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Doc and the Bimbo Posts

Judy’s Heart

This was a hard one to write. Hopefully our experiences will be helpful to others. Where to begin. Maybe covid. My wife and I both got covid in March 2020, at the very beginning of the pandemic. Judy had attended a sewing expo in Puyallup, Washington with thousands of other older women. Due to my sewing machine phobia, I stayed with her brother an hour away, about as close as I dared. When the expo was over, the powers at be shut down the whole state, followed a while later by the shutdown of the whole world. Judy came down with the “flu” a few days later. She was miserable. I got the same bug a week later. I was just as miserable but have leaned after 54 years that it is best to not claim equivalency.  The symptoms persisted for over a month but were somewhat inconsistent with the ones the CDC were telling us to be worried about at the time. After we got to feeling somewhat better, we both developed persistent diarrhea that lasted another three months.  A while later when the first and unreliable covid tests became readily available, we both tested negative, so I can’t say for certain we had it, but I am 99% certain we did.  Why can I be so sure? Judy’s use of spices radically changed, using a lot more. I thought that her pallet had finally matured. Stupid me. A year later when her taste came back to “normal” it had changed. She had hated chocolate all her life, claiming it tasted like dirt. The only chocolate she could tolerate was white.  But after covid, I couldn’t keep enough real chocolate in the house and now she won’t touch the white shit becaused it “tastes like grease”.

I could live with all of the above except the taste bud changes were not the only change in her. Periodically she would go into atrial fibrillation. A-fib is a fairly common heart problem affecting between 3 and 6 million Americans. For those unfamiliar with how the heart functions, here is what you should have learned in high school. The heart is essentially a double pump. The left half pumps to the body, the right half pumps to the lungs. Each half is composed of a primer pump, an atrium, and the real pump, a ventricle. The atria fill with blood from lung or body veins then pumps it into a ventricle which then pumps to the body or lungs. Both sides of the heart pump in synchrony. This is why your heart goes thump THUMP. In A-fib, the atriums don’t pump.  So instead of thump THUMP it goes …THUMP and the THUMPS are not regular.

The causes of A-fib are shorts in the heart’s electrical system. The bioelectrics in the heart depend on specialized heart muscle cells (Perkenji fibers) which conduct the “current” to the heart muscles which then contract. Damage to these “wires” results in uneven electrical conduction, or the current splitting off into a different circuit, or there even may be a loose wire nut in one of the hearts conjunction boxes which are called nodes. This can result in unsynchronized contractions and /or in A-fib with the atria acting like a flickering light bulb that needs to be screwed in tighter. I think the precise medical term is a twitchy fit; picture an uncoordinated Milly Cyrus twerking only less disgusting.

By now you have probably noticed that I am using house wiring as an analogy for heart electrical transmission.  This is because I understand house wiring. Although I am not an electrician, nor do I play one on TV, I have completely rewired my house, sometimes twice, with the help of “Wiring for Dummies” and advice from Ace Hardware clerks. This explains why I have four light switches in my bathroom (only three of which actually work), and no heat. I have a wall heater in there but it’s for decoration only. When it gets really cold in the shitter, I can look at it and think warm thoughts. Now that is the essence of art. But I digress. OK, I lied about the heater, but I thought about putting one in, and probably would have but was talked out of it by a friend. “Bruce, if you don’t electrocute yourself or start a fire when you first turn it on, you will surely die the first time you step on the floor with wet feet. You might as well try and balance a toaster on the lip of the tub”. I think I digressed again.

The main problem associated with A-fib is an increased stroke risk as the irregular THUMPS result in turbulent blood flow out of the ventricles which is much more likely to cause clot formation and bad things can happen to your brain and lungs. Clotting risk is lowered by drugs such as warfarin or a host of more expensive alternatives. Warfarin has been around since 1948 when its first use was as a rat poison. I can only speculate on how or who discovered that in lower doses it has medical benefits in humans, but I would bet paychecks that the wife trying to slowly poison her husband to collect on his life insurance was pissed.

