Weekend update

Yesterday, Turtle went on a holiday baking spree, and the house smells like cookies and fudge and popcorn drizzled with melted “red hots” (cinnamon candy).

Turtle: I hope I didn't scald myself. I spilled molten red hots all over the leg of my jeans.
Foo: You okay?
Turtle: I… yeah. I think so.
Foo: Then can I start calling you “sugar britches”?
Turtle: That depends on how you'd feel about living with a permanent limp.

All of this was kind of the result of an invitation to a party. One of our RBENT friends has just celebrated his first year surviving lung cancer, and the gang planned to converge on his house to help him mark the date. Some yummy Tex-Mex, a little wine, and a lot of laughs later, I felt like we'd impressed on him how glad we all are that he's winning the battle. Live Strong, Bud!

This morning, we slept in. Around 8:30 I put on a pot of coffee and set about whipping up some bacon and eggs. Turtle set about trying to help, and we were quickly in one another's way. I found myself channeling my dad.

“Look,” he'd say in situations when Mom or we kids were too much under foot. “Why don't you just go sit down someplace?”

I realized immediately what I'd said. I waited, thinking maybe Turtle hadn't been listening. She started laughing, and I knew I was busted.

Good thing my wife has a sense of humor.

The Thyroid Diaries: Part 9 of 9

17 May, 2002

Good news today. I had my full-body scan, and the verdict came back alles klar ('all clear'). What a enormous load off my mind and a relief for all those who care about me and have been praying for just such a result.

Of course, I had to get the information from one of the other doctors. Mine was 'out of town', which was just as well, as far as I'm concerned. God help him to see more clearly, not only for the collective sake of his patients, but also for his own. I get the distinct impression from my HR person and the insurance adjuster she's been working with through all this that the doctor's refusal to cooperate puts his status in the Private Health Care System (the PPO network my employer uses) in question. I think that the only reason some sort of protest hasn't already been filed is that it would cause me more problems, and that the moment I shift to a different doctor, this guy's got some 'splainin' to do.

Today

It's been over seven years since my initial diagnosis. Since then, I've been through three endocrinologists (due to changes in my employers' insurance plans) and three full-body scans. I've gotten married, built a new home, and moved to another town. The company I've worked for since 1990 has been been acquired twice. Since my surgery and treatment I've taken up cycling, have owned four different bicycles, and have ridden one of them in two MS 150s.

I'm still cancer free, by God's grace, and everyone except the life insurance underwriters consider me cured.

The Thyroid Diaries: Part 8 of 9

2 October, 2001

Went back for another follow-up today, and the doctor says he thinks everything is right on track. I told him that I thought my dosage is still too low, and he said that we'd just have to wait for the blood tests to come back on that.

(Note: A week and a half later, I got a copy of the test results in the mail, along with a new prescription for a higher dosage.)

24 March, 2002

I'm getting a real education in just how cynical and messed up our health care system is. In February, I was supposed to have my first full-body scan since the one in August of last year, to see whether or not the post-surgery dose of radiation had been effective in killing off the cancerous lymph nodes that the last scan revealed. The endocrinologist enthused about some new synthetic hormone called Thyrogen, which he would administer in preparation for the scan, so that I wouldn't have to go off my Synthroid. Sounded great! So, he said, they'd submit the charges for this expensive medicine to my insurance beforehand, to verify that they'd cover it, before ordering the stuff.

The first of March rolled around, and I began to wonder when the doctor's office was going to call and tell me when to come in. I called and was informed that the insurance company hadn't gotten back to them about the Thyrogen, but when I checked with our human resources person about this, she found out from the insurance company that they had a record of not only having responded, but having approved the charges. After a lot of back-and-forth, during which the insurance company adjuster went so far as to guarantee, in writing, payment of the charges within 48 hours of their submission, the doctor finally informed me that the insurance company wouldn't cooperate. It was, according to him, "office policy" to require up-front payment from the insurance company for the Thyrogen, and his hands were tied.

"I see," I told him. "Correct me if I'm mistaken, but you're the lead partner in your practice, and it's you who make office policy. Right?"

"Well, I..."

So much for health care. It's all about the bottom line, these days.

