"Chirrrp"
The sound first occurred in the middle of a dream. Isn't it incredible that you can dream around a noise that isn't really in your dream?
"Chirrrp"
My eyes were now wide open, staring at the clock radio. 4:40 AM.
"Chirrrp"
Actually, it's more like a "beep/chirp"
It's the frigging smoke detector. "Didn't I just change that battery?" Not much help at that moment in time to have those sort of dicussions with yourself. I get up, grab the flashlight, wander out of the bedroom, right under the offending intruder. Making my way through the living room I pass Cinnamon, our dog, looking at me from her crate, still laying on her side. Eyes are just slits. She's giving me that "This is different" look that only dogs can give when you break routine.
Focus...Get to the kitchen, take the last 9 volt battery out of the drawer, get the step ladder out of the garage and make my way back to the bedroom.
"Chirrrp".
"I hear you, you little bastard." I climb up, remove the battery and replace it. "Ahhh, that wasn't so bad." I fold the step ladder, wondering to myself why the batteries in smoke detectors only go bad early in the morning.
"Chirrrp"
"What the...Could that spare battery have been bad?" I walk over to the clock radio and remove the back-up battery that saves the time when the power goes out, climb back up, change batteries, climb down and walk back out through the living room to put the ladder away.
"Chirrrp"
"This can't be happening." The dog is now wide awake, standing in her crate. I let her out and put her in the back yard. Going back into the bedroom, I see my wife stirring. She's had a bad weekend in her treatment. Not much sleep. This really isn't a good night for the battery to go dead.
"Maybe, it's one of the other detectors", I think to myself. They are all tied into a main system that is hard wired to the main panel in the house. The batteries are just back up if the power goes off. Carrying the step ladder to the hallway in front of the kids room I remove the battery and replace it with the one originally from the kitchen. The old one is from when we moved into the new house two years ago. It isn't even alkaline. "That's it", I think triumphantly.
"Chirrrp"
The next minutes are a blur. I check the battery in my daughters (Jessie) room. It's fine. I go back to the master bedroom and inform my wife that she should go to Jessie's room as I have to turn the light on to deal with the problem. She stumbles out, groaning. I get back on the ladder, and check the battery, the old fashioned way, by touching it to my tongue. Buzzzt. Battery is good. It leaves that metallic taste in my mouth.
"Chirrrp"
I decide, in one final attempt, to just take the entire thing off of the ceiling. I take out the battery, twist the entire unit counter-clockwise, dropping it from it's place of annoyance. Using my Leathermans, I pry the connector from the back of the unit, placing it on the dresser. Down the ladder. Victory. Peace at last.
"Chirrrp"
"No fucking way!!" I stand in disbelief staring at the unit sitting on the dresser, holding the battery in my hand, thinking that I am in some "B" grade horror movie, "The Detector That Wouldn't Die". I walk back over to the dresser, about to take the hell-spawned piece of crap to the garage and throw it out, anywhere, as long as I didn't have to hear it again.
"Chirrrp"
I realize, in that one moment, that I am missing something. Finally, through the 5:00 AM fog in my head, as I look up and out through the bedroom door, I see the real problem. There is a small entryway to our bedroom. In this entryway is the intake for the A/C and heat, the thermostat, a light and the hatch to the attic. In this entryway, just above the doorway to the living room, is another smoke detector. Forgot about that one. It's not 2 feet away, just outside the door from the one in the bedroom that I had just taken down.
Climbing back up, I change the battery, climb back down and wait for the "chirrrp." It seemed like a long time....
No chirrrp. Silence. I still wait. After a few minutes, I get my wife and tell her she can go back to bed. The dog stays out in the back yard, and I turn out the lights and crawl back onto bed.
I look at the clock radio. 5:25 AM. I have to get up at 6:00 AM. Wasn't that fun?
I lie in bed wondering who was the person, or persons, responsible for creating that God-awful noise that smoke detectors make early in the morning. I mean, did they finally hear the noise after days of testing and say, "That is the most annoying noise we've ever heard, especially in the early morning, let's use it."
I would like to have a chat with that individual some day.
WH
9.29.2003
A Child's Perspective on Grace
Just a short blurb. My son and I were standing at the front of the church one Sunday during worship. It must have been 13 or 14 years ago. We were singing to the song as the hand written transparency was projected on the screen.
