tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7424106579817154772024-03-05T13:13:35.677-08:00The Blog of the Traveling TubieTravelingtubiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01289236463144244586noreply@blogger.comBlogger114125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-742410657981715477.post-84709326093306053532019-09-19T09:41:00.000-07:002019-09-19T09:41:46.342-07:00One is the Loneliest Number<br />
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;">Vivek Murthy, former US Surgeon General, says loneliness decreases our lifespan as much as if we smoked 15 cigarettes a day. It can be more harmful than obesity. “Loneliness,” Murthy said in a <a href="https://www.forbes.com/sites/danschawbel/2017/10/07/vivek-murthy-how-to-solve-the-work-loneliness-epidemic-at-work/" id="id_4829_67c2_801f_fc40" target="_self"><i>Forbes</i> interview</a>, “is also associated with a greater risk of cardiovascular disease, dementia, depression, and anxiety.” </span><span style="text-align: center;">A <a href="https://www.economist.com/international/2018/09/01/loneliness-is-a-serious-public-health-problem" id="id_ab43_e979_8412_82e1">study by <i>The Economist</i> magazine</a></span><span style="text-align: center;"> and the Kaiser Family Foundation found that 9% of adults in Japan, 22% in America and 23% in Britain always or often feel lonely, or lack companionship, or else feel left out or isolated. I recently volunteered for Meals on Wheels, delivering hot meals to elderly people in our local community. So many of the people I saw on my routes were alone. I was likely the only human contact they would have all day (terribly sorry about that; hopefully you had someone better the next day). Some of them talked my ear off as though they had all these words bottled up and were just waiting for someone to listen. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;">In addition to the elderly, those who are disabled often suffer from this epidemic of loneliness. According to a <a href="http://enablemagazine.co.uk/the-loneliness-epidemic/" id="id_d0e7_b15c_8f97_9ea1"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;">British advocacy group</span></a>, half of the UK’s disabled are lonely. I haven’t seen exact figures for the US, but I imagine they are similar. If it weren’t for my wife and daughter, I’m certain I could count myself as socially isolated. I’m an introvert and still find it uncomfortable to eat in public. I’m also having a harder time making myself understood, especially in loud spaces. In August, I was interviewed for a news story about Real Food Blends. I couldn’t figure out how to insert the video into the blog, but you can watch it from any Scripps station website, like <a href="https://www.thedenverchannel.com/news/national/this-family-owned-business-is-changing-the-world-of-tube-feeding" id="id_ef13_c5da_dfbe_929e">Denver’s ABC affiliate</a></span>. You’ll notice that they decided to subtitle me. My lips and tongue don’t have the dexterity to enunciate words. Also, I can’t get through a full sentence without needing to take a breath. </div>
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Another thing that makes it hard for me to be out in public is my gastroparesis. With gastroparesis, I have to lie down to vent my tube almost hourly when I’m out and this can be awkward, especially if I’m at a concert or sporting event. I’m much more averse to going out now. I look at it like exercise; something I have to regularly suffer through because it’s good for my health. Actually, I’m luckier than a lot of disabled people out there. Having a child forces me to go out in public because I have to be there for my daughter’s soccer, volleyball, basketball, and softball games (watching softball sucks). And if Betsy wasn’t always encouraging me to take part in the community, I’m sure I’d be sitting on the couch reading all the time. I am fortunate to be surrounded by family (sometimes not so fortunate, depending on what the in-laws are doing), and I’m lucky to be ambulatory. There are so many lonely disabled people out there. I couldn’t imagine how difficult it is to date with a feeding tube. There are tubies who are hooked up to a pump for hours at a time. Tubies who can’t talk at all; who can’t express how it is to get food into our bodies. If you’re living alone with a feeding tube, who will be there if you have a clog? Who can help you change your tube? Who can take you to the doctor? There is no one to force you to go out in public, to make you connect with your community, and this only exacerbates your health problems.</div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;">I traveled to Winston Salem, NC, to a conference for work last week. I was with one of my co-workers, and I didn’t have any health issues or problems with my tube during the trip. I brought some blended meals for my breakfasts and Real Food Blends for the rest of my meals. This was good because I didn’t need to worry about going out with my blender by myself. Yet I could see that if I lived by myself, this could all too easily become my life. No reason to go out in public, so I just stay in every day for fear of tube feeding in public or not being understood. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;">Last year, Britain actually created the world’s first <a href="https://www.gov.uk/government/news/pm-launches-governments-first-loneliness-strategy" id="id_939a_3342_6618_9f15">Minister for Loneliness</a></span> to address the issue. At the time, there were a few jokes made about the position:</div>
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But good on the UK for confronting the scourge of social isolation. More communities in the US are starting to try different methods like <a href="https://www.joinpapa.com/" id="id_3eb1_1e8_cfb_e94c">Miami-based Papa</a>, which offers “Grandkids on Demand,” where you sign up to have college-aged kids come over for <a href="https://homehealthcarenews.com/2018/11/humana-keeps-focus-on-the-home-with-grandkids-on-demand-pilot/" id="id_a7b9_33d9_4600_fc90">companionship and help with general tasks</a>. But we could be doing so much more than these piece-meal approaches. If you have the means, I humbly beseech you to please get in touch with your neighbors. Not the ones who are out every day. Please don’t overlook the elderly, the disabled, the immigrants in your community who for one reason or another have minimal human contact. </div>
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And if you’re by yourself reading this, I can’t tell you it’s going to be ok because sometimes it’s not. I can’t tell you tomorrow will be better than today was. But you are not alone. Please reach out. The world isn’t as cold and uncaring as you think. For one thing, we have mankind’s greatest achievement: the dog.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue"; font-size: small; text-align: start;">Apollo scored 13/10 on @dog_rates</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue"; font-size: small; text-align: start;">Indy and Luna scored 13/10 on @dog_rates</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue"; font-size: small; text-align: start;">Bassie scored 14/10 on @dog_rates</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue"; font-size: small; text-align: start;">Duke scored 13/10 on @dog_rates</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue"; font-size: small; text-align: start;">Ouyu and Miyu scored 14/10 on @dog_rates</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue"; text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Maggie was shot 17 times and had her ear cut off before she was rescued. Now she’s a @dog_rates 15/10</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);">National Suicide Prevention Lifeline</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);">1-800-273-8255</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);">National Institute of Mental Health</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);">Find a Therapist—Psychology Today</span></div>
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Travelingtubiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01289236463144244586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-742410657981715477.post-80566815986401149492019-07-24T07:17:00.001-07:002019-07-24T07:29:46.055-07:00I.O.W.A.Last week, I visited my friend, Dave, in Iowa. I don’t want to bring up bad blood or state rivalries here but while Iowans sing the praises of their fine state, my wife—who grew up in Minnesota—insists that IOWA stands for Idiots Out Wandering Around. Again, I’m not trying to instigate conflict. I don’t want my blog blamed for the future war that erupts between these two mid-western states. All I’m saying is, Iowa, if you’re reading this, the people of Minnesota all think you’re a bunch of morons.<br />
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Some of the highlights from my relationship with Dave: We’ve known each other for over 25 years. We were college roommates. We got yelled at quite a bit by upperclassmen. <a href="https://travelingtubie.blogspot.com/2013/05/denver.html" target="_blank">We marched a lot of tours together.</a> I’ve become close with Dave’s family and high school friends in Denver over the years. Dave is the kind of friend you don’t lose touch with as years go by, no matter how much distance there is between you. Dave was the best man at my wedding. When I got cancer, Dave shaved his head and flew out to be with me during my chemo treatments. When I had a 13 hour surgery on my jaw, Dave spent the day keeping Betsy company, even though he was in the middle of medical school. Dave is the guy who will drop everything to help out, no matter how much he might be going through personally. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">May 27, 1998. Who'd have guessed that one of these gentlemen would make positive contributions to society?</td></tr>
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So now Dave is a doctor at a hospital in Cedar Rapids. Despite what his patients and colleagues told me (and the many malpractice lawsuits), I think he’s a very good doctor. Did that sound bad? What I mean is, if you happen to be in the St. Luke's emergency room in Cedar Rapids, you could do a lot worse than Dr. Baumgartner. Probably. I mean, you're not over at the Mercy ER, right? His wife, Claire, works in palliative care at the same hospital. She is an excellent doctor and sometimes she’s not embarrassed to be seen with her husband. I told Dave I’m doing some part time work for a company that is trying to improve social determinants of health (like food insecurity and social isolation) in East Tennessee. I visited Dave and Claire to see how they deal with social determinants at their hospital. </div>
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I know my current job—Truck2Table and Synergasia Health Tech—doesn’t directly affect the tube feeding community, but I think it’s closely related. I have a strong belief that all tubies deserve to have <i>real</i> food, not canned formula. In the same way, I think people in poverty or those who live in food deserts deserve healthy food, not fast food meals or whatever they find at the Dollar store. These are not dynamic ideas and they could save our medical system billions of dollars in health costs. People across the country are recognizing this, even the idiots—I mean the <i>fine people</i>—of Iowa.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_2538_1ce8_a7fc_cc87" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/XMZeI1mp7x76xUQzdgEdZOYfFw2u_P0rRtJ46AZUCIc8fRJXC8QaanAGAQI" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 746px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Speaking of healthy food, check out the massive cookie the Big Grove Brewery in Iowa City gave Betsy for free!</td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);">It's always nice when we travel somewhere to stay at a friend's house, rather than a hotel room. So much easier use their kitchen and clean the blender after meals, as opposed to blending my meal in a cramped hotel room. Plus, we didn't destroy their house too much, so I think they won't mind if we visit again.</span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);">It was also nice to have help when we opened the suitcase that I carry my Vitamixer and Real Food Blend meals in and discovered that one of my RFB bags had popped and spilled all over the inside of the bag. This has <i>never</i> happened before in all the years I've traveled so of course it was a salmon meal that spilled everywhere. Betsy was ready to give up and go out to buy a new bag, but Dave got it all cleaned out for us.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We've lost some hair and an arm, but otherwise we look the same</td></tr>
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Iowa City, where Dave and Claire live, is a really cool college town. We went out to eat at <a href="http://onetwentysix.net/" target="_blank">One Twenty Six</a>, a very nice restaurant at the downtown pedestrian mall. I had lamb chops with Brussel sprouts and they blended my meal perfectly. Betsy had steak and said it "melted in her mouth."<br />
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Dave and I were able to play 9 holes of golf before our flight home, so I got to try out my adaptive glove for one-armed golfers. It actually worked out pretty well, and I plan to join the PGA tour soon.</div>
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I’m joking. The glove was awesome but I remain a horrible golfer and an outstanding golf cart driver.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look at that perfect form!!</td></tr>
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The flight home from Iowa was pretty hectic. We had a connection in Charlotte, but our plane couldn’t immediately land because of storms. Then, the flight home got delayed and Betsy and I ended up getting bumped off the flight because it was overbooked (thanks, American). We did get free $500 vouchers for future flights so it wasn’t all bad but they were telling us we might not get a flight out of Charlotte until the next night. I only had two Real Food Blends left so the Vitamixer would have to sustain me.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That Real Food Blend in Charlotte <i>really</i> hit the spot!!! <a href="https://travelingtubie.blogspot.com/2014/02/product-endorsement.html" target="_blank">Have I mentioned how great it is to travel with RFB</a>??</td></tr>
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Fortunately, we were lucky enough to get standby seats on the last flight out of Charlotte. Instead of getting back to Knoxville at 7:00 PM, we arrived home at 11:30, but at least we made it home.<br />
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I know I've been horrible about blogging. I have gastroparesis (that will have to be a whole other blog post) and it's really taken a toll on my motivation for writing. I will try to be better about it in the future!</div>
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Travelingtubiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01289236463144244586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-742410657981715477.post-41548317797086362332018-10-15T06:13:00.001-07:002018-10-15T06:13:19.383-07:00This guy I knew named NickFreshman year at the Air Force Academy is a little rough. You get there in June and go through six weeks of basic training. You get yelled at a lot, run around in combat boots, do an absurd amount of push-ups, pull-ups, and sit-ups and don't get me started on the marching. Marching drills, marching to meals, marching before exercising, marching after exercising, marching to inspections, marching to the bathroom, marching in the bathroom, marching from the bathroom, marching to bed, marching to more marching drills. You're in the Air Force for Christ's sake! When will you ever be expected to march in the Air Force? This isn't the Army. It's not the Marines. FOR THE LOVE OF--<br />
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Sorry, went off on a tangent. So basic training sucked. Then the school year started and on top of going to classes like Calculus 3 and military history, we got yelled at a lot, ran around in combat boots, did an absurd amount of push-ups, pull-ups and sit-ups and a RIDICULOUS amount of marching.<br />
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I spent that whole year with the same people. Just like you can't pick your family, you can't pick your squad mates. There are 40 squadrons at the Academy and each squadron has about 25 freshmen. Before basic training starts, you're randomly placed into a squadron and these are the people who will see you at your absolute worst. They are the ones who have to suffer because you didn't shine your boots just right. They have to do push-ups because you failed your inspection. They are there to cheer you on when you don't think you can run any farther. We started basic training with 33 freshmen in 7th squadron. By the end of the year, that number had been winnowed down to 24. We started out as a random group of strangers and ended up like a family. Sometimes, you really can't stand your family, but at the same time, you'd do anything for them. People like Dave, Nate, Angela, Trent, Rob, Beth, Chris, Matt, Jason, Erynn, Cory, Floyd...and Nick.<br />
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Like most of the people in my new family, Nick and I didn't have a lot in common. He was the son of school teachers from a tiny town in western Kansas. I was a person who almost fell asleep driving through western Kansas. Nick walked on to the Academy's JV baseball team as a pitcher. I begged my little league baseball coach to let me play pitcher so he did it for part of one inning, until enough of the other team had either hit home runs off me or got hit by my wild throws. Nick was an excellent student. He aced every class he took. I was...a student. So normally Nick and I would never have crossed paths. But freshman year, you really have no choice other than to spend time with your squad mates. You can't go off base (actually you can't go outside the cadet area) except in rare instances--even on the weekends. So when you're not doing homework, playing intramurals, getting yelled at, running in combat boots, making your room and uniform look immaculate, memorizing obscure military quotes, and don't forget the marching(!), you're just hanging out together.<br />