Anyway, my bottom line is that I'm going off my meds for 6 weeks. I take Cytomel for 4 weeks, and then it's cold turkey for another two. When the nurse called to schedule my appointments for taking the tracer and getting the scan done, she commented, "I see you've decided to do this the hard way instead of taking the Thyrogen."

Seethe.

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The Thyroid Diaries: Part 7 of 9

1 August, 2001

I had my appointment with the endocrinologist this morning. No poking or prodding or bleeding, this time around, but I got some answers about where we go from here.

He seems pleased with my recovery to date and confirms that I'll be off my hormone pills until August 13. At that time, I'll go to his office and take my "magic bullet", which is how he refers to the I 131 treatment. No goop to swallow; no hospital stay. Apparently, they only use the high doses of radiation that require hospital isolation in cases where the cancer has spread to a larger degree. Since papillary thyroid cancer spreads to the lymph nodes, when it spreads (as opposed to spreading in the bloodstream), and since the surgeon found only one positive cancerous node, they're going with a "therapeutic" dose (i.e.,the magic bullet).

For the most part, I'm not having to change my lifestyle or diet, aside from staying off my thyroid meds. I don't even have to change my diet, though he advised to keep a tight rein on salt intake and to stay away from fast food burger places. For some unknown reason, he says, they have a lot of iodine in their food. Anyway, I take my pill and then go back to be scanned a few days later, on Friday. Once that's out of the way, I'll go on my long-term thyroid medicine, and the next event will be another tracer scan at about 6 months.

He mentioned some other tests and things involving something-globulin and synthetic THS to avoid having to come off the meds for subsequent tests, but it's all a lot ot absorb at once, so I'll just take it as it comes.

He also had some enlightening things to say in response to my question about the NDA process that Synthroid is going through. I asked because this is a common thyroid hormone and the one that I probably would have been prescribed, but after my question, he seemed to think that he might put me on something else, just in case, to avoid any chance of having to re-balance my dosages, in the unlikely event of supply shortages.

14 August, 2001

I went in for my radiation pill yesterday. As predicted, it was pretty much of a no-brainer: I sat around for about half an hour before taking a white, half-inch-long capsule with a shot glass of water. The nurse took a vial of blood, and I was out the door.

Other things I learned:

• My full body scan is this coming Friday, at 1:30.
• Barring that the scan reveals thyroid tissue or cancer tissue activity, I'll be allowed to go back on my medication on Friday, after the scan. It sounds like I'll initially take the five or so Cytomel (short-term) tablets I have left from the post-op phase, to be followed by starting on my long-term Synthroid or whichever alternate brand name is prescribed.
• The nurse told me that my dosage would be set a bit too high, at first, by design. This is fine by me, since I had joked about asking the doctor to do this so I could drop five or ten pounds that I've been wanting to lose. Then, I suppose, my dosage will be adjusted down, over time, until it is balanced to the doctor's satisfaction.

How do I feel? Draggy. I feel like I have small weights strapped to my arms and legs, and I tend to stare into space a lot--but then, the staring into space isn't really a change from the last year or so. It really makes me wonder just how long I've been like this and had simply adapted to it. I'm also somewhat depressed (also not unusual), so [Turtle] and I try to steer away from talking about important but frustrating topics like my job hunt and our struggle to be together. Once I'm on the meds, I'll be able to talk about these things without spiraling into insane, defeatist rants... but not now.

17 August, 2001

I went in on August 17 to have my full-body scan. There was no additional cancer found in my chest or lower abdomen, which is good, but there were two new (or previously-undiscovered) cancerous lymph nodes that showed up. They were glowing brightly with radiation, however, and the doctor says he expects to see no activity there when I have my next scan in 6 months.