This was a particular praise song that had the refrain "His grace is sufficient for me." I can't even remember the whole song right now.
At one point Jason was trying to say something, and being the little guy that he was, had to pull on my pant leg to get my attention. I picked him up and had him lean close to my ear so I could hear his voice over the music...
He said, "daddy, are you singing, 'His grace is fishing for me'?"
I stopped singing and thought..."No, but that's a better message than we are singing."
That's my boy...way beyond me. Hearing as a child.
Out of the mouths of babes. His grace is fishing. Wow.
WH
This was a particular praise song that had the refrain "His grace is sufficient for me." I can't even remember the whole song right now.
At one point Jason was trying to say something, and being the little guy that he was, had to pull on my pant leg to get my attention. I picked him up and had him lean close to my ear so I could hear his voice over the music...
He said, "daddy, are you singing, 'His grace is fishing for me'?"
I stopped singing and thought..."No, but that's a better message than we are singing."
That's my boy...way beyond me. Hearing as a child.
Out of the mouths of babes. His grace is fishing. Wow.
WH
9.28.2003
Wounded Healer - why the name?
The title for my blog comes from the title of a book by Henri J. M. Nouwen: The Wounded Healer.
Basically, the concept is that individuals, especially those in Christian ministry, must be vulnerable and honest with our own wounds in order to be effective healers.
The book strikes a blow to the professional aloofism (my own word I think) that many in ministry possess. People are hurting, and in order to help we must first acknowledge our own hurts and suffering. Then, as we heal,and move through the process of healing, we are of greater help to others.
The breakthroughs in my own life are examples of God's power and grace. Why would I be afraid to share them? Fear. Pride. Self-protection. All reasons, none sufficient.
I need others. And I need others to know me. Not the shell, but the core. I have found as we take the risk and get vulnerable healing CAN take place. To be sure, we can be hurt, betrayed, minimialized, etc. But, we must find community in the human condition where we can be ourselves and let others do the same. While at the same time being free to confront each others cultural addictions and failings without the defense mechanisms and bullshit that keeps us sick and unable to fulfill our dreams and desires - the very treasure that God has put in our hearts.
I have found that community in my church. When I left the ministry, I spent over a year working through the hurt and crap (still working through too). After that period of time I ( and my wife too) knew that the only way to get whole was in a community.
After all, the stuff in our heads can sound fine to us, but it may be total crap. We need others to help. Anyway, my standard for finding a church was a place where I could hear someone say "fuck" and "Jesus" in the same breath and be genuinely in love with God. My inspiration for this idea was Bono in the U2 Elevation concert that was taped in Boston, when he sings "Wake up Dead Man".
That way I could avoid the "posers" and "prophets" who scare the shit out of me. The ones who always have a word from God but no vulnerability. No transparency. No "limp".
Found one. The pastor is my friend and a fellow blogger - Hanson Carter. Our church is group of people just trying to move on in relationship with God and each other.
So, here I am. I drink beer. I cuss. I play cards. I'm fairly competitive, and I love God. And, the kicker, He loves me so much that I can hardly stand it, or understand it. In fact, Jesus is the most incredible person that I have ever met.
I am a wounded healer. So are you. We qualify. Any takers?
WH
PS - Today has been a particular difficult day for my wife as she goes though treatments for her cystic fibrosis. I think that I mentioned that I hate this fucking disease. If you pray, please pray. She hasn't been able to get much sleep this past week and is exhausted. Thanks.
Basically, the concept is that individuals, especially those in Christian ministry, must be vulnerable and honest with our own wounds in order to be effective healers.
The book strikes a blow to the professional aloofism (my own word I think) that many in ministry possess. People are hurting, and in order to help we must first acknowledge our own hurts and suffering. Then, as we heal,and move through the process of healing, we are of greater help to others.
The breakthroughs in my own life are examples of God's power and grace. Why would I be afraid to share them? Fear. Pride. Self-protection. All reasons, none sufficient.
I need others. And I need others to know me. Not the shell, but the core. I have found as we take the risk and get vulnerable healing CAN take place. To be sure, we can be hurt, betrayed, minimialized, etc. But, we must find community in the human condition where we can be ourselves and let others do the same. While at the same time being free to confront each others cultural addictions and failings without the defense mechanisms and bullshit that keeps us sick and unable to fulfill our dreams and desires - the very treasure that God has put in our hearts.
