Resolutions

It's important to caveat any New Year's resolution with all the resolutions I've failed to keep over the years. There have been a lot, from resolving to be the youngest paleontologist at the age of six to resolving to be the youngest astronaut at the age of seven (I still say I came really close to both those goals). More recently, I set the goal of climbing Pike's Peak a few years ago. Since then, I haven't even hiked up Clingman's Dome here in Tennessee, but I'm still holding on to the dream (I hiked up a really steep hill just the other day). I also resolved to hike 100 miles of the Appalachian Trail in 2010. I ended up going just over 20 miles, but in my defense have you ever hiked with a Blendtec and a 50 mile extension cord on your back?? Last year, I swore I would write a book about my grandparents. Instead, I interviewed a lot of relatives and started a blog so that I could write more about myself (writing a book is REALLY hard).

There've been others; some I'm still too embarrassed to admit. Needless to say, there's no guarantee I'll keep my resolution this year. Maybe by saying it in a public forum, I'll be less likely to break it? Nah. I have no shame at this point in my life. Regardless, I resolve to write more blog posts in 2014. Writing has been therapeutic for me. It helps me to talk about my medical issues in an open forum. I like demonstrating to people that having a feeding tube does not automatically mean a death sentence or hiding from the public eye. Also, I have a hard time putting my feelings into words in front of friends and family. I'm much more capable of expressing myself through my writing.

So, shall I put up specific numbers here? Really throw down the gauntlet? Ok, I vow to publish one blog post a week.

There, I said it.

And these won't be one word blog posts either. There will be no July 17, 2014, post that reads, "This is a blog post." Nope, these will be substantive posts. Posts that may make you, the reader, laugh, or cry, or go "Hmmm," or say, "this dude is an idiot!" or think "this blog represents everything wrong with the world and may be a sign of the impending apocalypse."

Is it possible I won't reach my goal? Yes. Am I likely to break this resolution by Feb. 1? There is a decent chance. But at least you can shame me if I fail. Kindly point out that the late Eric O'Gorman, who is my idol in every way, put out 123 posts on his blog in 2010, and I'm only trying to write 52. Or, you could not so kindly say, "Liebenow, you're a LOSER!! HA HA HA HA HAAAA!!!"

Let the writing begin!!!!



i think i'll take a nap now.

My Christmas Story

For those not aware, my brother, Buz, lost his battle with lymphoma in November of 1992. He was 23, and I was only 17 yet he's been in my thoughts every day since his death. I have a lot of fond memories of the time I shared with my big brother, and I'd like to share one of my happiest Christmases with Buz. If you are reading this post and don't celebrate Christmas, please indulge me.

Me, Ginger, and Buz. I don't know who the kid is, so THANKS A LOT FOR PHOTO BOMBING THE PIC, YOU BRAT!

I was asked recently what the best Christmas present I ever received was. Without even having to think about it, I replied, "a Super Stunt Dirt Bike." What is a Super Stunt Dirt Bike, you ask? Check this out: http://youtu.be/ukHCe-rKSIU (this confirms that there is, literally, no video you can't find on Youtube). "It goes through water!! It does loop-de-loops!!" As a young boy in the early 80s (I think 1981? '82?), there was nothing I wanted more. Compared with toys today, this may look like nothing special. But over 30 years ago, the Super Stunt Dirt Bike was a technological marvel (ok, maybe it wasn't, but I thought it was spectacular). You just wound it up, and that sucker could do anything, go anywhere, through any terrain, and do tricks!! I could imagine building elaborate courses for my dirt bike. I already had a loop-de-loop with Buz's matchbox car track!!! We lived on a small farm in western Washington and my active imagination foresaw endless space for my bike to zip around.

Picture doesn't really do it justice. In my mind it was way cooler

I did everything I could to get my hands on this prize. If you've watched A Christmas Story, this was my "Red Rider BB Gun." I dropped overt hints to my parents. I asked Santa; I wrote letters; I sat on laps. I had an elaborate campaign. If I could have requisitioned a billboard on our street, I would have plastered it with, "BUY BRIAN LIEBENOW A SUPER STUNT DIRT BIKE!! LIFE HAS LOST ALL MEANING WITHOUT ONE!!!" 

Fast forward to Christmas Eve. I've done everything humanly possible to get someone--anyone, parents, mythical red-suited Saints with elf-slaves, strange guy always trying to give me candy from his windowless white van, I didn't care--to buy me my coveted toy. I was so filled with anticipation for Christmas morning, I could hardly contain myself. Would I be happily racing my dirt bike across the wrapper-stewn living room floor Christmas morning or would I be despondently sitting on the couch in a hideous Christmas sweater from great-aunt So-and-So mumbling, "I love it. What a warm sweater. Best Christmas ever, mom. *SSSSIIIIIIIIIGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH*" ???

