Feeling Crabby

I'm happy to report that nothing particularly interesting has happened in my life since the last update. So this week, I'm reaching into the mental archives to share one of those goofy moments in life, which serve as evidence that God has a sense of humor.  I realize that this is an excercise in public self-humiliation; but they say a true artist must suffer for his/her work. And I couldn't think of anything better. So here's this weeks glimpse into my strange little world.


This particular moment of humility began a few years ago, while my family was in Sarasota, Florida to watch the Reds prepare for yet another spectacular losing season. While there, of course we tried out all the typical beachside seafood places.

Now, before I proceed any further with humiliating myself, I want to make it clear that this incident was completely the fault of one John Schrode, who purports to be my best friend. John is on a never-ending quest to corrupt me into a clone of himself — I’m guessing, for spare parts. With all his heart, he longs for me to love what he loves (excluding Mrs. Schrode), to hate what he hates, and to generally see the world through his eyes. Sometimes, his zealousness leads to trouble…for me.

Before we left for Florida, John suggested (insisted) that I try Alaskan king crab legs for the first time. It's one of the few types of seafood I’d never sampled — frankly, the damn things always scared me. I have a problem with any food that:

A. Requires proper training to eat

B. Looks at you while you consume its flesh

One night, we ate at a restaurant with the very appropriate name of, "Sharky's." It was a pretty cool place, right at the base of a long pier. I suppose, if you didn’t like your appetizer, you were welcome to take it out on the pier and use it to catch something you might like better.

I strongly considered chickening out of my quest for crab, and just ordering the half-ton beach burger instead. But, with the thought of incurring “The Wrath of John” in mind, I decided to give them a go.

With an overflowing plate of spiny appendages placed before me, I felt like a walrus on a rocky beach, preparing to devour my kill. It reminded me of a pile of giant spiders, and I had no clue where to begin. Fortunately, our cute waitress took pity on me, and offered to crack the first appendage.

After much cracking, digging, pinching, and semi-pointless butter dipping, I finished most of my monster crab legs. And they were actually pretty good! Way too much work for a meal though. Dinner should not require manual labor. It should arrive in front of me, as if by magic. Hell, I don’t even like making tacos. I’m going to dismantle an armored crustacean — I don’t think so!

On the way home from dinner, we stopped off at Wal-Mart to get a few necessities. Out of curiosity, I took a brief stroll through the seafood aisle. After examining the crab leg selection, I discovered that the restaurant had served me "stone" crab legs, and not "Alaskan king" crab legs. That disclosure was as astonishing as it was disheartening. You’re telling me there are even BIGGER crab legs than those I had just dismantled — that I had not yet experienced the nirvana of true king crab conquest?

I puttered around in the seafood section a while longer, examining all the selections, and re-confirming my personal pledge to never get anywhere near a raw oyster. Why would anyone consume (on purpose) something that looked like snot on the half-shell? In any case, before long, the necessities were in the basket and we headed back to our condo. I buzzed around the grounds a few hours and then headed in to hit the bed.

Just as I was about to hop into bed, I glanced down and discovered that I had somehow carried home an unintended souvenir from the restaurant. Delicately balanced on my right foot, in all it’s pink glory, was an entire (stone) crab leg! It had been proudly displayed there, all through the restaurant — through Wal-Mart — and all around the neighborhood surrounding our condo. And nobody noticed...or bothered to say anything if they did.

You know...I'm just lucky I didn’t get arrested for shoplifting under-sized, armored crustacean appendages in the dagone Wal-Mart seafood section!

The following year, we were hanging out in Panama City Beach (no, not at Spinnaker’s). One night, after returning “home” from an Applebee’s, my (then) nine-yr-old niece suddenly, and totally, freaks out and yells, "Eww! What's that?”

She points at my left foot.

(Can ya' see this coming yet?)

Cautiously, I look down at my feet. There — a good hour after dinner — a smallish, ice-cube-sized chunk of chopped steak (with just a hint of mushroom sauce) sat proudly atop my best dress shoe.

What is wrong with me?

The Case of The Incredible Vanishing Tube

Normally I would use this blog space to talk about things that somehow relate to everyone’s life. This topic, however, is unique to this “lucky” guy. I’ve had so many kind people asking about it, I thought I’d report the latest strange development. If you want more background on the story, read my blog entry titled, “I Got Tube Babe” from May 30, 2010.

