Benjamin Rubenstein's Blog, page 3
June 7, 2019
(Maybe) I Got Bit by a Snake
I saw my hand by the morning light streaming through my blinds and felt like I was looking at something that wasn’t a part of me. A crimson, half-inch lesion rose above the right side of my right hand like Mary’s Rock. Swelling puffed up the skin like a balloon, leaving me with one apparent knuckle. I flipped my arm over. Red streaks crawled up it like fingers stretching to grasp my heart.
My instinct was to call my dermatologist. “Good morning, I’d like to schedule an appointment.”
“If this is for body sculpting, I’ll transfer you to that receptionist.”
Nope. I rapid-fired my problem: yesterday afternoon, I said, I noticed what I thought was a mosquito bite on my hand. I didn’t think anything of it. In the middle of the night, I woke to pee and felt itchiness, swelling, and that the inflammation around the bite had expanded. I didn’t want to turn the light on because studies show that makes it harder to fall back asleep, so I just slept with an ice pack on my hand. Then I woke for real. Then I described my not-my-hand.
My dermatologist had an opening at 11:40 the following morning.
I looked at not-my-hand again. I’d become a patient user of medical services, a confidence stemming from years of health and a rockstar teenage immune system. This seemed more urgent, but maybe I could go to work and hold off 28 hours before taking action on my hand. Basically, I didn’t know what to do about skin things when the skin guy wasn’t available. “What would you do?”
“Go to urgent care. Like, now.”
I emailed my supervisor requesting pre-approved sick leave for an unknown period of time and drove to the urgent care. The doc there looked at my not-hand and arm, on which the red streaks looked like they had grown since half an hour earlier. She said it looked like a bite, though not from a mosquito. She couldn’t help me, and I needed to go to the ER to probably get IV antibiotics. Like, now. She called the ER to inform the staff I was coming.
Fear engulfed me on my drive to the hospital. I remembered a TED Talk portraying a future in which people die from mere scrapes—and maybe not-mosquito bites?—because antibiotics may no longer work. I remembered my dad nearly dying from pneumonia because medicines weren’t killing the bacteria until it was almost too late. Whatever infection was spreading through my lymphatic system, I wasn’t certain I’d survive with all limbs intact or at all. I realized how similar illnesses can be: a malignant tumor and bacterial infection both require treatment with no guarantee they’ll work, and all you can do is hope. The difference for me was when I was 16 and 19, I knew chemotherapy and radiation would kill my cancers; at 35, I lacked that same certainty regarding treatment for my bite.
The hospital staff registered and roomed me quickly. The ER doctor entered to see about my bite. “Gross, look at that thing!” he said, jumping back. “I don’t mess with spiders. Can’t stand them. I don’t mind insects. Bees. Snakes, even. But spiders? Mmm Mmm, not me.”
“You think it’s a spider bite?”
“I think so. Though I can’t say for sure. It doesn’t look like a bite from a tic. I’ve been seeing more of these emergencies lately, maybe due to global warming. Damn. Look at that gross thing.”
The doctor started telling me about a recent patient of his, and though I wondered if that was breaking some kind of health privacy thingy, I needed to hear this. That patient’s infection from a bite on his leg led to the red fingers spreading all through his leg. He went home on oral antibiotics, but that didn’t take, so he had to be admitted for long-term IV antibiotics.
I made a mental note to email my supervisor again giving her a heads up that I may be requesting extended sick leave if I would have to be admitted. But first, the doctor photographed my bite and infection. He said he would send them to the infectious disease specialist, who would use the photos to decide which antibiotics to prescribe. I figured the doctor took pictures of all his patients’ gnarly not-so-human-looking body parts to show off to his kids.
The infectious disease doc prescribed two powerful IV antibiotics I’d receive in the ER—vancomycin and Rocephin—plus oral Augmentin to take at home for the next two weeks.