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One thing I always loved doing was hiking and the Air Force Academy has plenty of opportunities for that. My favorite trail at the Academy was the one up Eagle's Peak.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhIK9Ig1CuA4VU0Rgby90QJcvNiaQsgP81prVMWhQe4Mf6XzmWAXzOR9oKwVd7fxH2Ki4NiFUjL7ZNM79Sb3yYUivVsPfNfpZGhjqbhr7tb4pwqz1mF45GHaWZ_NezLQIZtIh4iTWN15D-/s1600/146205.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="650" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhIK9Ig1CuA4VU0Rgby90QJcvNiaQsgP81prVMWhQe4Mf6XzmWAXzOR9oKwVd7fxH2Ki4NiFUjL7ZNM79Sb3yYUivVsPfNfpZGhjqbhr7tb4pwqz1mF45GHaWZ_NezLQIZtIh4iTWN15D-/s640/146205.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eagle's Peak rises above the Cadet Chapel</td></tr>
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The trail to climb Eagle's Peak was really easy to get to from the dorms. Just head west from the Academy Visitor's Center, cross a road and you've started up the mountain. It was a strenuous hike, but not overly so and the view from the top was spectacular.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View of USAFA from the top of Eagle's Peak</td></tr>
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I climbed that mountain more times than I could say. I knew every inch of that trail and eventually you reach a point where climbing Eagle's Peak doesn't seem like much of a challenge. Late in our freshman year, Nick and I reached that point. Normally, you climb up Eagle's Peak by circling around the front and coming up from the back side. This is so you avoid the sheer cliff face on the east side of the mountain.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGeKymkU0vkvgqLmfVOrtrgVbnUvk5wWg5x_YBYZa0zHJcB9rfanuX6XfjHJJTxFpOQs8ha1mRpMJeshcnXUk2pvVZfx77snJ3EWf2oKgjSYkMB_GUOn1thT40tchqipKCx6P48MDYpEPb/s1600/100803-F-7814K-890.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="1050" height="456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGeKymkU0vkvgqLmfVOrtrgVbnUvk5wWg5x_YBYZa0zHJcB9rfanuX6XfjHJJTxFpOQs8ha1mRpMJeshcnXUk2pvVZfx77snJ3EWf2oKgjSYkMB_GUOn1thT40tchqipKCx6P48MDYpEPb/s640/100803-F-7814K-890.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That cliff really looks doable, right?</td></tr>
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By this point in my cadet career, I'd gone through basic training, I'd been yelled at, run around in combat boots, done a lot of push-ups, pull-ups, and sit-ups, and marched until I was marching in my sleep. I don't want to speak for Nick here but I was sort of a badass. Plus I was 19 and as everyone knows, all 19 year-olds are indestructible ninja assassins. Why should I be held back by a measly cliff? So, one Saturday, Nick and I decided to tackle the front of Eagle's Peak.<br />
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Our journey started off swimmingly. It seemed much faster going straight up. Why didn't everyone climb this way? We reached the base of the cliff in positive spirits. Sure, the cliff appeared quite a bit taller and steeper than it looked from the ground. Also there was an ominous dark cloud blowing in from the west, but did I mention that we were indestructible ninja assassins? Undaunted, Nick and I started to climb. The lower portion of the cliff offers enough hand and foot holds to pull yourself up, as long as you're not averse to risk and you avoid looking down. Then, it gets a little trickier. Right about the time when the sky got darker and thunder rumbled around us, I began to reassess my destructibility.<br />
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I didn't want to be the one to wuss out and crawl back home, and Nick didn't seem to be slowing down so we continued our slow progress up the cliff. Right around the halfway point, the wind is picking up, thunder is getting closer, and I'm definitely seeing headlines in the <i>Colorado Springs Gazette</i> like, "Idiotic Cadets Struck by Lightning Before Fall From Cliff," or "Idiotic Cadets Fall From Cliff Before Being Struck by Lightning," or even "Idiotic Cadets Manage to Get Struck by Lightning During Fall From Cliff." Any way you put it, I was starting to feel like an idiot. Honestly, I think Nick could've made it up in good weather. Unfortunately, we got to a point where he could reach the next handhold but I was too short, so he was dangling his leg down so I could grab onto it. Then, we started to feel rain. Or maybe it was my tears. Probably a bit of both. Nick made the decision to turn around because his wingman was blubbering like a toddler.<br />
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Dejected, we made our way back to the dorms in the rain. I think we may have taken different lessons from our attempt at the rock face of Eagle's Peak. I learned that climbing mountains is a little trickier than climbing trees. Also I'm rather short. And lightning storms in Colorado are scary. And I may not be the best at high pressure situations. And I'm a little man-baby.<br />
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Nick just kept on taking those risks.<br />
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After our second year at the Academy, everyone switched squadrons. Nick and I saw each other in the halls during class, but rarely spoke. He had his friends and I had mine. I was big into partying on the weekends and probably didn't put as much effort into my school work as I should have. I graduated with a 3.0, so not too bad but definitely not in the top of our class. From the Academy, I had a brief career in the Air Force before I was forced out by cancer.<br />
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Nick's trajectory after graduation could not have been more different. He majored in Aerospace Engineering, graduated near the top of our class, and got a fellowship to MIT. From there, Nick became a flight test pilot and kept on taking risks with his sights set on being an astronaut. In 2013, his dream came true and he was one of eight selected for the program. He was the first from his class to be chosen to go to the International Space Station. In fact, he was part of the Soyuz mission that launched last Thursday.<br />
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I haven't spoken to the guy in more than 20 years. But when Col. Nick Hague's rocket booster failed a couple minutes into his flight to the International Space Station Thursday morning, I was watching. I was reminded of that day on the rock face of Eagle's Peak, and I was pretty confident Nick would come out of it with the same calm confidence he displayed that day (<a href="https://www.cbsnews.com/amp/news/soyuz-rocket-launch-abort-mission-iss-nasa-astronaut-russians-ballistic-descent/">https://www.cbsnews.com/amp/news/soyuz-rocket-launch-abort-mission-iss-nasa-astronaut-russians-ballistic-descent/</a>).<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Colonel Nick Hague</td></tr>
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<br />Travelingtubiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01289236463144244586noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-742410657981715477.post-66618271631116819772018-07-30T07:24:00.001-07:002018-08-02T14:48:59.077-07:00I want to live in Sweden Yep, I'm ready to move to Sweden. I've been told that the weather is not always perfect, like it was when we were there. Also, daylight doesn't always last for 18 hours at that latitude. Plus, mosquitoes might form dark, apocalyptic clouds away from the coast of Sweden--like we see in Minnesota and large swaths of Alaska. But I'm undaunted. Sweden is the place for me. I'm a Swede. Change my name to<span style="font-family: inherit;"> <span style="background-color: #f8f9fa;">Björn</span> </span>Liebensson. We had such a magical week there that I struggle to put it into words. So, let me flounder along chronologically.<br />
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We did make a stop in New York on our way to Europe because we wanted to break up the trip and see the Statue of Liberty. For the past few months, I've had some issues with needing to vent my tube three or four times a day. Venting is something that a lot of small children with tubes have to do. It's a way of eliminating bloating in the stomach by lying back, opening the tube and just letting the pent up air escape. In the 10 years I've had a tube, I've never had to do this, and we still can't figure out why things are different now. It made my trip extremely awkward at times, like when I had to lie down in the grass at the base of the Statue of Liberty so I could vent:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Isn't there a joke here about the huddled masses in my stomach yearning to breathe free?</td></tr>
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Definitely got a lot of stares from people looking at the guy with the volcano spurting out of his belly, but I certainly wasn't the freakiest looking thing in Manhattan. Have you walked around Times Square?<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We have reached peak photobomb</td></tr>
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We stayed in the garment district in Manhattan at the Kimpton Hotel on the advice of a friend (Thanks Cat!). Betsy and Grace are huge fans of the fashion show Project Runway, so we went to Mood to look at every type of fabric you could imagine and meet their most famous employee, Swatch.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We got to touch him!!!!</td></tr>
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While the girls shopped, I watched England play Croatia on their TV with a bunch of other dudes. Julio ruined the game for all of us when he said Croatia was going to score in overtime minutes before it happened on TV because he was getting live results on his phone while the TV broadcast had a delay. So, what could be more 'New York' than hearing a bunch of people of all races and sexual orientations yell, "Fuck You, Julio!!" then riding an elevator down to 37th street with Swatch so he could go potty?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh54eZkJBaQVEOp0-43weEs5k_02awLpd5SlvhAdphwQ1-DwIoP6TELD2Jtt4t9vtl0BsGCX3AVIqUl4-EZwjwIzEgw7RnwmEZV2u_R7msQ-Xgqsu5iBxGjB1DcL-U18lPsONCUHoB87it/s1600/IMG_3560.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" id="id_c56f_4adf_34b3_ea0c" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh54eZkJBaQVEOp0-43weEs5k_02awLpd5SlvhAdphwQ1-DwIoP6TELD2Jtt4t9vtl0BsGCX3AVIqUl4-EZwjwIzEgw7RnwmEZV2u_R7msQ-Xgqsu5iBxGjB1DcL-U18lPsONCUHoB87it/s400/IMG_3560.jpeg" style="height: auto; width: 300px;" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Way cooler to get your picture with this girl than the bull in front of her</td></tr>
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After our brief stop in New York, it was time to Uber to Newark Airport so we could catch an 11:30 PM flight to Copenhagen.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_20b5_6213_5c5e_c4f7" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJoyLEfo7DFYd2AK1EGyV8sYIixOh-X9LBdncqdZpflzjbZBc1ADYv3vlcBgLAlkgxDwix57vauwNlRJOmyiBOi_CJ8O_e1kUvUQcVr8VQKD7xufJAqkogjoO50g4cEb3d2GCvffyrPEyM/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 353px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Betsy was asleep already</td></tr>
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Real Food Blends were a huge source of food for me throughout my time away from home. I packed some along in my suitcase and shipped more to our host family. I ended up having too many meals, but I'd much rather have too many than too few. On the plane, I preferred to eat salmon meals because those have the smoothest consistency.<br />
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<tr><td><img alt="" id="id_4b05_8f9f_b3ab_aff8" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpk9itGdLpaiuyVoCZr9s88BXXeZ2wdz09GfY2ggIT8OYXW1O4D5OlY-TvvIiC9yDVyk6Ypc0w0XuK8WZalObZ2M2-8nGXIWrpk67C_aR-N4fkjufIIYEanVIeNreuwb9dxb8O_GtmD-la/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 353px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Happy times before we got salmon on Betsy's shirt</td></tr>
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Of course, part of being a tubie is that accidents always happen, usually at the worst possible time.<br />
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<tr><td><img alt="" id="id_6b93_e8d2_7a99_38ae" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2BB1vAMLXCBzjvB9l2DlCckD6HY5lBPm7tBWidD2vZrtnRqJOyGAXrgrY2iKbhgXD-i0e7NLCqZqJ-_5T4DOQAWObjMtdkiiz2gxl4XW0VVT-DRmOt26vi1MRM-IfoxEpPzNQDypvmaRD/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 353px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Steady...Steady....</td></tr>
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In this case, I left the valve that opens my tube in the 'closed' position and the very aromatic Salmon, Oats, and Squash meal spurted out onto Betsy's shirt. This was early into an 8-hour flight, so Betsy had to suffer with a smelly, damp shirt in a cramped seat next to her smelly husband and her daughter's smelly feet. This is the price all caregivers must make. I wanted to take another picture to capture this tragedy, but wisely deduced that this would lead to Betsy dumping the rest of my meal over my head.<br />
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So, yeah, salmon meals are the easiest to eat, just don't make any spills.<br />
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After the hurried chaos of New York, Copenhagen was this neat, orderly city where everyone was biking, or out on the water, or just hanging out with some beers at a park (it's ridiculously expensive to drink in restaurants so people usually go to the liquor store and drink outside). We met up with another family from our team and watched the sunset from a canal right outside our hotel.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_a2d8_6359_8e1b_8e5c" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMa0haRRGzLV6ybAokbISHHxNCRPKgB5VkovTOLebisbWRkYfhtSBe1PFsqvFLyzlWpDcvc6ym2B8jr74ECrYt6Nmovjee4kigJXnucDrkoluiKHm14V8AMTQhDiIELpZp2REuxA36EXEQ/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 353px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Everybody confuses Grace with Nathalie during games, even their parents</td></tr>
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The next day was a whole lot of walking. One of the first things we did was climb the tower at the Church of our Savior, which was completed in 1752.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYxn21bKAVQyDFgqNGBR17118pYeKkXJJylB1dWbdWTcYp1Z3104YYIGhAnh2Hpkc3ZSXaSGRxJRxlrKiSAkdvd7lh9aHjGRq3kgY6OjEyFA8U_RrkUTIWPC-ybGMM57pM7lvGZ2hgfM7Y/s1600/Copenhagen_-_Church_of_Our_Saviour_-_2013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1246" data-original-width="800" height="640" id="id_c766_f0f2_ff5d_a2b" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYxn21bKAVQyDFgqNGBR17118pYeKkXJJylB1dWbdWTcYp1Z3104YYIGhAnh2Hpkc3ZSXaSGRxJRxlrKiSAkdvd7lh9aHjGRq3kgY6OjEyFA8U_RrkUTIWPC-ybGMM57pM7lvGZ2hgfM7Y/s640/Copenhagen_-_Church_of_Our_Saviour_-_2013.jpg" style="height: auto; width: 409px;" width="409" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Definitely wasn't thinking about '1752' when I was climbing</td></tr>
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400 steps to the top, with the last 150 outside. Stunning views of the city; really one of those things you have to see if you visit the city. Just not if you're especially afraid of heights.<br />
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My European Vitamix was waiting for me in Sweden, so I was still eating six Real Food Blends a day. Very convenient to have, but I was jealous of all the good food everyone else got to try. I did manage to drink a local hard cider with my lunch at a large open air dining area outside Nyhavn canal.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" height="640" id="id_8c86_8d8e_a0d0_7471" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgczXaOWh866lXCNQA38mqXjlgXKogNfDLtagMvZwETJ0yDqHQjs6soO4aMd-P8m-MyR9d0TLzTnNiv9zLLEvXqCFNm02CzWWLB04EXCpJvxTee28x7dDNTwx-kTExNmJuygAuMWau6EDrj/s640/%255BUNSET%255D" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="" tooltip="" width="480" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's the good stuff</td></tr>
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Of course, no trip to Copenhagen is complete until you've gotten a picture with the Little Mermaid Statue. I guess I'd read and heard so much about how tiny the statue is that when I was confronted with it, I thought she was pretty big.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_2f52_2abf_5f6d_5977" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRelaoiEY0TcqgIXtqaT56GfgOCtH4EwLae4kP_CmqXP1OAvEZxYj-KCkHNah8tDZQ_TPBCN_RBZ6TupLMRRdcEfNed2Z5Z5GEodFOHmWhuAIQzbKadxEVQnObGGRzqsN5OmsGP41E33zG/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 353px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">HUGE!!!</td></tr>
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Another opportunity I had to eat something other than Real Food Blends was when I got a smoothie at Coffee Industry Sweden. In the same way southern towns like Knoxville have a church on every corner, Copenhagen seemed to have a coffee shop on every corner. They even had these mobile coffee carts on bikes because the only thing Danish people are crazy about more than coffee is biking. One of the many coffee franchises in Copenhagen--other than Starbucks--was Coffee Industry Sweden, and they blended up a mango smoothie especially for my tube.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_502_b349_5f9c_913f" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZs9esZrcR-4O2cKXmP8VPiLlGcgTI2NZdcHn2QHoadNwfFkuRkEBPYlLP_NFxrbYJiZaqkt_412keThifoO4zulIuW1trLYTxUHHYGwXtPxWuccnnm7mddNmht1BaFONGlxJpS8K2_NzL/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 353px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gave me just enough energy to crawl back to the hotel room after our eight mile walk</td></tr>
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One of the many reasons I love Europe is that you can hop on a train and travel anywhere. We took a beautiful 3-hour train ride from Copenhagen, across the<span style="font-family: inherit;"> <span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">Öresund (the strait separating Denmark from Sweden), and up the coast to Varberg. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_4a96_522f_6354_803a" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzKBTHS97wdZha2uXyv2drCWyMw6m5MAfwnOEWfQx4WDNQo2BGM52RkMrqdfWcVg91UuDaMPUGNh0tFWDw9zqcpjlP_H7Xwhn6jzuWS2eKENferdRfWh5zjASJjz9Em3pqaOCLHeaQ80LO/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 353px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They're smiling because we filled them up on crepes and Danish pastries</td></tr>
