOUS cake for it.

Ashirbad

If you can believe it, I actually forgot my camera for this!  This album is made of a compilation of my friends’ pictures.  More later.

 

Right now, I’d like to go to sleep and sleep through the night for once.

One Ring to Rule Them All

Yep. I’ve done it. Taken the plunge. Dropped the hammer. Went for the dive. Drank the kool-aid. Gave up the ghost. Whatever other clichés there are to describe what I’ve done.
I’ve been lucky enough to be dating the most incredible girl over the last two years of my life and a few weeks ago, I grew the stones enough to ask her to marry me. Actually, this process started about six months ago. I was laying in bed and just thinking about Anita; I realized how much I've changed and how different and wonderful my life is. I also realized how much I want Anita and I to live and experience life together.
I never previously really understood what it meant to want to be married before. To want to spend the rest of your life waking up next to the same person. Falling asleep together. Eating together. Talking. Watching television. Living life together. Sure, I thought I did, but I was dumb. What they say is true. You really never know until it actually happens to you.
But I digress. Six months ago, I decided I would ask Anita to marry me and took the appropriate steps. I started saving money for a ring, asked her best friend to help me pick it out. Told everyone that needed telling and 6 months later, here we are.
The days leading up to the actual proposal were wrought with discourse. Just an absolute nauseating few days of trying to avoid spilling the beans to Anita that involved way more deception than I’m used to with her.
Of course… In the end it was all worth it because it led to a day that I (and hopefully she) will never forget for the rest of my life.
The scene: I have decided to send Anita through a scavenger hunt that will eventually lead to a candlelit dinner by the waterfall at Resica Falls. She has NO idea what’s about to happen.

From Engagement

The following events take place between 5:00am and 12:00am on May 22nd, 2009.
5:00am: BEEP BEEP BEEP! My alarm screams at me. Normally, I would hit the snooze button a few times, but not today. I’m filled with nervousness, excitement, fear, happiness, and everything in between. I spring out of bed and into the shower to start getting ready.
5:30am: Off to work. Hop in the car, put on The Fan and start my journey. While I’m pretending to listen to the overnight guy on the fan, I’m actually going over in my head everything that needs to be done today to make this spectacular.
6:30am: At work. I can’t even think about working. Not even close. I can only get in there and just be nervous and think.
7:00am: Coworkers Christian and Mike start heckling me telling me that she’s going to say no. Gotta love those guys.
9:00am: Coworker Philth comes to work and joins the brigade. At this point, I’m pacing around the office. Mike tells me that I’m a douche. That doesn’t really distinguish this from any other day.. I just figured I’d throw that in there.
10:00am: I reveal that I’m not really scared that she’ll say no, I’m more afraid that my elaborate scheme isn’t going to work. It took 2 weeks and 4 people to plan this thing properly (also with an assist from my friend Rita).
10:30am: I’m still pacing. Mike reminds me (again) that I’m a douche. It’s nice to know on such a big day that there’s at least SOME consistency.
11:00am: Mike has gotten to the part of the day where he just whispers “she’s going to say no” under his breath while he sits behind me. Christian wants to know if I have a plan in case she does say no. Philth is just dirty. Gotta love my job.
12:00pm: Mike reassures me that everything will be alright and that everything is going to be ok. The universe collapses. He also reminds me that I’m a douche.  Good thing, I almost forgot.
1:00pm: Time to leave. For once in a long time, Mike and I are leaving at the same time. Obviously, we wait for each other. We walk out together and Mike wishes me luck.
1:03pm: While we’re driving out, I block Mike’s exit route just to be a dick. I feel a little better.
1:04pm: While Mike and I are both at the exit to Suburban, Mike starts screaming “BONZAI!” a la Karate Kid to encourage/assuage my concerns. Sure, it was a little corny.. Ok.. it was really corny… But it was really nice and for some strange reason, it really DID make me feel better. It just goes to show you… Nothing calms you down like good old Mr. Miyagi.
1:15pm: WHAT.THE.EFF?!?! I hit traffic on route 80. Traffic?!! I left at one o’clock SPECIFICALLY to AVOID this crap. Lucky for me it’s not THAT bad. We’re moving slow, but at least we’re moving. 80 can at times be a parking lot.
2:15pm: Stop at Mr. Zs to buy 3 dozen flowers. 2 dozen rozens and 1 dozen purple daisies. I intend to combine the petals from 1 dozen red roses and the purple daisies to make a trail that Anita will have to follow. Ambitious? A little. But it would really make everything over the top.