I have found that community in my church. When I left the ministry, I spent over a year working through the hurt and crap (still working through too). After that period of time I ( and my wife too) knew that the only way to get whole was in a community.
After all, the stuff in our heads can sound fine to us, but it may be total crap. We need others to help. Anyway, my standard for finding a church was a place where I could hear someone say "fuck" and "Jesus" in the same breath and be genuinely in love with God. My inspiration for this idea was Bono in the U2 Elevation concert that was taped in Boston, when he sings "Wake up Dead Man".
That way I could avoid the "posers" and "prophets" who scare the shit out of me. The ones who always have a word from God but no vulnerability. No transparency. No "limp".
Found one. The pastor is my friend and a fellow blogger - Hanson Carter. Our church is group of people just trying to move on in relationship with God and each other.
So, here I am. I drink beer. I cuss. I play cards. I'm fairly competitive, and I love God. And, the kicker, He loves me so much that I can hardly stand it, or understand it. In fact, Jesus is the most incredible person that I have ever met.
I am a wounded healer. So are you. We qualify. Any takers?
WH
PS - Today has been a particular difficult day for my wife as she goes though treatments for her cystic fibrosis. I think that I mentioned that I hate this fucking disease. If you pray, please pray. She hasn't been able to get much sleep this past week and is exhausted. Thanks.
9.27.2003
One of my favorite blogs
Check out this link to one of my favorite blogs. I am always inspired and moved by what RLP writes.
Real Live Preacher
WH
Real Live Preacher
WH
9.26.2003
Last of the "Gifts"
In two previous posts I mentioned two evident "gifts" that I have. One is the ability to have an assigned airplane seat within 1 row of a crying baby or screaming child. The second has to do with lines in department stores (9/25/03).
The last one that I will speak of is another "shared" gift. Meaning that I frequently talk to others who experience the same thing.
I can find the slowest driver on any particular two lane road. We have a by-pass around our fair city here in South Carolina. This by-pass, in theory, enables you to get from one side of town to the other without going through the main residential areas and traffic signals. A real time saver.
I say in theory. Time isn't saved. It seems that where ever I find myself on the by-pass I will get behind a driver that is driving 10 - 15 miles under the posted speed limit. The miracle of proportionality demonstrated here is amazing. The speed limit on this roadway ranges between 35 and 55 MPH. Why the drivers aren't going 45 in the 35 I really can't explain.
Again, my wife is a witness to this, and she frequently looks over at me says, "unbelievable".
The by-pass is but one example, any two lane road will do. Frequently I get stuck behind logging trucks, garbage haulers, smokey, battered vehicles (we have no vehicle inspection or emmisions control in SC), mobile homes being taken to their destination, or funeral processions.
Anyone else? Do you share my pain?
Have a great weekend.
WH
The last one that I will speak of is another "shared" gift. Meaning that I frequently talk to others who experience the same thing.
I can find the slowest driver on any particular two lane road. We have a by-pass around our fair city here in South Carolina. This by-pass, in theory, enables you to get from one side of town to the other without going through the main residential areas and traffic signals. A real time saver.
I say in theory. Time isn't saved. It seems that where ever I find myself on the by-pass I will get behind a driver that is driving 10 - 15 miles under the posted speed limit. The miracle of proportionality demonstrated here is amazing. The speed limit on this roadway ranges between 35 and 55 MPH. Why the drivers aren't going 45 in the 35 I really can't explain.
Again, my wife is a witness to this, and she frequently looks over at me says, "unbelievable".
The by-pass is but one example, any two lane road will do. Frequently I get stuck behind logging trucks, garbage haulers, smokey, battered vehicles (we have no vehicle inspection or emmisions control in SC), mobile homes being taken to their destination, or funeral processions.
Anyone else? Do you share my pain?
Have a great weekend.
WH
9.25.2003
"Checkout Line Gift"
Previously I spoke on my unique ability to draw crying babies or bratty children to within one row of my airplane seat(9/23/03 blog).
For my next act, one more commonly shared, I will draw back the curtain and reveal my "Checkout line Gift". When I get in the checkout line at virtually any large department store, especially during peak hours and holiday times, I will inevitably get behind someone who experiences one of (or a combination of ) the following:
1. Oh, shoot that was my last check I wrote earlier this morning. Let me call my husband who is out in the car to come in and pay.