In the mean time, I'm on my long-term thyroid medication now, and I have a follow-up office visit in October. I suppose that will probably be just to draw blood and check to see that my medication is at the right dosage. Basically, it's back to business as usual, which means turning my attention back to either finding me a job in St. Louis or finding [Turtle] one in Dallas so we can get this show on the road and be together. =)

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The Thyroid Diaries: Part 6 of 9

25 July, 2001

Went to see the doctor (surgeon) today. More blood work to check my calcium and phosphorus levels. There's not really anything new to report about my condition, except that the doctor is happy with my healing and has set his assistants to working out the next steps with the endocrinologist. So far, I've had a call back saying that the endocrinologist's office is saying I'll probably have to be off of my thyroid hormones for two weeks in preparation for the I-131 treatment. That's a week longer than I'd been led to believe, to this point, and although I understand why it might be handled this way, if half of what I've heard about being off my thyroid meds (that I'll be totally exhausted feel like gravity has doubled) is true, it's going to be a pretty miserable week and a half. And that's not even counting the two to four days following the radiation treatment, during which I'll almost certainly be off the meds, as well.

Most of the discussion to this point had me believing that the actual radiation treatment wouldn't be a big deal, but the surgeon says that this kind of depends on what the endocrinologist wants to do. Depending on the dosage of radiation I'm given, I may have to go back in to the hospital so that they can keep me isolated until I'm no longer "hot".

Let's see... exhausted, nauseated, and stuck away in the hospital isolation ward. Sounds like a blast, but I guess I won't really know exactly what's happening until I talk to the endocrinologist.

Said doctor being, of course, out of town at another conference.

26 July, 2001

Got some more news following up from yesterday's visit with the surgeon. My calcium levels look good, so I'm now off one of my medications (the one that helps me to absorb calcium better). I go back for another blood test on next Monday (July 30), and then I think that's probably the last I'll see of the surgeon.

I also received a call from the nurse at the endocrinologist's office, and she told me to stop taking my Cytomel (the thyroid meds) on Sunday, July 29. Then, on August 1, I have an appointment with the endocrinologist. I would imagine he'll tell me then what the next few weeks will hold for me, but if I'm to stop the Cytomel this Sunday, I would expect the radioactive iodine treatment to follow sometime between August 6-13. I should know more after my appointment on August 1.

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The Thyroid Diaries: Part 5 of 9

3 July, 2001: The Aftermath

Here's what happened. I went in to the hospital this past Friday, June 29, and things got underway pretty much on schedule. My buddy Kyle took me there and hung around to keep me company, which I was glad for, because I'm a big crybaby and was feeling pretty nervous. Around 12:00, John, the day nurse, came in, gave me some pills to take, and warned me that I'd be wanting to get into my gown because I'd be getting dopey when the Xanax took effect. At 12:30 or so, Peter the Orderly came to get me and they wheeled me down to the staging area for the surgery.

Next, a nurse put in my intravenous line and the anaesthesiologist stopped by to say a few words before going off to check on the operating room. This is where I believe they may have indulged in a bit of legerdemain, because the nurse injected something into my IV line that would make me "nice and sleepy"... and then I woke up in the recovery room with some guy hovering over me saying "[Foo]... [Foo]... scale of 1 to 10... how much pain are you feeling?" and shooting incremental doses of morphine into my IV line. Now, I may have just fallen asleep before I was supposed to and they decided to leave me that way, but I wonder if they didn't trick me to keep me from getting nervous as they hooked me up to stuff in the operating room. Or maybe it's amnesia. In any case, I didn't have much chance to get really nervous, and I'm grateful for that.

After they got me back up to the room, my surgeon came by to see me and told me that the surgery had gone well and that he'd been able to safely remove the thyroid without harming the nearby nerves or the parathyroid nodes. He did say that he'd had to remove one enlarged lymph node--which the pathology results have since confirmed was tumorous. He didn't see any others, however, so I take that as a good thing, and he has confirmed that the lymph node doesn't change my overall positive prognosis.

I stayed overnight and didn't get much sleep, what with the pain and the nurses coming in to check me and my roommate at least once an hour for most of the night. Ice packs, ice water, Darvocet, nasty instant chicken broth and suspicious yellow Jell-o made up most of my Saturday. I had to hang around until 3:00 to have blood drawn, because the doctor wanted to make sure my calcium levels were okay before releasing me. Calcium absorption in the body is controlled by the parathyroid, and although mine weren't damaged, I'm told that they customarily go into shock for about 30 days after a surgery like this, and I'm on massive doses of what probably amounts to oyster shells to combat this temporary problem.