From Engagement

2:20pm: Stop at Resica Falls to do a walk-through of the path I’m going to have Anita take to find her gifts and make sure the path keeps the dinner hidden at all times.
2:30pm: Home! Not bad. Of course, in my rush to get home, I forget to pick up the balloons. So, I guess Mike was right. I really am a douche.
2:35pm: Thank God for the all star that is James George. I sent him a text message asking him to bring me a bunch of Mylar balloons and he is happy to oblige. Nothing to worry about. James is clutch as Hell.
2:45pm: Start creating the cards for Anita’s scavenger hunt through Resica Falls. Of course, being the ass that I am, I make every possible mistake I can think of. Of the 4 cards I ended up with, I must’ve printed 8 or 9 because I made so many mistakes. Whatever though, I needed it to be PERFECT.

From Engagement

3:00pm-ish: James arrives with the balloons. I show him my progress on everything and he’s a bit indifferent. That’s not right. He’s excited but also exhausted. That’s more accurate. He tells me that he’s going to nap until the time we have to leave.

From Engagement

3:15pm: Anita starts IMing me on gchat! DRATS! I can’t be talking to her! It’ll blow everything up! I need to focus on everything I need to do. The answer? Lie my ass off. I tell Anita that I’m in a training session for the rest of the day. Sign off GChat and turn my phone off. Problem solved.
3:30pm: The prep work is basically done. Plates, cups, flowers, everything is seemingly ready to go. I bought a (wonderfully bedazzled) bottle of Moet that came with its own chill chamber and the chill chamber needed to be put in the frozen in order to chill the champagne. It should be in there for about 2 hours. Of course, James put his new little science toy in the freezer the night before. Can’t be too safe, right? I check on it to make sure it isn’t an ice cube. We’re good.

From Engagement

3:34pm: I’m done!? What do I do with myself? How could this be? I have 3 hours to kill. I certainly couldn’t talk to Anita because she thinks I’m in a training session. James is asleep. How ever will I solve this problem? Oh HELLO MLB ‘09 The Show’s Road to the Show. How are you?? I guess I can play a couple of games.
5:30pm: 1.5 SOLID hours of gaming. And to think, this day is only going to get BETTER. I walk upstairs and give James a good 1/2 an hour warning that we need to head over to Resica Falls.
6:00pm: James and I pack the truck and his brother’s car and head over to Resica. I park my truck in the front and James decides to drive down and unload at the dinner site. Nice job.
6:05pm: As we’re setting everything up, the first major mistake dawns on me. “James, this is great, isn’t it? The dinner is going to be beautiful and she’ll hopefully love it. One thing, though. Wouldn’t it be great if we had chairs??!?” Yep. James and I had forgotten to pick up the chairs. Again, it seems that Mike was right.. I am a douche.
6:15pm: As we set up, we decide on what to do. While I stayed and set the scene, James would go pick up the chinese food and chairs. Good plan.
6:20pm: I am sweating like you wouldn’t believe. I first set up the dinner with a great view of Resica. The dinner was to be composed of chinese food, grape soda, and champagne. All her favorite (the champagne is more my favorite

From Engagement

6:25pm: There’s a bridge between the view of the falls and a pond at Resica where Anita and I took our favorite picture. I set up the balloons there. This was to be clue #3 in Anita’s hunt.

From Engagement

6:27pm: I make a trail of flower petals from the balloons to where it needed to be by the bouquet of roses (which was clue #2).

From Engagement

6:30pm: I set the flowers and made the trail from where I would park the car (the scene of clue #3) and created another trail to the final clue.. #4. This is a photo album that I had created through CVS. It had pictures (with captions that I wrote in) depicting the last 2 years of our relationship.

