Contemplating the unfairness of life

My recovery is slow, slow, slow. Since the brief respite of my last post, the headache has been pretty bad. Yesterday and today were the first days in recent weeks when I’ve had any pain-free moments at all. Sadly, I celebrate this by sitting at my computer for hours with my head jutted forward, and the yarmulke of pain squeezes its way back in.

Must be diligent with the exercises from Treat Your Own Neck (Thanks, Aunt Louise for recommending and Mom for sending.)

As a basically lazy person, I’ve never been so depressed about not being able to exercise. While I’m lying on the couch – because watching endless hours of animal rescue and home renovation shows (and Tori and Dean) is the only activity I feel like doing – Rob is in the garage lifting weights. It’s like, as my body moves toward an advanced state of atrophy, he’s going in the other direction. I’ve got Rocky Balboa training in my garage.

To get myself moving, Isis and I have been hitting a new dog park. I loooove it. Somehow the people there seem cooler, more social, and the layout allows us to walk safely on some trails with Isis off leash. There also is a huge field for running with and chasing other dogs.

It’s usually superfun and rewarding; she plays perfectly well with other dogs and people. There have been a few small children who threw balls for her, and she hasn’t bitten a single hand … even when they hold onto the ball longer than Isis would like. And she always follows me back up the trail to the car, without my having to leash her and drag her barking and kicking from the other dogs.

However. On just a very small number of occasions, she’s gotten unfortunately snarly with another dog. Just snarly, never biting, although German shepherd snarling seems to make people uncomfortable. Especially the owners of the small dogs she’s snarling at.

Of course, even small dogs have a right to go to the dog park. But when a small dog mouths off, prompting an outburst from my scarier dog, it pisses me off when the small dog-owner whacks my dog with a chuck-it, saying “Get away from my dog!” and adding, to me, “Yeah, you better keep him leashed,” when I snap the leash back on my dog (who is a she, by the way).

Here’s what happened. The lady and her yippy little dog were the only ones in the field. She was lying on her back on the bench. Her dog was under the bench. My dog and I approached and said hello. My dog sniffed her dog. Her dog sniffed my dog, didn’t like what she smelled and said, “Yip yip yip yip yip!” Real shrill-like. I thought to myself, “Wow, what’s your problem?” And Isis said, “Grrrrrowl! Woof woof woof woof.”

I mean, I didn’t like it either, but if those had been two dogs of similar size, certainly my dog wouldn’t have seemed the bad guy. The little one totally started it.

Isis and I went on our way, walking the trails a bit until that evil little dog left, and returned to the field to run around with normal sized dogs. Isis didn’t even attack the small child who thought it was funny to pretend to throw a ball from an empty chuck-it, and it would have served him right if she did.

An old German lady arrived with her little dog. Isis has met this dog before and shown very little interest. While the old German lady was asking me about Isis’ training collar (which she doesn’t usually wear at the park), her dog got her mouth on the small rope tab attached to the collar, which is used to correct Isis (or grab her) when she’s off leash. You can imagine that this might have startled Isis – to have a small dog grab her prong collar and give her a correction designed to feel like a bite on the neck.

So Isis is all, “Grrrowl. Woof woof woof.” And the other dog squeals like she’s being eaten and I intervene. And the wonderful German lady scoops up her dog, leashes it and says to me, “Oh no no, it’s not your fault. My dog started it.”

That’s right she did.

Uh, so anyway, won’t be wearing the training collar to the park anymore.

What ails me

When I last wrote, I complained that I was having headaches every day. The good news is, since then I only had one headache, but unfortunately it lasted for an entire week.

Naturally, my first self-diagnosis was brain cancer, but I think the cause actually is really, really tight shoulders. So, now I’m back to the “relax harder” protocol.

I took last Monday and Tuesday off and couldn’t get in to see my doctor until Thursday. She prescribed a home traction kit, therapeutic massage and a muscle relaxer.

The drug did nothing. The traction thing (which I could not even figure out how to assemble, thus intensifying the headache), as it turned out, has a chin strap attached via pulley to a bag of water. A chin strap. That goes around my chin. Pulling on the temporomandibular joint. Right, so I can’t use that.

Internet investigation reveals that what I really want is a $300 pneumatic device, but I can’t decide the best place to get one, except, like eBay, and I don’t think my insurance will cover that. Nor can I arrange to have it delivered at 11 p.m. Saturday.

The therapeutic massage thing got equally confusing. My doc referred me to a physical therapist that I had seen before … except she’d moved to a new location, so the doc sent the referral to that place. But when I called to make an appointment, I’m told that they don’t do massage therapy and since my physical therapist is new there, she’s not covered by my insurance.

And I’m trying to remember, was I supposed to get physical therapy, or just a therapeutic massage? Because I already know what kind of exercises a physical therapist would make me do, so why pay $20 a session to be told again?