Contrary to what Karem Abdule Jabbar tells you, many people have no external symptoms of A-fib. Due to Graves’ disease, I was in A-fib for two years.  I had no debilitating effects, other than I got a little short of breath while walking up hills at high altitudes or while running in the Boston marathon. As I live on the coast and think that people who run marathons are sick mothers, I had no real problems. After they killed my thyroid gland with radioactive iodine (AKA what a terrorists would put in a dirty bomb), I was cardio converted (CLEAR!, ZAP) and for the last 20 years my heart has been in normal thump THUMP rhythm.

Judy on the other hand had real problems with A-fib. This was because she, possibly due to covid, also developed a left bundle branch block. This electrical wiring malfunction meant that the two ventricles were not in synchrony. So instead of thump Thump, she was more of a thump TH THUMP.  The result was that her heart pump was less efficient. Her body was fine with this, but when she went into A-fib the pump function was even lower.  Coupled with a tendency for her heart rate to skyrocket during A-fib to 200 + beats per minute, the result was that her heart could not pump enough blood to feed her liver, kidney, muscles and brain. When this happened, she not only became a world class dizzy blonde but as a side effect she was dying.

The second episode of this stressed me to the max. We were dry camping at an isolated lake which has trophy size trout. She thought she had the flu, but by the next day it became obvious that it was more serious. In retrospect, I should have called an ambulance but her Cardia (a device which allows you to easily check for A-fib) would not work without cell reception, so maybe it was just the flu. To be safe, I decided to cut our camping trip short even though Judy wanted to stay another day so that I could catch a “big one”.  Damn I married well!  I admit that I was tempted, but we needed to head home where we would be nearer a hospital. All I needed to do was load the generator into the back of our truck then put the canoe on top. Fifteen minutes tops. Normally Judy would help me with both of these procedures, but she was having problems standing. No problem, I could do it myself. It soon became apparent that I could do neither without help. I walked down to get help from the campground host, but he was not there. As it was a Monday, the campground was empty. Then I started to panic. Just then a couple from California drove through the empty campground and offered to help me load it all up. I am not sure that I prayed, but they were certainly an answer to one.  By the time I had got her to the Newport Hospital she was so bad that ER docs were about to put in a breathing tube and were arranging for a life flight to a bigger hospital but then settled on an ambulance ride to Corvallis instead. Damned HMOs.  Lucky for us and them that by the time she got to Corvallis she was back in normal rhythm on her own. They kept her there for four days just to make sure. After she was released, we stayed an extra night in Corvallis just to be safe. In the middle of that night she went back into A-fib. Another trip to the ER and being zapped back into normal rhythm.

After that near death experience, her cardiologist referred us to a heart electrician who suggested she needed an ablation and a pacemaker. Ablation uses heat or cold to create tiny scars in the heart muscle to block the faulty electrical signals. It is most often done using thin, flexible tubes that are inserted into the heart through the veins or arteries.  There are risk associated with this, such as: bleeding or infection at the site where the tube is inserted, blood vessel damage, heart valve damage, new or worsening irregular heartbeats, slow heart rate, blood clots in the legs or lungs, stroke or heart attack, narrowing of the veins that carry blood between the lungs and heart, damage to the kidneys from the contrast dye used during the procedure, and death. At this point in the fishing season, it was too late to go back to the trophy trout lake. Might as well go ahead with it.

She survived. Then a month later a pacemaker was added to fix the left bundle branch problem and to substantially increase our medical bills. After nine months of normal heart rhythm, she had her worse episode of A-fib to date. Had to have an ambulance transport her to the local hospital. Halfway there she crashed. Her heart rate set a new record, 27O beats a minute. They pulled the ambulance to the side of the road and zapped her while she was still awake. Ouch!

Our next step in this four-year ordeal was to try adding a rhythm control drug to the mix. I have been on th same drug for almost 20 years to prevent me from going back into A-fib.  The original drug name, Tykosyn, was fairly new when I went on it, and extremely expensive. Eventually the patent expired, and a generic came out, dofetilide. However, the price did not come down because Pfizer, the greedy bastards, is still the only maker. Dofetilide has strong and possibly dangerous interactions with several other drugs and minor interactions with some foods such as grapefruit. I tried to convince Judy that eggplant, brussel sprouts, kale, parsnips, and asparagus were also on the list. Maybe I should have stopped at eggplant. She checked it out. Fucking Google!