2. Did I only get one of those, I wanted two.
3. That can't be the right price. I'm sure that it said $5.95 instead of $6.95.
4. I forgot my lettuce. I'll be right back.
5. How much? I guess that I have to take these off of the ticket, or maybe these, no wait...
6. I'm sorry sir, but it's shift change and I need to close out my register. Your new cashier is on the way.
It is so frequent that anyone that gets behind me in line receives a complimentary warning. I try and let them know that this would be a "waiting" line. I then proceed to explain the "gift". They usually smile understandably and stay in line. Ten minutes later they are looking for the next line to get into.
Initially I explored all sorts of reasons as to why this was happening to me.
Spiritual reasons ranged from God wanting me to learn patience to the Devil wanting me to kill people and go to jail.
Paranoid reasonings that people had it out for me and just waited for me to get to the store to mess with my head (lithium took care of those).
Logical thoughts that this was just coincidence were overshadowed by the sheer volume of incidences.
I tested it out. I would go the shortest line...same thing. I then thought that I would go to the longest line and fake out the gift. No luck. Same result.
I finally accepted that this was just to be. One of those things that is. Something not to be toyed with.
Acceptance is the final stage isn't it?
See you in line:)
WH
For my next act, one more commonly shared, I will draw back the curtain and reveal my "Checkout line Gift". When I get in the checkout line at virtually any large department store, especially during peak hours and holiday times, I will inevitably get behind someone who experiences one of (or a combination of ) the following:
1. Oh, shoot that was my last check I wrote earlier this morning. Let me call my husband who is out in the car to come in and pay.
2. Did I only get one of those, I wanted two.
3. That can't be the right price. I'm sure that it said $5.95 instead of $6.95.
4. I forgot my lettuce. I'll be right back.
5. How much? I guess that I have to take these off of the ticket, or maybe these, no wait...
6. I'm sorry sir, but it's shift change and I need to close out my register. Your new cashier is on the way.
It is so frequent that anyone that gets behind me in line receives a complimentary warning. I try and let them know that this would be a "waiting" line. I then proceed to explain the "gift". They usually smile understandably and stay in line. Ten minutes later they are looking for the next line to get into.
Initially I explored all sorts of reasons as to why this was happening to me.
Spiritual reasons ranged from God wanting me to learn patience to the Devil wanting me to kill people and go to jail.
Paranoid reasonings that people had it out for me and just waited for me to get to the store to mess with my head (lithium took care of those).
Logical thoughts that this was just coincidence were overshadowed by the sheer volume of incidences.
I tested it out. I would go the shortest line...same thing. I then thought that I would go to the longest line and fake out the gift. No luck. Same result.
I finally accepted that this was just to be. One of those things that is. Something not to be toyed with.
Acceptance is the final stage isn't it?
See you in line:)
WH
9.24.2003
Un-Frigging-believable
As I sat down preparing to continue my rantings about the "gifts" that I have, I remembered something from our local newspaper that I read the other day. Sorry to diverge but I had to say something.
We have a "rant line". People can call in and leave a rant or a rave. The crap that they publish is sometimes embarrassing. This entry defies words.
An individual stated that God's anger was released against the US for the removal of the Ten Commandments that were in the courthouse in Alabama. The reasoning went like this.
The Ten Commandments were removed. Then a category 5 hurricane formed off of the coast. The hurricane hit Washington DC and all 50 state flags were torn from their flag poles at the capitol. This was God's show of disapproval.
What is that? 10 times 5 is 50? Didn't the hurricane diminish to a category 2? Huh? Can someone out there help me?
I'm just numb. The saddest thing is that this person probably heard this crap from a pulpit somewhere (TV or local).
My sincere apologies to those who are watching and wondering what type of God may or may not be there. Ignore the bullshit, seek truth. Where there is mercy, life, and kindness you will find true spiritually.
WH
We have a "rant line". People can call in and leave a rant or a rave. The crap that they publish is sometimes embarrassing. This entry defies words.
An individual stated that God's anger was released against the US for the removal of the Ten Commandments that were in the courthouse in Alabama. The reasoning went like this.
The Ten Commandments were removed. Then a category 5 hurricane formed off of the coast. The hurricane hit Washington DC and all 50 state flags were torn from their flag poles at the capitol. This was God's show of disapproval.