From Engagement

6:50pm: James gets back. The chairs! SUCCESS! The food! It smelled so delicious. I was tempted to forget the whole thing and just eat there with James… Ok… Maybe not.
6:55pm: I set off to go get Anita. She had spent the day with her family at the park and they were going to meet me somewhere to get her.
7:00pm: I am lost. Would you believe it? James had driven my car onto the park to unload the chairs and I had NO idea how to get back to the road. Seriously, my douchiness is starting to surprise even ME. I search around and find the exit and set on my way. Idiot.
7:10pm: I make it to Country Kettle. I’m nervous. I call my sister for some last minute courage. She wasn’t home so I just left a message and sent a text to make sure that she doesn’t call me back. Don’t want a premature congratulations to blow the whole thing up!
7:15pm: Anita’s family brings her to me. She really has no idea. She thinks that we’re “finally” going on a picnic that she’s been whining to go on for almost a month. Little did she know that I was putting it off for JUST THIS REASON.
7:20pm: Checkpoint 1. I carefully send James the text message to know to light the candles and to leave the area.
7:23pm: DISASTER! My mom had left her pink sunglasses in the truck when she gave it to me! Why is this bad? Because Anita finds the sunglasses on the floor, decides to put them away. Where?? IN THE GLOVE BOX! THE SITE OF CLUE #1! It almost happened in slow motion. The glove box KREPT open and the envelope SLOWLY revealed from its hiding spot. I thought it was over.
7:24pm: Praying that she really didn’t notice the envelope, I remain quiet. Of course, less than a second later… She asks me what that is. I try and blow it off as nothing. My “It’s nothing… Forget it” was met with, “Fine, I’ll just open it then!” DISASTER!
7:25pm: Alright, go for broke. “FINE! You ruined it! I had a surprise planned for you for our picnic and now you found me out. I hope you are happy.”
7:26pm: She buys it. I can’t believe she buys it. She’s sitting there with this smirk on her face because she thinks she just broke up one of my plots to surprise her or something. Sucker. She deserves what she’s about to get.
7:30pm: We make it to the drop point. I tell Anita to wait in her seat for a second while I “got the food and stuff” from the trunk. I make my way to the trunk, open it, and exclaim, “OH NO!! I FORGOT THE BLANKETS AT HOME!!! I CAN’T BELIEVE IT! We’ll go back and get them.” Of course, there are no blankets. In fact, while I’m giving her this line, I’m actually setting up the champagne and clue #3 in the trunk of the car.

From Engagement

7:31pm: I convince her that I need to run over to the ground to pee and that I’d be right back. I close the trunk, go over to the passenger seat, kiss her, and run into the woods.
7:32pm: Once I reached a safe distance from the car and was confident she couldn’t see me, I sent her a text message telling her to open that envelope in the glove box. The game was on.
7:45pm: I’m getting nervous, I’ve heard nothing from her. I sent her a text message asking where she was. She responded telling me that she was getting there. I guess I would have to wait.
7:55pm: It’s almost completely dark right now. The area with clue #4 is elevated from the point of the dinner, but I couldn’t see it. I didn’t know how to prepare. I knew she was going to be coming in a minute or two, and I was SO SO nervous that she would just pop up in front of me and I would freeze.
7:58pm: Blessing in disguise. The Mylar balloons reflected what little light was left and the fact that they were floating a foot above her head allowed me to see them. I saw her making her way to clue #4 and eventually start making her way towards me.
8:00pm: She had a look of bewilderment on her face that I will never forget. It was wonderful. She exclaimed, “What is this?” because she STILL had no idea what’s going on. I guess we’ll just keep going.
8:01pm: I instructed her to open the gift. She starts thumbing through the book and I think it dawns on her all at once as she gives out a final, “WAIT! What IS this??” As she finishes the book.
8:03pm: That’s my cue. I take out the fortune cookie with the fortune, drop to one knee. In the middle of my little spiel, she starts basically balling and obviously, that means I have to start balling. I still get through it. She opens the fortune cookie…

From Engagement

8:04pm: She can’t speak. She shakes her head yes as the tears are strolling down her face, I place the ring on her finger (it fit! YES!) and she held me for what seemed like an eternity.

From Engagement

8:07pm: Of course, the eternity was probably around 3 minutes. She loosened her grasp a bit and invited her to eat the dinner. We sit down and eat. She is absolutely speechless for the next ten minutes. I think this may be the happiest moment of my life that I can remember.
8:15pm: We’ve eaten next to nothing. We’re both still kind of in shock. At this point, we’ve just been yacking and Anita just keeps repeating phrases like “OH MY GOD!” and the like. We decide to start calling people.
8:20pm: Calling my mom is a circus. What felt like EVERY ONE of her friends was there and wanted to talk to both me and Anita for absolutely ever. My douchebag cousin tries to ruin the moment as best he can by talking to Anita and saying things like, “You know how he is.. You know what you’re getting in to. You know, right?” Really? Who does that? Whatever, though, he wouldn’t ruin this for me, as much as he hard as he would try. It was douchy enough for even ANITA to bring it up, so figured I would. What an ass he is.
8:30pm: While Anita is on the phone with her family, I go back to the car and drive it onto our dinner area. We start to pack up. The scene was over and I’d have to say it was pretty much a success.

