lunch

i'm sick today. not feeling well with some variation of whatever virus is floating around at present. I can't breathe too deeply, because when i do, it sets off a coughing fit. And looking at things hurts my eyes a little bit. Generally, I'm a bit uncomfortable.

But i'm at work. Why? because I don't have any sick days. That's the big downside of being a freelancer: no sick days. And I need the money, so I soldier on. The one thing I had to look forward to today--my only small pleasure--was lunch. And even that has let me down.

To begin with, I grabbed a frozen something out of the freezer on my way to the car. I was unsure what it was, but I assumed it would be a part of a meal that Polly had put in the freezer for this very purpose. Turns out I was wrong. Nope. Just some random sauce. Would have tasted great if there was a chicken breast and some rice to go with it.

Not to worry! There's a full service cafeteria in the building. They have a large variety of reasonably priced food, prepared on site that is usually somewhere between edible and good. Sometimes even very good. Looking over today's specials, I noticed with interest that the chefs had highlighted a gyros plate (had it before--passable, but not great), a "deep-dish vegetarian pizza" and a taco salad type thing in a tortilla bowl. I wasn't sure what was special about the pizza, as they usually have it there, but perhaps it's because this one didn't have any meat on it. I got in line for the taco-salad thing, but watching an actual Mexican ladle some melted Velveeta into this bowl-thing sort of made me sad and a little bit sick.

So I decided to try the pizza.

Here's the part where I should have followed my own instincts. The pizza didn't look good. It did smell good, but it didn't appear to have much in the way of toppings. I convinced myself that there had to be more to it than there appeared to be. I've seen people eating the pizza here. There must be something to it.

Nope. It was basically a lump of mushy just barely cooked and not very tasty "pizza" dough with an embarrasingly small amount of cheese on top. The sauce was, at best, an afterthought.

So...my lunch sucked.

On the other hand, it could have been worse. I happened to be reading the following article about Cheesebugers in a Can.

Hey...what's in your bag? Wanna trade?

the bad samaritan

As I was driving to work this morning, running a bit late, I noticed a man walking down the street with a gas can in his hand. By the time I realized what I was looking at, I was past him, but I still could have stopped and offered him a lift. I don't know when he had started walking...where his vehicle had run out of fuel. But I did know that headed in the direction he was going, he had a ways to go before he reached a gas station.

I really should have turned around and offered him a ride, because the guilt over the whole thing is consuming me. If our positions were reversed, I would have really wanted someone to offer me a ride. And I have been known to offer rides to strangers in similar straits. As I continued down the road, indecision kept me from pulling a U-turn and driving back to offer assistance. I wasn't that late.

When I finally arrived at the gas station, I realized just how long a walk this guy had in front of him. I felt worse.

I hope a better person that I am today picked him up. Maybe it was a very attractive woman, and they could hit it off and maybe he'll decide not to even go back to his car, but continue on with her wherever it is she's going today. They'll have a happy life together and have beautiful children. One of their children might discover a cure for cancer.

Yeah. I feel better now.

6 years ago today

At 5 am, I woke up in a hospital room. I believe they called it a birthing suite. A doctor came in to root around in my wife's vagina. She administered some drugs and caused her water to break. After she left, I made some comment about how that should have been really titillating...but disappointingly, was not.

Throughout the day, as nurses came in to test Polly's blood pressure. Sometimes to
draw blood. And to do some relatively unpleasant things to her. I remember one of the nurses was particularly bad, and could do nothing right. I checked and re-checked my cameras while this was going on. I was pretty much useless.

Time was marked by the beeping of the various machines, and the occasional visits from the doctors and nurses. And the occasional contraction. The kid wasn't coming out. The phrase "c-section" was mentioned. Polly was no longer allowed food or drink of any sort to prepare for what seemed to be the inevitable operation.

Around 4 or 5 pm, it was decided that I wouldn't miss much if I drove home to feed the dog and take a shower. When I returned to the hospital, Polly told me that my sister-in-law had called to let me know that my mother had died. She was looking forward to seeing my son. We just missed her.

Sometime around 8pm, they finally took Polly into surgery. I put on an ill-fitting outfit of disposable scrubs, some paper booties and a cap that looked like a jellyfish sitting atop my head. I vainly tried to adjust the angle of the cap to make it more flattering.

