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Danger
will robinson! Things start out here with a happy spin, but
rapidly get unredeemingly serious, so don't say I didn't warn you.
Over the weekend, I got the results to my mri scan in a voicemail
call from my doctor. He started out with the first bit of news:
my right kidney isn't in my back, it's in my pelvis. I didn't realize
this was physically possible, but apparently I am living proof that
it is. He said it happens to about half of a percent of the population,
but that's hardly reason for rejoicing. I really don't need more
convincing that I am just plain odd. The promised happy spin: I
may possibly be at a slight advantage while street
fighting and in kickboxing matches.
My doctor made great efforts to explain that there wasn't anything
terribly wrong with having a misplaced kidney, and quickly jumped
to the bad news. Worse than having organs in odd places, I have
a herniated disc at my L5 vertebrae. This is really not good news
at all, and more than makes up for any congenital kickboxing
advantage regarding my right kidney.
My shock absorbing disc, which is supposed to happily cushion and
support the gaps between my vertebrae, is instead poking my spinal
cord and causing much pain. It may eventually get to the point where
I get the
phantom pain in my feet and legs and require surgery. To start
with, my doctor is recommending a massive needle full of steroids
to be jammed into my back. It really goes without saying that there
isn't room in the back to jam such a needle.
My friend ann said this cortisone epidural thing is something the
human body can only handle once every six months. Anything that
fits into that category is probably something you either should
avoid or can't
afford. Unfortunately, my insurance will pay for it, and it
looks a bit unavoidable.
But enough about me. The really bad news has to do with another
recent story, where we were looking for a roommate. Returning readers
will remember that back in february, we did a happy happy joy joy
project that found us a roommate but left us exhausted and a little
too famous. Since rob left at the end of may, we scrambled to find
another roommate in our scant free time.
The first guy we talked to was from alaska. He was planning to move
to san francisco and wanted to pay a deposit in advance before even
looking at the place. This seemed too odd, despite the fact that
the guy was familiar with treasure island. I was also worried about
his occupation: he's a lawyer. Entering into a business type of
agreement with a lawyer is something like going sailing with pirates,
traveling with the donner party or partnering with microsoft. Fortunately,
his application didn't get past the leasing agency, so it became
a non-issue.
That wasn't the bad news, in case you're waiting for it.
The next guy we talked to was from another noncontiguous state.
He was planning to get a job with the city police department, and
currently working with his family here in a transportation-oriented
industry. He seemed to be cool guy, laid back and friendly. He told
us interesting stories about his current job, and about his plans
to start with the police academy in, I think, the summer. He was
stoked to move in, and put in his application the next day.
Then we didn't hear anything for a long time.
Nick was finally able to contact his family after calls to his cell
phone never got answered. It turns out this friendly, open and likeable
young guy killed himself.
We're all sort of traumatized and don't know what to think. Nick
and I both had friends who committed suicide before, but it's always
a terrible shock that leaves you feeling strange and helpless. If
you're thinking about doing this, please talk to someone first.
I'd much rather speed a week of my life being a
hero and saving somebody's life by talking them through things,
whatever they are, than deal with the awful aftermath, where you
feel guilty and pained for not having known what was going on and
being unable to help.
So that's how far things have gone this week, and I don't even have
anything witty to say about it. I'd rather just write about wacky
stuff and fun adventures, so please help by reporting things that
are crazy/insane/silly,
but not entirely crazy/insane/disastrous/awful. And if you want someone to talk to, send us email or call a hotline, like the san
francisco suicide organization, at 415-781-0500.
More on the lame, bad, silly and depressive:
      
Lost
in Space
Street
Fighter Alpha
The
Complete Idiot's Guide to Kickboxing
The
Phantom of the Opera
A
Self Made Hero
Monty
Python's Flying Circus Collection
Taxi
Driver
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