I stayed in that room for some five hours as the bacteria killers streamed through my blood system. Mostly I read Searching for Bobby Fischer. Sometimes, I re-investigated my arm. And occasionally, I closed my eyes and visualized the medicine obliterating my disease, a tactic I picked up during treatment for my second cancer, myelodysplasia, sixteen years earlier.
When I left, I felt good about my prospect of not dying and even retaining my arm. While waiting for CVS to fill my Augmentin, I googled spider bites. The images didn’t resemble my bite, which looked like two overlapping bulbs. Then I googled snake bites, and the images of these bites looked more like mine.
At work two days later, I showed my supervisor my bite, which had shrunk in size. The swelling had mostly dissipated, too. Did I get it while I was hiking two days earlier, she said? Who knows, though I had first noticed what I thought was a mosquito bite while at work just sitting at my desk. How could I have gotten bit without noticing it, she said? I must have been so in the zone on a work product. How could a snake have bitten me at work, she said? I was that in the zone. She looked closer. “Nah, that’s definitely a bite from a brown recluse spider.”
I weigh some six million times as much as a brown recluse weighs. I think about that, and then I think: how has any human in history lasted past two days of life without modern medicine, and thus how has our species lasted to this point of actually having modern medicine? Within eight hours, what looked like a mosquito bite transformed into the red fingers of death, and I was helpless to stymie the infection’s progression if not for medicine. I could choose to stay indoors to reduce my likelihood of getting bit again, but I say we share the world with critters and must expect to deal with their talents and powers at least every once in a while. I see you, biter of my right hand, and I accept you, and if you don’t bite me again, that’d be cool.
I’ll never know what bit me. Maybe it was a brown recluse spider. But saying I’ve lived through two cancers and a snake bite sure rolls off the tongue easily.
Some Recent Social Media Posts
My dad on John Wick: Chapter 3I'm a movie star!My realization that maybe everything that happens in life is inevitable while watching The Road
My instinct was to call my dermatologist. “Good morning, I’d like to schedule an appointment.”
“If this is for body sculpting, I’ll transfer you to that receptionist.”
Nope. I rapid-fired my problem: yesterday afternoon, I said, I noticed what I thought was a mosquito bite on my hand. I didn’t think anything of it. In the middle of the night, I woke to pee and felt itchiness, swelling, and that the inflammation around the bite had expanded. I didn’t want to turn the light on because studies show that makes it harder to fall back asleep, so I just slept with an ice pack on my hand. Then I woke for real. Then I described my not-my-hand.
My dermatologist had an opening at 11:40 the following morning.
I looked at not-my-hand again. I’d become a patient user of medical services, a confidence stemming from years of health and a rockstar teenage immune system. This seemed more urgent, but maybe I could go to work and hold off 28 hours before taking action on my hand. Basically, I didn’t know what to do about skin things when the skin guy wasn’t available. “What would you do?”
“Go to urgent care. Like, now.”
I emailed my supervisor requesting pre-approved sick leave for an unknown period of time and drove to the urgent care. The doc there looked at my not-hand and arm, on which the red streaks looked like they had grown since half an hour earlier. She said it looked like a bite, though not from a mosquito. She couldn’t help me, and I needed to go to the ER to probably get IV antibiotics. Like, now. She called the ER to inform the staff I was coming.
Fear engulfed me on my drive to the hospital. I remembered a TED Talk portraying a future in which people die from mere scrapes—and maybe not-mosquito bites?—because antibiotics may no longer work. I remembered my dad nearly dying from pneumonia because medicines weren’t killing the bacteria until it was almost too late. Whatever infection was spreading through my lymphatic system, I wasn’t certain I’d survive with all limbs intact or at all. I realized how similar illnesses can be: a malignant tumor and bacterial infection both require treatment with no guarantee they’ll work, and all you can do is hope. The difference for me was when I was 16 and 19, I knew chemotherapy and radiation would kill my cancers; at 35, I lacked that same certainty regarding treatment for my bite.
