 |
| green feeling oakland, ca |
Monday, November 19, 2018
The Secret of the Hummus
I previously mentioned that "What I Thought" would include recipes. Here's one:
"The Secret of the Hummus"
Canned garbanzo beans -- or you can cook them from raw.
(Cooking the garbanzos
Into a crock pot add:
As many garbanzos as you'd like to cook,
A medium sized onion, quartered
Several stalks of celery, with leaves, use inner stalks)
Several cloves of garlic
2-3 Bay Leaves
Cook in crock pot until beans are tender, drain beans and remove bay leaves, onion and celery -- it's no great disaster if small bits of celery and onion move on in the recipe, but make sure you get all or most of the bay leaves.
I've also added roasted cumin and coriander seed in the cooking of the garbanzos, those can move on in the recipe. Proceed with the following ingredients:)
Garlic (a lot)
Olive oil (copious amounts)
Cumin (plenty)
Ground coriander (I use a former TJ's sea salt grinder with coriander seeds in it)
Dried Oregano (watch out for the stems on the little leaves)
The juice of at least two lemons...
Sesame tahini
Salt
Infuse olive oil with roasted garlic... roast garlic cloves on a hot surface. You can use the floor of a clean oven, cookie sheet, or a skillet in an oven at 375 degrees. When cloves are slightly browned, or even a little charred, remove them, cover with salt and smash into a paste in a bowl. Use as much garlic as you like. Cover with olive oil, and let sit while garlic infuses into oil.
Drain garbanzos.
Combine in a large bowl: garbanzos, olive oil (Reserve some garlic infused olive oil), garlic, oregano, cumin, ground coriander, lemon juice and salt.
Let this mixture sit for awhile (could be days in the fridge....)
Blend the marinated garbanzos, and spices in blender or food processor, with sesame tahini (Note: exercise restraint with tahini-- too much will impart a peanut-buttery flavor to the hummus).
As you are blending, add garlic-infused olive oil, lemon juice, salt and cumin to taste.
(If a kick is desired, white pepper can be added.)
--------------------
Self assessment
This recipe was pre-written as a Facebook Note. Insomnia had me awake early but fatigue nevertheless made copying and pasting difficult and stressful.
Wednesday, November 14, 2018
Karaoke Tunes - Someone to Watch Over Me
It gives me no small amount of sadness that two voices that I've known and appreciated for years have been stilled even though the women who utilized these instruments are still alive.
Both sang a wide variety of songs-- my next favorite karaoke tune is one they both have performed.
The song is "Someone to Watch Over Me" and the vocalists are Julie Andrews, who no longer sings as the result of a botched vocal cord surgery, and Linda Ronstadt who no longer sings as a result of Parkinson's Disease.
The first time I recall hearing "Someone to Watch Over Me" was in this scene from Woody Allen's "Manhattan":
https://youtu.be/AsbdW6ZTFBs
The beautiful imagery of this scene was perfectly underscored by an orchestral arrangement of George Gershwin's poignant melody which I instantly loved.
I had no idea at the time that I would become as fond of Ira Gershwin's lyric.
Andrews's performance of STWOM is from her much-lambasted Gertrude Lawrence biopic "Star".
I've seen the film (or some chopped up version of it) on TV; generally, I'd describe the film "huh" dragged out past the point of "meh".
Below is a link to a clip of her performance of STWOM.
Honestly, while I recall Andrews-as-Lawrence's performance of Kurt Weill & Ira Gershwin's "The Saga of Jenny", I have no recollection of her rendition of STWOM, or even the scene's context in the film.
Ronstadt's version is from her first album of standards, conducted and arranged by Nelson Riddle.
Over their careers, the performances of both artists have demonstrated great technical skill but inconsistent emotional expression.
For example, Andrews's "Feed the Birds" from "Mary Poppins" and Ronstadt's "Love Has No Pride", among other performance" genuinely move me.
Sadly, neither of these takes on STWOM feels right to me.
I invite you however to give both performances a listen. Please share your opinions of either or both recordings. Maybe I'm
missing an epiphany....
Inconsequential and Possibly Gratuitous Personal Note: When I sing STWOM, I make one lyric change. The idea of referring to myself as a "lost lamb" feels ridiculous, so this Aries pronounces himself a "lost ram".