Buz was anxious to see if he'd gotten his own present. For the life of me, I can't remember what he wanted. That's how selfishly focused I was on the Super Stunt Dirt Bike. I think Buz wanted an actual dirt bike, if I remember correctly. He and I secretly decided to get up in the middle of the night to see the bounty we'd gotten from Santa. Yes, I still believed in Santa Claus, and Buz was too kind to tell me the truth about the big, fat man. 

(If you're a young child reading this post and you don't know where your presents actually come from, I've just ruined Christmas for you.  You're welcome.)

Anyway, Buz planned to set his alarm in our small, ranch-style farm house (I call it "small" but I think I had my own bedroom so it couldn't have been that tiny). He would then sneak into my room, quietly wake me up, and we would both tip-toe to the living room where I might get a peek at Kris Kringle himself!! (Ginger, were you in on this campaign, or was it just Buz and I? I can't remember.) That fateful night, I was filled with excitement for our mission. My parents' rules were strict: No Leaving the Room Until Christmas Morning!!! I don't know how, but I eventually drifted off to sleep. 

The next thing I knew, my brother was standing over me, silently shaking me awake. The house was freezing cold. We primarily heated it with a wood stove, and the fire had died down during the night. It must've been shortly after midnight. Being out in the country, there were no city or street lights outside to help illuminate the interior. There was no moon. It was pitch-dark in that house. I experimentally wriggled my fingers in front of my face and couldn't see a thing. As quietly as possible, I slipped out of bed, and we slowly crept down the hall to the living room. Did the Christmas tree have lights on it to help us see? I don't know, but by my recollection I was completely blind. Apparently, I'd missed Santa, or he hadn't yet appeared. I couldn't see enough to tell if he'd come, but he obviously wasn't in the room with us. Buz and I fumbled across the icy floor, agonizing over every sound we made, lest we wake our parents. I carefully felt the area around the tree. The stockings were full!!! Santa came!!! How does he find the time?? As Buz knelt beside me and fumblingly felt for any new gifts that hadn't surrounded the tree when we went to bed, my own paws searched for loot like a blind man searching frantically for a pile of gold.

...Wait...

...Was that...

...My fingers felt a hard plastic surface...

...Surely this wasn't here last night!!! 

...Is that a round crank on the side of this toy??? 

...A ridged handle for gripping as I set my bike loose on glorious adventures?? 

...And what is this??? 

...I feel two wheels...

...And that could only be a helmeted rider ready for the kind of missions that only Team America can handle!!!

With irrepressible glee, I loudly whispered to my brother, "I think it's a Super Stunt Dirt Bike!!!" 

Our mission complete, we creeped back to our warm beds and happily drifted back to sleep. Sure, there were other gifts to open, but I felt like Christmas was already over. Whether from Santa, my parents, some wealthy relative, or a creepy stranger, my gift had arrived. That's all that mattered. My eyes closed that night as my mind laid plans for my spectacular bike course. Any other gift was secondary. 

So, what's the point of this post? When I was a kid, I wanted this special toy. The night before Christmas, I got up, sneaked out of bed and confirmed that I did, indeed, get the toy. Is that it? Sounds like a lame knockoff of A Christmas Story. At least that movie had a leg lamp. Where's the leg lamp in this story?!?

"FRA-GEE-LAY...It must be Italian!"

If I might take a more serious turn, my point is my spotty memory of these events. I can't recall if Buz found his own coveted present that night. I don't remember what he wore when he gently woke me up. I can't remember what he said. I know he was there, but that's it. What grade was he in, sixth or seventh? I don't even know if this was a happy Christmas memory for him. If he was alive, I wouldn't think twice about it. My sister's still around and I'm sure not lamenting the fact that I can't remember if she was there that night. Just kidding, Ginger. I love you very much. 

I can't help but feel a little ashamed of my own self-absorption that Christmas. What was Buz's "Super Stunt Dirt Bike?" What materialistic toy did he dream about?

That's my happy Christmas memory, but I'll never be able to fill in all the details because my brother is gone. 

My wish for you: Whatever you celebrate this holiday season, I hope you get your own "Super Stunt Dirt Bike." May you share precious moments with the ones you love and please note the details. In the future, they may be all you have. And most importantly, may you have a happy, HEALTHY, 2014.