What is that? 10 times 5 is 50? Didn't the hurricane diminish to a category 2? Huh? Can someone out there help me?
I'm just numb. The saddest thing is that this person probably heard this crap from a pulpit somewhere (TV or local).
My sincere apologies to those who are watching and wondering what type of God may or may not be there. Ignore the bullshit, seek truth. Where there is mercy, life, and kindness you will find true spiritually.
WH
9.23.2003
Certain Gifts Are Not Always Good
Those who have been around me for a while, especially traveling with me, will tell you that I have some very interesting gifts.
Gift One. No matter where I sit on a plane, a bratty child or screaming baby will be within one row in either direction. There have been exceptions, but for the most part the axiom holds true.
One very memorable trip was a return flight from Seattle. As I entered the airport I passed a young boy, 9 or 10 years of age, who was throwing a HUGE tantrum. Crying, contorting, flailing, whining. This was a real beauty. Mind you, this occured at the ticket counter at the front of the airport.
As I stood in line for ticketing it wasn't hard to discover the reason for the young lads antics. It seems that he had a toy gun, very realistic in appearance, that the airline insisted that he could not board the plane with. This was in 1999, so the whole security issue wasn't as important as it is today, but there were still regulations. The parents had to check the gun in with the luggage as the boy screamed all the louder as he was disarmed and learned that the next time he would take possession of his weapon was at their final destination.
I was relieved as I received my ticket and made my way through the concourse to my gate. Thankfully as I moved on, the wailing faded.
After the usual wait at the gate I boarded my plane, took my seat, and settled in for the flight. The plane was packed with people and, just as last boarding was called, guess who shows up. Yep. Tantrum boy. I heard him before I saw him. I was totally unprepared for this. If I had been given some time to steel myself I would have been ready - well not ready, but better prepared. However, as I waited the hour before boarding there was no sign of the kid. No. This was a ninja style attack.
So the family boards. The parents are now attending to some other unmet expectation that little king tut had. Just fill in the blank. The best was yet to come. The only three empty seats left in my line of vision were right in front of me. "Please God" I muttered, hoping to find some relief from heaven. It was not to come. People on all sides were rolling their eyes at each other as the parents made smirky, apologetic expressions to anyone who caught their embarrassed glance.
I'll spare you any more details except to note that the kid eventually worked himself into such a frenzy that he required the use of an air sickness bag two hours out of Charlotte, NC. He made one more whimper after puking and went to sleep. There is a God.
I was so glad to get off of that plane and get to my seat on my connection to Atlanta that I failed to notice the baby, wrapped in a blanket, in the arms of the woman seated in the row behind me. The flight wasn't quiet.
Did I mention that I had a gift?
Next installment - my special gift in the grocery line.
WH
Gift One. No matter where I sit on a plane, a bratty child or screaming baby will be within one row in either direction. There have been exceptions, but for the most part the axiom holds true.
One very memorable trip was a return flight from Seattle. As I entered the airport I passed a young boy, 9 or 10 years of age, who was throwing a HUGE tantrum. Crying, contorting, flailing, whining. This was a real beauty. Mind you, this occured at the ticket counter at the front of the airport.
As I stood in line for ticketing it wasn't hard to discover the reason for the young lads antics. It seems that he had a toy gun, very realistic in appearance, that the airline insisted that he could not board the plane with. This was in 1999, so the whole security issue wasn't as important as it is today, but there were still regulations. The parents had to check the gun in with the luggage as the boy screamed all the louder as he was disarmed and learned that the next time he would take possession of his weapon was at their final destination.
I was relieved as I received my ticket and made my way through the concourse to my gate. Thankfully as I moved on, the wailing faded.
After the usual wait at the gate I boarded my plane, took my seat, and settled in for the flight. The plane was packed with people and, just as last boarding was called, guess who shows up. Yep. Tantrum boy. I heard him before I saw him. I was totally unprepared for this. If I had been given some time to steel myself I would have been ready - well not ready, but better prepared. However, as I waited the hour before boarding there was no sign of the kid. No. This was a ninja style attack.
So the family boards. The parents are now attending to some other unmet expectation that little king tut had. Just fill in the blank. The best was yet to come. The only three empty seats left in my line of vision were right in front of me. "Please God" I muttered, hoping to find some relief from heaven. It was not to come. People on all sides were rolling their eyes at each other as the parents made smirky, apologetic expressions to anyone who caught their embarrassed glance.