Here's the latest twist in the ongoing mystery of The Incredible Vanishing Tube:

So I go to the cardiologist today, and had an ultrasound exam done. The doc says he's been getting mixed signals from the radiologist who read the CAT scan, from my other doctors, and even from my medical records. He couldn't figure out if the tube in my chest had moved, had broken off during last year's removal attempt, or (as some records suggested) may have been there since shortly after its implantation, all the way back in 1998.

It's almost funny seeing the looks of puzzlement on the doctors' faces anymore. What isn't funny is what I saw for myself when they performed the ultrasound.

Up to now, the question has been, "Is the tube in the liver, or is it still adhered to the subclavian vein in my upper chest, where the surgeon left it?" Well, guess what. The answer is ”yes,” to both questions! It’s still adhered to the subclavian with the far end tickling my liver.

Turns out, that cannula (tube) is much longer than anyone imagined. Why the original surgeon chose such a long tube for me is a mystery. Not only is it exceptionally long, but my torso is shorter than most, because of scoliosis and just the usual traits of a person with Spina Bifida. So apparently, it goes all the way from one end of my guts to the other...nice!

You might think this takes things back to status quo, wherein we were just going to leave it, assuming it would grow into the vein and be harmless. Well, that was when we thought it was a little short tube -- and not the Alaskan Pipeline. Now, we can’t just assume it’s safe, and do nothing. The danger comes mostly from clots forming on the tip that sits in the hepatic (liver) vein.

My doctor ordered a second ultrasound, to get another look at it. With those results in hand, he made some calls. Nothing concrete was decided, so he’s going to gather as much of my past medical history as he can find. Then he’ll convene a sort of roundtable discussion, with a vascular surgeon, a hematologist and whomever else he can think of, to come up with a risk/benefit analysis for surgery. Removing the tube would now be a very dangerous venture. However, leaving it in there might be just as dangerous. The saga continues.

Sometimes I wish I hadn't signed up for cable. :-(

Yeah, But...Why?

Well, it's been over a week since I've had the opportunity to spill my guts in anything more than a few paragraphs, painstakingly poked out on my cell phone keyboard. So, since I have this nice big keyboard and relatively gi-normous monitor, I'm going to take this opportunity to stretch my rhetorical legs a bit -- if you'll indulge me.

This past week was quite a trip. It started in such a frightening way. I was rushed to the hospital from my doctor's office and directly admitted. After surgery (the following day), things turned into more of a low-key, endurance test.

I try to learn something from every struggle that comes along. Taking something meaningful from utter chaos makes life seem logical and manageable. But sometimes the search for a strand of meaning is futile, and we just become frustrated, depressed and distant from any sort of faith in a higher order. It's in those times that you have to hold most tightly to your faith.

So, I've spent this week trying to make sense of my circumstances -- both now, and over time. Many of you know (because of my windy ways) about things I've struggled with over the past year or so; so I won't go into all that. This one however, came as quite a shock, and really made me struggle to find that elusive bit of meaning.

I've concluded that God has his own way of getting our attention.  And I believe he is trying his best to get my attention right now. He tried once, a few weeks ago, with a one night hospital stay. Admittedly, I shrugged it off as dumb luck. It was a couple days after I'd marked 10 years of hospital-free living; so the significance should have been obvious.  It took something much stronger to wake me up.

I think we all have a reason to be here. We all have a purpose to serve in the grand plan. If we ignore that purpose -- whatever we believe it to be -- how can we live truly fulfilled lives? If you're a person of faith, you have to believe that you can't please God if you're not heeding his gentle call. And maybe that's why he sends us a little push now and then: to get us off our tuckus.

I think this explains what happened to me this past week. I'm pretty sure what I have to do...but have procrastinated terribly in getting it done. For that matter, I haven't gotten much of anything done. So God decided to abandon the gentle tap on the shoulder, and opted instead for the not-so-gentle kick in the butt. I need to get busy, re-focus on what matters and get things done. I'm going to try. Hopefully, no further "reminders" will be necessary.

Learn from my lesson.  If you have something you know needs to get done or something you want to accomplish...just get to it. Our time is precious: we need to make the best of it. Don't wait to fulfill your destiny.  Don't wake up having never chased your dream.

I'll just close up this little philosophical tirade by saying, again, how much I appreciate the support I've gotten from so many friends and supporters -- many of whom, I don't know, and never will.  Well wishes and prayers I've received from family, friends, strangers, prayer groups, prayer chains and more, have helped make the long days of waiting and worry go by a lot faster.  Thanks and God bless.