The hospital staff registered and roomed me quickly. The ER doctor entered to see about my bite. “Gross, look at that thing!” he said, jumping back. “I don’t mess with spiders. Can’t stand them. I don’t mind insects. Bees. Snakes, even. But spiders? Mmm Mmm, not me.”
“You think it’s a spider bite?”
“I think so. Though I can’t say for sure. It doesn’t look like a bite from a tic. I’ve been seeing more of these emergencies lately, maybe due to global warming. Damn. Look at that gross thing.”
The doctor started telling me about a recent patient of his, and though I wondered if that was breaking some kind of health privacy thingy, I needed to hear this. That patient’s infection from a bite on his leg led to the red fingers spreading all through his leg. He went home on oral antibiotics, but that didn’t take, so he had to be admitted for long-term IV antibiotics.
I made a mental note to email my supervisor again giving her a heads up that I may be requesting extended sick leave if I would have to be admitted. But first, the doctor photographed my bite and infection. He said he would send them to the infectious disease specialist, who would use the photos to decide which antibiotics to prescribe. I figured the doctor took pictures of all his patients’ gnarly not-so-human-looking body parts to show off to his kids.
The infectious disease doc prescribed two powerful IV antibiotics I’d receive in the ER—vancomycin and Rocephin—plus oral Augmentin to take at home for the next two weeks.
I stayed in that room for some five hours as the bacteria killers streamed through my blood system. Mostly I read Searching for Bobby Fischer. Sometimes, I re-investigated my arm. And occasionally, I closed my eyes and visualized the medicine obliterating my disease, a tactic I picked up during treatment for my second cancer, myelodysplasia, sixteen years earlier.
When I left, I felt good about my prospect of not dying and even retaining my arm. While waiting for CVS to fill my Augmentin, I googled spider bites. The images didn’t resemble my bite, which looked like two overlapping bulbs. Then I googled snake bites, and the images of these bites looked more like mine.
At work two days later, I showed my supervisor my bite, which had shrunk in size. The swelling had mostly dissipated, too. Did I get it while I was hiking two days earlier, she said? Who knows, though I had first noticed what I thought was a mosquito bite while at work just sitting at my desk. How could I have gotten bit without noticing it, she said? I must have been so in the zone on a work product. How could a snake have bitten me at work, she said? I was that in the zone. She looked closer. “Nah, that’s definitely a bite from a brown recluse spider.”
I weigh some six million times as much as a brown recluse weighs. I think about that, and then I think: how has any human in history lasted past two days of life without modern medicine, and thus how has our species lasted to this point of actually having modern medicine? Within eight hours, what looked like a mosquito bite transformed into the red fingers of death, and I was helpless to stymie the infection’s progression if not for medicine. I could choose to stay indoors to reduce my likelihood of getting bit again, but I say we share the world with critters and must expect to deal with their talents and powers at least every once in a while. I see you, biter of my right hand, and I accept you, and if you don’t bite me again, that’d be cool.
I’ll never know what bit me. Maybe it was a brown recluse spider. But saying I’ve lived through two cancers and a snake bite sure rolls off the tongue easily.
Some Recent Social Media Posts
My dad on John Wick: Chapter 3I'm a movie star!My realization that maybe everything that happens in life is inevitable while watching The Road
January 14, 2019
Words by ruBENstein Quarterly Newsletter - Winter 2019
I published the fifth edition of my quarterly newsletter, Words by ruBENstein. Check it check it check it or subscribe to it! Every three months I'll share: one or two of my recent stories plus an oldie but goodie, my most popular social media post, and one story and life lesson from one of writing's greats.
November 21, 2018
Two Dudes on a Couch Watch a Rom-Com Together
As published in GatherDC
“Zoey Deutch is the next America’s Sweetheart,” says Maxwell about the lead actress in the romantic comedy “Set It Up” he and I began watching together three minutes earlier on this Saturday afternoon.
I type his quote in the Google Doc I’m note-taking on. The Doc saves offline since I didn’t connect to Maxwell’s Wi-Fi because it’s Shabbat, I tell myself, and not because I am too lazy to find the password on his router.