Some people have a little problem with this drug when they first go on it, like death. To be safe they require you to stay in the hospital for a bit when they start you on it just in case. I was wired up to a heart monitor with Post it notes and on a IV for four days. I was fully prepared for this extended stay with movies to watch on my laptop.  I might have enjoyed them but every four hours they woke me up for an EKG and less frequent blood work. I was sharing a room with an older gentleman who was undergoing the same procedure. He snored and was also being woken up every four hours for EKG and less frequent blood work. This was scheduled such that these tests occurred every two hours, day and night when the sadistic nurses came in to poke and prod us. Did you know that sleep deprivation is considered to be torcher? To make matters worse, of all the movies I had brought, the only one that would play on my computer was “Kill Bill”.  This is really a stupid movie, and they don’t even kill Bill. Apparently, they killed Bill in the sequel. Could have saved a lot of throw up in your mouth moments if they would have killed him in the first one.   All of this crap coupled with the bad food, my skinny ass hanging out of the hospital gown and the absolute boredom of being confined to a hospital bed while not being sick, is something that I will not remember with any fondness for the rest of my life. Twenty years later Judy only had to endure two days of this hell and complained with equal verbosity. Women are such complainers.  

A month has gone by since that procedure with no recurrence of A-fib. I have hopes that we can risk going back to the trophy lake this spring. I did make a teeny winy bit of an error though. I asked her what it was like to be zapped while awake. She said it hurt like hell and that “a purple flower came out of her chest then went right back in”. Then she asked me what I thought that meant. Trust me, “the exorcism didn’t work” was not the answer she wanted to hear.  The doctors tell me that my double vision will eventually improve.

Pet Peeves

Stupid Translations

Judy and I buy a lot of stuff on Amazon that are imported directly from China. The Chinese know this and provide useful guides, instructions and other useful information in English to help us stupid Caucasians handle their superior products. Maybe they should skip that part of the packaging.

We recently purchased new steak knives.  They came with instructions that had nothing to do with slicing T-bones. I understand how I might need washing instructions, but do I need to be told not to cut myself while washing them? But that was only the first step on the down escalator to hell. 

The statements below that are in quotes are exactly how they appeared on the instruction card. Even though I have a problem with bad grammar, punctuation, and capitalizations, I have copied these statements as they appeared and rechecked them against the original multiple times. They said, “the knives offer micro-serrated edges that never need sharpening”. Later in the instructions they said, “Sharpen the blade regularly by whetstone in order to maintain the sharp edge”. Don’t they proofread? The whole instruction sheet was only half a page.  Somebody needs a QA hire. But the real fun began under the heading “Warm Tips”. What the hell are warm tips?  Are they lukewarm hot tips? The first of these warm tips states “please be careful when using it in your kitchen in case hurt yourself. For longevity, keep away when not using.” Are they saying that using it in the kitchen may result in death? Good point, only use it while at the dining table, and when not using, don’t carry the knife in your underpants to avoid cutting your penis off. I am so glad that the Chinese worry so much about my dick. The final “warm tip” was “not recommended for children under 18 to use it to avoid any Horrible emergency”.  Almost old enough to vote, fight in the army, smoke, drive, and drink in some states, but handle a steak knife, oh hell no.

I know that old people like Judy and I should be watching Jeopardy or Wheel of Fortune, but Alex is dead and Vanna has sagged a bit, so I lost interest.  Then I sold my soul to the devil in exchange for the Beavers getting a good coach. Beelzebub kept his promise, then dissolved the PAC 12, leaving my beloved Beavers and Wazoo in football purgatory. My dream coach left for the rusting junk yards of Michigan State, dropping off all his Beaver duds at Good Will in a black plastic garbage bag (fucking traitor!).  As a consequence of my deal with the devil I am forced to play gory, satanic video games. I should have read the fine print! Having said this, I have fallen in love with Diablo.  Judy and I have wasted hours playing it again and again, as different characters and at various levels of difficulty. We were so excited when Diablo 4 came out that we willingly paid the $100 price tag without batting an eye or even bothering to change out of our pajamas. The difference between the new version and what we had been playing for two years was enormous. It soon became apparent to fully understand the game that we needed a guidebook. We bought “Diablo 4, Complete Guide” by Deti Aslakhanov for $15. I am assuming that it was written in Mr. Aslakhanov’s native language and translated into English as It’s 170 pages of utter incomprehensibility.  To prove this, I am going to open the guide to a couple of random pages and just quote what I find. I am not cherry picking these quotes, they are truly random. Bottom paragraph page 69,