I'll spare you any more details except to note that the kid eventually worked himself into such a frenzy that he required the use of an air sickness bag two hours out of Charlotte, NC. He made one more whimper after puking and went to sleep. There is a God.
I was so glad to get off of that plane and get to my seat on my connection to Atlanta that I failed to notice the baby, wrapped in a blanket, in the arms of the woman seated in the row behind me. The flight wasn't quiet.
Did I mention that I had a gift?
Next installment - my special gift in the grocery line.
WH
9.22.2003
I Just Love Hospitals
I just love hospitals.
Arrived this morning for the installation of Jen’s PIC line. The hospital was excellent, actually. It was the Dr.’s office that hadn’t faxed over the prescription for the procedure. We waited…
Hospital bathrooms are nasty. I had to lift the toilet seat with the tip of my toe to take a piss. When I did that I see the pee that the previous person left ON the seat run down the underside of the rim onto the cold porcelain. Yummy!
Next we go to the radiology department and I stand by and watch as they put an IV in Jen’s arm in order to put the PIC line in…say what! Yes, you heard that right. Start a line to start a line somewhere else. She cries. Not big tears and sobs. Just the “wet the corners that need a dab” cry. “You’d think that I would be used to needles by now, “ she says. The nurse says that if she were used to needles she would worry about Jen.
Then they call her name (after finally getting the fax for the order from the Dr. – we’ll have a “little chat” about that later when we get to the Dr’s office) and, as we stand to go down the hall, the nurse points the opposite direction from where they are taking my wife, and tells me to have a seat in the waiting room, she’ll come get me when they are done.
I just love hospitals.
In the waiting room are the same people that come with all hospitals when they are constructed. The people are part of the furnishings. The bratty kid that crawls over and under the furniture while the parent makes empty threats. The SNORNING lady who’s “grunt snore” actually drowns out the TVs, the intercom, and the voices of the nurses calling to people waiting to be stuck so they can be stuck. The snoring drowns out everyone except the cell phone user who is SO obnoxious that people actually move closer to the snoring lady. She just turned it up a notch – thanks Emeril.
I just love hospitals.
Also in the waiting room are too many TVs, all trying to get attention from the people sitting in the uncomfortable vinyl seats trying to get away form the snoring lady. On one TV we have Maury doing a Montel. DNA testing to see the paternity of an adult for some confused child/adult or a wife trying to see if the affair she had actually spawned the latest child or was the real father her husband. On the other we have CNBC with the stock market losing some ground that was gained last week. Which one fits the atmosphere better is up to you. Which set were people glued to? Buy stock in Montel and Maury.
Where is my wife?
I just fucking hate hospitals.
WH
Arrived this morning for the installation of Jen’s PIC line. The hospital was excellent, actually. It was the Dr.’s office that hadn’t faxed over the prescription for the procedure. We waited…
Hospital bathrooms are nasty. I had to lift the toilet seat with the tip of my toe to take a piss. When I did that I see the pee that the previous person left ON the seat run down the underside of the rim onto the cold porcelain. Yummy!
Next we go to the radiology department and I stand by and watch as they put an IV in Jen’s arm in order to put the PIC line in…say what! Yes, you heard that right. Start a line to start a line somewhere else. She cries. Not big tears and sobs. Just the “wet the corners that need a dab” cry. “You’d think that I would be used to needles by now, “ she says. The nurse says that if she were used to needles she would worry about Jen.
Then they call her name (after finally getting the fax for the order from the Dr. – we’ll have a “little chat” about that later when we get to the Dr’s office) and, as we stand to go down the hall, the nurse points the opposite direction from where they are taking my wife, and tells me to have a seat in the waiting room, she’ll come get me when they are done.
I just love hospitals.
In the waiting room are the same people that come with all hospitals when they are constructed. The people are part of the furnishings. The bratty kid that crawls over and under the furniture while the parent makes empty threats. The SNORNING lady who’s “grunt snore” actually drowns out the TVs, the intercom, and the voices of the nurses calling to people waiting to be stuck so they can be stuck. The snoring drowns out everyone except the cell phone user who is SO obnoxious that people actually move closer to the snoring lady. She just turned it up a notch – thanks Emeril.
I just love hospitals.