Same species; approximately equivalent pathos.
--------------------------------------------------------
I don't own the rights to this song or these performances.
These links are offered to facilitate an appreciation of the song. named.
Someone to Watch Over Me - Julie Andrews
https://youtu.be/QKvnUGSNbys
Someone to Watch Over Me - Linda Ronstadt
https://youtu.be/_wzuAyAdecc
--------------------------------------------
Self Assessment
This post went in a much different direction than I first planned and took far too long for me to complete.
I attribute this to my focusing on preparing some dishes around the Thanksgiving holiday and my inability to focus on two endeavors simultaneously.
Nevertheless they're done now.
Both sang a wide variety of songs-- my next favorite karaoke tune is one they both have performed.
The first time I recall hearing "Someone to Watch Over Me" was in this scene from Woody Allen's "Manhattan":
https://youtu.be/AsbdW6ZTFBs
The beautiful imagery of this scene was perfectly underscored by an orchestral arrangement of George Gershwin's poignant melody which I instantly loved.
I had no idea at the time that I would become as fond of Ira Gershwin's lyric.
Andrews's performance of STWOM is from her much-lambasted Gertrude Lawrence biopic "Star".
I've seen the film (or some chopped up version of it) on TV; generally, I'd describe the film "huh" dragged out past the point of "meh".
Below is a link to a clip of her performance of STWOM.
Honestly, while I recall Andrews-as-Lawrence's performance of Kurt Weill & Ira Gershwin's "The Saga of Jenny", I have no recollection of her rendition of STWOM, or even the scene's context in the film.
Ronstadt's version is from her first album of standards, conducted and arranged by Nelson Riddle.
Over their careers, the performances of both artists have demonstrated great technical skill but inconsistent emotional expression.
For example, Andrews's "Feed the Birds" from "Mary Poppins" and Ronstadt's "Love Has No Pride", among other performance" genuinely move me.
Sadly, neither of these takes on STWOM feels right to me.
I invite you however to give both performances a listen. Please share your opinions of either or both recordings. Maybe I'm
missing an epiphany....
Inconsequential and Possibly Gratuitous Personal Note: When I sing STWOM, I make one lyric change. The idea of referring to myself as a "lost lamb" feels ridiculous, so this Aries pronounces himself a "lost ram".
Same species; approximately equivalent pathos.
--------------------------------------------------------
I don't own the rights to this song or these performances.
These links are offered to facilitate an appreciation of the song. named.
Someone to Watch Over Me - Julie Andrews
https://youtu.be/QKvnUGSNbys
Someone to Watch Over Me - Linda Ronstadt
https://youtu.be/_wzuAyAdecc
--------------------------------------------
Self Assessment
This post went in a much different direction than I first planned and took far too long for me to complete.
I attribute this to my focusing on preparing some dishes around the Thanksgiving holiday and my inability to focus on two endeavors simultaneously.
Nevertheless they're done now.
Alabama
Updated & Completed - Nov. 18, 2018
I want to assert that-- even though my previous post about Iowa featured a preface of hapless misadventure-- no conclusion should be drawn from the fact that my visit to the state of Alabama also begins inauspiciously.
For one, I enjoyed Alabama far more than I did Iowa….
When I was planning my trip to Alabama I asked a Birmingham-knowledgeable friend, Julie Walsh, to recommend where to go and what to do. Julie was immensely helpful (as is her nature). I still have her extensive document with great options of things to do while in Birmingham.
I regret to say I didn't go to all the places or do all the activities Julie recommended. But I feel I struck gold with the one recommendation I followed through with-- which was literally a dream.
How I Got There and What Happened on the Way
What happened to me on my way to Birmingham could have happened to anyone. My flight itinerary was custom created to permit me an Amtrak sleeper car voyage from Birmingham to NYC, whence I'd go visit my parents. So I booked round-trip air from SFO to JFK.
Late in October 2013, I flew on a red-eye flight to Kennedy Airport, then took a cobbled-together series of brief flights JFK to Dulles, Dulles to ATL and ATL to BHM. At SFO, JFK and IAD I had to pass through TSA so I had my ID out. By the time I was in a cab in BHM, I realized my ID was MIA.