Got to go home about 4:30 and have been doing pretty well ever since. I'm nearly off my pain pills now, only taking them when I've spent too much time talking to someone (mostly retelling this whole story). My voice tires easily and becomes hoarse, but again, I'm told that this is a temporary situation.

I have my first post-op office visit with my surgeon on Thursday, and I suspect that's when he'll fill me in on my schedule for the next couple months--let me know when I'm going back to work and all that. I do know that he's keeping me on my short-term hormones for 30 days, which will carry me safely through my July 19 visit to St. Louis. This will allow enough time for my natural thyroid hormones to leave my body. I'll be taken off the Cytomel and be on nothing for a number of days, after which I'll receive my radioactive iodine treatment.

The precise reason for this I-131 treatment or "iodine bomb" as I've come to call it) is a little confusing to me. I've been thinking that this was designed to kill any surviving thyroid cells (and, ostensibly, cancerous ones), but from the way the surgeon was talking it may be to allow another scan to see where there may be other cells that need treatment. I'm not sure. It may serve both purposes at once.

In the meantime, I'm doing pretty well. My throat doesn't hurt too bad, and as long as I'm not on my pain pills I'm driving myself around just fine. I just want to say how much I've appreciated all of you guys' thoughts and prayers through all this.

But keep them coming, because it's not over yet.

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Story at eleven…

Here's one of those headlines that sends you off in an entirely different direction from the story: Mexican Citizen Busted At Border For Crabs.

The Thyroid Diaries: Part 4 of 9

25 June, 2001: Meeting the Surgeon

I had my first appointment with the surgeon who will be removing my thyroid, and we spent about an hour getting acquainted and discussing the procedure. A trim, neat man in his late 40's, he spoke with a soft Texas drawl and drew diagrams of the throat and thyroid on a napkin (I wish I'd kept this to scan). He used this impromptu teaching aid to explain where all my parts are, which ones will be removed, and how he's going to go about leaving intact the bits that need to stay there. After more of my questions about anaesthesia, my odds of getting medical insurance if I were to succeed in changing jobs, and how I was going to feel after the surgery, we got down to brass tacks and the question of scheduling.

My surgery will be this coming Friday, June 29, at 1:00 in the afternoon. Because I don't have a support network here locally, the surgeon seemed to think he'd prefer to have me stay overnight at the hospital, but as it stands right now I'm being scheduled as a day surgery. In the case that I'm released on Friday, I don't really have a feel for a timeframe. I'm guessing some time in the evening, which would be a pain in the arse for my buddy Kyle, who has agreed to chauffer me around.

The way I'm told this whole thing will go down is that I'll go to the hospital on Thursday to get some lab work done and complete the pre-certification that's required by the insurance company. On Friday I'll probably be told to show up around 11:00am (I won't know for sure until They tell me at pre-cert on Thursday). Surgery at 1:00. I'll go home either Friday evening, or Saturday morning(?) if I'm kept overnight.

Initially, I'll be put on a regimen of "temporary" thyroid hormones to get me through the healing stage, after surgery. This is a medication that leaves the system quickly, and after a number of days, I'll stop taking it. The doctor says I'll go for about a week without any thyroid hormones, which will crash my metabolism. As near I can tell, I'll be the human equivalent of a tree sloth, so I'm going to plan on being out of work during this time. The point of this is to make any surviving thyroid cells hungry so that when they give me my dose of iodine isotope, the cells will greedily gobble it up, maximizing the treatment's effectiveness. After this is complete, I'll be put on my long term thyroid medication, and the doctors will begin working to balance my dosage correctly.

The surgeon says that, with a little luck, I should feel well enough by June 19 to make my planned trip up to St. Louis to see [Turtle]. If I don't, I'll lose about $230, as the ticket is non-refundable--but of course, if I'm feeling bad enough to blow off the trip, I probably won't care about the money.

That's all for now.

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The Thyroid Diaries: Part 3 of 9

5 June, 2001: On Pins and Needles

Well, needles, at least.

I had my biopsy this morning and, while it falls way down my list of Bad Things™, it's not an activity in which I'd care to participate on a regular basis. True, the needles themselves weren't diameter of a coffee stirrer, as one of my 'friends' had claimed, but there's a bit of fishing around; by the 5^th and 6^th samples, I was pretty tightly clenched, all the way 'round.