Merry Christmas, Buz

Road Trip

Road trips are awesome. There are two reasons I like road trips. First of all, I like maps. My family moved across the country from western Washington to eastern North Carolina when I was 9 years old. Every time we crossed a state line on the interstate, we had to stop at the welcome center so I could get a state map. I had a drawer full of maps in my room--state maps, country maps, city maps, even moon maps. I'm not sure what my fascination is; I just like to pore over the landscape details, try to memorize interesting features, and imagine different cultures. 

This is my porno centerfold

The second reason is because I love to read. Specifically, I love to read epic fantasy novels. What does this have to do with road trips? I used to do most of my reading on road trips. I would just sit in the back seat of our minivan and lose myself in a book on any car ride. Long trips across country; 2 hour rides to the beach; even our short 30 minute trip to see my grandparents (they were literally--not figuratively--over the river and through the woods (I just used a dash within a parenthesis; is that possible? (now I have parenthesis within parenthesis (it's like Inception. (I'm in too deep! (Is this even real??)))))).

My ultimate fantasy, besides going on a Lord of the Rings tour of New Zealand, is taking a road trip to San Diego ComicCon. And I wouldn't even go there to see hot movie stars or the latest Avengers trailer. Nope, I'd go just to meet my favorite authors like a total geek. On the long car ride, I could happily collect maps along the way (have to be prepared!), and examine every aspect of the route. During times I don't drive, I could re-read my favorite novels. 

I'd also go for the sexy costumes

Speaking of re-reading novels, for our trip down to Florida, I chose to read The Dragonbone Chair by Tad Williams. This is an excellent book--first published 25 years ago--that my older brother got me to read when I was in high school. I remember reading it on many a road trip. George R.R. Martin lists Tad Williams as one of his favorite authors and you can see echoes of The Dragonbone Chair in Game of Thrones. It always makes me think of my last two years of high school when I went to a public boarding school about two hours drive from my hometown. Have I geeked out enough yet?

Doesn't it look exciting??

Right now, you're thinking two things: (1) "Now I know why he's socially awkward in public" and (2) "Whoa Whoa there, Brian!! You seemed like a halfway cool guy. How on earth did you manage to snag a hottie like Betsy if you're such a nerd??" 

The truth is, I lied to my lovely wife. When we got married, she had no idea I used to hide behind our living room couch as a kid to read Eddings, or Feist, or Brooks, or Weis & Hickman; and I could intelligently debate the differences between Middle Earth, Pern, and Osten Ard (first of all, Pern is a science fiction world with dragons; the other two are fantasy worlds with...never mind); and I used to play Dungeons and Dragons as a dwarf named Ironwolf. If she had known these things, I'm sure she would've gotten the heck out of there. But she was clueless and now she's trapped. MMWAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAA!!!!! 

Yes. I owned a copy of this.

On the other hand, Betsy didn't really tell me how often I'd be talking to Katie (Hey Brian, watcha doin?) every day, so I figure we're about even.

So anyway, Betsy proposed that we drive from our house in Knoxville to visit her sister's house in Clearwater, Florida, for Thanksgiving--about 12 hours by car. Furthermore, she wanted to bring our dog, Aspen, with us. This was shocking to me. For one thing, Aspen weighs over 100 pounds. Bringing him and a hyper six year-old would be quite an undertaking. 

He may look adorable, but in enclosed spaces he gets a bit "gassy"

For another thing, unlike me, Betsy hates road trips. After 11 years of marriage, I recently figured out that she hates road trips because she gets extremely carsick when she reads (I'm a bit slow on the uptake). Even the thought of reading makes Betsy nauseous in the car, so she can't look at maps while she rides and she can't read the latest Scott Lynch or Patrick Rothfuss fantasy novel--not that she reads that kind of stuff anyway. Unless she's driving, all she can do in the car is sit and explain to me in great detail how my driving is vastly inferior to her own. 

So, road trips are no fun for Betsy. In fact, I'd venture to say that road trips WITH Betsy are no fun. Yet she wanted to go on a 12 hour trip in a small enclosed space with a 100 lb. dog and an easily bored six year-old. Bravely, I agreed to take the journey, knowing that I risked my very sanity. For meals, I pre-made four blends, put them in blender bottles, and packed them in a small cooler. I had one of those meals each day we were gone. It really came in handy to not need to break out the Blendtec while we were on the road. 

Like my awesome travel cooler?

Before we left, I borrowed three audiobooks for Grace to listen to in the car. One of these was Harry Potter. I had visions of my daughter raptly listening to the adventures of Harry in Hogwarts. "Grace will be so enthralled with the story," I thought, "that she'll forget she's in a car altogether. Instead she'll be transported to a magical world of witches, wizards, and Quidditch!" The reality of the trip looked more like this:

Technology will be the death of us.

Yes, that's Grace on my iPad watching a Monster High video.