Could happen to anyone. How do you check in to a hotel without ID? Well, here's where an early arrival helps. You say to the front desk clerk “I'm arriving today, I've misplaced my ID, I hope to have a friend fax a copy of my passport to your attention, would that suffice for the ID required? In this case the answer was “yes”.
My dear friend Robin Dolan was able enter my apartment, where she located my passport (It pays to keep your passport in one easily described location). From there she was able to make a copy of the passport, fax it to the hotel in Birmingham and then-- dear heart that she is-- she FedExed the envelope to my parents' address (It helps-- when your driver's license is already lost--- to be headed ultimately to a destination where you are comfortable having your passport sent).
This concludes my tales of calamitous arrivals to destinations-- with the one exception to be told in the near future....that of the Trip to the Other Four Letter Destination.
The Birmingham Experience
16th Street Baptist Church / Kelly Ingram Park
Alabama’s and Birmingham's history entails anguished occurrences from which sense and purpose need to be drawn and empathy needs to be applied.
As a White man I cannot know the pain of racial discrimination or the terror of ethically motivated violence but travel and contemplation can bring anyone further understanding of that which one lacks firsthand knowledge.
On the afternoon of the day I arrived, I went to respectfully pay a pilgrimage to the 16th Street Baptist Church where, in 1963, four young girls were murdered by a racist’s bomb.
The area seemed deserted that Saturday afternoon I visited. With few people around, a stillness pervaded the area that italicized the moment's solemnity for me.
The 16th Street Baptist Church wasn't open. If it were, I may have not ventured to enter, as I don't regard places of worship tourist destinations. One can make an intentional and possibly secular pilgrimage to a church for a service, but walking into such a place at an odd hour is not something I'd do.
It was sufficient for me to walk the sidewalk beside the church and sense the energy of prayer, hope, tragedy and resilience that reside in the structure.
Cattycorner to the church, at the edge of the four-acre Kelly Ingram Park is a statue of the young martyrs, girls depicted in joyful play. The spot served as another point for quiet contemplation.
Other statuary in Kelly Ingram Park contains other statuary commemorating moments in Alabaman images of my nation's continuing slow process to grant all their civil rights . One piece I recall brilliantly captured a widely viewed historical moment of desperation as it made me a participant in that moment.
As I walked along a path in the park I approached a wall with a doorway cut in it. Through the doorway I could see a distant statue of a lone firehose on a stand pointing towards the door.
As I passed through the doorway, on either side there were statues of figures crouching and thrown against the wall as if by the violent force of the firehose's spray. In that moment my own balance faltered, so real was the power of the imagined space of the statuary.
A Trip to Dreamland (I've Never Been to Jupiter….)
Every time I'm in Berkeley I remember once hearing work colleague who lives there say, “Thursday night I went to Jupiter...." (Jupiter is a bar/restaurant on Shattuck Street in Berkeley.)
I've actually been to THAT Jupiter and-- on my visit to Birmingham-- I had the pleasure of visiting Dreamland.
One of Julie Walsh’s recommendations about where to find good BBQ in Birmingham was an establishment named Dreamland.
On the Sunday I was in the city I ate breakfast around 11am. I went back to my hotel, and checked out because I was spending my second night at another hotel, and stashed my bags with the bellman. I planned a leisurely walk to lunch at Dreamland but misjudged the length of the walk there….
At 12:45pm, there I was in Dreamland-- shamelessly eating lunch only and hour after finishing breakfast. I recall ordering ribs and chicken, mac and cheese, potato salad and sweet tea-- all delicious.
I sat at the establishment's bar and-- as I was dining alone-- I became engrossed in the several NFL games which played on multiple TV screens. I might have stayed longer but after two rapid-fire meals I was painfully in need of a nap, which would require my checking into my new hotel.
So, off I went. Miles to go before I napped.
What is this Commemorative Plaque commemorating?
Sometimes in my travels I will see something which is quite typical and then wonder about how atypical it might be.
When I think of having seen what I saw where I did and when I did, I suddenly feel feel the need to go back and double check to see whether or not I actually saw what I saw.
One such discovery that I will have to double check someday is in Birmingham.
After I checked in to my second hotel of my two night stay, I really couldn't nap so I went for a walk.
As I meandered the sidewalk, I noticed a commemorative plaque on the side of a building. The plaque commemorated the nation's first Veterans Day Parade, it said, which was held in Birmingham one day in the late 1800s.