From Engagement

8:32pm: Back to the house. James is there, but mysteriously decides to go see a movie. We try to eat a little, but it doesn’t work. We fumble around for a while and call more people and just bask in the moment for a bit.
9:30pm: We watch LeBron make that RIDICULOUS last second 3 point game winner to beat the Magic. Uhm.. It was sick.
11:00pm: Exhausted! What a day, eh? Hopefully a day that neither of us will soon forget.
A real big thanks to EVERYONE that made this happen for us. Since the engagement, life has been a little crazy, but it’s also been really awesome.

Baseball

It's incredible how fast I forget about Republicans and politics and world news as soon as baseball season starts. At least I'm honest about it!


LEEEEEEEEEEEEEEET'S

GOOOOOOOOO

YANKEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES!

RePUKElicans.

I'm really of tired of these bands of racists and republicans that are coming out against the Obama administration for his deficit spending. I actually got on one person today about it. They had written about how she's "so afraid of the direction that the country is headed and she really fears for her future and that all this spending is just too much and Obama already needs to be impeached for abuse of power" and yadda yadda. REally, lady?

I had a response for her, but I would've RATHER have said..

If you'd stop watching Fox News and Sean insHannity long enough to udnerstand the enormous financial situation we're in, you'd see what is PAINFULLY obvious to MANY bipartisan and reasonably knowledgeable economists... At this point, we are in so deep and the credit crunch is so much that the government is the ONLY entity left that can infuse the economy with enough money to generate growth. Seriously, get your head out of O'Reilly's ass long enough to see the real situation we're in.

I'm willing to say that I don't completely agree with everything Obama has done so far. Who does? But come on! The guy has been in office for TWO EFFING MONTHS! You guys gave Reagan at least 2 years to turn things around... You can only give Obama 2 months? Really?

And this outcry against deficit spending? REALLY? I mean..> REALLY? Where were you people when Bush was spending 10 Billion dollars a MONTH in chinese money to fund a war in Iraq to find the WMDs that DON'T EXIST. Where was your outrage then? Where was your outrage when W inhereted a recession for 2 months and decided that with his tax cuts would solve the problem and the economy would boom. For 8 years, approximately 500+ BILLION dollars went to the top 2% of the tax bracket in the form of tax cuts. How's that working out for us right now? The only thing trickling down to the middle class is the downpour of URINE from Wall Street while they all clench their collective huge anus in fear of everything they have created.

Seriously... Are you coming out against Obama because you're a Republican? Or because you're a racist?

(I actually did use that last line... I was really angry)

But honestly... I don't know how this is going to turn out. What I do know is that Obama is an incredibly intelligent, liberally minded PRESIDENT of the United States elected by a majority of the people of the United States. It took us EIGHT YEARS to dig this hole and we're going to need more than 2 months to turn this thing around. Patience, people. PATIENCE.

Cheating the Game

I'm so jaded with baseball right now. I feel so cynical. You know what, that's not accurate. I'm sick and tired of the business of baseball. With ARod (now known as ARoid) coming out with having been a steroid user, I feel as though my entire baseball world has been shattered.

I was so incredibly hurt when I first heard the news. I was driving to NJ for practice with my band with Anita (who unfortunately is made to listen to sports talk radio now that I'm borrowing my mom's truck for the winter) and the story broke. I hadn't initially heard it, but Anita did. She made a comment and I immediately defended ARod. He's so lean! He's not a huge headed slugger. He's going to retire as the greatest player ever. Then I listened. FOUR independant sources had confirmed to SI that ARod had tested positive for TWO different PEDs. Say it ain't so, Alex.

I was immediately distraught. ARod was supposed to be the guy that RECLAIMED baseball's hallowed records from the people that cheated the game. ARod was supposed to be the guy that brought these records back to my beloved Yankees. Now, he's in the same band as these other misfits. His records, his statistics, his career will ALWAYS be viewed through that looking glass.