Actually, the trip down wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be. Don't get me wrong, the holiday weather and traffic around Atlanta was a nightmare, but after we got through that it was smooth sailing. Our dog is pretty mellow and mostly slept the whole time. As you can see, my daughter was glued to the iPad screen. The one time we tried listening to Harry Potter, she fell asleep during the first chapter, so at least that's an option if we ever can't get her to go to bed. 

His head weighs more than Grace

Stopped at Waffle House for a snack (I refuse to bring a Blendtec in WH)

Blendtec recently was kind enough to send me their Wildside pitcher, which holds twice as much food as their regular pitcher, so I brought this in anticipation of the large Thanksgiving meal at Betsy's sister's house. Her sister, Anne, had a beautifully remodeled kitchen. Unfortunately, her dining room table didn't fit either of my syringe holders. It's weird how one of the first things I look at when I walk into a strange house now is the thickness of the dining room table to see if I could comfortably eat there. Too thick, and my syringe holder made from a clip-on lamp I got at Lowe's won't fit. At Anne's house, I had to hook up to their kitchen counter. We had a traditional turkey dinner for Thanksgiving. I ended up with turkey (of course), sweet potatoes, pea salad, and Katie's homemade collard greens in my blend.

I chose towels to match my blend

Even Aspen had a Thanksgiving meal

As it turned out, Betsy did pretty well on the road trip. In fact, she did better than I did--especially on the drive home. My main issue was drooling. Since I can't swallow my saliva, I carry a hand towel with me to catch any excess spit. Some days, I only need a couple towels--one during the day and one at night. Other times, though, I might go through five towels over the course of one afternoon. I haven't been able to figure out what sets it off. Sometimes it's something as innocuous as smelling a lemon or an orange. Even the smell of a Starburst has brought out my saliva. On other days, though, the same smells have no effect. The day we drove home was one of those heavy drooling days. Betsy couldn't drive the whole time, of course. As I was driving, I could feel saliva start to pool up in my mouth and collect down the back of my throat. Since I only have one hand to drive with, I had to ask her to take the wheel every few miles so I could bring up whatever nasty spit I was collecting back there. I had a whole stack of towels, but I was basically just reusing towels that were already damp and gross by the end of the trip. Sorry to paint a disgusting picture, but it was not a pleasant drive home for me. After that drive, I think I'm over my nostalgia for road trips...at least until the next ComicCon.

Starbucks Selfie

We caused quite a stir at the Valdosta, Georgia, Starbucks where I broke out one of my blender bottle meals, set up my syringe holder and towels and had a meal with my coffee on the way home. I got quite a few stares, then our dog, Aspen, got even more while he waited for me right outside.

They wouldn't let Aspen in, but they gave him a free "Doggie Latte"

Happy Thanksgiving from Florida! (Grace got eaten by a shark)

Veterans Day Parade

Once a week, I get the privilege of grooming and riding a horse named Patch. This is thanks to a program called "Horses and Heroes" at the Shangri-La Therapeutic Academy of Riding (STAR). The volunteers at STAR help wounded veterans learn about caring for, and riding, horses. 

Vietnam veteran Chuck is helping me clean Patch's hooves [photo by Shawn Millsaps]

They are capable of handling any disability from blindness, to deafness, to paralysis, to PTSD. I've seen them regularly lift a wheelchair-bound veteran, who has difficulty holding himself upright, onto a large horse named Sampson. They also work with disabled children and troubled teens. They even bring miniature ponies and donkeys to rest homes and schools. STAR is passionate about the healing power of working with horses. I've experienced it firsthand. Every week I watch veterans' faces light up interacting with these beautiful animals. And of course, there's my personal joy from seeing Patch every week.

Scratch him there long enough and he goes right to sleep [Shawn Millsaps]

Patch used to be part of a mounted search and rescue team. He's quite large compared to other horses I've ridden in the past. I think I heard that his name used to be Apache, but this got shortened to Patch because STAR already had a horse named Apache. But "Patch" also fits for the big guy because of his mottled skin coloring. He is unique among the horses at STAR because his mane is short and sticks straight up, like a mohawk. I've heard that with other riders, Patch can be a little temperamental, but with me he's always easy-going and responds well to every command. 

Weaving the cones [Shawn Millsaps]

Maybe this is because I bring him an apple every week, or maybe it's because I spend a lot of time scratching his favorite spot between his ears. It could also be because I ride him on Friday and he's looking forward to the weekend. Admittedly, I'm not much of a "horse whisperer," but I sure love spending time with him. 

I went through a couple horses before Patch. Most memorable was a horse named Largo. Largo is a beautiful Chestnut horse with a tattoo of a palm tree on his left hindquarters. Largo was a great horse too, and I think I had a pretty good rapport with him.