My first thought about what I saw is “Hmm, interesting; that's a nice piece of trivia.”
My next thought was to try to picture what that parade looked like.
Then it occurred to me that in the late 1800s, the majority of veterans living in Alabama actually were individuals who had not fought for the United States.
While a veteran's Day Parade may seem both worthy and innocuous, a gathering of individuals who had fought for the Confederate States of America might actually be more terroristic than nostalgic to many of the citizens of Birmingham.
I do wonder about that parade-- who attended that day and who felt it would be best to keep the hell off the street and out of downtown Birmingham.
A Lecture at the Local LGBT Establishment
Sunday evening I went looking for Birmingham's nightlife. I tend to go out early-- when I do go out-- but if this was a typical Sunday night in Birmingham there is no nightlife there.
The establishment I went into had not much going on-- just about 6 guy sitting around a U-shaped bar. I ordered a cocktail and sat there listening to the lively conversation. I wasn't eavesdropping as the discussion was sufficiently loud that it was impossible not to hear every word. As I recall, there wasn't even any music playing.
Out of the blue one of the fellows who was talking-- in fact the one was talking the most: a White fellow-- suddenly used in passing, completely comfortably, the N-word.
I was ambivalent about the company in the bar up until the moment the fellows that the word he did. Then ambivalence went out the window. I finish my drink quickly and I left.
Another spot was about a mile away down the street away so I walked the distance this next place was a bit more lively but I guess I wasn't really in and overall mood to socialize. I didn't hang out there too long either.
It was one cocktail and out, but at least I wasn't being propelled by the classless comments of an ignorant fool.
On my way back, since I was going to go by the first establishment on my way to my hotel, I thought I might stop in again and see if the scenery had changed, as well as the dialogue.
It hadn't. By the time I realized it hadn’t, I was already in the door and had twelve sets of eyeballs on me. So, I sat down and I ordered a drink.
I had the drink for only a minute or so, when Mr. Ignorant Fool inquired, “So, did you leave earlier because I said (the N-word)?”
I said, “Yes”.
He spoke as if he was the most reasonable person alive but I could tell he was offended that anyone would reject his company. He asked if I was from Birmingham.
I replied “No, I'm from Oakland”.
Thus began his mini-lecture: “What you have to understand is that down here we all say (the N-word)-- all of us. Even the (N-word)s. And no one minds because everyone knows what it means. You don't know what it means.”
He was goading me to ask him “what does it mean?”. But I was 100% sure he didn't have a good answer.
I finished my drink and left without another word.
My encounter with this fool was unfortunate and I don't mean to use him as an illustration of the typical Alabaman.
The Alabamans I know are principled, intelligent, caring people. (Perhaps by virtue of the fact that I know them…. Need I say, just kidding…)
I will return to Alabama-- definitely to see the Gulf Coast and to revisit Birmingham, to see if that plaque is still there and if it says what I thought it said, and especially to see any sites or attractions linked to Willie Mays's life and career.
--------------------
Self assessment
I tried to get this done dictating voice to text which naturally meant a hell of a lot of editing and rewriting. (Voice to text heard something I said in the section about my visit to Dreamland “I have boobs boobs” as if I was a weirdly insistent Erin Brockovich.
My general mood makes getting this entirely done impossible at this point but I am anxious (literally) to get some of it up at least…..
I want to assert that-- even though my previous post about Iowa featured a preface of hapless misadventure-- no conclusion should be drawn from the fact that my visit to the state of Alabama also begins inauspiciously.
For one, I enjoyed Alabama far more than I did Iowa….
When I was planning my trip to Alabama I asked a Birmingham-knowledgeable friend, Julie Walsh, to recommend where to go and what to do. Julie was immensely helpful (as is her nature). I still have her extensive document with great options of things to do while in Birmingham.
I regret to say I didn't go to all the places or do all the activities Julie recommended. But I feel I struck gold with the one recommendation I followed through with-- which was literally a dream.
How I Got There and What Happened on the Way
What happened to me on my way to Birmingham could have happened to anyone. My flight itinerary was custom created to permit me an Amtrak sleeper car voyage from Birmingham to NYC, whence I'd go visit my parents. So I booked round-trip air from SFO to JFK.
