Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 568

Worst Hanukkah ever

It was a wonderful first night of Hanukkah for my wife.

Her husband, who found out he had pneumonia just few hours earlier, was lying on the couch, hacking and shivering, drifting in and out of consciousness.

Instead of her planned dinner of brisket with family and friends, she enjoyed a meal of chicken soup and corn bread from Boston Market.

And then it came time to give Clara her first Hanukkah gift.

Her reaction was unexpected to say the least.

Favorite word just added to the American Heritage Dictionary

Presenteeism: the act of attending work while sick

Not what I am doing today, as my goddamn fever will not break and I am home again.    

Inexplicably real

This is real. I just can't decide if it's ingenious or disgusting.

These Jersey Shore Christmas tree ornaments are also real.

There's no debating what I think of them.

Deadlines be damned!

My pregnant wife and my little girl can be quite distracting when I am trying to write.

They threatened to slice my throat open

This incident took place about four years ago.  I referenced it briefly on Twitter a couple weeks ago and was asked by a couple followers to relate the story in full.

Here it is. 

I was having lunch with my wife and a college friend.  I was eating clam chowder when on object became lodged in my throat.  It was not blocking the airway completely, but it was most assuredly stuck.  Based upon what I was eating, we assumed that it was a fish bone or a bit of a shell.

I began coughing.  Hacking.  Wheezing.  I drank glass after glass of water in an effort to dislodge it. 

Eventually the management arrived at the table and offered assistance.  They led me through the dining room, through the kitchen and to a landing at the back of the restaurant.  While I initially thought they were being helpful, I later realized that they were just trying to get me as far away from the other customers as possible.

A bartender attempted to administer the Heimlich maneuver.  Ironically, my wife and I had just been recertified in CPR the day before, so I knew his attempt at the procedure was bad.  He wrapped his arms around my chest and began squeezing, lifting me off my feet as he did.  I begged for him to stop.

An ambulance arrived.  The paramedics strapped me to a stretcher and whispered to one another that I had "decreased breath sounds on the left side."

I asked them to either share this information with me or do a better job of whispering. 

I was brought to UConn medical center.  Doctors attempted to use forceps to dislodge the object.  Four doctors held me down in order to counter my gag reflex while another jammed the metal forceps down my throat. 

When this failed, they inserted smaller arthroscopic forceps, complete with a camera, through my nose and down into the throat in order to remove the object. 

It was soon determined that the object was too large to bring back up through my nose.  So it was back to the original forceps.

Numbing agents were applied.  More attempts to reach down my throat were made.  Eventually it was determined that I would require surgery.  Fearful that the object might end up in my lung if not removed soon, the doctors would make an incision in my throat and remove the object.

"Depending on where it's lodged, we might have to crack the chest" one doctor said. 

This sounded insane to me.  I was going to have my throat cut open for a fish bone?

As they rolled me towards the operating room, I began to panic.  I couldn't believe this was happening. 

"Stop," I said.  "Have we tried everything? Take a second and think.  Is there anything else we could possibly do before you cut me open?"

The doctors were quiet for a moment, and then one said, "Well, we've never tried to slide the arthroscopic forceps down someone's throat."

Instant excitement swept the team.  If it worked, this would be a new procedure.  A newfound use for a medical instrument.  Other doctors were called to observe.  A video camera was brought in to record the procedure.  About a dozen doctors in all jammed themselves into a small examination room where the procedure would be attempted.

Once again, a handful of doctors held me down as the snake-like device was slid down my throat.  A minute later it was retracted.  Trapped in the forceps was a dried bay leaf.

Not a bone or a shell. Just a leaf, which should have been removed prior to serving me the chowder but was not.  

I spent about six hours at the medical center that day, and though I probably could have sued the restaurant, I did not.

In retrospect, I wish I had. 

Nevertheless, I learned something very valuable that day:

There is nothing wrong with questioning your doctor.  Had I not stopped that gurney from rolling into the operating room, I would've ended up with an incision in my throat or even worse.  It was panic that caused me to stop the doctors that day, but in the future, it will be the knowledge that I can play an active and potentially helpful role in my medical care.  