Worse yet was his half assed interview. While I believe that he is sorry for having done what he did, is he sorry because he did something wrong? Or is he sorry for having been caught? And when Gammons asked him what he took specifically, he didn't know? Really? You're the highest paid player in the major leagues... By far. You don't know what's going into your body? I'm a low paid employee for Suburban Propane and I know kind of awful stuff I'm putting into my body. You're telling me you have no idea what's going into yours? Please spare me the legacy saving bullshit, it's really stinking up the joint.

And speaking of legacy, I think it's over. I think ARod will probably get into the hall one day, but this will always be chasing him. When he approaches the magic numbers of 714 and 755 and whatever Barroid's number is, this whole story will be hashed again. The legitimacy of EVERYTHING he has done will come into question. And it just makes me sad.

I don't know where to go from here with this. I don't know what to believe in with the sport that I love so much. I don't know who to revere and who to admonish. I have no idea who to cheer and who to boo.

There are 103 names left on this infamous list, I hope that they're released sooner rather than later. If it happens slowly over the next few years, the steroid era is NEVER going to pass. Embarrass these people now and get it over with so we can all cry, shout, and be done with it. That is of course, unless Jeter's on the list. If he's on the list, keep it to yourself.

Dare Reggie

I'm in love with music. Playing it. Sure, I'm an absolutely lousy musician, but it makes me feel so good. This past weekend, I went to the Figurelli residence to have a little band practice and it was just great. I even got Anita to go with me for this one and she was our personal camera girl.

Being able to put together songs and play them, even while the reproduction is mediocre, makes me feel good. It fills me with an enormous sense of joy.

Last month, we decided to cover "Brick" by Ben Folds Five. I literally get goosebumps every time I sing it.

I hope that as the future unfolds and we get more busy that we still make time to make music. It's the greatest accomplishment of my life.

I'm finally writing about my birthday.

My birthday was awesome. At work( since I was taking a half day), I got a "birthday cake" made out of donuts. I ate them. Everyone sang happy birthday to me, but it was a little awkward. For some strange reason, when it came time to say my name in the song, there was this split second pause for everyone. It wasn't a big deal, but I just can't figure out how it happened or why it happened and how was it EVERYONE that paused. Strange. Whatever, I got to leave 1/2 way through the day.

I came home to be met by Phil (who forgot it was my birthday... But would make up for it later... Keep reading) and waited for my mom. What did I do while I waited? What else but good ol' PS3. I seem to have almost given up on MLB 08 the Show because of its horrendous gameplay and have almost exclusively playing Madden (as was probably going to happen anyway). I find Madden '09 to be the most flawed version of the game I've played in a while.... But whatever, it's Madden and I'm in. My biggest complaint is that the controls and movement of players is much more awkward than it has been in Maddens past. Again... Whatever.. It's Madden... Let's play.

My mom showed up (which clued Phil in that it was my birthday... hahaha) and we watched a little TV to let her settle in and then her and I headed out. She went shopping at Target and various other stores and I tagged along. I was happy just to be hanging out with my mom.

Fast forward. James, Phil, Anita, my mother, and I watch Slumdog Millionaire. This is an absolutely fantastic movie and it deserves all the accolades it receives. After the movie, we cut the 2 cakes I got. 1 standard pillsbury box cake my mom made me which was delicious and 1 incredibly phenomonal banana cake with cream cheese frosting that Anita made me from scratch. I only have three words to describe it. Dee. Lish. Us. I wish I could eat it right now. Yum yum and then some. Anyway, I probably ate about 12 servings of that cake. Oh! I forgot the best part (and Phil's redemption)! After I cut the cake, he absolutely smeared frosting all over my face. He got me when I haven't been able to be gotten in YEARS. YEARS, I'm telling you. I just wasn't expecting it. Kudos to him. I'm usually ready for it.

We lazed around and watched some more TV before deciding to have something light to eat. We head over to the Friendly's that opened up right behind our house and eat. That was pretty much it. Much more sedate than years past, but still extremely awesometastic.

Something I enjoyed writing for Facebook. Being the Facebook whore that I am.

1. I can no longer taste the Jack Daniels in my Jack and Coke, so bring it on. Some call that a problem; I call it a gift.

2. I love taking things apart to see how they work. Even picking people apart to see how they work. I'm not always so good at putting things back together. Holy crap.. I'm Sylar!

3. I give nicknames to the people most important to me. It's a Bengali thing. Most of my closest friends have some sort of nickname or another. It makes people more personal to me. I have a personal stake in this person. Does that make me weird?