Late in October 2013, I flew on a red-eye flight to Kennedy Airport, then took a cobbled-together series of brief flights JFK to Dulles, Dulles to ATL and ATL to BHM. At SFO, JFK and IAD I had to pass through TSA so I had my ID out. By the time I was in a cab in BHM, I realized my ID was MIA.
Could happen to anyone. How do you check in to a hotel without ID? Well, here's where an early arrival helps. You say to the front desk clerk “I'm arriving today, I've misplaced my ID, I hope to have a friend fax a copy of my passport to your attention, would that suffice for the ID required? In this case the answer was “yes”.
My dear friend Robin Dolan was able enter my apartment, where she located my passport (It pays to keep your passport in one easily described location). From there she was able to make a copy of the passport, fax it to the hotel in Birmingham and then-- dear heart that she is-- she FedExed the envelope to my parents' address (It helps-- when your driver's license is already lost--- to be headed ultimately to a destination where you are comfortable having your passport sent).
This concludes my tales of calamitous arrivals to destinations-- with the one exception to be told in the near future....that of the Trip to the Other Four Letter Destination.
The Birmingham Experience
16th Street Baptist Church / Kelly Ingram Park
Alabama’s and Birmingham's history entails anguished occurrences from which sense and purpose need to be drawn and empathy needs to be applied.
As a White man I cannot know the pain of racial discrimination or the terror of ethically motivated violence but travel and contemplation can bring anyone further understanding of that which one lacks firsthand knowledge.
On the afternoon of the day I arrived, I went to respectfully pay a pilgrimage to the 16th Street Baptist Church where, in 1963, four young girls were murdered by a racist’s bomb.
The area seemed deserted that Saturday afternoon I visited. With few people around, a stillness pervaded the area that italicized the moment's solemnity for me.
The 16th Street Baptist Church wasn't open. If it were, I may have not ventured to enter, as I don't regard places of worship tourist destinations. One can make an intentional and possibly secular pilgrimage to a church for a service, but walking into such a place at an odd hour is not something I'd do.
It was sufficient for me to walk the sidewalk beside the church and sense the energy of prayer, hope, tragedy and resilience that reside in the structure.
Cattycorner to the church, at the edge of the four-acre Kelly Ingram Park is a statue of the young martyrs, girls depicted in joyful play. The spot served as another point for quiet contemplation.
Other statuary in Kelly Ingram Park contains other statuary commemorating moments in Alabaman images of my nation's continuing slow process to grant all their civil rights . One piece I recall brilliantly captured a widely viewed historical moment of desperation as it made me a participant in that moment.
As I walked along a path in the park I approached a wall with a doorway cut in it. Through the doorway I could see a distant statue of a lone firehose on a stand pointing towards the door.
As I passed through the doorway, on either side there were statues of figures crouching and thrown against the wall as if by the violent force of the firehose's spray. In that moment my own balance faltered, so real was the power of the imagined space of the statuary.
A Trip to Dreamland (I've Never Been to Jupiter….)
Every time I'm in Berkeley I remember once hearing work colleague who lives there say, “Thursday night I went to Jupiter...." (Jupiter is a bar/restaurant on Shattuck Street in Berkeley.)
I've actually been to THAT Jupiter and-- on my visit to Birmingham-- I had the pleasure of visiting Dreamland.
One of Julie Walsh’s recommendations about where to find good BBQ in Birmingham was an establishment named Dreamland.
On the Sunday I was in the city I ate breakfast around 11am. I went back to my hotel, and checked out because I was spending my second night at another hotel, and stashed my bags with the bellman. I planned a leisurely walk to lunch at Dreamland but misjudged the length of the walk there….
At 12:45pm, there I was in Dreamland-- shamelessly eating lunch only and hour after finishing breakfast. I recall ordering ribs and chicken, mac and cheese, potato salad and sweet tea-- all delicious.
I sat at the establishment's bar and-- as I was dining alone-- I became engrossed in the several NFL games which played on multiple TV screens. I might have stayed longer but after two rapid-fire meals I was painfully in need of a nap, which would require my checking into my new hotel.
So, off I went. Miles to go before I napped.
What is this Commemorative Plaque commemorating?
Sometimes in my travels I will see something which is quite typical and then wonder about how atypical it might be.