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Like I said before, the weather on our trip was absolutely perfect (with the exception of one hellish lightning storm which I will discuss later). Temperatures in the 70s during the day, and cooling off into the mid-50s at night. I think this really painted Sweden in the best possible light for me because temperatures back home in Knoxville were hovering around 150 degrees with 500 percent humidity (only a slight exaggeration). Varberg, Sweden is this picturesque coastal town with zero crime and bike paths connecting everything. While the Swedish people are not noted for their overt friendliness to strangers out in public, local cats made up for this by greeting me wherever I went.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_6fe0_e3b5_c932_bfe8" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2sOwW2K6keRGLctpR4HKEgoX6lKgY4MuUuqqagHrxBPbSkn0-qRQal0bT27oDNqpUs2-nfmKYS56RAbaDmifKaguYtqoLXOZhS_u0-WNsTgfEHwPExhAfVCSFG8thlfGQOKzlVgT59opE/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 353px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Swedish cats eat nothing but pickled herring</td></tr>
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I only included that picture because when we told our coach's wife (who is Swedish) about it, she looked at me like I'm an idiot and said, "We have cats in America." Yes, there are cats in the U.S. but walking outside in this perfectly orderly country in beautiful weather, with birds singing merrily from the trees and animals coming up to nuzzle at my leg, I felt like I was in a Disney movie. Except both my parents are alive so...happier than a Disney movie? I know winters are dark and cold and rain is far more common than sunshine, but <i>cats were greeting me everywhere!</i><br />
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While we were in Sweden, we often found time to ride bikes or take the bus down to the beach to see the sunset. Since that didn't happen until 9:30PM and we usually stayed out much later drinking with our host families and friends we usually stayed up until past midnight.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_58fe_2883_a589_d2a5" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDp5wxoYhHhw2wfziuub_U7E-lBP6VP81_B2PHOIsw2ZpacKk1mxHnzDDYJEsmwhHE-JwFN6QLVuq9LNAFvd8kwqEwAElWrxRM5UF0lIBHJ7I-vYOLG4Koioksjy8ZOBc9KMfgrhNK1-Bg/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 353px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wine at sunset on the North Sea!!</td></tr>
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Speaking of host families, we definitely had the best one, by far. Since their two girls (Age 7 months and 3 years) both slept in their parents' bed, they let us use the entire second floor of their house!!! They had an awesome French bulldog who loved to snore and fart in Grace's bed at night. Plus we watched a <i>ton</i> of episodes of Paw Patrol and Dora the Explorer in Swedish and Ellen's (the 3 year-old) favorite movie, <i>Frozen</i>, which is way better in Swedish and extremely amusing to see in Finnish, Norwegian, and Danish. Seriously, they really gave us a home away from home and we were so fortunate to have them.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" height="480" id="id_b58f_44a3_923f_139c" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBcFElhlfCveHxKYpbsvL7FXvf0rPL1uD9qgzKcsEe4uB0ytXTNf1ZuwwrSj13nBLsNnDq7gby1-vIvykRm2dkyXxVJypcJQg_4Jo9X2HkZFcCY7-Dk8MjULqVOw8lXvGZpxWkjBlRc-M2/s640/%255BUNSET%255D" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="" tooltip="" width="640" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They called Charlie "Little Pig" in Swedish (forgot the words?) because of how much he snorts and farts</td></tr>
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I mentioned in a past blog that my sister, who has a stinky butt, shipped her European Vitamix blender to Sweden so I could use it. It was SO helpful to have that blender there!!! Thank you, Ginger!!! Please don't beat me up next month for constantly saying you have a stinky butt!! I didn't need to worry about packing my own blender, or the heavy 3,000Watt converter I would need to use it in the European 220Volt outlets. I could set up in our host family's kitchen and blend my meals every day. The only downside was that our poor host family had to contend with the noisy blender. By the end of our time there, their 7 month-old daughter still hadn't said her first word, but she was making noises mimicking the sound of the Vitamix. So, you're welcome for that. Sara and Andreas, if you'd like, we can record the sound of my blender and send it as a Christmas gift and maybe it will help put the girls to sleep at night.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0tOUIWCGOEVixlSwclvxL_CzoMdhlMDkHQgmJVlp7hcuPtGUMQYTtSoUDAujfu5Z8dBrN8hNBE-KDnorTZzxhzeCYa_w0f3q-0gJNA6UCEWNB7a1mCV1dN36voKAc6rh3iD1c4wH88LPa/s640/IMG_3695.jpg" style="color: #0000ee; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline;" width="480" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And now Grace wants a French Bulldog; preferably if he farts and snorts</td></tr>
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<div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxIylRPcdsTsstgFoeavqBTCYbiEl0tBdPUE2metNgD3XPmuKYrJErJCXaBFQ3C5bn6aEMWNVYz1m5ZQLLScyGkhobXStj_XUIxLfW3nzo6ya5gJ_fO5h0OgPSI8M5EiUVmVfwXCygnG08/s1600/IMG_3652.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxIylRPcdsTsstgFoeavqBTCYbiEl0tBdPUE2metNgD3XPmuKYrJErJCXaBFQ3C5bn6aEMWNVYz1m5ZQLLScyGkhobXStj_XUIxLfW3nzo6ya5gJ_fO5h0OgPSI8M5EiUVmVfwXCygnG08/s640/IMG_3652.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And Betsy wants a baby; preferably a perfect baby like Agnus</td></tr>
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<div>
Despite my firm belief that the world revolves around me, this trip was really about Grace and her soccer team in the Gothia Cup. The night we arrived, we got in the soccer spirit by going into town and watching the World Cup final on a big screen with a lot of the locals, including many Croatians who immigrated to Sweden in the 90s because of the Balkan War. They were a bit disappointed because of the final score of the game, but I think they got over it by drinking copious amounts of alcohol.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_fdec_48a_6d9a_2a14" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO5QRR6cwNelbhYpF0chmOT2ANGd2g8CzPuFANK-i80wKquDhQMbC23dA1xnzzjiENIQlqiFrBRRPu0FtfVNS8m6SIct5Klo3Ke7skc3wwwCSlFM82nllQgAau64eIC2nrMRtZilnBy_Wx/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 353px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here we are during the end of the second half</td></tr>
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The next day, the girls took a 20 minute train ride up to their first game. They played a Swedish team who were supposedly the same age, but they were a head taller than our girls, so I think they eat differently in Sweden or something. The game was closer than I thought it would be, but we lost 2-0.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_fea8_a14d_113c_fd2d" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsaztvr5xOZ5B2vNGlD_SdneBZLYkeEd7a5JRuPGGbTFB5vMurImApMCjhu4w900kU51odepqhIE8Fz2snKcj0Z_rNJkWqgEMwAasJzozekYt4ebaIeImoKWAzYZ4QfQWGMbSlddTkLLu-/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 353px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We tried to sneak some of the boys on the team, but it didn't fly</td></tr>
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The girls all behaved really well during the trip. It is an experience they will never forget, and I think it brought them all closer together.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_c93f_e57f_4811_145c" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_W_AU_OfJ_Sju5KAkX7MKDw5cF-xwSGD4mjW6mYElf-yUmJ5IlfW5HBHSVdl4t9JtaZdsLlEuWWUqVv8Kf7Sl9Jg0nmTXnYZqrPBWCneeqXKQCBIOk6tI_gZGk3OEUQphtGjZnXL09br1/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 353px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grace and Claire, who competed for the 'Smelliest Feet' prize. It was too close to call.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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After the game, we traveled up to Gothenburg for the opening ceremonies of the games. They were incredible. It's like how I imagine it would be to attend the opening ceremonies for the Olympics, but more positive and uplifting. The girls were in their own section in a huge stadium that Sweden built when they hosted the FIFA World Cup in 1958. Local Swedish singers put on an amazing show. Here are some highlights from one of the singers, 17 year-old Hanna Ferm:<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/qCE9SXsD2Fw/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" id="id_21bb_736f_db74_39fc" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/qCE9SXsD2Fw?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
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Hanna Ferm - Gothia Cup 2018</div>
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And this was one of our favorite parts of the ceremony, when a Swedish girl not much older than Grace gave this incredible performance:<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/zD82Lf3TUJQ/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" id="id_21ec_9cf5_47b5_cf67" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/zD82Lf3TUJQ?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
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Gothia Cup Opening Ceremony 2018 with Saga Ludvigsson</div>
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The fireworks at the end, right after the sun set, were stunning:<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/MILrh1HPUHI/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" id="id_f1a9_38e2_942c_d3cf" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/MILrh1HPUHI?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
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Gothia Cup 2018 Opening Ceremony Fireworks</div>
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It was just a huge, multi-cultural party with 79 countries represented and about 1,700 teams.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_2cf_975b_b396_3ba" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzFPz1-BIZ2ONfGA6Qyiufzze4GCTPk1c6edADC0jySXPxmLSOocb05E1frtiA2JXPvt-FjVJBMgN3h5B93v_9cOIaWAvpgNBQmLXqqteFGZ-rDCI-XC4NG34xOWgDjFmqpCXdZUh6gFNT/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 353px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Luckily, Grace wasn't sitting with us so she didn't have to see us dance</td></tr>
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Right after the ceremony, a huge lightning storm sprang up right overhead. Rain dumped down on us and it was total chaos trying to make our way back to the train station. All the parents were scattered everywhere with thousands of people running every which way speaking dozens of different languages. We were separated from our girls but they all held hands and marched to the train station in perfect orderly fashion while their parents were moaning with terror in the streets, praying to the Norse gods for an end to the madness.<br />
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The second day brought another game. This time against a really good team from Stockholm.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_2a04_4a41_3b8b_61c8" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhutZvw0QRDVQohHYh14lD46eHL91RRRcwZiZgIlJsgpPRt5xT5nQIIBZJ6uvD-KM0fZ0cnxJsMCe4pdUoN1Olc5dWMzt-28vzWqfwNoqTeomGOFgSYE-SLaPOA9CmC44NViAMAUp8BjC-7/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 353px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Action shot of Grace that was shared on the AYSO United Facebook page</td></tr>
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This game was our toughest loss of the tournament. Afterwards, we naturally had to stop at the Swedish liquor store so we could drown our sorrows. The team was forced to wait outside.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_cdf_dc8d_c75a_cd23" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSvQ2BB4qroqZBdeT0j4AJQldhlpNllXsdWFnMFyZB6dvHfH90neLlC2nOIWRmqtecOTtz27ZOpw2pMWl9dyH3H585NHIXO0i8yik4lB2yIbOrpAu9XDktYjVUoh6CesLF5DYLhoEj_ozh/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 353px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Yay! Mommy and Daddy are alcoholics!"</td></tr>
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I think the coolest thing that happened in the tournament was the third game. Grace played against a team from Gothenburg. We were talking to one of the parents and it turned out that she adopted her daughter from China too!!! I think the parents were much more excited about this than the girls, but it was so neat to get a picture of them together after the game.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGcV1MWFfaXWvOxUopLVLwQ6ohrwy1AtehZFpYOSzG5pCCJuU926uAiRTciaOwjGR9QhcnOtxNr-Cj8S4R4Nu8rjDE3_8yzficDM89DQd-m_UhCBffEX1fTV19DPxhZM4u6ETsi4tuBBLx/s1600/IMG_3662.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGcV1MWFfaXWvOxUopLVLwQ6ohrwy1AtehZFpYOSzG5pCCJuU926uAiRTciaOwjGR9QhcnOtxNr-Cj8S4R4Nu8rjDE3_8yzficDM89DQd-m_UhCBffEX1fTV19DPxhZM4u6ETsi4tuBBLx/s400/IMG_3662.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Why are you making me stand next to this Swedish girl for a picture??"</td></tr>
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We had lots of time before and after the games to go to the beach and do some sightseeing around Varberg. The girls would've spent every moment at the beach if they could.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDaBhndy8IVg63N6nfjgCLhLEfEpltAFpp7zujNW1XH4g8smzjDwuiuljIFRhVnrogvL22ElQN5XYTebMWIxUU0fcbjX0ykadtmEyJzAVq_u8gYOQeru_AbSmv2Dqse0dZmj84KXE-NjM0/s1600/IMG_3607.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDaBhndy8IVg63N6nfjgCLhLEfEpltAFpp7zujNW1XH4g8smzjDwuiuljIFRhVnrogvL22ElQN5XYTebMWIxUU0fcbjX0ykadtmEyJzAVq_u8gYOQeru_AbSmv2Dqse0dZmj84KXE-NjM0/s400/IMG_3607.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The water was cold, but not as cold as I thought it would be</td></tr>
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We toured a fortress on the water that was first built in the 13th century and upgraded several times during Sweden's never-ending conflicts with Denmark.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCNY1vdTdSRiMHYj2KuIn_TWZ_zuAMqrUaoo4kQRgi0K0stldr-b5sTFSC0dj1fYbbFmuQudfSMWmoSbmnD2dvMWwubHQrLnU0LRMaaPpPv3rBqOq_tYPlFxNjndsGH7Alk6HhtFvlRlbE/s1600/Varbergs_fa%25CC%2588stning_fra%25CC%258An_so%25CC%2588der.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="881" data-original-width="1600" height="352" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCNY1vdTdSRiMHYj2KuIn_TWZ_zuAMqrUaoo4kQRgi0K0stldr-b5sTFSC0dj1fYbbFmuQudfSMWmoSbmnD2dvMWwubHQrLnU0LRMaaPpPv3rBqOq_tYPlFxNjndsGH7Alk6HhtFvlRlbE/s640/Varbergs_fa%25CC%2588stning_fra%25CC%258An_so%25CC%2588der.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">According to Wikipedia, the moat of the fortress has a small monster in it. In 2006, two people saw it devouring a duck.</td></tr>
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We had an awesome tour guide who kept the girls interested by sharing amazing facts like how the prison cell was packed with 30-50 men. Their feces were only cleaned out once a year so it wasn't uncommon for men to drown in their own shit. Isn't history fun?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_7fd5_cc5_4f25_3210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7PXZsGs3YCUqj8LumVWoP5-vmgEAY9AbYZxeqNmn-zdEX_bXPyogAUeh8Odn_ggFsFsNwYgVWS_tvFTxVgqucXMkWaQiLmQCS0Or5mOw6iKOreL8lsCKDXo85XyaQP60bgwjA3TOvANSb/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 353px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wearing the watch men commonly wore in the 13th century</td></tr>
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After traumatizing Grace in a medieval fortress, I think she got her revenge by 'accidentally' dropping a knife on my foot.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_d581_aa1d_babe_e75" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6reQAlAMyQgbRG99emsp0OFDb-9vrrj9NKAURSTN0b8icgJAb-tYa8W4vL7qn5o1adwJZEsJq8iOFQVqOTvXFo1kWszo5Nnz3qFldKPMrYdDXgAwkBx8fMxBitWot0hxgob1JP2zPlfII/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 353px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The cut looks pretty benign here but I think it was life-threatening</td></tr>
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We were in the kitchen cutting avocados and the knife slipped off the counter and impaled the base of my toe. While I screamed in pain and told Grace that she'd just murdered her father, Sara (from our host family) calmly tried to staunch the flow of blood all over her kitchen floor. Unfortunately, we couldn't stop the bleeding so we put a large compress over the cut. This happened right before we were supposed to get on a train for Grace's final soccer game in the tournament. I was extremely disappointed, but it was decided that I should try to stay off my feet for the rest of the day and remain at home.<br />
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The worst part is that this game was their best of the tournament. They were tied at the end and had to go to a penalty shootout. After the first 5 penalty kicks, they were still tied and had to shoot five more. The other team ended up winning by one point, and I missed all of it because of a stupid cut on my foot.<br />
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While Grace and her team were playing in their exciting final game, Andreas put me and Agnus in this cool electric bike he rented and rode me all around Varberg so I could see the town. Varberg has an excellent bus system, but many people opt to take their intricate network of bike paths to get around town. Andreas told me it took 30 years to build up their maze of bike trails and make Varberg the friendly bike community it is. So, while Knoxville has just a few measly greenways for biking right now, I'm hoping that in 30 years time we will have a system of bike trails to rival Varberg, Sweden.<br />
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Andreas was an excellent biker and expertly steered me around town with ease. Then, it was Betsy's turn to try to bike me around Varberg.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_e1f3_bd2d_5341_a91b" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCQ9ux7H6J5B79krvaZxdMtVKnE8lD3IGfkN1gtFVtYhS-K6166DncIallNIde_JnhPg4lerTfSh_KqOuEnEbGLzJgF6qhuv2OXAJjdYmsepk1Cy92DBA4MuPCn5IGvk7_3JGiEjBsNsEI/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 353px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You'd think it would be hard to tip over, but you haven't seen Betsy drive</td></tr>