“Along these lines, it’s totally significant that you’re strategic with your mixtures. Right off the bat, on the off chance that there’s a mixture on the ground and you’re at max elixirs yet have lost a tad of wellbeing, it’s typically worth popping an elixir so you can get the one on the ground before it vanishes.”

Top of page 111,

“Whenever you’ve found the spring, you really want to tackle the conundrum to uncover the mystery. This isn’t the principal mission you’ll see as this way yet is presumably the first, and to finish the Diablo 4 Mystery of the Spring journey you’ll need to play out a specific at out ‘persistence compensated’ line implies the Stand by act out is required.”

I really can’t believe that a human being is responsible for this. Surely in 170 pages there would be by random chance that one paragraph would be understandable if translated by a human. Only AI could fuck up to this extent. I know there has been a lot of hype about how AI is a future existential threat to human life. After reading this guide, I think it is already trying to kill us as this guide gave me headache and I only read a couple of pages. Reading the whole thing would likely have been fatal.

As an aside, In the above paragraph I used the word “existential” which is a favorite way for the talking heads to express how AI, gluten, woke, migrants, or Trump is going to destroy all life on earth.  The definition of existential is as follows: “relating to a philosophy (= system of ideasaccording to which the world has no meaning and each person is alone and completely responsible for his or her own actions”.  I have no clue as to why anyone in the media would use this word as an adjective with “threat”.  OMG! They are cyborgs and are using their AI to translate from their native binary. Now that explains a lot. Resistance is futile.

U-tube videos

In a previous blog (Sawzall Kama Sutra), I bitched about how u-tubers will publish a video showing how easy it is to fix your car with a screw diver and a pair of pliers. You would think that I might have learned my lesson but no, I still believed that I could DYI with little to no mechanical expertise. This time it was new shocks on the truck “aka Captain”.  Judy named our F250 this because it mostly pulls our trailer (aka Boldly Go) and we have taken it places that no trailer has gone before. The video made it look easy. Only two bolts per shock and if you take the wheels off, they are right there. No laying on your back on the cold ground. No fancy tools. No odd angles to put your body in to get to the back side of a hidden nut.  I could sit on a stool and get to everything!  My 75-year-old body was up to that, no prob-blame-oh.  Wrong, so wrong.

First the dirty bastard u-tuber had me remove plastic strap which held the shock in a compressed state.  Then I was instructed to work the shock back and forth to fully charge it. This part I was able to do with some difficulty by putting all of my 230 pounds of obesity directly over it and pushing with all I had. Okey, I needed a bit of break and a double scotch after that, but so far so good. Next, I attached the upper bolt. One more to go. Now to compress the shock, slip it into the lower bracket and put the final bolt in. That is when I became aware the u-tuber had fucked me up the ass with the first step.

Neil deGrasse Tyson take note, the physics of compressing a shock while sitting on a stool is slightly different than compressing it with all your body mass. Maybe Arnie Schwarzenegger in his prime could do it, but I doubt it.  And even if I could have compressed the shock, the rubber gromet through which I was to insert the lower bolt in was too fat to fit inside the lower metal bracket.  I took the shock totally off and spent the next two hours trying to force it into the lower bracket as rubber should be pliable, but this must have been some sort of MAGA no compromise rubber.   Finally, I took the shock into my shop and ground the rubber down on my bench grinder. Now it fits in the lower bracket, but I still had to compress the shock to get it to the right length. Eventually I had to ask Judy to help. With both of us pushing the shock while laying on our backs on the cold ground we eventually succeeded. Fuck you Schwarzenegger, two 70+ year old are as good as you and one of them was a girl!  The downside of this was it took 5 hours and I still had 3 more shocks to go. The next day, with Judy’s help, I finished the task, then spent the next 3 days on the sofa with a hot pad a bottle of single malt. I believe that no jury would convict me if I ever met and killed that U-tube ass hole.