When I think of having seen what I saw where I did and when I did, I suddenly feel feel the need to go back and double check to see whether or not I actually saw what I saw.
One such discovery that I will have to double check someday is in Birmingham.
After I checked in to my second hotel of my two night stay, I really couldn't nap so I went for a walk.
As I meandered the sidewalk, I noticed a commemorative plaque on the side of a building. The plaque commemorated the nation's first Veterans Day Parade, it said, which was held in Birmingham one day in the late 1800s.
My first thought about what I saw is “Hmm, interesting; that's a nice piece of trivia.”
My next thought was to try to picture what that parade looked like.
Then it occurred to me that in the late 1800s, the majority of veterans living in Alabama actually were individuals who had not fought for the United States.
While a veteran's Day Parade may seem both worthy and innocuous, a gathering of individuals who had fought for the Confederate States of America might actually be more terroristic than nostalgic to many of the citizens of Birmingham.
I do wonder about that parade-- who attended that day and who felt it would be best to keep the hell off the street and out of downtown Birmingham.
A Lecture at the Local LGBT Establishment
Sunday evening I went looking for Birmingham's nightlife. I tend to go out early-- when I do go out-- but if this was a typical Sunday night in Birmingham there is no nightlife there.
The establishment I went into had not much going on-- just about 6 guy sitting around a U-shaped bar. I ordered a cocktail and sat there listening to the lively conversation. I wasn't eavesdropping as the discussion was sufficiently loud that it was impossible not to hear every word. As I recall, there wasn't even any music playing.
Out of the blue one of the fellows who was talking-- in fact the one was talking the most: a White fellow-- suddenly used in passing, completely comfortably, the N-word.
I was ambivalent about the company in the bar up until the moment the fellows that the word he did. Then ambivalence went out the window. I finish my drink quickly and I left.
Another spot was about a mile away down the street away so I walked the distance this next place was a bit more lively but I guess I wasn't really in and overall mood to socialize. I didn't hang out there too long either.
It was one cocktail and out, but at least I wasn't being propelled by the classless comments of an ignorant fool.
On my way back, since I was going to go by the first establishment on my way to my hotel, I thought I might stop in again and see if the scenery had changed, as well as the dialogue.
It hadn't. By the time I realized it hadn’t, I was already in the door and had twelve sets of eyeballs on me. So, I sat down and I ordered a drink.
I had the drink for only a minute or so, when Mr. Ignorant Fool inquired, “So, did you leave earlier because I said (the N-word)?”
I said, “Yes”.
He spoke as if he was the most reasonable person alive but I could tell he was offended that anyone would reject his company. He asked if I was from Birmingham.
I replied “No, I'm from Oakland”.
Thus began his mini-lecture: “What you have to understand is that down here we all say (the N-word)-- all of us. Even the (N-word)s. And no one minds because everyone knows what it means. You don't know what it means.”
He was goading me to ask him “what does it mean?”. But I was 100% sure he didn't have a good answer.
I finished my drink and left without another word.
My encounter with this fool was unfortunate and I don't mean to use him as an illustration of the typical Alabaman.
The Alabamans I know are principled, intelligent, caring people. (Perhaps by virtue of the fact that I know them…. Need I say, just kidding…)
I will return to Alabama-- definitely to see the Gulf Coast and to revisit Birmingham, to see if that plaque is still there and if it says what I thought it said, and especially to see any sites or attractions linked to Willie Mays's life and career.
Self assessment
I tried to get this done dictating voice to text which naturally meant a hell of a lot of editing and rewriting. (Voice to text heard something I said in the section about my visit to Dreamland “I have boobs boobs” as if I was a weirdly insistent Erin Brockovich.
My general mood makes getting this entirely done impossible at this point but I am anxious (literally) to get some of it up at least…..
Saturday, November 10, 2018
The Klutz with the Clots
The Teaser: (composed Nov. 9, 2018)
This first post of November 2018 is a meditation on my uncommon blood and what I did when doctors told me to ingest rat poison and also my recent reflection on being prescribed yet ANOTHER med.
As October 2018 ended and November began, I underwent a medical procedure-- two days later a consultation with medical specialist.