Then it occurs to me that perhaps actually doing some of those exercises could alleviate my pain.

It’s all too much for me, so I spend my entire weekend sleeping, rather than try to figure it out.

On the drive to work yesterday, I wonder why I’m even bothering to go in, and once I arrive, decide it was a mistake and go home. However, I don’t crawl into bed, but actually get some for-work reading done in the backyard, while the dog chases bugs. I check the work email and am just slightly productive. And relaxed. Start to feel the headache release, just a little.

While I would love to credit the backyard and the dog with curing me, it probably has more to do with the “medical massage” I had last night. Not that it was at all relaxing. What it entailed was a dude poking my head and neck, trying to find the spots that hurt. “Is this tender? No?” (pokes harder) “How about now?”

This however, made clear that the vice-like grip on my skull is coming from the ropy parts of my neck. It was the kind of massage that requires next-day icing, but I am feeling much better today.

Chocoholic: Not just a cute name made up by Cathy Guisewite

I had my first migraine a couple of weeks ago. Or I should say, I identified my first migraine a few weeks ago. I had one a few weeks before that but it went away before I figured out what it was.

The identified migraine began while I was working out with kettlebells, Rob’s latest obsession. I really enjoy working out with them too. So much that I was envisioning myself in the best physical shape of my life (if not resembling a Russian strongwoman) from working out 4 or 5 times a week. I wasn’t using particularly heavy weight, but many of the exercises involve holding the weight above the head. Maybe something about it strained my head? (I did not drop the weight on my head, if that’s what you’re thinking, although that is sort of a fear of mine.)

I’m very afraid that kettlebells are the cause of the headache. This has happened before, I think … I actually enjoy some form of exercise, and then discover some kind of physical ailment that prohibits it. I would have been a way better high school cheerleader if my knee hadn’t started hurting. I would have done a lot more yoga between the years 1995 and 2001 if I hadn’t had a ganglion in my wrist that prevented me from enjoying the poses that put weight on my hands (downward dog & plank – to name two). I would have eaten a lot more raw vegetables and fewer french fries if I hadn’t had TMJ …

I’ve only done one kettlebell routine since the migraine, and although it did not trigger a migraine, I did feel (or imagine I felt) strain in my head. But … I’ve been having tension headaches about once a day. Which makes me think the kettlebells are not the root cause.

Some say birth control pills cause migraines, but I’ve been on the same one for five-plus years. My doctor said that’s what we should look at if the migraines return.

In the meantime, I’m trying to eliminate a couple of the things that are common headache triggers. I’ve never been much of a caffeine consumer, as coffee gives me heart palpitations, but there are spells when I drink Diet Pepsi or iced tea regularly. No more! Caffeine is out.

The other…I don’t know how to give it up. Chocolate. M&Ms make me break out. Specifically M&Ms, so I’ve given those up. But I don’t think I’m capable of giving the stuff up altogether, even to determine whether it is the cause of my headaches.

I need it. I think about it. When I finish a reasonably healthy lunch, I think to myself, “Now, where can I find a bit of chocolate?”

I have rescued myself from the brownies my mother made during her visit last week. Rescued by putting them in the freezer. To ration them. And then eating them all. (Also I have a zit on my chin. Coincidence?) I’m like Jeff Conaway the day before he checked into Celebrity Rehab.

How can I go cold turkey? Does chocolate ice cream count? How much chocolate is really in there? If dark chocolate is the purest chocolate, it’s probably the worst for triggering headaches, right? Even though everyone’s talking about how good it is for you. Red wine too…good for you, also a headache trigger. That’s easy enough to give up, I barely drink.

But chocolate? I don’t see how this is possible.

You can bring your dog


Last summer we took Isis on a couple of road trips. She does great in the car, but her nighttime barking was a major stressor. Even though we stayed places that allowed dogs (except for one sleazy place we sneaked her into. Sneaked. A German shepherd.), every time she barked, Rob said, “She’s going to get us kicked out of this place.”

I had forgotten this little wrinkle when I suggested she and I accompany Rob to the Kitsap Peninsula for a kettlebell instructors training. What fun it would be to take her to the beach and play all day while Rob was in class.

We booked a steal of a room, very close to the ferry terminal. They had two pet rooms, both of which were booked. They told me the only available room was a smoking room and it smelled “very smoky.” This was a dealbreaker at first, but when I couldn’t find another room on the entire peninsula, except one that was $120/night plus $30 for the dog…I thought, “Eh, what’s a little smoke?”