4. From time to time, I will call my friend Steve, get his voicemail, start a legitimate message, and then abruptly cut myself off screaming COCK! like some dumb teenager. I then giggle to myself in shameless pride for at least 2 minutes. I'm 28 years old.

5. I donate money to the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society every time they send me a flier because I was once tested for Leukemia and had to sit in the waiting room of the oncology department in a room full of sick children that were emaciated and mangled beyond anything you could imagine. I went home and cried.

6. I filed my taxes already. Bitches.

7. I have a really strong sense of empathy. In fact, if I'm watching a movie and a character is portrayed really well, I unconsciously mimic their facial expression I guess as a better way to feel what they are feeling. Anita makes fun of me for this all the time. So should you.

8. I like to pee with the door open. And outdoors. I guess I just like peeing. Did I mention I was 28 years old?

9. I love pictures. I love capturing moments. I have 5 years of pictures archived on our media server in the basement. I need a new hard drive.

10. If you've ever been important to me, I've probably never forgotten you and I probably think about you from time to time.

11. Hot dogs are my favorite food and have been for as long as I can remember. My mom tells stories of her and my godmother going for chili dogs after every sonogram during her pregnancy with me. I guess that's where I got it from. Hot dogs are delicious.

12. I used to play Magic. Yep. Magic. The Gathering. In fact, I used to play Magic with some of YOU. It's time we owned up to this sort of tomfoolery. Magic got replaced with fantasy sports. Much the chagrin of Anita.

13. I like making dips for parties. I have a spinach dip that my friend Mike gave me the recipe for (that I tinkered with) that people go crazy for at parties and that makes me happy.

14. One word that can make me happy no matter what. Karaoke.

15. Music is not a means to dancing to a beat or any kind of escape for me. It's a complete emotional experience. There are songs that give me goosebumps, songs that fill me with joy, and of course, songs that make me cry. If I could somehow make some sort of semi-meaningful life out of being a half assed musician, I would.

16. I miss India. I was making plans to go there in 2010, but that's not looking so good anymore. Maybe 2011? Hopefully.

17. The radio doesn't work in my car. The radio was stolen once and when the dirtbags took it, they broke the pin that comes from the antenna. If I had a radio, I would listen to Tirico and Van Pelt (aka Van Peezy) as much as possible on AM radio.

18. If I wasn't such a rabid Yankees fan, I'd be in love with Albert Pujols. Ok, let me stop lying. Even though I'm a rabid Yankees fan, I have a ridiculous baseball crush on Albert Pujols. What can't he do? Is there anything? Is he a man? Is he a God? Is he THE God? Will I ever have these answers?

19. Every time I visit my sister's house and I walk through the door, the second my niece lays her little brown eyes on me, she charges towards me at full speed expecting me to pick her up and hug her as hard as I can. It's the highlight of every trip.

20. Some people judge you if you have poor grammar, I judge you if you watch Fox News. These people are crazy to me. Seriously? Sean Hannity? Really? Bill O'Reilly? Listen, I know I'm a bleeding heart liberal... but come on. Sean Hannity? Can you really believe anything that guy says without laughing or being scared? Say it ain't so, Dennis Miller. Say it Ain't So.

Ps - I watch Fox News all the time. I think these people are hilarious. The fact that they're popular scares me.

21. I regularly request niggermania.net because I think these people are fascinating. I think some of the stuff they wrote leading up to the election and the inauguration was down right comical especially if you consider the fact that they're not joking. These people are serious.. I imagine big white guys with shaved heads or close cropped hair with lots of tattoos sitting at their computers typing things like "MSM" and "LOL" and "IMO". That amuses me.

22. I love baked goods. And it shows.

23. I used to be pretty awful with managing my money, but now am actually getting pretty good at it. Thank you Quicken!

24. I plan on trying to move back to NJ in 5 years. I love the life I've built here in PA, but let's face it, I'm a Jersey boy. I need to eat at diners and order "taylor ham" egg and cheese . I need to go to the movies and see at least 3 Hindi movies playing. I need to get on a highway and have to make a jughandle. I need a mall every 12 feet. Mostly, I need to be able to go to the city on a whim. Instead of having to plan it.

25. In case you couldn't tell, I tend to ramble. Sometimes.

ALL NEW BIRTHDAY - Now with less fanfare

Is it wrong for me to be a little depressed about the lack of fanfare for my birthday?