Reels on facebook

Reels are short Tic Tok like videos that are imbedded in my Facebook feed. And no, I don’t know what I am talking about as I have never seen a Tic Tok, but I think this explanation makes me seem younger.  And let’s face it, I need younger people to read my blog as my current readership are older friends and family that I shame into reading it. Reels as opposed to Tic Toc, seem to be different depending on the user.  Judy for example gets a lot of cooking hacks, recipes, and shit about Prince Willie and Kate. I on the other hand get ones about cute baby fuzzy animal, especially raccoon and rodents that people have rescued and then adopted as pets.  Lately there has been a bunch about capybaras.

A capybara is a prairie dog that has been exposed to massive radiation in a botched nuclear test and then grew to gigantic proportions. I have never understood rats as pets. It’s dogs, cats for me. I have had tropical fish, which is not really a pet concept, more like living art. I did try to teach the fish tricks.  I worked on roll over a lot, but when they did roll over and played dead, they really were. Capybaras may be trainable but, in my mind, they are not pets, more like 150-pound tailless rats.  An additional drawback is that they are semi-aquatic, meaning that they need to swim a lot. Imagine coming home for a hard day at work and snuggling up on the sofa with a giant wet hamster. Yuck! And what are they going to swim in? You will need a pool. A giant wet rat that takes shits in your pool. Not a pet.

The other thing that I consistently get on reels are ample assed and women with augment cleavages that are taking selfies in evening gowns that are split from ankle to china. How disgusting and no matter what I try I just can’t seem to block the fuzzy animal videos.

Pretensions Stupidity

Years ago, when I was still earning a living wage, I was required to attend scientific conventions in exotic locations like Huston, Denver, Seattle and Washington D.C. Once in while they even put me up in a nice hotel. May be the room was next to an elevator in serious need of lubricant, but the location made it a shorter crawl back to my bed after the “all you can drink bar”. Every once in while I even managed to splurge and dine at the expensive in-house restaurant. More likely I was forced to break per diem limits as I was too inebriated to walk any distance.  On one of these occasions, I was at a hotel in scenic South San Fransisco. When the soup was served the perky waitress, holding a tea towel, offered me a warm teaspoon. WTF.  I was shocked into catatonic silence. What was this about? As soon as I put the spoon in the soup. Wouldn’t it warm up on its own when I put it in the soup? Not knowing the proper etiquette, I put the spoon in my mouth before putting in the soup. “Yes, it’s quite warm, thank you very much, and expect a nice tip for your kindness”.  From the shocked reaction from my dinner companions, I think I did the wrong thing. So wrong in fact that if Emily Post were alive, she would have shot herself then turned over in her grave. When the salad arrived, I was offered a chilled salad fork.  Having screw up so badly on my first try and vowing not to cause further embarrassment, I politely refused, and then ate the salad with my fingers. The next morning, I realized the error of my ways and vowed never again to drink tequila at the free bar. Stick with scotch.

One more pretentious stupidity before I close out my latest rant. My son and his gorgeous wife took me wine tasting on my 75th birthday. You can read all about it on a previous blog (Wine Tasting With Dolls) if you are so inclined or are one of my aging relatives and friends who will try and lie about it when I ask them if they read it during the upcoming reunion. Back to the story. We were at this fabulous vineyard, wine tasting in a stunning room that I think was once a garage. At a far table was a pretentious ass doing an imitation of Alan Rickman from the movie “Bottle Shock”. First, he swirls the wine around in the flute, looks at its legs, and sticks his nose in to get the aroma.  Then sips it, gargles with it, and then SPITS IT OUT. He just spent $25 for a “flight” of five wines and did not swallow any of them. Why would they call it a flight if they didn’t intend for you to high? Okey, they only give you a timbale full in each glass, but there are other winery’s to visit. You have only one life and even if  you ‘re Hindu; you need to be careful as there is karma. I you don’t swallow, you just might be reincarnated as Monic Lewinsky.