I called back and the woman told me that there had been a cancellation and they had a nonsmoking room available. “It’s not normally a pet room, but everyone wants to bring their pets these days.” The room was $62/night with no extra charge for the dog. Which really, there should have been, because we left behind a ridiculous amount of dog hair. I don’t know if it was the weather or stress, or what, but that dog was shedding like nothing you’ve ever seen. The red motel rug was coated in it. So I also left behind a $20 tip along with a note that said, “Thank you!!” and I drew a little paw print and signed Isis’ name.

We got to the motel after 10 p.m. on Friday and were pleased that our room was actually in back, the last of three rooms on the landing. Meaning, there were only two other rooms on our “floor” and no one would be walking past our door.

After lights out, Isis was on heightened alert and so was I. Until that moment, I’d forgotten the trip to Portland where she woke me up every hour with a bark alert. And now Rob was trying to get some rest before a strenuous two-day training. What had I done? Invited myself along, assuming he’d enjoy having us there, not realizing that he may have thought it advantageous to sleep alone in a motel room, with no dog to disturb him. (He assured me later that he was happy to have us there.)

To take Isis out, I had to leash her, put on my sandals and a sweatshirt and walk across this creaky landing to a flight of stairs down to a grassy area. I did this perhaps five times in the night. Noting with irony that if we had been in one of those other rooms, and someone else creaked by five times in the night with a dog, that Isis would have gone nuts every time.

Thanks to Ambien, I fell back asleep easily after each trip outside … and Isis’ bark alarm only went off once in the night. One short bark. I said, “No big deal, Isis,” and she shut up. Then at about six, she bark-bark-barked, and Rob said, “She’s going to get us kicked out of this place,” and I was like, “Are you kidding? I can’t even believe how good she was last night!”

The second night, I only had to get up twice (which, let’s be honest, I do at home) and she didn’t make a sound. Plus, there was a dog in one of the rooms on the floor below us that woofed as we passed right before bed. Isis perked up, but didn’t freak out. I thought, “Oh nooo. We’re going to have a bark-off every time we go out during the night.” But that was the last we heard from that dog.

Super-bizarrely, we only saw one other person staying at the motel, and actually, Isis barked her head off quite aggressively at him when he went up the stairs toward his room, on the same floor as ours. This was the first night and we were down on the grass at the time. I was quite pleased with my ability to calm her down, but didn’t want to make eye contact to see whether the guy was equally impressed, or in fact, terrified.

Aside from the one bark from inside another room, and rumors (from the front desk lady) that the person directly below us had cats…there was no evidence of other pets staying there. And by evidence, I mean poop. I scooped Isis’ and put it in the trash can next to the stairs. I peeked in right before check-out, and our bags of poop were the only ones there. I thought we’d have trouble using the facilities, if another dog were using the small patch of grass at the same time, but it was quite private.

Altogether, Isis is a perfectly delightful traveling companion. I had a lot of fun, and I think she did too.

A typical work day

I pack a lunch, spray on sunblock and strap on my new sandals for today’s canoe ride.

Oh, except we’re not taking a canoe to the river destination anymore, we’re driving there. So I leave my backpack in the car, along with my hat and sunglasses, since those interfere with picture-taking anyway. I almost leave behind my notebook, but think better of it because I’ve already forgotten a few interesting things that were said before my pen was poised.

My guides take nothing with them, so this must be a quick foray.

We walk in dirt and sand and rocks and I should be wearing much better shoes for this. I would not have chosen to wear sandals if I had not been advised specifically to do so. By the guy walking alongside me wearing hiking shoes. Still, these are sport sandals and not flip flops, so I’m doing all right. Getting my feet a little dirty, but not injuring myself or anything.

I own waders and I own rubber boots, but we don’t cross the river on foot. We climb onto the back of an excavator and ride it across the gravel bars. Nobody tells me to be careful not to touch the exhaust pipe and I accidentally bump my hand against it. It hurts and I see a dime-sized bubble of burned skin but much more uncomfortable is the hot orange metal against my bum. I shift my weight and wonder if I’m also getting burned through the synthetic fabric of my pants.

I slide the notebook under one cheek, but it’s still really hot. I’ve been to India, I remind myself. I can take this.

At our destination, I take lovely pictures, but wish I had the sunglasses and hat because my eyes hurt from the sun. Also, I’m lonesome for my water bottle right about now.

After a couple of hours, we ride the excavator part way and hike through brambles the rest of the way to the car. I do not scratch my feet on any of the branches crisscrossing my path, because I am careful.

I return to the home office and make a few calls, before taking a break with a glass of iced tea on a plastic Adirondack chair in the backyard, watching my dog chase bugs.

Rob gets home and wonders how it is that he leaves for work before me and finds me at home again when he returns. Then he puts burn cream on my hand.

Frequently I have spent most of the day goofing off, and feel guilty because Rob works harder than I do. But today, I know that I am very good at my job.