No lasting ill effects to report, though, unless you count feeling rather sore. On the other hand, neither do I have any results to report. The samples had to be sent off, and I won't know anything for 7 days or so (at which point I'm liable to be sitting on a county court jury, listening to some genetic fluke's lawyer try to convince us that there should be 'do not swallow' stickers on Nerf™ balls).

18 June, 2001: The 99^th Percentile

So much for statistically minute probabilities. I just heard from my endocrinologist, who informs me that my biopsy shows I have papillary thyroid cancer. As I type this, I'm not really sure what I'm feeling about this news, which suggests I'm probably in shock. Certainly, I'm not inclined to joke about my situation any more.

According to the doctor, this is "the very best sort of cancer to have", but you'll understand if I refrain from turning cartwheels down the hallways. He says the drill will be to check me into the hospital, where my thyroid will be removed. I'll spend the night there and then, barring any complications, check out the next day. They'll dose me with radioactive iodine to kill off any of the thyroid that they didn't remove, and if all goes well the only reminder of the ordeal will be a 2" scar and the medication I'll have to take for the rest of my life (which, of course, I would have had to take even if it hadn't turned out to be cancer).

Time for a good stiff drink. Or a dozen.

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The Thyroid Diaries: Part 2 of 9

22 May, 2001: Status Update

I had my appointment with the endocrinologist and, although he shared with me that my situation doesn't fit any of the classic profiles for thyroid problems, he was able to tell me, with some certainty, the following:

• My pituitary is working fine and doesn't indicate any kind of tumor. Basically, the pituitary secretes a Thyroid Stimulating Hormone (or TSH), which is what tells the thyroid to do its thing. Duh. The fact that my TSH levels are elevated says that the pituitary is doing its thing as it should, and my thyroid is blowing it off.
• The problem with the thyroid probably isn't cancer. Apparently, the thyroid is not one solid mass, but rather is composed of multiple "nodules" all clustered together. If the thyroid were cancerous, I'm told that there would have been enlargement of a single nodule. The entire left and center portions of my thyroid are enlarged, so the problem isn't cancer unless I have one or more cancerous nodules hiding within the enlargement of the gland itself--a possibility that the endocrinologist says is "statistically minute".
• Although my situation seems to be uncharacteristic in ways that I'm not fully able to appreciate, what I'm told is that I definitely am suffering from mild hypothyroidism.

I go back on Thursday for one more test, and then I'll probably be put on thyroid hormones for six weeks. The doctor says he'll evaluate how I respond to that and then go from there. The likelihood is that I'll have to take the medication for the rest of my life, but the situation could have been a lot worse. Given the choice between taking pills ever after and chemo/surgery/daily injections, I'll take the pills as a nearly insignificant price to pay.

25 May, 2001: Another Test

Since the first attempt to irradiate and scan my 'roid (that's thyroid, for the record) failed so dismally, my endocrinologist invited me back to his office to try again. Another $10 co-pay. As Yakov Smirnoff might say, "Whaaaadda contry."

But I digress.

This time, they weren't fooling around. This time, there was none of this swallowing of a radioactive capsule and coming back the next day. Instead, the doctor--one of the associates, since my doctor wasn't there yesterday--shot the stuff directly into a vein. I cooled my heels, chatting up the assistant for about 15 minutes, and then hopped up on the gurney to be scanned under a rather ominous-looking device – a big conical thing supported by two thick metal arms and counterweights that reminded me of the ones used on the front ends of tractors at a tractor pull to keep them from pulling wheelies.

They took two scans, and when the assistant was finished, she brought them up on the monitor for me to see. It showed a large dark area in the left lobe of my thyroid, which indicates that there was none of the radioactive goop absorbed there. She told me that, based on what was showing up, the doctor would probably want me back in for a biopsy.

Mmmmmmm... more needles.

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Humor for nerds

Q:	Why do computer programmers confuse Hallowe'en with Christmas?
A:	Because Oct 31 == Dec 25

Yeah, I know: lame. But if I'd written it as “318 == 2510” the joke wouldn't have been obvious.