I'm going to write about my consultation with the specialist because you don't want to hear the story of my colonoscopy. (But, believe me, it’s a story…)
I inaugurated this blog's posts last month with comments about my unremarkable brain..
NOTE: Genealogically my blood is as common as anyone’s. What makes the stuff my heart pumps so unusual is its not one-- but two!-- genetic factors which makes it clot really really really well...
My Uncommon Blood
Quite accidentally in July 2010, I ran a test on myself which revealed my blood contained not just the Factor V Leiden clotting factor but also the Factor II. This just means I clot like a beast.
What was the test? Well, I don't really know. Midweek the first week of July I started to have pains in my left calf which I thought might be a charleyhorse, but which I couldn't stretch out.
Yadda yadda yadda -- clots in my lungs which required six days in the hospital.
What I Did when Doctors Told Me to Ingest Rat Poison
Perhaps you all recall those TV commercials with the late Arnold Palmer, comedian Kevin Nealon, basketball great Chris Bosch and some NASCAR star? They were advertising a prescription drug which helps folks with really clotty blood like mine.
Was I prescribed this medication? No. In 2010, my health insurance wouldn't pay for THAT medication.
Instead I was prescribed Wonder Drug of the 1950's: Warfarin.
Some of the details in the following History of Warfarin may be incorrect but basically:
1) Scientists develop a substance
2) Scientist test substance on rats
3) Rats die of internal hemmoraging
4) Substance marketed as rat poison
5) Demand for rat poison wanes
6) Some nut decides substance can be used to treat folks with blood that clots like a beast if the people taking the substance can adhere to dietary limitations and, since those folks usually die really quickly anyway,...
7) Wonder drug Warfarin introduced
Sixty years later-- I was told to ingest rat posion and given ridiculously impossible dietary restrictions to follow involving the intake of Vitamin K. Since the drug was introduced in back when men had wives who stayed at home (or cooks) who planned their meals, no problem looking out for that pesky Vitamin K.
When I insisted I didn't want to take the stupid medication anymore because I missed certain foods, my idiot doctors would insist: "no one said you couldn't have blueberries anymore, you just have to consistently eat 7 blueberries every day...."
By 2014, it was decided I could take one low dose aspirin every day. Which I'm cool with....
But...
My current medical profession recently sent me to see a hematologist and the recommendation: now that the cost of the TV anticoagulant has dropped, it's time to take that...
Except--- I would have to watch out if I ever traveled to a remote location.... because, if I were injured there probably wouldn't be anyone with the antidote to the anticoagulant around....
Now, I'm not big on traveling to remote locations-- it's not a fave for me like blueberries. But it's at lease something I enjoy as much as cranberries-- which also raised Warfarin warning flags.
Even more so, I know myself and have come to know myself better in light of my diagnosis as having depression and anxiety. While it may be oversimplifying the dual affliction, for me they lead to periods in which I am overcome with horrific inertia (depression) which simultaneously cause me such inner distress (anxiety) that I tend to hurl myself into action.
(NOTE: I am actually completing this entry in one of those "hurlings")
Knowing that I have this inclination explains why I can be a klutz at times-- I simply don't "stick the landing" well when I vault from wherever I've been sitting or laying in depressed inertia.
Recognizing this makes the idea of taking some medication which requires an antidote were I to injure myself VERY undesirable.
It really doesn't matter to me if I fall in the company of many people in an exotic locale or by myself at home-- in both instances, I could still bleed internally to death.
So, please pass the baby aspirin....
-----------------------
This first post of November 2018 is a meditation on my uncommon blood and what I did when doctors told me to ingest rat poison and also my recent reflection on being prescribed yet ANOTHER med.
As October 2018 ended and November began, I underwent a medical procedure-- two days later a consultation with medical specialist.
I'm going to write about my consultation with the specialist because you don't want to hear the story of my colonoscopy. (But, believe me, it’s a story…)
I inaugurated this blog's posts last month with comments about my unremarkable brain..
NOTE: Genealogically my blood is as common as anyone’s. What makes the stuff my heart pumps so unusual is its not one-- but two!-- genetic factors which makes it clot really really really well...
My Uncommon Blood
Quite accidentally in July 2010, I ran a test on myself which revealed my blood contained not just the Factor V Leiden clotting factor but also the Factor II. This just means I clot like a beast.