We—two 34-year-old dudes, each obsessed with his own physique—are sitting on Maxwell’s black leather couch in front of his new 65-inch LED television, holding cans of Summer Solstice by Anderson Valley Brewing Company, in his apartment in Logan Circle he shares with his wife. There is no dog here. There isn’t even a cat. And, his wife is at work. It’s just two dudes on a couch watching a rom-com together. Keep reading Two Dudes on a Couch Watch a Rom-Com Together...
Some Recent Social Media Posts
Election Night was as entertaining as a Tuesday Night Football game would have beenI could get used to wearing soft pants all day every day, aka being my dadThis lion-vs.-hyena documentary taught me how the "endless cycles of life and death have continued throughout the ages."
“Zoey Deutch is the next America’s Sweetheart,” says Maxwell about the lead actress in the romantic comedy “Set It Up” he and I began watching together three minutes earlier on this Saturday afternoon.
I type his quote in the Google Doc I’m note-taking on. The Doc saves offline since I didn’t connect to Maxwell’s Wi-Fi because it’s Shabbat, I tell myself, and not because I am too lazy to find the password on his router.
We—two 34-year-old dudes, each obsessed with his own physique—are sitting on Maxwell’s black leather couch in front of his new 65-inch LED television, holding cans of Summer Solstice by Anderson Valley Brewing Company, in his apartment in Logan Circle he shares with his wife. There is no dog here. There isn’t even a cat. And, his wife is at work. It’s just two dudes on a couch watching a rom-com together. Keep reading Two Dudes on a Couch Watch a Rom-Com Together...
Some Recent Social Media Posts
Election Night was as entertaining as a Tuesday Night Football game would have beenI could get used to wearing soft pants all day every day, aka being my dadThis lion-vs.-hyena documentary taught me how the "endless cycles of life and death have continued throughout the ages."
October 2, 2018
Words by ruBENstein Quarterly Newsletter - Fall 2018
I published the fourth edition of my quarterly newsletter, Words by ruBENstein. Check it check it check or subscribe to it! Every three months I'll share: one or two of my recent stories plus an oldie but goodie, my most popular social media post, and one story and life lesson from one of writing's greats.
August 8, 2018
Driving in Italy Is Hard
In June, I spent one week in Spannocchia, Italy, where I participated in a writing retreat run by Susan Conley and Lily King. Afterwards, two new writing friends and I spent a day in Florence, and then I rented a car by myself to travel around northern Italy for another week. I made a video of my adventures. You can watch it on YouTube or directly below if your browser allows.
Italy: the land of the structures symbolizing the peak in human performance, wine, and the most aggressive drivers in Alfa Romeos.
Some Recent Social Media Posts
If you don't like cliché boxing movies then you are not fully human.Adult humans are unimaginative.
Italy: the land of the structures symbolizing the peak in human performance, wine, and the most aggressive drivers in Alfa Romeos.
Some Recent Social Media Posts
If you don't like cliché boxing movies then you are not fully human.Adult humans are unimaginative.
July 26, 2018
If Nobody Remembers Us
Here's my latest story, which published in GatherDC:
Ann stood alone on the other side of the dance floor, swaying offbeat. I approached my friend in her white gown. She looked as chic as my tailored tux and bow tie, which someone else knotted for me because I suck at “adulting”. The closer I got to her, the more I thought Ann looked inebriated and like she wasn’t there at all. I also thought we looked better than the rest of our C-squad royalty status at the Grand Finale Gala for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society Man & Woman of the Year campaign. We were celebrating a fundraising campaign that raised $2.4 million to research new cancer treatments.
“Hey!” I said. Ann’s eyes remained cold and unresponsive, so I put my hand on her bare shoulder. “I haven’t seen you for hours,” I said, fishing for a response.
Ann noticed me then. “Behhhhhn!” I’d spent enough time around adults who forgot college ended fifteen years before to know. If a correlation existed between the number of seconds to pronounce a single vowel and the level of intoxication, then Ann was Sweet Dee. They were both Philly’s finest.