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The problem is that the bike has electrical assistance so when you get lost in the maze of bike paths and want to turn around, it's easy to misjudge the speed and turn radius and tip the bike. Or go into a ditch.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" height="640" id="id_7cb_b34_bf4a_64f3" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBleccZGxLOvkePKAIgfDu3SB_1U-CnGZJWvLNvwseisBM9Ov_AKLdRsalukjWWszgsg2W-xurVsRxLQxtXkyytpy5FVZe5dU9HAYDgax_5Q483f2NIKYO-sfcxXiQIblCqEr5XhwhAEZk/s640/%255BUNSET%255D" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="" tooltip="" width="640" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, she took the picture while I was still in the bike</td></tr>
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We went to one party at a host family's house far outside town. It was really beautiful bike riding out in the country. It was a little more scary biking back with Grace and I crammed in the front seat and Betsy trying to find our way home in the dark. We got turned around several times. Actually, I should admit that <i>I</i> got turned around several times. I kept insisting that Betsy go a different way because I was certain I knew where we were. At one point, she tried to turn the bike around and we tipped over. It didn't hurt me at all because Grace broke my fall. Grace was pretty miserable, and I'm not sure we'll ever get her into one of those bikes again.<br />
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There was a fair amount of drinking by the parents during this trip, but the most inebriated I got was when I had to change the bandage on my toe. My left foot is extremely sensitive compared to my right foot because of the radiation damage to my spinal cord, so I don't like anyone messing with it. So, before I'd let anyone go near it, I self-medicated with Swedish schnapps.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_5e93_79c5_d4ae_66aa" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXN-fAM8SXNwVL018hsEXbpVrE5C7i1nW7kIK-VgAwGXZhxWunyUtn_r2J39i-KtcQoF7gKpJ_MMKMGQrieVvBPU5gcmbJ5Bfd22JCTqiqn7E7DNMOra3j0cpvD3H3XuTj1J2X2GwLuMsM/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 353px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">I'm smiling to hide the pain</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_5fc5_caa8_d3ff_4b6a" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRwYWDpuShfQ9Ruv2oUZRXwFpnYNSN3AGcqbI0LLnsK4FV9GKCo8PJisnEcIW2hyphenhyphenY58urkibo3SZ56uw8mJ_kJWZxEgg5dKHQiWg9l3vF2bip5nga6MMENmqeGcXTc_2hXpaUx0Raa4TN7/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 353px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Bottom's up</td></tr>
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I'd have Agnus do open-heart surgery before I'd let Betsy anywhere near my foot. I'm pretty certain Betsy would somehow end up amputating the other foot on accident. So, Andreas and Sara replaced my bandage while I sat in a drunken stupor on their back patio.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCUht9X3yr5Lk2qjJCJgWdgFfScART1u-kE4Ug6QCtJofrkoMiF0hyRSdntfPr3UcMkTSaae08dOq0a5BTeq5T3KK3k7O38dabs9IQ7uWNfFqIomKw2uNUdi7SJjuoTJDSauyyIiNOMHjK/s1600/IMG_3756.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCUht9X3yr5Lk2qjJCJgWdgFfScART1u-kE4Ug6QCtJofrkoMiF0hyRSdntfPr3UcMkTSaae08dOq0a5BTeq5T3KK3k7O38dabs9IQ7uWNfFqIomKw2uNUdi7SJjuoTJDSauyyIiNOMHjK/s640/IMG_3756.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Andreas was extremely excited to use the first aid skills he learned in the Swedish army<br />
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This was such a fantastic trip for me. I did have this stomach issue of needing to vent periodically, and there was the fact that I injured my foot toward the end of the week. But, I had my blender for the wonderful home cooked meals from our host family. And I had plenty of Real Food Blends for all the times we were out and about. The weather was perfect and the Swedish community is wonderful. I am so fortunate we had our Swedish coach and our host family to get us around the area and provide a 'home base' for me to rest and prepare my meals. I think navigating a different country where we have no foreign connections would be much more of a challenge. We'd like to go to China one of these days to visit the town where Grace was born, but I would need to do a lot of research beforehand and at the very least hire a guide to help us out.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_eca1_1c8_6e24_1851" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhQV7e1guxmD1BneMVe6egjHY_57Z7NzsTEiql_VUF-uGFziyXBQV4KN2vwVYT680R6imn3temOwewumv7eTHyOWNW7A7iKvbndPlW31IyGSQmuMbDWNfoKIrI8SJENW-WZdB4s_OnTd8g/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 353px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Smiles at the Copenhagen airport, even though we were so sad to leave Sweden</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_95d1_c453_881f_7858" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbu_hs2DrRWUyJlXNO2aH3wfkxvt6iGY5VyhEI4-a06Wvb0wX91wuVQqt7MQS2D-FsGrLZ0LdVLDQfHkskocmGaQ3rJQ279m1_EPz9uClxTKUFTOT-ri7KhlEQ9S6sOGB7FFAMsDuBm-t5/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 353px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Newark airport...welcome to America</td></tr>
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After every long trip. I come in the house and give our dog a huge hug, tearfully telling him how much I've missed him. Every time, I hope he will return my affection like Odysseus' dog, Argos, who immediately welcomed his master home after his 20-year struggle to make it back to Ithaca. Unlike faithful Argos, however, my dog usually just stands there looking at me, then walks away to take a nap.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_62aa_74a6_343_ea71" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk3Cyu62gdIZlcmLNCHdP0ENaP9MapLyqDiVFfBaG6iYv3kjNi1Hm2nlwpZNGKocOXYVYoT8TQgxtSbP76iBONo_3wcWJQGZ6WXHvRCcUHPIllc1sGsYj1mnjJBJIcAvaKU8X_hT4mzUc8/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 353px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He really doesn't give a shit</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
So, just for that, I'm trading the fat bastard in for a French Bulldog that farts and snorts like a little pig. <i>What do you think of that, you fat bastard!!</i> Nope, he's not even looking at me. He really doesn't care.</div>
Travelingtubiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01289236463144244586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-742410657981715477.post-16514611041564507072018-07-10T07:05:00.000-07:002018-07-10T07:05:01.778-07:00DevelopmentsGood news!! My sister, who has a stinky butt, is shipping her European, 220Volt Vitamix to our host family in Sweden! She won't tell me how much it cost to overnight the blender but said it was my Christmas/Birthday present. So, perhaps her butt is not so stinky...I will have to think on this...<br />
<br />
The good thing is, I will not need to bring the 30lb 220volt - 110volt converter with me to Sweden. Plus, I won't need to pack my blender!! Do you realize how much weight this will save us?!?<br />
<br />
However, we are not going straight to Sweden on this trip. We are spending a night in New York, then two nights in Copenhagen before we take a train up to Varberg. So, I will need A LOT of Real Food Blends (26 meals, by my calculations) to get me to Sweden. I had meals sent ahead, and those will be my lunches while we're there, but we are spending another night in Copenhagen and one night in New York on the way home. This will require twelve more meals for the return trip. 38 meals total that I need to pack. This is quite a bit of weight, but we can spread the meals out between all our bags. The bags will get lighter as time goes by and leave room for souvenirs.<br />
<br />
If any bags get lost, I will need to subsist entirely on alcohol. Pretty sure it can be done. Also, a lot of restaurants have Vitamixers, so I can always wander around until I find one to blend my food during our days in New York and Copenhagen.<br />
<br />
In other news about things you need to know, but secretly don't want to know, I have to carry a heavy suction machine with me on trips. This is to suction the drool and prevent it from collecting in the back of my throat. I also bring multiple dish towels to spit into. Up until now, we have carried the suction machine in this cumbersome bag:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_bf0e_e3bf_ff9e_be92" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixvzPZ1B29yZU4H4XCayJZXXmSs_WMPYE2sjJ_RQQ4PHPkyEui4nwibvbMW9zaCncgMewiQoAQgWLPq4ERkX_SjrE2LgoOAr9tX_FK9IXaFipVueovO3u_CZzztB41Cjf3LDMu4Q6E4UAf/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 353px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Make your bed!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
That bag becomes extremely painful on my shoulder after carrying it through multiple airports.<br />
<br />
Ok, let me rephrase that. That bag becomes extremely painful on Betsy's shoulder after carrying it through multiple airports. So, we were looking at luggage and decided to get one of these small roller suitcases for my suction and other carry-ons:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_b1b5_3467_c295_9292" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiGHm3nQGqY1s7N4Xj5F43Qhyphenhyphenw11_ITwAdYrvNqiL4uSMpn4oJTWn_b3tSNKrRn2xymC06FGAm4j-VGbuz5tQHThSoQ3b9ATNzOZRjCw5oR7jm_45Z7MAXBl6WiXLi3iY4NzJ3R8NEmB25/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 353px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ever seen a one-armed guitar player? Me neither.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
This will make navigating airports a whole lot easier. The only thing is I need to empty the suction container frequently because if it ever spills into that nice bag, it'll become a biohazard.<br />
<br />
We leave tomorrow!!! The big dog is bummed we're leaving him, but our neighbors are over here frequently and they take him on better walks, so I think he's secretly happy.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" height="480" id="id_53c6_cc09_613e_521b" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmzUkZJrSgzavzZIQF2poRbkvDVJRYD05r7QbsmhEoqlkh6AqlEtaP7xgXlv6ycMK9T6ov8LhWERlrMikb6eX2RKG9PJcPQVWuX-et7bAkzPC_iWesLs41Fm5ByMCG3X-HmYtKu30X6j9q/s640/%255BUNSET%255D" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="" tooltip="" width="640" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He looks big, but it's mostly fur</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br /></div>
Travelingtubiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01289236463144244586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-742410657981715477.post-29921985200712976612018-07-07T08:52:00.001-07:002018-07-07T08:52:14.929-07:00BOOO! Sweden's World Cup run is over.BOOOOOOOOO.<div>😩😩😩😩😭😭😭😭🇸🇪🇸🇪🇸🇪🇸🇪</div>Travelingtubiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01289236463144244586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-742410657981715477.post-88244931367025838492018-07-05T11:14:00.001-07:002018-07-05T11:14:13.898-07:00SWEDEN!!!I'm leaving for Sweden in LESS THAN ONE WEEK!!!<br />
<br />
Ok, it's been a while since I wrote a post, so let me get you up to speed.<br />
<br />
I'm still alive (obviously). I'm getting better at my prosthetic arm. In fact I took it fishing just a few weeks ago, but the first fish I caught jerked my fishing pole out of my prosthetic and swam off with it. So, now there is a fish swimming around this lake in Georgia with a $20 fishing pole trailing behind it. Oh man, that reminds me of the most hilarious thing that happened--<br />
<br />
AH THERE'S NO TIME FOR THIS!! I'M LEAVING FOR SWEDEN IN LESS THAN ONE WEEK!!!!<br />
<br />
"Why Sweden?" you ask. Our daughter, who is now 11 and has stinky feet, plays soccer. Or, if you're reading the blog outside the U.S., (hello, Russian bots), she plays a sport called, "WHO CARES WHAT YOU CALL IT! IT'S SOCCER OK?? SOCCER!!!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUCjfrW-tyYD27tXQHbyj5loExlGbtqQHUepMbKX5QqACSHZYsk_mOYHEqFQNP3t6lLGkUoFy6akcdRySBzzTOzUUU_XELdqDUOGJMhYyToU-mn72Rd4qqUneLdwQ-anQkHKhRVM42snEp/s1600/img6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1132" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUCjfrW-tyYD27tXQHbyj5loExlGbtqQHUepMbKX5QqACSHZYsk_mOYHEqFQNP3t6lLGkUoFy6akcdRySBzzTOzUUU_XELdqDUOGJMhYyToU-mn72Rd4qqUneLdwQ-anQkHKhRVM42snEp/s640/img6.jpg" width="452" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You think they'll allow my vuvuzela at the games?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Anyway, her coach is Swedish and he and his wife are originally from a lovely town on the southwest coast (Varberg). He entered our team into an international soccer tournament called the Gothia Cup, which takes place in Gothenburg. Gothenburg is right up the road from Varberg. This is fantastic because he has set the family of each team member up with a host family in Varberg and we only have a short train ride to get to each game. So, I don't need to worry about blending my meals in a cramped Swedish hotel room. Instead, I have access to the lovely kitchen of our poor, unsuspecting host family, who have no idea, a) how loud a Vitamixer on high can get, and b) how stinky my daughter's feet are. They are like, next level smelly. After a soccer game, you do not want to be in the same living space as those feet.<br />
<br />
So, I'm packing for Sweden and I have some concerns. Well...one rather heavy concern. If you're an avid reader of my blog, then you've been extremely bored for the past couple years because I've written NOTHING. You also may recall that I took a <a href="http://tubechic.com/the-traveling-tubie-aka-the-tube-dude-has-this-weeks-post/" target="_blank">trip to Germany in late 2015</a>. I also did it in 2009, I think? So I have some experience traveling in Europe with a feeding tube. There are some slight differences this time though. My sister, who has a stinky butt, lives in Germany with her family and my mom, who is much cooler than your mom. She also has her own Vitamixer, which plugs into European 220 Volt outlets. Having family close by was my security blanket for foreign travel. But unfortunately, my stinky-butt sister and cool mom will not be able to meet us in Sweden during our time there. So, I have to take my own Vitamix and I also need a transformer to convert the electricity to the blender from Europe's 220 Volts to 110 Volts. Not just any transformer either. My Vitamix can get up over 1,300 Watts, so I need at least a 1,500 Watt transformer--ideally 3,000 Watt--to handle the awesome power of the blender's whirling blades. So, I went ahead and ordered this transformer:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg37iylDKzoEvAESzxiQ4hm-U_2mw_n0QFWxt_VhwtENQGUKzE-98bK3nsSdDQUd_dk9o5AvWiIdrOSqMRPeEXgLZQuh1xYQkm7sQlqtDjHGrfvaYyy-sTGzl3kSxG7_qj_28QIVv1IWD6Y/s1600/41qn7eSdN7L.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg37iylDKzoEvAESzxiQ4hm-U_2mw_n0QFWxt_VhwtENQGUKzE-98bK3nsSdDQUd_dk9o5AvWiIdrOSqMRPeEXgLZQuh1xYQkm7sQlqtDjHGrfvaYyy-sTGzl3kSxG7_qj_28QIVv1IWD6Y/s320/41qn7eSdN7L.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not Actual Size</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
That transformer doesn't look too big right? We even misread the page on Amazon and thought it was only 12 pounds. The reality is, that sucker is filled with lead and weighs about 30 pounds. How are we supposed to pack it, along with the many outfits I will need, the single outfit I'll allow Betsy to bring, and extra socks for my stinky-feet daughter??<br />
<br />
Also, what if this thing doesn't work? How can I test a transformer that only plugs into 220 Volt outlets in the U.S.? It might overload the electrical system of our poor host family's house. It might not work, so I'll be stuck buying a transformer in Sweden, which is twice as expensive. Or if I have no transformer and thus no Vitamix, I could go on a starvation diet with the Real Food Blends I'm bringing. We did have the foresight to ship a couple boxes of Real Food Blends to our poor, unsuspecting host family. But I will still only have enough Real Food Blends for one meal a day, sometimes two. I really need blended meals with the Vitamix to supplement the RFBs. I also really want to try this fermented sea herring called <span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Surströmming that I've heard so much about.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/_haw_YDC_zo/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/_haw_YDC_zo?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">MMMMMMMMM!! Tasty, right?</span></span></div>
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #111111;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Since I can't taste anything, I figure I can blend up a few cans of that stuff a day, but I really need my Vitamix to make my </span></span><span style="color: #111111; font-family: inherit;">Surströmming dream a reality. </span><br />
<span style="color: #111111; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #111111; font-family: inherit;">Another potential issue we may have (there are many) is the World Cup. Sweden is still in the World Cup (go Sweden!). This is awesome, but also a little scary because we are taking a train from Copenhagen, Denmark, up to Varberg on the day of the final game. So if Sweden reaches the final, then it'll be a crazy time to try to get in the country. Sports analysts haven't given Sweden the best chance of beating England, then taking out either Russia or Croatia to make it to the final game. However, this World Cup has been pretty crazy (Spain, Argentina, Portugal, AND GERMANY have all been eliminated??), so I don't think you can count anybody out. The next game is this Saturday against England.</span><br />