Largo is another awesome STAR horse

The only trouble I had with Largo was that he had an extremely uncomfortable trot. The horses we ride already know basic commands like "WALK," "TROT," "EASY," "BACK," and "WHOA." So, during our rides around the arena at STAR, we typically start off at an easy walk, then we build up to a trot. If our horse gets overly excited, we yell out, "EASY!" or "WALK!" to bring him back under control. During one fateful practice session, the girth of my saddle wasn't tightened enough when I tried bringing Largo around a curve in our oval arena at a brisk trot. Largo's trot is extremely bouncy, and I was having a hard time getting enough breath to yell out "EASY!" or better yet, "WHOA!" My saddle slowly rolled around Largo's barrel-like flank. I found myself riding parallel to the ground as I lost my grip on the horse and hit the hard gravel with my shoulder. Largo kept right on going as if to say, "well that's a load off! Trotting is so much easier now!" Luckily, I landed on my left, paralyzed shoulder which has no feeling. So, I barely felt any pain, and I got right back up on Largo for some easy walking--just to show him that he couldn't get rid of me that easy. 

Largo ultimately didn't work out and that's when I started riding my favorite horse. Patch has such a stately, gentle trot. It's a pleasure to ride him. When I first started riding, I had a STAR volunteer--most of the volunteers who work with us are also veterans--walking beside the horse to make sure there were no mishaps. With Patch, I've been allowed to ride independently, and I can't put into words what an awesome feeling it is taking him around the arena by myself. 

[Shawn Millsaps]

STAR does so much for disabled or troubled kids and for wounded warriors. Unfortunately, only a few veterans take advantage of the opportunity. So if, by some weird chance, you're a disabled veteran who's reading this blog (doesn't matter what your disability is) of any age, you live in the Knoxville area (STAR is located in Lenoir City), and you have any interest in horse back riding (you don't have to know anything about it), then please contact STAR!! www.rideatstar.com (865) 988-4711; POC: Robin Bowen, robin@bowensales.com (865) 806-9552. 

STAR volunteer, and Air Force veteran, Jim, helping my friend Mark with his horse Dan [Shawn Millsaps]

Chuck takes Patch and I around the arena once before I ride on my own [Shawn Millsaps]

STAR has both an indoor arena (pictured) and an outdoor arena [Shawn Millsaps]

Every year, STAR takes part in Knoxville's Veteran's Day parade. I was bummed to learn that we don't ride horses in the parade. Apparently, there was some concern about horse poop and the marching bands behind us. I say marching through a pile of horse manure is a good way for the marchers to build character and practice staying in formation. Instead, the veterans and STAR volunteers sat on hay bales in a trailer pulled by a pickup truck. Betsy and I pulled Grace out of school that day so she could ride with us. She loves being in the parade, waving at all the spectators, and hearing the marching bands and fire trucks. Hopefully, it helps STAR get a little more publicity for what they are trying to do for veterans.

Would be so much cooler if we were on Patch

"This parade is just for me!"

Daddy's girl

After the parade, everyone from STAR--about 10 of us--went to a sports bar called Double Dogs Chow House (if you live in Knoxville, it's located near the intersection of Hardin Valley and Pellissippi).

Interesting name for a sports bar

Just now noticed that there appears to be a dog house in front. I'm the most unobservant person in the world.

I brought in my Blendtec and Betsy asked the manager if it would be ok if they blended up my food. The manager said it would be no problem. They were really nice and accommodating there. I was worried about finding anything gluten free and remotely healthy at a sports bar but they have a decent menu. I was tempted to get a steak with a side of fries, but I thought this would make my blend too thick. So, I ended up getting a Greek salad topped with grilled chicken. 

That's a whole lotta green in that picture

At the end of the meal, we were all shocked to find out that the manager paid the entire bill!! On Veteran's Day there are so many businesses that bend over backward for veterans. Some are public about it like Krispy Kreme or Applebee's while other individuals show their appreciation for veterans in their own quiet way, like the manager at Double Dogs. It's always very humbling for me to witness the unquestioning gratitude of others for my military service. I wish this message could reach the many veterans who are homeless and/or contemplating taking their own life. I sincerely hope that the efforts of STAR and the healing powers of caring for their beautiful horses can, in some small way, help some of the veterans who are most in need.

[Shawn Millsaps]

Tennessee Football Game

Let me tell you how fortunate I am. Since I got cancer while I was in the military and it happened after 9/11, I am a Wounded Warrior Project (WWP) "Alumni." This was a bit of a shock to me. I'm not sure I deserve being designated as a wounded warrior. 