Ann’s mouth turned a 180. “L. is dead.” Keep reading If Nobody Remembers Us...
Ann stood alone on the other side of the dance floor, swaying offbeat. I approached my friend in her white gown. She looked as chic as my tailored tux and bow tie, which someone else knotted for me because I suck at “adulting”. The closer I got to her, the more I thought Ann looked inebriated and like she wasn’t there at all. I also thought we looked better than the rest of our C-squad royalty status at the Grand Finale Gala for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society Man & Woman of the Year campaign. We were celebrating a fundraising campaign that raised $2.4 million to research new cancer treatments.
“Hey!” I said. Ann’s eyes remained cold and unresponsive, so I put my hand on her bare shoulder. “I haven’t seen you for hours,” I said, fishing for a response.
Ann noticed me then. “Behhhhhn!” I’d spent enough time around adults who forgot college ended fifteen years before to know. If a correlation existed between the number of seconds to pronounce a single vowel and the level of intoxication, then Ann was Sweet Dee. They were both Philly’s finest.
Ann’s mouth turned a 180. “L. is dead.” Keep reading If Nobody Remembers Us...
July 15, 2018
Words by ruBENstein Quarterly Newsletter - Summer 2018
I published the third edition of my quarterly newsletter last week. Check out my latest Words by ruBENstein or subscribe to it. Every three months I'll share: one or two of my recent stories plus an oldie but goodie; my most popular social media post; and one story and life lesson from one of writing's greats.
July 2, 2018
Writing in Italy: A Story Through Screenshots
Was I finding time to write in Italy? my friend, Flash, asked me. I got her text just over the halfway point in my two-week trip, which I split between participating in a group writing retreat and exploring on my own.
I befriended Flash a year ago over coffee and rock climbing, two of my favorite things. She often asks thoughtful questions, to which I try responding in equally thoughtful fashion. Sometimes, her written messages also contain the best emojis.
I counted the number of times that past week I'd typed away at a story for a dedicated one to three hours. Zero. So I texted back that I wasn't really finding time to write—that I had journaled a bit and scribbled notes in my pocket notebook I call Ben Rubenstein's Sucky Words, but that was all.
Turns out I lied; I didn't consider the moments I'd dedicated myself to writing texts and emails to friends and family and posting my thoughts online.
I'm sharing some of those here. Maybe collectively they will tell of something meaningful. Even if they don't, this could be fun. So, here's the story of my travels in Italy, told in chronological order strictly through one text message and screenshots of various online posts I selected after reviewing every word I wrote while in Italy (click on the screenshots to visit the original posts). Caio!
My text message to Flash, after she asked if I was having an amazing time and before she asked if I was finding time to write:
I befriended Flash a year ago over coffee and rock climbing, two of my favorite things. She often asks thoughtful questions, to which I try responding in equally thoughtful fashion. Sometimes, her written messages also contain the best emojis.
I counted the number of times that past week I'd typed away at a story for a dedicated one to three hours. Zero. So I texted back that I wasn't really finding time to write—that I had journaled a bit and scribbled notes in my pocket notebook I call Ben Rubenstein's Sucky Words, but that was all.
Turns out I lied; I didn't consider the moments I'd dedicated myself to writing texts and emails to friends and family and posting my thoughts online.
I'm sharing some of those here. Maybe collectively they will tell of something meaningful. Even if they don't, this could be fun. So, here's the story of my travels in Italy, told in chronological order strictly through one text message and screenshots of various online posts I selected after reviewing every word I wrote while in Italy (click on the screenshots to visit the original posts). Caio!
My text message to Flash, after she asked if I was having an amazing time and before she asked if I was finding time to write:
May 29, 2018
You Should Know … Benjamin Rubenstein
Washington Jewish Week made me its person "You Should Know." This was my third Jew-of-the-week-sorta thing within six months (you can read the one from November 2017 and the other from February 2018). I'm honored to be such a super Jew, even when I sometimes merely feel Jewish-ish-ish. Thanks to Washington Jewish Week and Hannah Monicken for making me famous-ish for a hot minute.