<span style="color: #111111; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #111111; font-family: inherit;">Go Sweden!! Beat those bloody English bastards!!!</span>Travelingtubiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01289236463144244586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-742410657981715477.post-58939808271695265092017-11-14T16:05:00.001-08:002017-11-14T16:06:32.145-08:00 Book Review<div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><img id="id_b494_a032_a44b_b46d" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpHbI3BtAZkZD2eyL0J41WGIjgfYPNbY0HlGa2BoT3OgTdYior9lkEG5RabiKJFG6UJPtR5soTfGosd9cCp5GmhFeXC8WFRlKvKGBa70rlHrnWc1n9iPB-nNV4dsMSiBrSZU3CMnxSzxPj/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;"><br><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Travelingtubiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01289236463144244586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-742410657981715477.post-11313161247472438712017-09-06T14:17:00.000-07:002017-09-07T09:29:30.195-07:00Declutter your life!!!!!!<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;" id="id_538d_9d4d_c8b2_bafb"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWtxe-pz_UitF3H0rX8FpO4qtnpK_JHTFvWLFS2_YL8-rKZ8_J0TTwEKi9b4-Q38zt7R7G11-K3KXllNtpH0xDEMLSFmcDNpCu98zb40Dp4VZp3e0Ne0NHtSqvHq-tAiJgz4L7wxgrgkgy/s1600/declutter-your-life-resized-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="900" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWtxe-pz_UitF3H0rX8FpO4qtnpK_JHTFvWLFS2_YL8-rKZ8_J0TTwEKi9b4-Q38zt7R7G11-K3KXllNtpH0xDEMLSFmcDNpCu98zb40Dp4VZp3e0Ne0NHtSqvHq-tAiJgz4L7wxgrgkgy/s400/declutter-your-life-resized-1.jpg" width="400" id="id_d052_e607_ca5_5393" style="width: 400px; height: auto;"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Take the Declutter Challenge!!!!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br>
<br>
A year ago today, I had a lot of dead weight in my life. I was a hoarder; holding onto things that left my mind confused and disorganized. Once I got rid of that trash--the useless <i><b>stuff</b></i>--holding me back, I was able to focus on the things that really matter: my family, my friends, my community, and my remaining limbs.<br>
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You can reorganize your life too!!!!! Do you feel like you're maybe not using all your limbs to their full potential? Is there one you could possibly go without? I've got just the tool to help you eliminate that worthless appendage <b>today</b>!!!! <br>
<br>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;" id="id_493_a2c0_bfd9_e87d"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgga0Iej_0zD3QlEl8rIcF2UzTrZNQsR0z__av9LFoBExkYyDggFF8pKZAxVqgs873PnZcG9Dl4cTUAJ6yC_JZyNzGkPpObVIhGz41vttGHI7xVtVAB06OnN3VOf13yN4nso5n_mH-hHCrt/s1600/1-saw-ps-r7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="960" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgga0Iej_0zD3QlEl8rIcF2UzTrZNQsR0z__av9LFoBExkYyDggFF8pKZAxVqgs873PnZcG9Dl4cTUAJ6yC_JZyNzGkPpObVIhGz41vttGHI7xVtVAB06OnN3VOf13yN4nso5n_mH-hHCrt/s400/1-saw-ps-r7.jpg" width="400" id="id_5977_5f78_cba1_72fe" style="width: 400px; height: auto;"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">May require a partner for proper use</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;" id="id_62fb_d820_86b4_7134"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBLPu_3X6GV8YbgOfQzF8xsIWWg1uREVaLX0270CU6zTYFJZEhidNtQm1PxK83Y54yeUNVtFyds38DEhjrHh6GpIuLZIs13980kbmiJr862Pk3eUXKUnaPkSq_8rQqxM9VSOmAcmzmvCVg/s1600/8a353d3d-245e-43f6-9733-5c603ebde6fa_1000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBLPu_3X6GV8YbgOfQzF8xsIWWg1uREVaLX0270CU6zTYFJZEhidNtQm1PxK83Y54yeUNVtFyds38DEhjrHh6GpIuLZIs13980kbmiJr862Pk3eUXKUnaPkSq_8rQqxM9VSOmAcmzmvCVg/s400/8a353d3d-245e-43f6-9733-5c603ebde6fa_1000.jpg" width="400" id="id_5fa5_e87b_546b_dca9" style="width: 400px; height: auto;"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Or perhaps this will do it faster?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br>
<br>
Don't delay on this. It's best if you act now, even if you've been drinking. Actually, it might be beneficial if you've been drinking. It can be scary to let go of something you've had, literally, since birth--<i>I KNOW</i>! I'm sure you have fond memories using that limb to wave at a loved one, or allowing you to frolic in a grassy meadow, or 'raise the roof' at the dance party, or putting your "left foot in" doing the "Hokey Pokey," or even aiding you as you tie your shoes. But think what you'll gain by not having that limb!!! The lost weight (instant 10-20 pound drop)!!! All your love and attention can be devoted to your three remaining limbs!!! You used to think, <i>Should I wash my left leg or my right leg in the shower today?</i> Well, guess what? Now, you only need to worry about one leg and you're out of the shower in half the time!!! You'll instantly stand out in a crowd. All those other dweebs holding onto 4 limbs will look at you in envy. They'll say stuff like, "How did he DO it??" or "Sure wish <i>I</i> only had three to worry about!!" or even "Is that a man or some sort of sideshow circus freak? DEAR GOD, DON'T LET THE MONSTER TOUCH ME!!" The point is, you'll be the center of attention at every social gathering.<br>
<br>
Why stop with your own trash?<br>
<br>
<br>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;" id="id_584a_9719_91db_d13c"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQWx-krqtV1ouPwfsp4TsOe11PHZZUmBK0WoGOEERfbPxYoMSXqZa_oGILV6Ol3ueCJA4CdYTXhHczksr-awS_axtADqKpinL8iQEuoTYQYNsJBPnsDvy6gtPePv9s9JgUF8-R7T9AH9Y4/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="275" data-original-width="183" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQWx-krqtV1ouPwfsp4TsOe11PHZZUmBK0WoGOEERfbPxYoMSXqZa_oGILV6Ol3ueCJA4CdYTXhHczksr-awS_axtADqKpinL8iQEuoTYQYNsJBPnsDvy6gtPePv9s9JgUF8-R7T9AH9Y4/s400/images.jpg" width="265" id="id_1b2f_541a_e0c3_cfe6" style="width: 265px; height: auto;"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">7's company, 8's a crowd</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br>
<br>
<br>
Does your significant other have a problem with limb hoarding? Skip the intervention; they won't listen to reason!!! Tonight (don't think about it or second-guess yourself) crumble up some Ambien in their drink. While they're passed out in the surgically sterile master bedroom, use the proper implement...<br>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWMH4_YGhx9daQZXaVyJEr3t4yDsgTeEpKHaV72JGEaIBRrlSadcUDCak1wEFuxySH7pL2H-a7Bnr4dZwQCCJBRQGXWFFSmBCw7jNC5VN8aHc_Fo-k4Eu1jj1qPyhsH1wcNOYTU8a7nBE0/s1600/H110-0273.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="886" data-original-width="1600" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWMH4_YGhx9daQZXaVyJEr3t4yDsgTeEpKHaV72JGEaIBRrlSadcUDCak1wEFuxySH7pL2H-a7Bnr4dZwQCCJBRQGXWFFSmBCw7jNC5VN8aHc_Fo-k4Eu1jj1qPyhsH1wcNOYTU8a7nBE0/s400/H110-0273.png" width="400" id="id_b0cd_35e7_acf2_a15e" style="width: 400px; height: auto;"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Might be best to send the kids away during the operation</td></tr>
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...to whack off the appendage they can do without (I'd choose the one they keep hitting you with while they're sleeping). They may whine and scream about it when they wake up. They might call you things in the heat of the moment like "monster," or "psychopath," or "demented spawn of Satan." Don't let their rage, divorce proceedings, criminal charges, and lawsuits bother you. You've done the right thing here! You've freed the one you love from something that would have weighed them down for the rest of their lives. You've given them a gift!! In a few years, or after decades of therapy, they'll thank you.<br>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsrjX6BhqjIX3cxxfQ_ZkRJlqcQlWFwdT86XrBSoQJeYW8tcrdyBopQmx91xbYU_85mFoUB0lji5TTiOwL8JNyEz5a9kMXX_P0zx3RdSJpFZSQW-RbLDvRkm8U5mrbsSWchcw4yFMxAXba/s1600/b43ddf5b747b84e3d8dfb846789bd802--let-go-quotes-letting-go-quotes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="473" data-original-width="339" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsrjX6BhqjIX3cxxfQ_ZkRJlqcQlWFwdT86XrBSoQJeYW8tcrdyBopQmx91xbYU_85mFoUB0lji5TTiOwL8JNyEz5a9kMXX_P0zx3RdSJpFZSQW-RbLDvRkm8U5mrbsSWchcw4yFMxAXba/s400/b43ddf5b747b84e3d8dfb846789bd802--let-go-quotes-letting-go-quotes.jpg" width="286" id="id_22e2_1123_4028_5615" style="width: 286px; height: auto;"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm referring to the hand here. And the rest of the arm. Or a leg.</td></tr>
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Heck, why stop with limbs? I had way too many ribs filling up my torso. Do you even know how many ribs you have? I was a limb hoarder <i>AND</i> a rib hoarder, and I bet you are too! Sometimes those annoying bones just get in the way!! How can I possibly feel the beating of my own heart if there are ribs and a clavicle in the way?? Do yourself and the world a favor and get rid of that worthless skeletal mass.<br>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl9Ihka9ZaEM9zuk_vLYsm1KrC-9fjnk3WstduLHhfE0Zjx8QJbE6EQh_pqgjYDC_xkI3tYeXpEP1URvkTk1U6rZHXt7p2I2Njda1GaIl1oViXUcWKOuYx8h4a1sk3xaZmxDgsNi2LFlUp/s1600/HumanSkeletonFront-819x1024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="819" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl9Ihka9ZaEM9zuk_vLYsm1KrC-9fjnk3WstduLHhfE0Zjx8QJbE6EQh_pqgjYDC_xkI3tYeXpEP1URvkTk1U6rZHXt7p2I2Njda1GaIl1oViXUcWKOuYx8h4a1sk3xaZmxDgsNi2LFlUp/s400/HumanSkeletonFront-819x1024.jpg" width="318" id="id_5eb6_682f_58c7_b0bc" style="width: 318px; height: auto;"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I see 205 redundant bones in this picture</td></tr>
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**Disclaimer: The blog author is not responsible if you, or your partner, bleed to death.<br>
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<br>Travelingtubiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01289236463144244586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-742410657981715477.post-5771903414527971382017-09-01T12:53:00.001-07:002017-09-04T07:11:44.951-07:00Tubie Disaster PrepI have been extremely saddened by the images and videos coming out of Texas and Louisiana over the last week. I could not imagine what it's like to go through an event like that--losing homes, possessions, even lives, to torrential flooding. It is so uplifting to see businesses and private citizens rush to the area to help those in need. From a tube feeding perspective, I was happy to see the Feeding Tube Awareness Group on Facebook had a lengthy thread immediately after the storm hit with people across the country offering various medical supplies for those in need. More recently, they have shared a link to the Parker Lee Project's Facebook page for more information about Harvey relief.<br>
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<b>If you'd care to support medically complex kids affected by Harvey, please go to <a href="http://littlelobbyists.org/Harvey/">LittleLobbyists.org/Harvey/</a>. </b>They have partnered with the <a href="http://www.theparkerleeproject.org/" target="_blank">Parker Lee Project</a>, <a href="http://www.trachmommas.org/" target="_blank">Trach Mommas of Louisiana</a>, <a href="http://www.protecttxfragilekids.org/" target="_blank">Protect Texas Fragile Kids</a>, <a href="https://www.advocatesformedicallyfragilekidsnc.com/home" target="_blank">Advocates for Medically Fragile Kids NC</a>, and <a href="http://www.momsoftrachbabies.com/" target="_blank">Moms of Trach Babies</a> to get money and supplies to struggling families in the region. This is not a situation that will be resolved in a few days or weeks. It will take months, even years, for families and businesses to get back on their feet once the waters have fully receded. Parents trying to feed and care for tube-fed children--on top of losing their homes and livelihood--will need every bit of support we can give over the coming months. If you are able to help, please don't forget about these families. They will need our aid for a long time.<br>
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On a more selfish note, the Liebenow household is completely unprepared for a disaster. The situation in Houston following Hurricane Harvey really made Betsy and I re-evaluate how prepared we are for natural--and man-made--disasters. This hasn't been an immediate concern for us because Knoxville seems to be in a lucky part of the country that isn't conducive to natural disasters (at least not while we've lived here). We don't live near the Tennessee River or in a low-lying area, so flooding isn't a concern. We are in the suburbs and, since we moved here in 2009, haven't been subjected to any lengthy power outages. We are hit with the occasional afternoon thunderstorm, but nothing too serious at our house. Tornadoes have been known to hit the region, but again, not our neighborhood. We got a snowstorm once that kept us from driving for a couple days, but still had power.<br>
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We've gotten lucky, but that's no excuse for not making some preparations. We have important documents in a fireproof safe and Betsy has her parents and two sisters within a mile of us, so we have a good support network in case of our house burning down or something like that. But we aren't ready for a more widespread disaster like an alien invasion (<i>Independence Day</i>), Russian invasion (<i>Red Dawn</i>), hybrid robot/car invasion (<i>Transformers</i>), meteor impact (<i>Armageddon</i> and <i>Deep Impact</i>), hyper-cooling of the continent due to global warming (<i>The Day After Tomorrow</i>--can someone explain this?), disasters foretold by the Mayan civilization (<i>2012</i>), earthquakes the likes of which only Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson could save us from (<i>San Andreas</i>), sentient monkey insurrection (<i>Planet of the Apes</i>), tornados of sharks (<i>Sharknado</i>), meta-human conflict (see Marvel or DC Comics), the zombie apocalypse (too numerous to mention), pandemics (<i>Outbreak</i> and a bunch of others), or planetary destruction as a demonstration to Princess Leia of the destructive power of the Empire's battle station (actually, if you're reading this from Alderaan, then I have bad news for you).<br>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvaoUZsf1FStDr8fzsrIbB14oqm_SyRyqo1Wzg9SMRhjDp3q7zJqggeZn2DemHH5myY-V-O0TUiFpRpd50npjaSLNdyh6NxNkWJtRlnBymjmBCDdNfb8UhRDe7v7ZheyUpk4kP-n0xdUXP/s1600/AAEAAQAAAAAAAAgIAAAAJGM1YjE2ZTAyLTMwNTUtNGUzZC1hMTU0LWI0NjliMGMzOWZiMA.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="801" data-original-width="1200" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvaoUZsf1FStDr8fzsrIbB14oqm_SyRyqo1Wzg9SMRhjDp3q7zJqggeZn2DemHH5myY-V-O0TUiFpRpd50npjaSLNdyh6NxNkWJtRlnBymjmBCDdNfb8UhRDe7v7ZheyUpk4kP-n0xdUXP/s400/AAEAAQAAAAAAAAgIAAAAJGM1YjE2ZTAyLTMwNTUtNGUzZC1hMTU0LWI0NjliMGMzOWZiMA.jpg" width="400" id="id_f9f2_4a01_9880_3440" style="width: 400px; height: auto;"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Can we borrow your Vitamixer? Also, BRAAAAAAAAINS!!!"</td></tr>
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We also aren't ready for widespread disasters that maybe have a higher likelihood of happening (really bad storms and boring--not Michael Bay worthy--stuff like that). The government actually has a pretty good site on preparing for disasters at <a href="https://www.ready.gov/">https://www.ready.gov</a>. They include tips for preparing for a disaster if you have a disability. They also have some recommendations on items you should stow away in an emergency kit. I thought this was a good jumping-off point for a more tubie-specific emergency kit. I'll go ahead and share it here. Feel free to let me know if you have any suggestions.<br>
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<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: normal;"><a href="https://www.ready.gov/water"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; line-height: normal;"><b>Water</b></span></a></span><span style="font-kerning: none;"> - one gallon of water per person per day for at least seven days, for drinking and sanitation (actually, I should probably double that for me because I use a lot of water)</span></span></li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: normal;"><a href="https://www.ready.gov/food"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; line-height: normal;"><b>Food</b></span></a></span><span style="font-kerning: none;"> - at least a seven-day supply of non-perishable food (MREs for Betsy and Grace, 4 boxes of RFBs for Brian)</span></span></li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"><span style="line-height: normal;"><a href="https://www.ready.gov/individuals-access-functional-needs"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; line-height: normal;"><b><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Prescription medications</span></b></span></a></span></li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: normal;"></span><span style="font-kerning: none;">Non-prescription medications such as pain relievers (Tylenol, aspirin, Aleve), anti-diarrhea medication, antacids, laxatives, OTC sleep aids (Melatonin), vitamins</span></span></li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: normal;"></span><span style="font-kerning: none;">Pill crusher (mortar/pestle and the twisty-crusher-thingy)</span></span></li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: normal;"></span><span style="font-kerning: none;">Syringes</span></span></li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: normal;"></span><span style="font-kerning: none;">Syringe holders</span></span></li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: normal;"></span><span style="font-kerning: none;">Extra g-tube</span></span></li><li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-kerning: none;">Extra Lopez Valve</span></span></li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: normal;"></span><span style="font-kerning: none;">Suction machine with plugs (includes plug for car)</span></span></li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: normal;"></span><span style="font-kerning: none;">Battery-powered or hand crank radio and a NOAA Weather Radio with tone alert</span></span></li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: normal;"></span><span style="font-kerning: none;">Flashlight</span></span></li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: normal;"></span><span style="font-kerning: none;">First aid kit (include Aquaphor lotion for Brian’s neck)</span></span></li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: normal;"></span><span style="font-kerning: none;">Extra batteries</span></span></li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: normal;"></span><span style="font-kerning: none;">Whistle to signal for help</span></span></li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: normal;"></span><span style="font-kerning: none;">Dust mask to help filter contaminated air and plastic sheeting and duct tape to <a href="https://www.ready.gov/shelter"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><b>shelter-in-place</b></span></a></span></span></li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: normal;"></span><span style="font-kerning: none;">Moist towelettes, garbage bags, surgical gloves, and plastic ties for personal sanitation</span></span></li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: normal;"></span><span style="font-kerning: none;">Wrench or pliers to <a href="https://www.ready.gov/safety-skills"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><b>turn off utilities</b></span></a> (Leatherman tool)</span></span></li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: normal;"></span><span style="font-kerning: none;">Manual can opener for food</span></span></li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: normal;"></span><span style="font-kerning: none;">Local maps</span></span></li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: normal;"></span><span style="font-kerning: none;">Cell phone with chargers and a backup battery</span></span></li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: normal;"></span><span style="font-kerning: none;">Glasses</span></span></li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: normal;"></span><span style="font-kerning: none;">Dog food and extra water for the dog (the birds are screwed; they annoy me anyway)</span></span></li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: normal;"></span><span style="font-kerning: none;">Cash or traveler's checks</span></span></li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: normal;"></span><span style="font-kerning: none;">Important family documents such as copies of insurance policies, identification and bank account records saved electronically or in a waterproof, portable container</span></span></li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: normal;"></span><span style="font-kerning: none;">Sleeping bag or warm blanket for each person</span></span></li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: normal;"></span><span style="font-kerning: none;">Complete change of clothing appropriate for your climate and sturdy shoes</span></span></li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: normal;"></span><span style="font-kerning: none;">Household chlorine bleach and medicine dropper to disinfect water (I also have some iodine tablets)</span></span></li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: normal;"></span><span style="font-kerning: none;">Fire extinguisher</span></span></li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: normal;"></span><span style="font-kerning: none;">Matches in a waterproof container</span></span></li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: normal;"></span><span style="font-kerning: none;">Feminine supplies and personal hygiene items</span></span></li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: normal;"></span><span style="font-kerning: none;">Mess kits, paper cups, plates, paper towels and plastic utensils</span></span></li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-kerning: none;">Blender bottles/plastic measuring cups</span></span></li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: normal;"></span><span style="font-kerning: none;">Paper and pencil</span></span></li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: normal;"></span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;">Books, games, puzzles or other activities for Grace</span></span></li>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Do I have all this stuff? No. We have some of it, but not in one place. But now I have a list! Maybe some of you tubies out there have recommendations for improvement and if you ever manage to gather all those supplies, let me know your address, so I know where to go when I need to shamelessly mooch off you.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Anyway, I hope this is helpful for some of you. Please let me know if you have links to other helpful disaster prep sites, and consider donating to Harvey relief (even if you're reading this months after the hurricane hit)!</span></div>
Travelingtubiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01289236463144244586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-742410657981715477.post-71249496846138112452017-08-27T16:30:00.001-07:002017-08-27T16:30:39.860-07:00Traveling Tubie: Behind the Facebook Profile<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Facebook is a good place to go if you want to see all the best highlights in your friends' lives. But, if you look through their profiles and believe each happy photo and amusing post isn't surrounded by several hours of boredom, misery, arguments, awkwardness, embarrassment, and desperation then you'll make yourself severely depressed believing you're the biggest loser you know.<br />
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At least that's what I tell myself.<br />
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If you're one of my Facebook friends and your life really is that awesome, then I hate you. Please post a picture of your perfect angel child vomiting on your face (I know you have one!!) so I can feel better about myself.<br />
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Even on this blog, the happy pictures and funny captions have a backstory.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We were freezing cold. Grace locked herself in our hotel bathroom.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHSv0IXAZwwkzXRsmnr7f2Ra1VBDV7fqukUw-My8kxt-keGCeH0kKPjPW7QtyzrQGhkTI4ZazCSvRWpNkg2jn01I0rX6FjtkRDRQ79q2ZQBO7ATcS2HeJDMRC2znW3DyrVcF7YSDskM1av/s1600/potter.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="512" data-original-width="383" height="400" id="id_bcfd_9c6a_8c78_c550" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHSv0IXAZwwkzXRsmnr7f2Ra1VBDV7fqukUw-My8kxt-keGCeH0kKPjPW7QtyzrQGhkTI4ZazCSvRWpNkg2jn01I0rX6FjtkRDRQ79q2ZQBO7ATcS2HeJDMRC2znW3DyrVcF7YSDskM1av/s400/potter.png" style="height: auto; width: 297px;" width="297" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I paid $50 for a stupid wand and I feel like an idiot.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzLFkwSAxHlSV7BaRFHoDni2JkgOoaPPzXFKTKWiaEEWAKdPfV91QVTU5znOveUEIVlO6DjfivyITF5OaGoASbt0s2GJj4TXDy9uTT3BtDtxqNvDk12PcM6RiiUDcV-AhgOsffC77CaKNO/s1600/blogger-image-611372469.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="360" height="400" id="id_1542_b98a_601d_8b88" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzLFkwSAxHlSV7BaRFHoDni2JkgOoaPPzXFKTKWiaEEWAKdPfV91QVTU5znOveUEIVlO6DjfivyITF5OaGoASbt0s2GJj4TXDy9uTT3BtDtxqNvDk12PcM6RiiUDcV-AhgOsffC77CaKNO/s400/blogger-image-611372469.jpg" style="height: auto; width: 300px;" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The trip where I got a bad sunburn that ultimately led to me losing my arm.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_f804_599_8aa4_5396" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Bbgldl57tUwKjpRSTODYIG-w3tCdZDgbhTCqeIAhzjO6H16JYcXlW6Dx27cZLkooi_gCeUI3p5rT8I9HVu6AP3XFywDBYmUSvFe9gNRuYxZ4L2BgMNgYycuyEGK61VjAkFKg21VaFRGr/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 353px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I don't drink very often. When I do, I tend to get colds, which may turn into pneumonia.</td></tr>
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The truth is, nobody wants to know about all the really bad stuff that happens. Just like when I say, "What's up" to some random dude at the gym, I don't <i>really</i> want to know about his messy divorce or the details of his latest gall bladder surgery. If I filled Facebook, or my blogs, with constant gripes about my physical ailments, then people would rapidly tune me out. This is why I try to sprinkle the bad stuff with my poor attempts at humor to make the feeding tube explosions, constant drooling, and amputations a little more palatable for the casual reader.<br />
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Our most recent trip to southwest Washington to visit my dad is no exception. For every exciting, cool picture that makes us look like a jet setting, happy-go-lucky family, there is a morass of anger and frustration simmering below the surface.<br />
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<tr><td><img alt="" id="id_a850_24d9_4854_85b5" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsgAjuXLPGuS6APTqbHL0Xn-YSe8L5DLfGIYEZihZeR_CiIvCfUpZt-VVtvMp47Te7VFhbl4656Yc_8oWl9Vrm_LJeV7kkY8kcv0cjrf0IZrKtUS_9BioMeNNsMrTbZ-hNnIUmm26K7qCK/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 353px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">I was constantly worried about the sun on my neck</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_8d0f_43d1_a5a6_1872" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4IEGPZGtStVYlnkNEbGH5J64SG4AQ4b92d_1NuFmjFcQ0G7v99mx-OyU_Ley_oy36RV4bQQ6ANXuqoAx3ewi5oM4gNSUduPkCBV0dTlcU_j1IfniJXyCiXX7GZRqzhdfv3vOCQODoSkse/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 353px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Traffic. Was. A. Nightmare.</td></tr>
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Don't get me wrong. We had a great time in Washington and Oregon. Weather was perfect; a nice change from hot and muggy Tennessee. It was awesome seeing my sister and nephews, and letting Grace and her cousins play on the farm.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_98dc_70c5_4794_6e7f" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd6wmotWW3pLWR47_r70dX8rutBVLK185-PDTUGbW8lTrjrWBr28H-lRlvSXl6lyPxtVUt7ssw6J8eYU6ljXexRV3xrMdtFtJ9AwMLGKUETfprAu8Rb9oLXjWY_hrcMyq9-2GdU92fdCAA/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 353px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dolly the horse is looking for my other arm</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_e127_a7d_b2d8_38c7" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1F9Vve_5oWPH9SVJ5dWz0jhRKr2FyYmT8tbe2m_gDqmW6Q1ciJkRNICe6KaCQThvf0yeuotzjlBF7RyqjCd1OXyBhZwCiewGc-GPfdPbqc2isd5HjnVbdoE2iEBkxvV-4xCjizsiK-dQz/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 353px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Training some future child laborers</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_420c_b2cd_67e6_2844" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHUdeJhTOhFgG-nr8ZmPNDEaLi5E_IJKagOlsV17zqT5eCIEOhoQG24mdVVNuGZwum3CX1iDe3vD8HbXAracbnsBrSbXvqvguokV6yLEfZhzu9ygqb-RJgyIy3J-m3F-tECaSoaiqFVjsq/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 353px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They continued looking at the camera as they drove straight into a creek</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_5875_3672_3d74_3832" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIktTf3tav0mjEYLiS9QN73ZzMYZ_U3J41ChRAF00VpXl6wntykuqaNEyKdVHBCUMGMUxUc0s-TaSJqmeT1giUzJE-urkXpaiDJw2GVz1dnQza7tWAK7GCge7OJ77yc9RHenSNeg_S7MbT/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 353px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Goonie Rocks!!!!!!!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_752c_8ab4_24d2_d959" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYcfnd4Ri3UUXFjHwrPh6tiQJsuGM1__dpT7cnCd9a4BJt2RYKz_je3ftjsUBUxq1NbrmCFCESVKg-4XkfIwl69Tv6roTWitTxBB-xrkolQ_xCZ1dWY05QmkkHry4SpsNt276zWI3tUKpY/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 353px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My widowed grandmother is living with my dad now. Looking great!!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_57f_ae26_ba47_89b0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUApI_sBPe28UXBi5TaoxmjyghLG9iSsHukaZW2qy9RWWp331RUm9mtM9GYK8Oz8QEIZSst4jxW3IQ_fUCVbJC3deK21xBWxXQkuKBnsyubSiTSQbsweZZSv4eb-lm2uKbxRyiHMrCChG3/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 353px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kadin insisted on feeding me every time</td></tr>
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We have to show the bad stuff to somebody though. I was reminded of this before dinner one night at my dad's house. I was leaned over the kitchen sink hacking up gunk that was lodged in the back of my throat.<br />
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This is a nightly ritual for me. I do it in our kitchen or in the bathroom. Usually, the amount of crud reaches a critical mass shortly before or after dinner and I start to gag on it. There's no time to make it to the bathroom to do it privately, so I end up hunched over the kitchen sink coughing it up. This is what Betsy and Grace are subjected to every evening. Sometimes, I'm forced to do it in the bathroom out at restaurants, but I try to avoid that. Nobody wants to see that stuff.<br />
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So, I finish nearly puking up a lung in my dad's kitchen. My dad quietly says "Do you do that every night?"<br />
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"Yes," I answer, "every night."<br />
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Later on, Betsy asked if I could just do it in the bathroom next time. I said no way, because I think my family and close friends should have to see the bad stuff. I'm not a big complainer, so most people have no idea about all the little, everyday struggles with my health. If you're only subjected to my Facebook profile, then you may think I'm living the dream, and every hardship is just laughed off with a corny joke. The truth is, I <i>am</i> living the dream. I have a great life, BUT there's a lot of shit that goes with it. There's no need for me to discuss every excruciating detail publicly. We all have our private battles with mental health, physical health, poverty, work, family, you name it. No need to talk about it with everyone we know (TMI).<br />
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However, at the same time, we have to vent to someone. I need the support of my family and close friends and to get that support, they have to understand the full extent of my health problems. I think this applies to everyone. With Facebook/Twitter/Instagram/etc., sometimes it's just difficult for us to get used to separating the public social media profile from our private lives.<br />
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But anyway, we had a wonderful trip to Washington!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_bda6_ab85_60a0_5fc1" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiffGFJaf2_UyQ-XXyKdHP1BN2FLkQh_zCTwhQ1yF-0P7sBEsL90zvkeSQ1FE4ie74QZBnzRlEnwTbPhXg7xEv66oXfncTIKy1cPhvchJGClRsBQ7rmeeCezHPVUp_ZT2PRgmye0YwUHFfS/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 353px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I can count that kid's ribs!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_f102_96ac_3ddb_5c1e" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcW_tiM-Cg5c2BXJv20vlf9PMgS8OFvfXNpqg7tItYVSJVGtS6Jrhx0IngS5ikgvOSseOVX5Y-Ud36H09fix-8ASxss0QHnH73Gsj-kC5_-Do8pz6nu6O6hvZSAJPzuiQLJEZQklfOPNEp/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 353px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brave explorers journeying around the farm</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_48ea_2067_51c4_8a4d" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj60iCFGvyxOWn1pd6FELyaPTX_gFOg_df6fLoyilL-VLvuBk7uoDgY50QvATXZ6jF3ky2Au5RF6LOI_WllbF2kuCOS5yuTJLgkV5ktHoxBHYQXl2YZTERVoNOYpnvjw59xe6zc6KBWq8MU/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 353px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Searching for crawdads with grandpa</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_a9f_627_604d_3fc0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSoW7ozjj_QDJKzhmTUWlVuuOtj-7PW_4qkKgA3-xaviVK_E7LCwoaHeWKCfC1PtG6OTun9ijcXIwyHBS7p32ojYTDIpx5JzjIK7oV70DZQXPhjNuf7J4BURh75oF4CoB6EGaHkUGRzb7U/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 353px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Didn't really catch enough to make a meal</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_3c34_3d4f_2c71_1cb" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_J7Yo798PgV7i7N8DsmFK9yDoXmT8x_6PXyPuS79afZMEARYDupKYqt_ENEP2By0uK301mC87B7xn3uomYl3xgJ6qb78LPY6BP433TSImSYmfxGV7kPKqiD17uBz2FlGuzYT17PAXUeR2/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 353px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That stump is actually a slug. That's how big they get.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_f768_87ce_ca09_d1fe" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFYtP5jLpLn8bMdgEszbGYTQeLJhxQjhvE3-9W10Pu4n977MmPtXsNc8icLW2aj0qgYhWP_1jtnh96_iQK5ydJYdzZ4bIBIPkr5IiAFjrjlAaqHkoXz5D3aRcwWfwCRsdx3Dlx_arZU82o/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 353px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brought enough Real Food Blends for lunch every day!</td></tr>
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Bottomline, if I ever hack up a bunch of nasty looking stuff in front of you, then you should feel honored that I consider you a close enough friend to puke in your presence. That's how I show my love.<br />
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If you really loved me, you'd clean it up too. You're welcome.</div>
Travelingtubiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01289236463144244586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-742410657981715477.post-67635259456869797802017-04-03T13:15:00.002-07:002017-04-19T08:41:54.397-07:00Remembrance<div style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">I've been kind of addicted to <a href="http://ancestry.com/"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">ancestry.com</span></a>. You know, that site where you can build your family tree and research your ancestors, find distant cousins, discover whether anyone in your family owned slaves (yes, there are slave owners in my past, much to my shame), that sort of stuff. It gets addictive because for every relative, Ancestry gives you 'hints' that you can use like a birth certificate, census record, marriage record, or obituary that brings up more names to add to the family tree. "On May 27, 1880, Jane Doe married John Doe. Her parents are listed as William Tyler and Beatrice Grooms." <i>OOOHHH! I didn't have </i>their<i> names! Let me add that to the tree!</i> <i>Oh, wait now there are 5 hints listed for Beatrice Grooms that point to siblings and more parents and each of those siblings was married and had 20 children.</i> Pretty soon, the tree expands to enormous proportions when all you really set out to do was find out who your great great grandmother was. My tree has about 350 names now and I have to force myself to quit. The vast majority of names are on my father's side, because I was researching my grandparents' backgrounds a few years ago. I've also got some names on my mom's side and even Betsy's. I can see how people could just sit and spend hours at this, writing little backgrounds and timelines for each person on their tree. I've found distant cousins who spend a lot more time at this than I do. One cousin has traced our lineage all the way back to William Shakespeare. That's on my paternal grandfather's side. On my paternal grandmother's side, I'm a distant relative of President John Tyler, who is well known as being one of the worst Presidents in American history (yay!).</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The resemblance is uncanny</td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">All these names on Ancestry have highlighted for me what a short little blip our lives are. My great grandfather, William F. Liebenow III was born in 1882 in Wisconsin to parents who had just immigrated from Germany. All his older siblings were born in Germany. William went to a small college near Madison, joined a threshing crew that took him up the east coast until he found himself in Fredericksburg, Virginia. There, he started working for a lumber company. He fell in love with the owner's daughter, Mary Eastburn, they got married (despite the wishes of Mary's mother, who hated 'Yankees'), and had five children, one of whom was my grandfather. In another generation, William III will be just another name on a family tree. Even the limited background I know will be lost. All of my grandfather's siblings have passed away. One of his older sisters died as a child. The other two older sisters died childless about ten years ago. His younger brother, Uncle Pilly, died a few years ago. Uncle Pilly had two sons who are still alive, but they had no children. My grandfather had three grandchildren. Only my sister and I are left. In late February, much to my sorrow, my grandfather died at the age of 97. It seems there is no one left to tell their stories, and in a couple more generations, we will all just be names on a family tree with a year of birth and a year of death. Maybe a few additional notes if we're lucky.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">This post took a dark turn, didn't it?</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">I wanted to share some thoughts I had about my grandfather.</span><br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg87N7W6pX7TPHhYR9N6z_Ykai5KwkBnzIKem47Q3XdQw6DoqrGGmUPYTFuMxPv4ykKa1eiTztgmBe_xZuvP-lIsKsFjnRdyti08nABIkqfUB15Dqys-tyOWUSs1d0-0Yj0g24Jb3vjlnFA/s1600/William_Liebenow_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg87N7W6pX7TPHhYR9N6z_Ykai5KwkBnzIKem47Q3XdQw6DoqrGGmUPYTFuMxPv4ykKa1eiTztgmBe_xZuvP-lIsKsFjnRdyti08nABIkqfUB15Dqys-tyOWUSs1d0-0Yj0g24Jb3vjlnFA/s320/William_Liebenow_2.jpg" width="251" id="id_bd6c_ec34_d9a5_8c1" style="width: 251px; height: auto;"></a></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">For the first few years of his life, he lived in a farm house with his maternal grandmother. The house had no electricity or indoor plumbing. His grandmother had an African American woman who worked for her who was born a slave until she was freed after the Civil War as a teenager. The family called the woman "Aunt Susan." My grandfather followed Aunt Susan everywhere and she adored her little 'shadow' so much, she called him her 'buddy.' The name stuck, and from then on, grandpa was known as Buddy or Bud.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">Bud was a hard worker, and he learned it at a young age. Times were tight during the Great Depression for the Liebenow's. Everyone was expected to earn money, since William's lumber job wasn't paying enough to cover all the bills. Bud had his first job when he was nine, selling three different magazines door-to-door, making as little as 1.5 cents for each magazine sold. From then on, Bud had a job, from working on a dairy farm, to running a paper route, to driving a lumber truck. He even had a short job distributing bootleg liqueur with some other kids during Prohibition. He remembered that one of his customers was an Episcopal minister who insisted that the alcohol be delivered through a back alley so no one would see it. Though life was hard during those years (a typical Christmas present was an orange), there was always food on the table and there were daily visits from denizens of the town's 'hobo jungle' looking for handouts to remind the family that things could always be worse.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">My grandfather was tough and fearless. There was an older bully in school who "took a shine" to Bud. He led Bud up to other kids and said, "hit him," forcing grandpa to hit the other boy and start a fight. Bud recalled one fight on the playground when he knocked the other kid's head back so hard, it broke the glasses of another boy watching the fight.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image of grandpa's first school in 1925</td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">Bud was a boxer from high school through his years fighting in the war. He was known by fellow navy soldiers as "the fighting fool." This wasn't just for his boxing reputation, but for his fearlessness during combat. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE8Xc3Jf-LnwlafqmVjCQuOuo2Q2L-EEe4RspxIrGWhF3CrRSEDEc0hTk27jXgwl4mhuXkRFGOh4cISCjlTf4zIj-1_ODH3TOcNt_UgIAt4ycM1rknAclBzxUedMUcPGRSDDpo-ZDC0psN/s1600/IMG_0999.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE8Xc3Jf-LnwlafqmVjCQuOuo2Q2L-EEe4RspxIrGWhF3CrRSEDEc0hTk27jXgwl4mhuXkRFGOh4cISCjlTf4zIj-1_ODH3TOcNt_UgIAt4ycM1rknAclBzxUedMUcPGRSDDpo-ZDC0psN/s320/IMG_0999.JPG" width="320" id="id_2d4c_b387_49fa_5b4" style="width: 320px; height: auto;"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Relaxing during some downtime</td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">On one occasion, Bud's PT 157 was escorting a Marine landing craft to a beachhead in the South Pacific when they came under attack by Japanese dive bombers. Bud quickly had his crew steer their own 80 foot, plywood PT boat away from the landing craft to draw the enemy fire away from the Marines. On another occasion, Bud's PT boat got caught between two destroyers on a dark, moonless night. They came under blistering crossfire, putting more than 50 holes along the side of their boat but miraculously, no one was hurt. The destroyers both turned because it was too dark to pinpoint the PT boat's location. Bud used the brief lull in the action to check on his crew. They discovered that one of their three engines was completely dead from enemy fire and the mechanic had to coax a second engine back to life after severe damage. Despite the damage to his ship, Bud turned the boat around, sped toward one of the retreating destroyers and scored a hit with one of his torpedoes. He was awarded the silver star for his actions that night.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzg4nLQK4jUqC5Y_cC6MRBRrHfWXvmwgBP6HCyw4WwNgNO_zi0iDMILLpslQSmV89_4IGUZ6_uAL-1eZ64M1npiKXlXns5Ji93IKiKMdmJzQjBzfcsShy6UZ2d22Cje6oDbp-xg0lNjsUQ/s1600/pt157.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="273" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzg4nLQK4jUqC5Y_cC6MRBRrHfWXvmwgBP6HCyw4WwNgNO_zi0iDMILLpslQSmV89_4IGUZ6_uAL-1eZ64M1npiKXlXns5Ji93IKiKMdmJzQjBzfcsShy6UZ2d22Cje6oDbp-xg0lNjsUQ/s400/pt157.jpg" width="400" id="id_ff15_e908_ac99_989c" style="width: 400px; height: auto;"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grandpa's in shorts, 8th from the left</td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">After rescuing Kennedy and the crew of the PT 109 (<a href="http://travelingtubie.blogspot.com/2013/06/incident.html" target="_blank">see my blog post about it</a> if you want his account of that night), Bud was reassigned to the European theater, where he made numerous covert runs to Normandy Beach before D-Day. On these missions, his PT 199 would pull in close to the beach and Bud and another crewman would quietly row a small dinghy to shore to get soil samples, or meet with French resistance operatives under the noses of German sentries. On D-Day, my grandfather's PT 199 escorted gun ships close to shore so they could fire on German batteries. During the invasion, the allied destroyer USS Corry struck a mine and simultaneously came under heavy fire from German artillery. The Corry sunk and Bud's PT 199 picked up more than 60 survivors during a constant barrage from the Nazi defenses. He was awarded the bronze star for his actions on D-Day.</span><br>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bud, at left, on PT 199</td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">Grandpa epitomized the ideal of the 'Citizen Soldier.' He detested the peacetime Navy, constantly having to wear a uniform, with good sailors getting chewed out for minor rule infractions. He left the service, turned his back on war and became a railroad chemist. Other than his 1960 campaign support at various rallies in Michigan for the man he shared a tent with in the South Pacific, and his attendance at JFK's inauguration, Bud stayed out of the spotlight. He lived a quiet life with the woman who helped him through physics class when he was a senior back at Randolph Macon (my grandmother was only a freshman; she's kinda smart). They raised a daughter and son (my father). </span><br>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Showing off his first born son, 1946</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7VEII0VxcJWMi4ksKK3n2Y0IdFerKGBBbyiK8ieKCLd_vo0nAuEUGTAPr2n1R972j_ekklrqTmJdVu0z4dOpOTIOmgWhC1tyRJaa2ZM94D97BwJV3fYKEGTzaj5YPNJXE_0MqFY2fDpLr/s1600/IMG_1158.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7VEII0VxcJWMi4ksKK3n2Y0IdFerKGBBbyiK8ieKCLd_vo0nAuEUGTAPr2n1R972j_ekklrqTmJdVu0z4dOpOTIOmgWhC1tyRJaa2ZM94D97BwJV3fYKEGTzaj5YPNJXE_0MqFY2fDpLr/s400/IMG_1158.JPG" width="400" id="id_6615_c97f_77bb_8cc6" style="width: 400px; height: auto;"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My dad and Aunt Susan, sledding with their dad at their Michigan home, ~1953</td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">After 30 years working for the railroad, the couple bought a small house on a golf course on North Carolina's Abemarle Sound. I grew up 30 minutes away, where my father worked at a paper mill. I have so many good memories of my grandparents' house on the water. Fishing with grandpa; checking the crab pots; playing tennis down the street, my complete lack of skill at golf, lazy days laying on their hammock, so many fantastic meals, courtesy of Grammy. </span><br>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who is that adorable boy playing with his grandpa?</td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">Compared to Grandpa's young life, mine was so privileged and I have him to thank for that.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">I have such admiration for Bud Liebenow. His courage. His quiet modesty about his past. The love he had for his wife of nearly 75 years. </span><br>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dancing at my wedding in 2002</td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">The life lessons he taught me growing up on everything from how to sail a boat, to civic engagement are priceless to me. In the end, Bud Liebenow is a pair of dates on the family tree, 1920-2017. But like the rest of his generation, he witnessed so many changes, hardship and tumultuous days. The Great Depression, World War II, the Kennedy assassination, the moon landing, seeing a son through two tours in Vietnam, Watergate, losing a grandson to cancer, 9/11, technological changes from commercial flight to smart phones. He met all challenges with quiet fortitude. Like any boxer, when he suffered setbacks, he picked himself up and kept fighting. We all lost something the day this man died.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grace's favorite photo of grandpa</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFp2z6QAeZT5UyVeGaSeKShyphenhyphenNZnOzKDlZ566GbaR4UqxAh5Zz76167yRb1lG0dH5a_T-ASoc-2eZ4iU-Z5EqhOZ1OoKLO43MnBYyUUFfkwFq41_kKegUYm3D6yKCZoITMuVtn5UV35KzL9/s1600/IMG_1071.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFp2z6QAeZT5UyVeGaSeKShyphenhyphenNZnOzKDlZ566GbaR4UqxAh5Zz76167yRb1lG0dH5a_T-ASoc-2eZ4iU-Z5EqhOZ1OoKLO43MnBYyUUFfkwFq41_kKegUYm3D6yKCZoITMuVtn5UV35KzL9/s320/IMG_1071.JPG" width="240" id="id_68a3_c61f_5de7_9f18" style="width: 240px; height: auto;"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bud and Lucy, March 2016</td></tr>
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Travelingtubiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01289236463144244586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-742410657981715477.post-27128038590023959642017-03-21T11:35:00.001-07:002017-03-21T11:35:03.872-07:00I did a blog! (Not here though)Hello,<div>I thought you should know, if you don't follow me on facebook, I did a blog post about my trip to Germany in December 2015. It's actually a guest post on the tubechic.com blog site (here's the link: <a href="http://tubechic.com/the-traveling-tubie-aka-the-tube-dude-has-this-weeks-post/">http://tubechic.com/the-traveling-tubie-aka-the-tube-dude-has-this-weeks-post/</a>). </div><div><br></div><div>If you've never heard of the tubechic blog, you should check it out. The tubechic, AKA Diane Massey Stormer, is a fellow adult tubie and she is building a very informative website about all things tube related. One project she's working on is making adult clothing that incorporates ports for tube feeding. This would be huge. Women, especially, are restricted with the way they dress in order to eat during the day. I really admire Diane for the amount of time she's investing in making tube feeders' lives better.</div><div><br></div><div>That's all I wanted to say. I'm working on a blog post that has nothing to do with tube feeding. It's about my grandfather, who passed away at the end of February. It's been very hard for me to write because he was such a huge presence in my life, and I don't know how to express this loss. Still processing it, I guess. In the meantime, here's a nice obituary from the New York Times: <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2017/02/28/us/william-liebenow-pt-boat-skipper-rescued-jfk.html?_r=0">https://www.nytimes.com/2017/02/28/us/william-liebenow-pt-boat-skipper-rescued-jfk.html?_r=0</a>. </div>Travelingtubiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01289236463144244586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-742410657981715477.post-90593464372366027782017-01-12T13:48:00.000-08:002017-01-12T13:48:01.560-08:00Disney, Take 2<div>
2016 was a pretty sucky year for me personally, but I have high hopes for 2017. So far, it hasn't let me down with a trip to Orlando and a chance to see my mom, uncle, sister, brother-in-law, and my two nephews. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibWx6YehF34BlPnrNpvYHkQDeWq0hhpHCeWRCzCMQ4T3hVERofjRLH6VCUpujjReBGTg2hjsjxkZ6wRqD2ytiSAl_9XyA6sgmNzHSym6MBvJlDEtcmw3BJs782hbPOUBut5K5gWm7glPDq/s1600/AK_BRDGMDL_20170102_7912813886.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="425" id="id_5c1d_c0c0_da9d_e15" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibWx6YehF34BlPnrNpvYHkQDeWq0hhpHCeWRCzCMQ4T3hVERofjRLH6VCUpujjReBGTg2hjsjxkZ6wRqD2ytiSAl_9XyA6sgmNzHSym6MBvJlDEtcmw3BJs782hbPOUBut5K5gWm7glPDq/s640/AK_BRDGMDL_20170102_7912813886.jpeg" style="height: auto; width: 640px;" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We're in front of the Tree of Life at Animal Kingdom which, ironically, is not alive</td></tr>
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My uncle Larry told my sister, mom, and I that if we could pay for airfare to Orlando, he would pay for all of us to stay at Disney's Polynesian Resort along with meal plans and 4 days of park tickets. For this reason, my mother-in-law would like to adopt my uncle Larry into Betsy's side of the family, preferably before summer break.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I wear that hat every day</td></tr>
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So, we got to go to Disney World AGAIN after having gone a couple years ago. How lucky could we be?? I'm worried Grace will start thinking these sorts of trips and luxury resort stays are commonplace, so we've started forcing her to sleep in the cupboard under the stairs. That reminds me, Betsy and I decided to fly down to Florida a couple days early so we could spend a day at Universal Studios' The Wizarding World of Harry Potter. Grace and I have been dying to see it, so we spent two nights at the Cabana Bay Beach Resort and visited the park on New Year's Eve.</div>
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The Cabana Bay was a great place to stay, other than the constant annoying 50s music. It's cheaper than the other hotels at the park. I ate most of my meals at their cafeteria. I could just order a meal, put it in my blender, find an outlet near our table, and blend up my food right there. I had two breakfasts and a dinner this way.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Grace is making her just-finish-eating-so-we-can-go-to-the-park face</span></div>
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On New Year's Eve, we ate at Jimmy Buffett's Margaritaville where I ordered a chicken Cobb salad. I could've ordered a burger with gluten-free bun, but I'm always afraid to order stuff like bread, potatoes, rice, or pasta because it thickens the blend, and the volume of the meal turns out really big. I'm also afraid to get steak because the Vitamix often misses fat or gristle that ends up getting stuck in the tube. So, I usually opt for salad or seafood. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"If they play 'Margaritaville' one more time, I will murder someone."</td></tr>
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We spent a day at Diagon Alley--which was AMAZING. It took us a while to convince Grace to ride the Escape From Gringott's ride, but she liked it so much, she had to ride two more times. Betsy and Grace had lunch at the Leaky Cauldron and I had a couple Real Food Blends. Grace tried her hardest to stay up until midnight to ring in the New Year, but only made it to 11:30.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fun fact: Butterbeer is 15% butter by volume</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I have the Dumbledore wand, Grace has Hermione's</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just a muggle eating his Real Food Blend and his half-blood princess</td></tr>
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The next day, my uncle picked us up at Universal and drove us over to Shades of Green military resort, across the street from Disney World's Polynesian resort. After checking in, we ate dinner at the Italian restaurant there, where I had the veal piccata (I know this breaks my 'salad or seafood' rule, but I figured veal was a safe bet). </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hi, Uncle Larry! He doesn't use the internet so I doubt he'll ever read this.</td></tr>