My friend, Mark, was an Army officer deployed to a highly volatile area in Iraq. While out on patrol, a suicide bomber set himself off right behind Mark. He suffered shrapnel damage to the right side of his cervical spine (ironically similar to the radiation damage I have on the left side of my cervical spine). As a result, he is weak on his right side from the neck down and has lost feeling on his left side. My symptoms are the exact opposite. Well, not quite exact. He has more strength in his weak arm than I have in mine (he plays piano beautifully). He can also swallow, so he's not a tubie like me. On the other hand, he is almost completely deaf from the bomb blast. He also has traumatic brain injury (TBI). Half of his skull had to be removed, along with a portion of his brain. He suffers from short-term memory loss and frequent seizures, so he can't drive himself.

Clearly, Mark is a Wounded Warrior Project "Alumni," right? He was in combat. He was injured while in combat. When I was in Afghanistan, I mostly sat at a computer or briefed the guys who were going into danger. I never left the Forward Operating Base, or FOB--folks like me are now affectionately (derisively?) known as "fobbits." My injuries came from radiation. There are millions of cancer survivors out there just like me--some better off, some worse. They are not WWP "Alumni." They don't get the benefits I get. Do I deserve all this? 

I get stopped by people all the time thanking me for my service. People assume, because of my appearance, that I was wounded in combat. After I correct them, "No, it was just cancer." I always imagine there's a look of disappointment on their face. I assume they think, "I went out of my way to thank this man, thinking he's a hero, but it's only cancer?? My neighbor's kid has leukemia. His family doesn't get a special license plate, or discounts at restaurants!"

I feel guilty that people make the assumption that I'm a hero because I'm a disabled veteran. Yet, I still take advantage of veteran opportunities. I take comfort from the fact that Mark doesn't resent me at WWP or Disabled American Veteran (DAV) events (or he hides it really well). Also, there are many more veterans at these events who were not injured in combat. I don't know what the percentage is, but at the DAV Winter Sports Clinic in Aspen, Colorado, it seemed like half (or more) of the veterans were not injured in combat, but instead got their TBI, paralysis, blindness, or missing limb(s) from accidents or diseases.

So, one of those opportunities I took advantage of was the WWP offered me two box seat tickets to see the local college football team (University of Tennessee Volunteers; and that's American football, not that other football everybody else is crazy about) play a game. If you're not from Knoxville, or the US, then you may not fully appreciate the culture of college football around here. Let me just say that the last time UT won the national championship title, Peyton Manning was quarterback. He appears to be regarded as a minor deity in eastern Tennessee. We get regular progress reports in the local news on his health and performance in the NFL, even though he now plays for the Denver Broncos in Colorado. I've also noted that most of Denver's games are now televised here, even a game against San Diego a few weeks ago. Tennessee has no connection to Colorado or Southern California, but everyone is an automatic fan of wherever Peyton plays.

The media constantly highlights the damage football does to players' bodies. College professors lament how college football sucks money away from academics for lavish athletic facilities. At the air conditioned box suite above the fray of the commoners' seats at UT, I had flat screen TV monitors above every urinal in the bathroom, a huge catered lunch with plush, leather seats that had lovely views of the Tennessee River (why would I bother watching the game?). Meanwhile, across the street where I got my master's degree, the decrepit classrooms date back to the 60s. The 12-story humanities building was built in 1965 and recently had emergency maintenance because it was literally falling apart. But God forbid we have a losing football season or Peyton breaks a pinkie toe!! 

Side note: I've been a rabid Denver Broncos fan since the days when John Elway was quarterback. I realize this is somewhat hypocritical to my somewhat anti-football establishment rant above, but if you try to deride my team or our players, I WILL CUT YOU!! Peyton Manning better not break a toe, either!!!!!

Anyway, I keep digressing from the main topic: tubefeeding at the football game. I wasn't sure what the food situation was going to be up in the suites, so I opted not to bring my Blendtec and use whatever food they offered at the game. After seeing the smorgasbord our hosts laid out, I will definitely bring my blender next time if I ever have the opportunity again.

"What football game? I'm just here for the food!"

It seemed like there was an entire table devoted to donuts

So I blended up a meal before the game, put it in a blender bottle, and packed it along with my tube, plunger, syringe holders, and towels in a backpack. The University's security has a thing about not bringing any backpacks or liquids into the stadium, but our liaison for the game, Mary Hughes, talked to them beforehand and they let Betsy and I through.

We got passes to stand on the sidelines before the game. Pretty cool!