As published in Washington Jewish Week
Benjamin Rubenstein is a cancer-slaying superman. That’s what he calls himself in his book, “Twice: How I Became a Cancer-Slaying Super Man before I Turned 21.” The 34-year-old Arlington resident sat down for a beer at The Dubliner to talk about his illness, forgiveness and never drinking the same beer twice. Keep reading
Photo by Hannah MonickenSome Recent Social Media Posts
I rewatched 50/50 for the first time and felt some feelsWhy Daft Punk matters to me, after having watched TRON: LegacyStephen King was a writing prodigy according to me and maybe my friend Rob
As published in Washington Jewish Week
Benjamin Rubenstein is a cancer-slaying superman. That’s what he calls himself in his book, “Twice: How I Became a Cancer-Slaying Super Man before I Turned 21.” The 34-year-old Arlington resident sat down for a beer at The Dubliner to talk about his illness, forgiveness and never drinking the same beer twice. Keep reading
Photo by Hannah MonickenSome Recent Social Media PostsI rewatched 50/50 for the first time and felt some feelsWhy Daft Punk matters to me, after having watched TRON: LegacyStephen King was a writing prodigy according to me and maybe my friend Rob
April 25, 2018
A Conversation With My Bone Marrow on Her 15th Birthday
Yesterday marked my fifteenth straight year without cancer. I think about that. I even conversed with my bone marrow about it. And of course I wrote about it.
As published on GatherDC
My 15-year-old “daughter” says that since I was born in the period when the sun passed through the constellation Capricornus, I’m—according to her favorite lifestyle magazine Elle—charming, graceful, and a freak in the sheets, lady in the streets. My daughter says this as we sit at our pollen-covered bistro set on the covered balcony of our ninth-floor apartment overlooking Crystal and Pentagon Cities. Clouds have rolled in and it has begun raining.
“I’m so glad I got that messy self-exploration out of the way!” I tell my daughter. “Now that I know myself fully, I can begin honing my sheets-and-streets skills.”
It’s cool being able to talk like this with my daughter. Though, that’s because I didn’t conceive her. She’s the stem cells collected from an anonymous baby girl’s umbilical cord. The cells were transplanted into me on April 24, 2003, to treat my second cancer called myelodysplasia. Those stem cells repopulated inside my bone marrow, and now my blood is her XX blood. My immune system is partially hers. I am partially her. Keep reading A Conversation With My Bone Marrow on Her 15th Birthday
Some Recent Social Media Posts
My bone marrow turns 15!My book review of...the better James Bond?Don't watch A Quiet Place at night by yourself like I did. Just don't.
As published on GatherDC
My 15-year-old “daughter” says that since I was born in the period when the sun passed through the constellation Capricornus, I’m—according to her favorite lifestyle magazine Elle—charming, graceful, and a freak in the sheets, lady in the streets. My daughter says this as we sit at our pollen-covered bistro set on the covered balcony of our ninth-floor apartment overlooking Crystal and Pentagon Cities. Clouds have rolled in and it has begun raining.
“I’m so glad I got that messy self-exploration out of the way!” I tell my daughter. “Now that I know myself fully, I can begin honing my sheets-and-streets skills.”
It’s cool being able to talk like this with my daughter. Though, that’s because I didn’t conceive her. She’s the stem cells collected from an anonymous baby girl’s umbilical cord. The cells were transplanted into me on April 24, 2003, to treat my second cancer called myelodysplasia. Those stem cells repopulated inside my bone marrow, and now my blood is her XX blood. My immune system is partially hers. I am partially her. Keep reading A Conversation With My Bone Marrow on Her 15th Birthday
Some Recent Social Media Posts
My bone marrow turns 15!My book review of...the better James Bond?Don't watch A Quiet Place at night by yourself like I did. Just don't.