On the 21st century bandwagon

Q:	What's small, blue, and full of everything from Benny Goodman and baroque allegros to The Offspring's Hammerhead?
A:	My new iPod Nano.

That's right: after reading about all of you and your fancy-schmancy music devices (and frequently talking about one for myself), I finally caught a sale at Best Buy and picked one up. It's not my birthday yet, and Turtle and I aren't really planning a lot of shopping for this Christmas; but I figured it was fair trade for the time I've spent this year coding contact forms for a couple of her clients' web sites.

All I can say is that it's pretty cool – and much tinier than I'd expected. So tiny, in fact, that when I listened to it at work using my Sony V6 headphones, the weight of the cord kept dragging the iPod off my desk. I promptly had Turtle pick me up a rubberized sleeve to give the Nano some traction and to keep from scratching the case if it did slide.

Meanwhile, I've been busy going through my hundreds of CDs and ripping the one or two worthwhile tracks from the many of them that turned out to be crap, otherwise. I've filled about three of the eight gigabytes so far, and while I don't know how many days' worth of music that translates to, I'm betting it's quite a bit. I can hardly wait 'til I get around to putting the bike on the trainer for the first time this winter without having to set up my huge, late '80s boom box just to have some tunes. I'm thinking the “Thrash 'n' Burn” play list will be just the thing.

The Thyroid Diaries: Part 1 of 9

In 2001 BB ("Before Blogging"), I was diagnosed with a malignant but slow-growing variety of thyroid cancer. While going through some old directories on my computer, I stumbled on a web page diary I kept at the time to keep friends and family up to date. I figured I'd post those entries here because, in retrospect, the whole experience was sort of funny.

25 April, 2001: Mysteries and Mayhem

A number of months ago, I just happened to be rubbing my neck and swallowing at the same time and noticed a hard knot along my windpipe, slightly below and to the left of my Adam's Apple. It feels like it's maybe a half inch in diameter, and it's not tender. I sort of blew it off, figuring it was one of those inflamed lymph nodes you get sometimes from fighting a cold.

When the pesky thing hadn't gone away by the time I was due for my annual physical, I made a mental note to mention it to my internist--who has subsequently had me running all over the place, being irradiated and stabbed. Here's the short history:

• My primary physician (internist) says, judging from the position of the thing, that I appear to have a "thyroid nodule". This could be the result of a number of things, among which are scarring from an old infection, inflammation due to some current issue, and some sort of tumor. He tells me that it's very rare for men to have thyroid problems and, statistically, cancer would be the least likely possibility. Then again, I recently took the Gender Test, which concluded with 86% certainty that I'm a woman. But even if it's cancer, he says thyroid tumors are among the most successfully treated.
• So... it's off for an appointment with the department of nuclear medicine at the hospital. The drill here was for me to show up, barely awake, at 9:00 in the morning, sit in a waiting room full of people who were obviously (to my worried mind, at least) dying. After filling out lots of forms, freeing the hospital from any responsibility should I be inadvertently rendered sterile or brain dead, I got to go into a storage room/office and take a small capsule of radioactive iodine.
• Next day: back to the nuclear medicine department, where they scanned me to get their reference radiation levels in preparation to calibrate the thyroid scanning machine for my test. Which was never done, because it turns out that I didn't absorb any of the iodine into my thyroid. "How can this be?" I asked, now certain that my long-time relationship with Murphy was once again making itself known.

  "Well," he said, nervously fingering his malpractice waiver forms, "I don't know. Your readings are inconsistent, and with your TSH levels, the only way you could have not absorbed any iodine is if your thyroid has completely shut down." Quoting Sherlocke Holmes--I think--I told him that when you eliminate the impossible, the answer must be what's left, no matter how improbable: the thing's an alien implant.

  He didn't get it.

• Back to my internist, who, in the absence of much useful information from the puzzled nuclear doctor, wants to schedule me with a top-notch endocrinologist. So top-notch, in fact, that I can't get an appointment until May 21. I asked the receptionist if she figured I might drop dead before then. She said she reckoned I wouldn't; but if I do, I should be sure to leave a message on their system and she'd try to work me in sooner.

  Oh, such a laugh we had over that one.