My two simple rules of gift giving

The New York Times reported on research from social scientists that seems to  indicate the following in relation to gift giving:

1. You don't have to spend any time looking for "thoughtful" gifts.

2. You don't have to spend much money, either.

3. Actually, you may not have to spend any money.

I won't get into the reasons why.  You can read the article and find out for yourself.  But I must say that it's quite compelling. 

In place of these three rules, I would like to offer two simple rules of my own in regards to gift giving:

1. No one judges you based upon the quality of your gift.

2. If you think that people are judging you based upon the quality of your gift, then you must be judging people based upon the quality of their gift, and if that is the case, GROW THE HELL UP.

I hereby call for a boycott on stupidity

At some point in recent history, it was determined that a certain breed of pretentious, overpriced, faux-artsy greeting cards should be individually wrapped in cellophane.

This must stop.

Not only does it allow these greeting card companies to charge you $5 or more for a greeting card, but the practice is wasteful and purposeless, and above all, stupid.

Truly, utterly, exorbitantly stupid.

I hereby call for the boycott of all greeting cards wrapped in cellophane or any other packaging material.

We end this pretentious practice today.

Who is with me?

I'd raise my sword over my head and roar to get you excited if this wasn't the Internet.

And if I had a sword. 

His position on same sex marriage is abhorrent, but credit him for his civility and willing to engage

This is a fascinating exchange.

As much as I think Mitt Romney's position on same sex marriage is ludicrous and reprehensible, he handles a potentially volatile situation rather well.

He unknowingly steps into a potential lion's den and emerges relatively unscathed. 

And the Vietnam veteran who challenges Romney on same sex marriage also conducts himself exceptionally well.  While he finds Romney's position on same sex marriage equally reprehensible, he credits the GOP candidate for engaging honestly in the discussion.

It's not often that you see two men with completely divergent thoughts engage in civil, reasoned discourse in front of the cameras during a political campaign. 

It was refreshing. 

2011

Worth watching.

The best needle ever

I had blood drawn this morning.  As a person terrified of needles, this is an  incredibly difficult procedure for me. 

I once donated platelets for a former student at Sloan-Kettering in New York, and the nurse who took care of me told my wife that in her twenty-five years of drawing blood, I was her worst patient ever.

This is serious stuff for me.

I always attempt to explain my situation to the person drawing my blood so that they can be prepared for my nervousness, panic and potential for passing out. 

Today's nurse was a young guy named Dave.  He may have been the first male nurse to ever draw my blood.  I sat down in the chair, signed the paperwork and said, "I just want you to know that this is hard for me.  I'm allergic to bees.  Very badly allergic.  I've nearly died more than once and there's always a lot of needles involved after the sting."

I opened my mouth to continue explaining but he stopped me.  "So the PTSD really kicks in for you when you have to get stuck.  I understand.  If I was allergic to bees and got jammed with needles every time I got stung and nearly died, I'd hate them, too.  I get it, man."

As someone who suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder for more than a decade following an armed robbery, I cannot tell you how good it felt to know that the person about to stick me with a needle understand my irrational but very real fear.   

There was no eye rolling.  No snickering about the big, strong guy afraid of a tiny, little needle.  No suggestion that it might be time to overcome this silly fear.  No assurances that it'll just be a quick pinch and nothing more.  No unending series of questions about my wife and daughter and career designed to distract me from the needle.  No offer to hold my hand.     

Just a guy who looked me in the eyes and said, "Yes, it makes sense that you are afraid.  I get it.  And there's nothing wrong with it.   Now let's do this thing together."

And you know what? 

For the first time in my life, I didn't feel the needle going in.

I'm not sure if this was a coincidence or if Dave had something to do with it, but I have never been more relaxed while sitting in one of those chairs. 

For the first time in my life, it really was over before I knew it.

I told Dave that he will be the only one to ever draw blood from me again.

He laughed.

I assured him that I was serious. 

I thanked him for making what should have been the worst part of my day a piece of cake. 

He smiled, but I don't think he fully understood the enormity of what he did for me today.   

I'm thinking about bringing him lunch.