Couldn't find an outlet for my Blendtec down here

Up in our box seats, I was humbled to meet several other wounded veterans sitting with us. We had an excellent view of the action. Tennessee played Southern Alabama, which should have been an easy game for us, but our team isn't very good this year (they've been struggling since Peyton Manning left) so it turned out to be an exciting game. My seat had a convenient fold-out table I could hook my syringe holder to and I was able to eat without difficulty around halftime.

Could've brought alcohol in my blend, but alas I didn't

Luckily, there was no tubie blowout and I didn't spray food on my fellow veterans

Overall, it was a great experience. I really appreciate how much Mary, and everyone else, bent over backwards to accommodate all the wounded veterans in attendance!

The Mechanics of Tubefeeding

I feel like you want me to describe every aspect of tubefeeding, because on this blog there's no such thing as too much information....except poop....I draw the line at poop. I have standards, ok??

Eric O'Gorman gave a lovely description of eating a meal here. There are a few differences (different blender [Although, since I wrote this post, I've gone back to using a Vitamix because I feel like it does a better job], he's using two hands while I only use one, his blend is a bit thinner, etc.) but otherwise same idea. Many tubies (most tubies?) are young infants or are incapable of feeding themselves, so they have caregivers who do all the work. We'll call these caregivers "moms" because dads are adept at disappearing when it comes to changing poopy diapers and tubefeeding. My daughter has never been tubefed so I don't speak from personal experience but this sounds like the type of job I'd run away from. Regardless, caregivers--moms--prep and administer the food the same way. 

My meal begins with a blender. In this case, I'll be using the Blendtec for this demo.

"This is my Blendtec...there are many like it, but this one is mine."

Other people use a Vitamix, and that's perfectly fine--if you're a LOSER!! Just joking; actually I have both, and I go back and forth in preference. Right now, I'm using my Vitamix because the Blendtec has given me trouble blending some foods completely; plus the Vitamix is helping support the Oral Cancer Foundation. There are plenty of other blenders too. The Ninja has gotten good reviews. Other tubies use Magic Bullets, normal blenders, food processors, or even immersion blenders and make sure to put their blend through a strainer to take out any chunks. But if you really want to pulverize your food; if you're an American who grew up on violent video games and mass shootings every other Tuesday and you want to see your bloody rare steak decimated beyond all recognition then you should really use a Vitamix or Blendtec. For that matter, if you're a peace loving Canadian who wants all races and all vegan food blended in the great melting pot of life, then these two blenders are for you. I could see it go either way. They're the blenders for everyone!

Next, we add the ingredients. This is my typical lunch:

Just for fun, I blend the containers up too; because the Blendtec can do that

I'm "doubling up the recipe" so I have enough food for tomorrow's lunch also. So, I've got 2 bananas, 2 hard-boiled eggs, plain whole-milk yogurt, sunflower butter, almond butter, a delicious bar of dark chocolate for the anti-oxidants (because if there's one thing I hate, it's oxidants; tiny little sons-of-bitches!), fish oil (for the omega 3s, whatever those are...I'm not a nutritionist, ok?!?), stool softener (I said I wouldn't talk about poop!), and 16 ounces of green tea. 

On the other hand, if you've been married to the same woman for eleven LLLOOOOOOONNNNNGGGGG years, then maybe you'd prefer these ingredients:

Is it just me or does my blog have an alcoholic tone?

Not me, though. Nothing but green tea for this fellah! Wait, am I nearly out of wine?!?

At this point, I put the ingredients in the pitcher:

How'd that get there?

Then, hit the Soups/Syrups/Fondues button on the Blendtec...

The Control Center

Wait 90 seconds while my food is obliterated (I had to hold the lid down because I put quite a bit of food in for this blend). And voilà! I've got myself a couple meals that are both delicious AND nutritious!

It tastes exactly how it looks!! Like crap. It tastes like crap.

The next step is food consumption. This step begins with setting the table.

Blendtec should be paying me for this publicity, am I right??

I've laid (I've lain? What's the right word here? I'm not an English major, alright?!?) Betsy's 2nd best dishtowel down on the table in case of any messes. I've noticed the Blendtec pitcher does not pour as cleanly as the Vitamix pitcher, so there are apt to be errant drips--maybe you should look into that, Blendtec, eh? Betsy's best dishtowel is in my lap because I am an expert at feeding my lap various odoriferous concoctions. My blend is of course on the table, along with 8 ounces of water to flush my meal down once I'm finished. I also have my syringe in the ready position in the syringe holder, and I have my plunger. The rubber tip of my plunger is doused with cooking spray because it's a pain to push it into the syringe if it isn't lubed up. 

I've tried several other types of syringes, including syringes with silicone tips that don't need cooking spray and can be used practically indefinitely. The problem with all these syringes is that they are much more awkward for me to operate with one hand. My Medline syringes are thin enough that they fit into my syringe holder but fat and short enough that I can push the plunger one-handed.