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Seasonable suds

Last weekend, I volunteered to go along with Turtle to the grocery and push the cart. She can manage on her own – though the how of that remains an amazement – but I like to help out when I can. The one rule is that I'm only along to serve as brute labor. Requests such as, “Would you grab a package of macaroni and cheese off that top shelf?” are fine, but questions requiring decision making (a la, “Would you like [this] or [that]?” are strictly verboten.

Anyway, we had just survived the frozen food aisle and deftly dodged the UT alumni holding a reunion at the endcap when we achieved nirvana: the beer aisle. I had thus far on this trip suppressed the urge to inflict bodily harm on any of my fellow shoppers and decided I was entitled to a reward.

“I'll catch up with you,” I told Turtle. “I'm going to pick up a six pack of some fancy beer.”

What I ended up selecting was something called Winter's Bourbon Cask Ale. It wasn't my intention to buy a Michelob product, but I didn't notice that affiliation until later. At right, you can see how Michelob describes the brew on the side panel of the packaging. Hint of vanilla: check. Hint of bourbon: check. Their evaluation of the hoppiness seemed pretty on the mark, as well, and was more in line with Blue Moon or something you'd get from Flying Dog than I generally associate with “ale” – but maybe that's because I lean more toward a pale ale.

Anyway, if you like a little more adventure in your beer than just the typical Budweiser or Miller Lite, you might pick up a six pack. Winter's Bourbon Case Ale is a bit more desserty than I'd choose for my mainstay, but I enjoyed it for a chance of pace.

Weekend update

By this time last week, I'd packed up my desktop workstation, my technical books, and the rest of the contents of my cubicle. Unseen hands and backs were conveying these things to a new location about five miles down the road, in colorful plastic rental crates that smelled faintly of orange cleaner.

Based on the tour of the facilities that we'd received a couple months ago, I wasn't feeling optimistic. We were going from two floors to a small portion of one floor. The cubicles we were shown would be the same 6'x8' to which we were downsized in the last move, but the cubicles would be closer together. Along with various arbitrary-seeming restrictions, the prospect of being packed in with loud-talking groups like customer support and marketing convinced me that this move would be yet another turn in the downward spiral our work conditions have taken since 2005.

This week, I'm feeling much better about the situation. After a predictably loud and chaotic Monday, when everyone scrambled to get unpacked and resolve network connectivity issues, things calmed down quickly. To my surprise, it has actually been quieter in the new workplace. Part of this is due to the staggered work schedule that has split up some of the groups more prone to standing around and yukking it up; but I think that because we're all in cubes now and so close together, people are generally more aware of their volume levels. This is a Good Thing™. We were also pleased to discover that our 6'x8' cubes had magically expanded to 8'x8' (the company's standard size for developers). You wouldn't think that two feet one way or the other would amount to much, but it's significant when you've got a second computer and monitor taking up about two feet of space at one end of the desktop.

The facilities people at the new place have been stellar. One guy in particular has been running non stop since we got there, doing his best to get us everything we need to make ourselves at home. He's even promised to work on rebalancing the heating/cooling vents so that those of us who tend to be cold natured aren't freezing all the time.

Now playing: Queens of the Stoneage, Songs For The Deaf

Creative Pause

I've long felt that I do some of my most inspired thinking just after waking in the morning, while in the shower. On those occasions when I share this information with family or coworkers, the listener tends to smirk and imply that my inspirations may not be entirely technical in nature.

Which is why I was interested to find Cameron Moll's posting, “Why thinking in the shower may be an ideal model for ‘creative pause’” – and find comfort in knowing I'm not the only one.

Now… that dream I had last night about Madonna? That, I can't explain. Not that I need to – Turtle dreams of Vin Diesel and can't afford to be judgmental – but why couldn't it have been Jennifer Connelley or Diane Lane?

At the skate park

I was wondering what Turtle's up to when I'm not around…

On a piano

I need a break from all the election hoo ha. How about you?



Now, if you've got that song stuck in your head and need to dislodge it, I recommend this.

Home again

It's good to be home. It was good to be on vacation – even better than I expected, since I couldn't get a VPN connection and so couldn't do any of the work I'd intended to take on as a compromise to not going at all – but it's always good to be back home. Everything's still standing, which tells me that the cats didn't get too angry about being abandoned and that the neighborhood kids didn't trash the place as revenge for our not being here to hand out candy.