They sure aren’t Manolos

I can’t believe it. Five and a half years in the Northwest, more than a year and a half at this job, and once again, I found myself without the proper footwear.

At least I had time to acquire it. On the phone yesterday, planning for a canoe excursion tomorrow, I was told I should wear my Tevas, because surely I owned a pair. Doesn’t everyone?

I’ve never owned a pair of Tevas, and dislike even the pronunciation Tay-vas, because it sounds pretentious to me, even though it’s probably more correct than Tee-vas. Still, after deciding that I would be too embarrassed to wear the wrong shoes, after being specifically told what brand of sandal to wear…I went to the sporting goods store.

Where I felt pissed off at the world that I was having to buy a pair of those dog-leash material velcro sport sandals that I have never wanted to own. The fact that I could expense them cheered me not one bit.

I rebelled and picked out a pair of Columbia synthetic nunbuck sandals in mud and cabana pink. I feel good about those.

Moshi Moshi

Rob’s parents and older sister are hosting Japanese exchange students for two weeks. Three boys altogether. We met them this morning and showed them how to play Wii.

I got all excited about showing them my photos from when I stayed with a family in Japan for two weeks when I was almost their same age. I found the album and plan to take it next time I see them.

As I flipped through the fat album, its plastic-covered sticky pages browned with age, looking at photos of myself wearing pleated shorts and button-down shirts tied at the waist, it occurred to me that my showing this album to these boys is the equivalent of someone in Japan saying to 15-year-old me, “I was in America once!” and forcing me to look at their pictures from the 1970s.

1991 sure was a long time ago.

Whatever I’m doing is what I’m meant to be doing

So, uh, I spent a little too much time yesterday figuring out how to isolate 30 seconds of a song and copy it as an MP3 for use as a ringtone on the new phone. And then creating about 10 different ringtones.

I don’t even have a memory card for said phone, and can’t figure out how to download stuff without the card, so I don’t know yet if I’ll be able to use them or not.

However, you can’t tell me that was time spent “goofing off,” because I just used that skill at work to isolate and copy a 1-minute story out of a 6-minute podcast that had no time code or other means of jumping to a particular story 2 minutes 42 seconds in.

Besides, my coworker just got back from waiting in line to get his wife an iPhone.

Me: 2 / Vancouver: 0

An e-mail regarding a Canadian parking ticket:

It seems I was refunded the $45 fee twice, in one $90 check. I am happy to pay the city back … but I live in Washington. To pay back $45, it winds up costing me money, in foreign exchange fees and postage, or the gas in my car should I choose to drive to Vancouver and pay the ticket in person. If I pay by credit card, I pay a finance charge in addition to the foreign exchange fee.

The correspondence below confirms that this relates to the reimbursement for a wrongful tow on Dec. 3. I was parked perfectly legally and in fact had paid the meter, yet my car was towed. Through no fault of my own, I found myself stranded in a foreign city at 11 o’clock at night. I paid a cab $10 to get to the impound lot, where I discovered that the tow truck had damaged my bumper.

So you can see that this incident already has cost more than the inconvenience and the price of the tow and parking fine.

I think I was pretty understanding at the time that the parking sign was confusingly worded and parking enforcement simply had made a mistake. Everyone at the city was quite polite and it seemed that the problem was getting resolved.

I had charged the $45 fine to my credit card, so I thought the charge would just be reversed, in which case, Bank of America also would have reversed the finance charges and foreign exchange fee. Instead I received a check, which is a further inconvenience because I don’t live in Canada. I actually opened an account at RBC to deposit the reimbursement check for the towing, which I received in February.

This too cost me the gas it took to get across the border twice: to open the account and again to deposit this $90 check that apparently was issued in error. Now I’ve received an invoice for $45, to correct the city’s mistake in my favor. Did the city also correct the mistake(s) made in its own favor? Did you contact and refund money to all the other drivers whose cars were towed that night and every other night until parking enforcement learned (from me, it seems) that they had interpreted their own sign incorrectly?

As a journalist, my instinct is to find out how many other accidental tows there have been. I’m wondering if there isn’t a class action lawsuit here. For a city the size of Vancouver to have this kind of incompetence in its parking enforcement and revenue services is, frankly, offensive.

Again, I do not have Canadian checks, but I do have an RBC savings account. With an e-mail address or RBC account number, I think I can transfer money online to the revenue services division. However, this too costs an additional fee. So I’m not even sure how much I owe the city of Vancouver, after the $10 cab ride, credit card fees, an international phone call this afternoon, damage to my car bumper, and so forth.

What do you suggest?

Response:

This was quite the trip you had coming to Vancouver, BC. I would like to extend my apologies for our errors. I am preparing to write off this request that you pay back the city $45.00. I think you have been through enough inconvenience and therefore please disregard our invoice this debt has been removed.