So now I hook my tube up to the syringe. Let's take a look at that shall we?

Note the six-pack abs, ladies

Normally, a PEG tube doesn't include that red part. It's called a Lopez Valve. Since I can't use my left hand to hold the syringe into the tube it would slip out pretty easily if it wasn't for the Lopez Valve, especially when I apply the force necessary to push in a thick blend. That red, rubber part holds onto the syringe extremely well so I can do this whole thing one-handed. I've only found Lopez Valves in hospital ERs and since I haven't been to the ER in a while--knock on wood--I've run out of them, so not sure what I'll do next tube change. I suppose just keep using this one until it breaks.

[UPDATE TO THIS POST: I found a way to order more Lopez Valves! Try Allegro Medical at this link: http://www.allegromedical.com//patient-care-c530/lopez-enteral-valve-p549281.html?utm_campaign=Comparison%20Shopping&utm_source=froogle&utm_medium=feed&CS_003=9164468&CS_010=ff80808111238d9d011124bf2edf5c8b&gclid=CjwKEAiAodOlBRDCjr-UlJDjtVUSJABR7fxyTAqg022UFw3qmZQWmACDGT6veQNjh5fVD_g3uovfYRoCOxzw_wcB&kwid=productads-plaid%5E95325235693-sku%5E221@ADL4ICUM9000@ADL4ALLEGRO-adType%5EPLA-device%5Et-adid%5E53190000973 or try here: http://healthproductsforyou.com/p-6217-icu-medical-lopez-valve-closed-enteral-tube-valve.html?gclid=CjwKEAiAodOlBRDCjr-UlJDjtVUSJABR7fxyVeMqQLn7bGVQGBbvLuhZwCjl4BP_P-2rL2BVMN_nvBoC57Tw_wcB or I had success ordering here: link]

Anyway, here we go; I'm ready to commence eating!! Assuming my depth perception is still adequate, I pour my blend into the syringe:

I am AWESOME at taking selfies!!

My blend is thicker than water; more like smoothie consistency. It will not go in by the force of gravity, so, I have to push it into my stomach. When I'm putting real food into my stomach, it doesn't make a difference to me how fast or slow I push the meal in. On the other hand, formulas like Ensure, Jevity, and TwoCal make me extremely nauseous if they go in too fast. My belly must know something the formula companies don't. Here we are at the halfway point:

Do you think the syringe is half full or half empty? Hmmm...

Note in the picture above that there is a weak link in my tubefeeding chain. Let's call this weak point "Lopez Junction"

Lopez Junction

Since I can't hold the syringe into the tube at Lopez Junction, there is a risk that if I push too forcefully on the plunger, the tube will pop off and spray me, and my loved ones, with the ingredients I outlined above. That would be sad. Emoticon sad. :-(  FYI, emoticon sad is the saddest sad of all.

This is the main reason I keep my blends fairly thin with water (or hard alcohol; they both work fine), and I also don't push too hard on the plunger.

When I'm done pushing in that food, I clamp the tube, disconnect the syringe from Mr. Lopez, pull out the plunger, reconnect the syringe, set it up in my syringe holder, and repeat until my pitcher is empty and all emoticons are happy once again.

:-(  ---->  :-/  ---->  :-\  ---->  :-0  ---->  :-)   (see what I did there?)

Once my meal is complete, I flush my tube with the 8 ounces of water. 

Or vodka. Again with the alcoholism, Brian??

Getting water is very important for us tubies because we can't take casual drinks like inferior people. That's right, non-tubies are inferior to me; HOW DOES THAT FEEL?!? I try to drink 16 ounces each meal (8 oz. in the blend and 8 oz. for flushing). Plus I get another 16-24 ounces of "free" water (just water by itself) and water with my meds.

After, flushing the tube, it's time to clean the pitcher. The Blendtec is great at cleaning itself. Just fill with water, add some dish soap, run for a bit and you're ready for your next meal. 

Much like my daughter, I LOVE bubbles!

It's also really fun to overfill the pitcher with soapy water and run the blender on high. Do it at your sister-in-law, Katie's ("Hey Brian, watcha doin"), house, stand back 10 feet, and prepare for some entertaining fireworks!!!

I know this sounds like a long process just to eat a meal, but it really only takes me 20-25 minutes to prep and 15-20 minutes to eat. During that time I can watch a show on my computer--with the headphones on so I don't have to listen to my wife and daughter drone on about their day. 

I hope this blog post was both entertaining and informative. If you've read all the way to the end, then you're me, Brian. You're the only one who read this far. But you're still a winner in my book, you handsome devil!!! :-)