What was the test? Well, I don't really know. Midweek the first week of July I started to have pains in my left calf which I thought might be a charleyhorse, but which I couldn't stretch out.
Yadda yadda yadda -- clots in my lungs which required six days in the hospital.
What I Did when Doctors Told Me to Ingest Rat Poison
Perhaps you all recall those TV commercials with the late Arnold Palmer, comedian Kevin Nealon, basketball great Chris Bosch and some NASCAR star? They were advertising a prescription drug which helps folks with really clotty blood like mine.
Was I prescribed this medication? No. In 2010, my health insurance wouldn't pay for THAT medication.
Instead I was prescribed Wonder Drug of the 1950's: Warfarin.
Some of the details in the following History of Warfarin may be incorrect but basically:
1) Scientists develop a substance
2) Scientist test substance on rats
3) Rats die of internal hemmoraging
4) Substance marketed as rat poison
5) Demand for rat poison wanes
6) Some nut decides substance can be used to treat folks with blood that clots like a beast if the people taking the substance can adhere to dietary limitations and, since those folks usually die really quickly anyway,...
7) Wonder drug Warfarin introduced
Sixty years later-- I was told to ingest rat posion and given ridiculously impossible dietary restrictions to follow involving the intake of Vitamin K. Since the drug was introduced in back when men had wives who stayed at home (or cooks) who planned their meals, no problem looking out for that pesky Vitamin K.
When I insisted I didn't want to take the stupid medication anymore because I missed certain foods, my idiot doctors would insist: "no one said you couldn't have blueberries anymore, you just have to consistently eat 7 blueberries every day...."
By 2014, it was decided I could take one low dose aspirin every day. Which I'm cool with....
But...
My current medical profession recently sent me to see a hematologist and the recommendation: now that the cost of the TV anticoagulant has dropped, it's time to take that...
Except--- I would have to watch out if I ever traveled to a remote location.... because, if I were injured there probably wouldn't be anyone with the antidote to the anticoagulant around....
Now, I'm not big on traveling to remote locations-- it's not a fave for me like blueberries. But it's at lease something I enjoy as much as cranberries-- which also raised Warfarin warning flags.
Even more so, I know myself and have come to know myself better in light of my diagnosis as having depression and anxiety. While it may be oversimplifying the dual affliction, for me they lead to periods in which I am overcome with horrific inertia (depression) which simultaneously cause me such inner distress (anxiety) that I tend to hurl myself into action.
(NOTE: I am actually completing this entry in one of those "hurlings")
Knowing that I have this inclination explains why I can be a klutz at times-- I simply don't "stick the landing" well when I vault from wherever I've been sitting or laying in depressed inertia.
Recognizing this makes the idea of taking some medication which requires an antidote were I to injure myself VERY undesirable.
It really doesn't matter to me if I fall in the company of many people in an exotic locale or by myself at home-- in both instances, I could still bleed internally to death.
So, please pass the baby aspirin....
-----------------------
Self assessment
In November, the added challenge will be sticking with the schedule I previously mentioned of posting between the 9th and 23rd of each month. I adopted this schedule assuming that a horrifically stressful but periodically resolvable situation would be on track to its periodic resolution. This situation hasn't been resolved so I am in anxiously uncharted territory. After dragging myself out of a multi-day emotional roadside ditch, I concluded that-- in order to proceed with and meet my schedule-- I'd make the adjustment of providing teasers for my posts whenever I cannot complete the entire post, then double back to complete it later. It, of course, complicates my overall task but it's all I can do. There's no point of getting even MORE depressed and anxious about shit.
Now I'm going to eat a shit-ton of blueberry coffee cake (and a piece of fruit!), post this to Facebook (but first a birthday shoutout to a college friend!), do a little cleanup on my post labels till 1:30p (and a maybe start this month's R O Y G B I V cycle), finish my coffee and go look for this farmers market in West Oakland I keep missing. (Didn't find it this time either.)
Now I'm going to eat a shit-ton of blueberry coffee cake (and a piece of fruit!), post this to Facebook (but first a birthday shoutout to a college friend!), do a little cleanup on my post labels till 1:30p (and a maybe start this month's R O Y G B I V cycle), finish my coffee and go look for this farmers market in West Oakland I keep missing. (Didn't find it this time either.)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)