Also in the waiting room are too many TVs, all trying to get attention from the people sitting in the uncomfortable vinyl seats trying to get away form the snoring lady. On one TV we have Maury doing a Montel. DNA testing to see the paternity of an adult for some confused child/adult or a wife trying to see if the affair she had actually spawned the latest child or was the real father her husband. On the other we have CNBC with the stock market losing some ground that was gained last week. Which one fits the atmosphere better is up to you. Which set were people glued to? Buy stock in Montel and Maury.
Where is my wife?
I just fucking hate hospitals.
WH
This Day Blows!
Today Jen, my wife, and I are going to Columbia, SC. Usually we go to eat, play, or shop. Today we go to her CF(cystic fibrosis) doctor to start her "clean out". A clean out is a procedure that people with CF go through frequently in order to kill the infection that grows in the lungs of people with CF.
The procedure starts with a single lumen line that is threaded into her arm so the antibiotics will not burn her veins. She will use three antibiotic doses per day in this IV line, each one followed by saline, then heparin so the blood doesn't clot. This will go on for 2 to 3 weeks depending on her PFT's (pulmonary function tests). We will travel to Columbia each week to do the check.
The idea is that the antibiotics kill enough infection that the small airways open up again and she can breath better. CF sucks ass. If you are not familiar with it you can check out the CFF site here (CFF).
Oh, by the way, my wife is my hero. She lives with this fucking disease each day, doesn't complain, brings smiles to the faces of many people that she is around, and plows through.
I love my wife. I hate CF.
God give me strength.
WH
The procedure starts with a single lumen line that is threaded into her arm so the antibiotics will not burn her veins. She will use three antibiotic doses per day in this IV line, each one followed by saline, then heparin so the blood doesn't clot. This will go on for 2 to 3 weeks depending on her PFT's (pulmonary function tests). We will travel to Columbia each week to do the check.
The idea is that the antibiotics kill enough infection that the small airways open up again and she can breath better. CF sucks ass. If you are not familiar with it you can check out the CFF site here (CFF).
Oh, by the way, my wife is my hero. She lives with this fucking disease each day, doesn't complain, brings smiles to the faces of many people that she is around, and plows through.
I love my wife. I hate CF.
God give me strength.
WH
9.21.2003
The Health Club Business and Jesus!
There are many stories to tell that bring me up to this particular point in my life...maybe more on that later. Prior to my involvement in the health club business, I was in full-time Christian ministry for 18 years. The transition from one to the other shed light on the fact that there are some amazing similarities between the health and fitness business and ministry. I will list one here.
When I go out in public it is usually to take care of personal business - shopping, eating, walking the dog, etc. I know that I do not go out to create a sense of guilt in others...HOWEVER...
When I pastored, and now as a manager of a health club and personal trainer, I encounter people who immediately begin to apologize for not being at the club(church), for not sticking with the program, for not being in touch more, and any number of excuses that I could give a rats ass about.
Then in a final, parting expression of guilt, they promise to come see me soon!
Amazing. Each time this happens when my wife is with me she shakes her head in disbelief.
Look, it's not like I carry a set of body fat calipers around, or wear t-shirts that say something like "Burn Calories, or Burn in Hell".
Funny. Sometimes seeing me even reminds people that they haven't been using something that they have been paying for. Then they come by the club and cancel their membership.
I wish that people would make that much closure in church, where they are supposed to have relationships with others. At least it makes me think...
Thanks for listening. More later.
WoundedHealer
When I go out in public it is usually to take care of personal business - shopping, eating, walking the dog, etc. I know that I do not go out to create a sense of guilt in others...HOWEVER...
When I pastored, and now as a manager of a health club and personal trainer, I encounter people who immediately begin to apologize for not being at the club(church), for not sticking with the program, for not being in touch more, and any number of excuses that I could give a rats ass about.
Then in a final, parting expression of guilt, they promise to come see me soon!
Amazing. Each time this happens when my wife is with me she shakes her head in disbelief.
Look, it's not like I carry a set of body fat calipers around, or wear t-shirts that say something like "Burn Calories, or Burn in Hell".
Funny. Sometimes seeing me even reminds people that they haven't been using something that they have been paying for. Then they come by the club and cancel their membership.
I wish that people would make that much closure in church, where they are supposed to have relationships with others. At least it makes me think...
Thanks for listening. More later.
WoundedHealer
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