I know I'm 28 and enough already, but I'm just not used to it. My family always made a big deal about my birthday and this is really the first time that no one around me really cares. Don't get me wrong, Anita's best friend had a little dinner thing at her house last night and had me over and it was delicious (as usual), but it felt like more of a get together as opposed to any sort of celebration.

Am I getting too old? Is this it? It's happened? The return of Saturn marks the time that I officially stop looking forward to birthdays?

Lucky for me, I'm creating my own psuedo-fanfare. Tomorrow, I'm taking a half day from work and then taking the rest of the week off to just chill out and do whatever I want. My mom is coming up tomorrow and we're going to spend the rest of the week hanging out. I guess I'll make a little of my own fanfare.

Blech. I shouldn't feel this crappy headed into my birthday.

What it means to be plastic

So, I learned a new meaning for an old word last week. Plastic. Sure, it's an old faithful word with many meanings, but this new meaning in particular has resonance in my life right now. It was taught to me by an old Bengali man last week while I spent time at my mother's house being ill. He's someone I've known most of my life, but never really looked at in the light that I now see him. He's about average for a Bengali man, small in size. Salt and pepper hair and balding in the middle. He has a matching beard and mustache combo His age is showing in his face and around his eyes. They emote a sense of sadness and a life missing something essential. Something that was there before, but now has gone.
He sat in my mom's living room, on her deep burgundy couch, sipping red wine, chatting about nothing particular; completely unaware of the impact he was about to have. The conversation changed topics like the direction of the wind until it finally landed on the subject of my generation and its general apathy towards Bengali culture. This lit a fire under under our family friend. He was much more animated about this topic than he was about any other topic. His hands were much more active, he waved his head. He stated that the issue with this generation and their passe attitude towards Bengali culture was to be blamed on their parents. His generation. The incoming immigrants are too concerned with earning money, buying a house, impressing their "friends", and sending money back home to take too much on an interest in getting the younger generation excited about their own culture.
It was this passing reference to "friends" that brought on the new meaning of the word to me. When he said the word "friends" and made quotation marks in the air, I thought I might've been stuck in some Bengali version of a Norm MacDonald movie. I just chuckled to myself and was almost immediately challenged. I told him that I never saw someone of his age and stature use air quotes.
Maybe he had a little too much to drink. Maybe I spoke too fast. Maybe my Bengali is a little more broken than I would like to admit, but for SOME reason, he thought I was challenging something about his friends and he settled into a story.
He spoke of his life 15-20 years ago as if it was foreign to him. He spoke of the people he hosted and that hosted him as if they were people in a movie playing characters. He had such contempt for people, but at the same time, it made him sad. He told me that before his wife died and he used the loads of money he made, he had more friends than he could count. He felt like the center of the universe.
Then tragedy struck. His wife mysteriously died of an adverse reaction to medication on a plane. He spoke of devastation. He told me about the people coming over to console him and bring food for him and his sons to eat.
Then his voice changed. What almost sounded like rage filled the room as he spoke of what he referred to as his biggest mistake. He felt lonely. He ended getting remarried and he was completely ostracized from the Bengali community. This woman ended up being the wrong woman to cure his ails, but the damage was already done. He had disgraced himself in the eyes of the socialites, and there's no coming back from that.
He's rebuilt some relationships, but nothing like the incredible social life that he had before. He tells me that he sometimes sits in his room, alone, thinking about exactly how alone he is. He tells me he feels helpless. Helpless. A man of his stature, his education, his wealth. Helpless. How is this possible? This is when the definition is dropped on me. He describes all his current relationships as "plastic" something that resembles reality, but is not. Something that looks good on a mantle at a distance, but when you get closer... It's just... Plastic.

After hearing this, I find myself obsessed. Is this the fate I am doomed? Am I... Plastic? Am I destined for the kind of sorrow he has experienced and is experienced? I find myself secretly evaluating the people in my life. Plastic. Real. How do you tell them apart? Obviously, some relationships are easy to evaluate, in either direction. It's the ones in the middle. Are these people for real? The people that I know I'd be there for, but would they be there for me? No matter what? I question Anita's friends more than anything. Even though I spend infinitely more time with them than I do my own friends, I wonder how real my relationship is with this person. This is probably mostly paranoia with some other irrational fears thrown in, but I still can't stop myself. I just don't want to end up like him. I don't want to be surrounded by people smiling, but not smiling with me. I don't want to be caught in a room full of strangers I call my closest friends.

I guess only time will tell.