When the nurses thought I had had plenty of time to change, they came in to take me to another room. More waiting. More thinking.

Finally, I was allowed into the operating room. The anesthesiologist was there, ensuring that she wasn't in too much pain. He seemed nice. He and I established a good rapport, and together we mocked Polly a little bit. She was convinced she couldn't breath, and I gently
reminded her that if she was talking, she was probably breathing. I could see him smiling behind his mask.

It's possible that he was also smiling because he knew what we would eventually have to pay for his services.

At one point, I peaked over the screen to check on the doctors' progress. (I was shy then...at subsequent childbirths, I have spent more time observing the operation. I've always said that you aren't close to someone until you've seen her uterus pulled from her abdomen and stitched back up.) As this was my first experience with childbirth, and a c-section in particular, I was astonished by how difficult it was to pry this baby from my wife's body. It's rather violent, really. One little nurse was up on a stool pushing into her belly like it was a big pillow. I didn't know you could treat somebody like that and have them survive. I guess I can understand why you hurt for a few days later...

They finally freed the child (we hadn't decided on a name yet) from his prison of flesh, cleaned him up and brought him over. They handed him to me. I had no idea what to do with this thing. I had never handled a baby that small. I was terrified. Terrified, too, because I was responsible for it for the next 18+ years. Fortunately, I didn't have too much time to dwell on this. Some comedy ensued as I tried to hold the child close to Polly, who couldn't move her arms to hold or touch the child. And then a nurse, probably sensing my discomfort, whisked the child away for more of whatever it is that they do.

We all went back to recovery, just in time for the nurse's shift to change. The outgoing shift thought the incoming shift would take care of us, and the incoming shift thought the outgoing shift had done it.

So...we waited. We talked about names.

Polly wanted to call him Roscoe James, after her great-grandfather and her father, and since I'd
already lost the battle to call him "Johnny Cash" and we couldn't get buy-in from all interested parties on "Declan", we agreed.

Once the nursing staff had figured out that we'd be better of in a room, we were able to leave recovery. My mother in law and brother in law were waiting..and worrying. It had been hours, and they were convinced that something had gone horribly awry.

They took a quick look at Ross. Satisfied that he seemed healthy and had no obvious defects, they went home.

At this point, I think I went back home, too. But I don't remember. Maybe I spent that night at the hospital. I'll have to ask Polly.

I do remember that it was one of the weirdest days of my life.

ouch

So yesterday I was trying to make my way through the shop at work. We're very busy right now, and stuff is all over the place, so any attempt at point-to-point navigation is quickly thwarted by some sort of obstacle.

I came across the following in my path:

This particular obstacle wasn't terribly tall or wide. There was a large crate on one side and some half-manufactured piece of something on the other side. It would have taken several seconds for me to find an unobstructed path. Seemed to me that the choice was simple.

And so, I leaped. It wasn't a mighty leap. It was a well-calculated leap. Just enough energy spent to get me over the obstacle and to the other side. At some point mid-leap, I got a different perspective on my obstacle. But it was too late.

My trajectory was set. I hardly had time to recognize the impending disaster. My left heel struck the edge of the skid that was poking out, that I had not been able to see from the other side of the object.

I now have a sprained ankle. It hurts. I'll take your pity NOW!!!

PS. Please send Vicodin.

rescue me!

As i write this, I am sitting in my car outside the health club, waiting for my Mother-in-Law to come rescue me from the dead husk that is my car. I don't know how long it will take.

I am vulnerable and helpless. I don't really know much about fixing cars, and even if I did, there's not much I could do, as I am sans tools.

My only connection to the outside world is my cellphone, which has a dying battery, and my computer, which is connected to the internet via the health club's open wireless connection.

I'm not really sure why one of the amenities of this particular club is a free internet connection. I'll ponder that later...if I ever get out of this predicament. Eventually the battery in the computer will drain. I suspect my car's problem may be related to the battery as well. Powerlessness seems to be defining my day.

I have been unable to reach my mechanic in person...I left a message on his machine, but that has only served to reinforce my suspicion that salvation will come to late, and my demise is inevitable.

Tell my wife I love her. Tell my kid's I'm sorry they had to grow up without....

wait. There she is. It's going to be okay.