We went to Destin again this year to spend a week with my in-laws. The weather was a bit chilly, but unlike last year we had all sunny days. Turtle and her mom got out a couple days to lie by the pool absorbing carcinogenic rays and did some shopping. Meanwhile, I hung out with my father-in-law. Like me, he generally prefers to just hang out, chatting and catching up on reading; but on Thursday we took a little guy excursion to the Air Force Armament Museum at Eglin Air Force Base.

Like a lot of guys, I've always had a certain fascination with planes and guns. When I was a kid, I was particularly interested in WW I and WW II aircraft. I read the stories about Eddie Rickenbacker and Jimmy Doolittle and became somewhat familiar with the planes they flew and the weapons with which their planes were armed. It's one thing to read and look at pictures, but it's way cool to see the planes and weapons up close. Antique Vickers and Spandau machine guns, General Electric gatlings ranging from the smallish helicopter mounted variety to huge ship-mounted specimens with barrels 20 feet long. And bombs of all shapes and sizes with explanations of what they were for and how they worked. On the one hand, it was disturbing to think about the destruction of which their live counterparts were capable; but from an engineering perspective… fascinating.

Outside, I got to see and stand under the wings of an SR-71 Blackbird, a B-25 bomber like the one Jimmy Doolittle flew on his historic raid, and a B-17 “flying fortress” like the one on which one of our friends from church was a ball turret gunner during WW II. Talk about claustrophobic! The ball is so small even with the guns and seat removed (was there a seat?) that I couldn't imagine how someone could fit in it, much less track and fire on enemy aircraft while hanging exposed under the belly of the plane.

And then there was the MOAB – the emerald-green, schoolbus-sized bomb of the type used in Afghanistan for bunker busting. The thing was so huge, I can't even picture how something like that would be deployed. If you want a look go here and mouse over “MOAB” on the map.

I'm still kicking myself for forgetting my camera.

Renewal

I got a card in the mail last week notifying me that it was time to renew my driver's license, and would I kindly take time off from work to schlep to the nearest outpost of the Texas DPS to address the matter. No biggie. I took today off so that I could prepare for tomorrow's drive to Florida in leisure, so I got myself around, rounded up the check book and my social security card (do you know where yours is?), and headed up county.

At the DPS, the line was mercifully short, and the only real delay was the time required to fill out a form with a bunch of yes/no questions (in English, and also in the official language of Texas) that seemed very interested in establishing whether or not I'm prone to various sorts of seizures. As if anyone wanting a license would actually answer “yes” if he/she were. Personally, I'd rather have questions regarding the applicant's legal status and whether or not he/she were entitled to hold a license. But that's just me.

Over the years, I've seen the renewal process change. First came the electronic signature thingy, which inexplicably provides no visual feedback so that the result always looks like something forged by a crack addict in the midst of withdrawal. Then came the requirement to be thumbprinted – in ink, initially, and now electronically. Sometime in the last ten years or so, subtle, hard to fake designs incorporating the state seal were added to the license itself.

This time, there was a new twist.

“Please take off your glasses and stand with your toes on the white line so I can take your picture,” the unusually pleasant clerk directed.

I did as I was asked and removed my glasses. Unfortunately, having done so I was no longer capable of discerning where the white line might be, much less whether or not my toes were on it. After a few uncomfortable moments, the clerk suggested I put my glasses back on, stand with my toes on the white line, and then remove my glasses. Which did the trick.

Next, the clerk used a big pair of scissors to cut the top edge off my license to invalidate it and then gave me a receipt way too large to easily fit in my wallet, which I was to carry in my wallet to make my invalidated license kind of valid until the new one arrives.

“So, why did you have me take my glasses off?” I asked. “I'm not vain about them; that's just the way I look.”

She explained that “we” – by which, I assume, she meant herself and the rest of Texas DPS and not including me – are using face recognition technology now, and that doesn't work with the glasses on. Face recognition?? What's up with that? I can't even figure out how to use T9 to compose a complete text message, and we've got face recognition data being tied in to our drivers' licenses?