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My sister, her family, and my mom flew in from Germany that evening and we spent one night at Shades of Green, before moving over to the Polynesian the next day. They served gluten-free waffles at the Polynesian's Capt. Cook's so I had breakfast there before we headed out to Animal Kingdom. I think last time we went to Disney, I said Animal Kingdom is like a really crowded zoo. I still think that's an accurate assessment. Pretty much all the animals I saw are also at Knoxville's zoo and I don't have to fight a mob of people to see them. However, I also still think Everest is the best roller coaster in the park. Grace and the other kids were too afraid to ride, but my brother-in-law, Betsy and I rode it. We all rode the Kali River Rapids twice too. Grace loves that one and at 80 degrees, we were all hot enough to go. Once again, I had a Real Food Blend for lunch in the park.</div>
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You do a bunch of walking at the Disney parks. I didn't do a whole lot of exercising last year, especially after my surgery, so I was worried I'd have a hard time keeping up with everyone. But, I did pretty well. My iphone tracks my steps and the distance I've walked every day. I don't know how precise it is, but according to the Health app, from Friday, Dec. 30, to Friday, Jan. 6, I walked 107,452 steps for a total of 38.6 miles. I know it's not <i>that</i> impressive, but I felt good about not needing a cane and still being able to hang out with the kids without any falls.</div>
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That first night at Disney, I had dinner over at the Contemporary Resort at a restaurant called The Wave. I got chicken breasts and had a horrible time with clogs. Has anyone else blended their meals in one of the wider pitchers that come with the commercial Vitamix? If so, please reply in the comments. Our chef at The Wave was super nice. He offered to blend my meal up in their own Vitamix so I wouldn't have to get my own dirty. But, as soon as I tried to push the food in, I got a clog. We sent the blend back and asked him to blend some more. This happens sometimes, but it always gets fixed after we send it back. But my tube STILL clogged. So, we sent it back again...clog...and again...clog. Finally, we asked the chef (Betsy thought he was really hot; is that why she kept asking to see him?) if he could blend the meal in my pitcher and it worked the first time. We think that the narrower pitchers condense the food up better as it blends to ensure every little bit gets liquified. Does that make sense? Anyone else have this experience? Regardless, from then on, we always asked the chefs if they were blending my meal up in a Vitamix with a narrow pitcher.</div>
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Disney, of course, will bend over backward to make sure their guests get the full, 'Happiest Place on Earth' experience. We ate at Magic Kingdom's Crystal Palace for lunch on Tuesday (thank you, chef Ruben!), Hollywood Studios' Sci-fi Dine-in Theater for lunch on Wednesday, and Epcot's Coral Reef Restaurant on Thursday (thank you, Chef Nathan!) and every time, the restaurant used their own Vitamix (with a narrow pitcher) so I didn't have to carry mine around the park. The one exception was the luau at the Polynesian on Thursday night (very impressive fire dancer!). They didn't have a Vitamix, but I didn't mind eating a couple Real Food Blends for dinner.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chef Ruben is not at all concerned about his restaurant's rodent problem</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I had honey in my meal and this bear wouldn't leave me alone!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My youngest nephew loves watching me eat and now Betsy wants to kidnap him</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chef Nathan at the Coral Reef</td></tr>
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My Uncle Larry got us a meal plan for the week. Not sure where he got all the money for this but I have heard him mention that Walter White is loosely based on him? Don't know what that means, but thank you, Uncle Larry!! My nephews have celiac disease so both my sister and I ordered gluten free meals for breakfast every morning (gluten free waffles, eggs and bacon for me!). I just plugged up my Vitamix in the breakfast area where all the guests ate, blended my meal, and ate with whoever happened to be up.</div>
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It was awesome to see Grace together with her cousins. They get along really well and had a fantastic time at the parks. When we went to Disney two years ago, The Force Awakens hadn't come out in theaters yet, so there wasn't a whole lot of Star Wars stuff. This time, at Hollywood Studios, it was EVERYWHERE. There were storm troopers walking around asking little kids for their identification. Grace and her cousins did Jedi training, where they faced off against Darth Vader AND Kylo Ren (not at the same time; that would be suicide). There was a storm trooper march with Captain Phasma leading a squadron of troops up the street to their shuttle. There was a live show outside. There were a couple short films to watch in two different theaters. We waited in line to meet Chewbacca (we all hugged him and said we were sorry for his loss). We could've waited to meet Kylo Ren, but who wants to meet that asshole? And, naturally, we were encouraged to buy Star Wars merchandise. Uncle Larry gave us money to spend on souvenirs so the kids each got a remote control BB8 droid. I got a Lego Tie Fighter (because I'm 42, and I like Legos), then got home to discover I got a MODEL of a Tie Fighter, not the Lego. Models are way too grown up for me, so I'm going to return that sucker and get the toy I wanted (again, I'm 42).</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_befb_ec50_fa54_da75" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZkvNFLA5Me4i5quxkQ9S0gx1AxViC8qS_t_ZlqNf5Du32rGotvJ7TAc4ky4NB3ND-gE0Ifkrg0qhBY1q8tmdEmjBwS_dwcwqhkAKoI3xp1oRa2N_pj-ddf0Dq7Le0PLuTEzNAs4lYCv9G/" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 618px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sorry kids, but you don't get to meet the wookie until I'm finished</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grace said she wished he would've tried harder, so next time, could you use a real light saber, you pansy?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibaTYp9MNo1e33aJfnk1HAXgoT9kQKPRWiROPBM17CBThXcpTkB4JYW84QgpbP6zuFhiTDnpnCgyMTAosekV0oN6ADBry-pOCZTaRjvR-q5N3Fy2AG6Ux1VoVLzzWo66rttzpw3oUj2fbN/s1600/MK_MSATHCLB_20170103_7912817054.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" id="id_c0ac_84ee_788f_ff6b" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibaTYp9MNo1e33aJfnk1HAXgoT9kQKPRWiROPBM17CBThXcpTkB4JYW84QgpbP6zuFhiTDnpnCgyMTAosekV0oN6ADBry-pOCZTaRjvR-q5N3Fy2AG6Ux1VoVLzzWo66rttzpw3oUj2fbN/s400/MK_MSATHCLB_20170103_7912817054.jpeg" style="height: auto; width: 320px;" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Love these kids</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"OH MY GOD, GET THIS *#!@*&#$ THING OFF MY HAND!!!! KILL IT!!! KILL IT!!!"</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grace had more sugar on this trip than she's ever had in her life</td></tr>
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Since there was a forecast for snow back in Tennessee, I naturally went swimming every chance I got. I've heard some people don't go swimming with their feeding tubes, especially not in hot tubs, oceans, lakes, or rivers. I know parents, especially, are nervous about letting their tubie children expose themselves to potential toxins. I haven't let the tube stop me from swimming. I might be playing with fire but I've had the tube in all those environments, plus public swimming pools. I normally try to take a shower right afterward to rinse out the tube, but I haven't always. I remember one time, specifically, a couple years ago when we went camping and tubing in the Smoky Mountains and it was two nights before I took a shower. I'm definitely not encouraging others to do this. I know parents are very nervous about being responsible for their children getting bad germs through the tube. I personally haven't had a problem with it, and this trip was no exception. I went swimming in the saltwater pool, the saltwater hot tub, the chlorinated pool filled with screaming kids, and the chlorinated hot tub. At some point in the future, <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">you can all laugh at me when I get some horrible stomach illness from mutant lake algae.</span></div>
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Betsy and I renewed our wedding vows for the 15th time. Our anniversary isn't until Feb. 2, but we thought we would take the opportunity to get married at Disney World. Initially, we wanted to do it in front of the Chinese Pavilion at Epcot's World Showcase, but we ran out of time on Thursday (it would probably take a week to see everything at Epcot) so Grace had us say our vows on the beach at the Polynesian and then Betsy and I went to Magic Kingdom Thursday night to see the fireworks. You want to know what attracts a lot of attention? A one-armed guy in uniform and his wife wearing her wedding dress posing for pictures in front of the crystal palace at night. Whoa. The photographer had us kiss and the whole crowd erupted in cheers. I'm a little disappointed we couldn't do it in China. I guess now we'll have to go to the REAL China to renew our wedding vows. Maybe Uncle Larry has some money left to spend on those tickets? The Shanghai Disney Resort just opened last year!!! I'm sure that won't be crowded at all.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7lKcwVii3isya0gKWHYunK0NKQfJ1iTynig7z7mMM37kzfUPqQuQ0Fldw_nCwDYP7hBOdRs1Rsi5M7k5gSvKxsneJFHANzLM7RG5riMS6CPYzKvBHWe_OmFPly1kVMD-9rEAonWjKPrf2/s1600/MK_MSUPTOWNJL_20170106_7915204025.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" id="id_3365_4be7_f66_a005" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7lKcwVii3isya0gKWHYunK0NKQfJ1iTynig7z7mMM37kzfUPqQuQ0Fldw_nCwDYP7hBOdRs1Rsi5M7k5gSvKxsneJFHANzLM7RG5riMS6CPYzKvBHWe_OmFPly1kVMD-9rEAonWjKPrf2/s640/MK_MSUPTOWNJL_20170106_7915204025.jpeg" style="height: auto; width: 426px;" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy Anniversary, Babe. Here's to 15 more!</td></tr>
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Travelingtubiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01289236463144244586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-742410657981715477.post-66688054713240732572016-12-12T14:41:00.000-08:002016-12-12T14:45:03.980-08:00Rest in PeaceA friend from high school died the other day. It hit me hard because he died of metastatic kidney cancer and I didn't even know he had cancer. He was diagnosed more than 3 years ago, and talked about it publicly back in April of this year. I don't check facebook every day, and I missed the post where he talked about his prognosis. I was diagnosed with cancer a couple months after our 10 year high school reunion in 2003, so I e-mailed him and a few other high school friends. He was very supportive, and has been supportive since then as I've dealt with cancer's aftermath. I feel bad because I wasn't there for his health crisis. He posted a picture to facebook on Halloween of him and his family (he was married, with two little girls). I 'Liked' the photo but failed to notice how much weight he'd lost or how he was on oxygen. I get so self absorbed in my own problems that I don't pay enough attention to those around me.<br>
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So, I had a drink for Mike Rich tonight.<br>
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Mike was a great guy. He was someone I greatly admired. Mike graduated from Stanford Law School and was a law professor at Elon University. Mike had a quick wit and extremely funny, sarcastic sense of humor. He was smart. So much smarter than I was. You see, we went to a public boarding school, the North Carolina School of Science and Math. All the kids there were gifted (not me; I think I avoided getting really bad grades because my brother died while I was there and the teachers took pity on me), but there were some, like Mike, who really stood out. He often hung out in my room, because my roommate was equally smart and we had a fast computer for writing papers and--more importantly--playing computer games. In the evening, when we weren't playing computer games, board games, card games, Dungeons & Dragons, or uh...homework, my friends often debated philosophy, politics, or scientific topics in front of me. I just smiled and nodded, unable to contribute anything meaningful to the conversation, but Mike knew what he was talking about. Recently, Mike often talked to the media in North Carolina, wrote papers or spoke publicly about the intersection between emerging technology and criminal justice. He wrote an OpEd for the NY Times, he was interviewed for an article in Time magazine on the usage of body cams. He was highly respected in the law community. I just watched a lecture he gave on the subject and it is fascinating. If you have any interest in criminal justice, I urge you to look up Michael Rich on Youtube.<br>
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Here's his obituary from Elon, which has a short video in which he talks about his work: http://www.elon.edu/e-net/Article/141138<br>
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Here's the obituary from his local paper: http://www.greensboro.com/obituaries/rich-michael-lee/article_b6eac05c-1196-575d-934a-59155d420a65.html?mode=jqm<br>
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Mike's law students loved him. This is obvious from all the emotional outpourings of grief posted on his facebook page. He took the time to sit down with all his students outside the classroom. Mike discussed their career path with them; he encouraged them; he gave them a shoulder to cry on; he was their friend years after they graduated. He really listened to people. This was all while he was going through his own battle with cancer.<br>
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I can't help but contrast his example with my own. While he dealt with cancer quietly, with dignity, rarely letting it overshadow the needs of friends and loved ones, I immediately broadcast my cancer diagnosis. My own public blog about my experiences with the aftermath of cancer treatment seem like a selfish cry for public validation, and I feel even more saddened/chagrined that I was not there for Mike as he was there for me during cancer treatment and at every stage of my subsequent health problems. I didn't take enough time in my day to take an interest at least in the exciting work Mike was doing. To send him a note saying how much I admired him. Mike really made a difference. The world is better because of him.<br>
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I only knew Mike for two years more than 20 years ago. The experiences I had with him, the full extent of my knowledge about Mike Rich, is such a tiny portion of who he really was. My picture of him:<br>
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He had a brother. Anecdote: Mike told me that he and his brother used to wrestle (as brothers often do). Mike used to grab his brother's legs to present him from climbing the stairs at his home. Panting desperately, his brother would say, "Must! Reach! Top! Save! World!" That story stuck with me, and now whenever my daughter grabs my legs I cry, "Must! Reach! [INSERT DESTINATION]! Save! World!<br>
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Mike was excellent at ultimate frisbee (our best player). He was a great basketball player and was often dismayed at my own clumsiness on the court. He was a good Dungeon Master when we played D&D--on an unrelated note, we were virgins. He was smart and funny. He was generous, respectful of everyone's opinion. He was a good listener. He was there for me when my brother died our senior year. He was a good friend.<br>
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He was so much more than that though. He was a loving father and husband. He was great at his job. He was looked up to by so many current, and former, students at Elon. He continued teaching for three years, through his cancer fight. I only know those things from what I could glean off his facebook and twitter profiles. Social media is great because without it, I wouldn't know any of that stuff. I probably wouldn't have found out about his death until my next reunion. Social media also serves to remind me of how out of touch I am with my friends. I told another high school friend about Mike's death and noticed that my other friend lived in Illinois. When did that happen? Last I knew, he lived in Atlanta.<br>
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I hope in the future I can express to my friends the impact they've had on my life and how much I appreciate them before it's too late.<br>
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Rest in Peace, Michael Rich.<br>
<br>Travelingtubiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01289236463144244586noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-742410657981715477.post-58887264766713075222016-11-13T09:28:00.000-08:002016-11-13T09:28:40.818-08:00Armageddon<div>
A while back, I read an article about the importance of Legacy Letters (also called Ethical Wills), which are written, or recorded sentiments left to loved ones before you die. It is an often repeated sentiment that people at the end of their life regret not expressing some of their hopes, dreams, and life lessons to their family. I got to thinking about this and decided to write letters to Betsy and Grace before my arm amputation surgery. I had personal thoughts, specifically for Grace, about my life, religious views, and hopes for her future, and I felt that a letter would be something she would cherish later in life. Plus, I just wanted to express how proud I am of her. I think this is something all of us should do--it's almost as important as a regular will. The mistake I made was not telling Betsy I was planning on writing these letters before my surgery.<br />
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I always fear the worst before these complex procedures, but I didn't want to make Betsy--definitely not my 9 year-old either--worry that I thought I might not wake up. So, I wrote these letters in a rush, late one night, and stuffed them in our locked box where Betsy would eventually run across them after I died. But, as you may have guessed from reading this, I didn't kick the bucket. I also never took those letters out of the locked box, so Betsy came up to me with a rather distressed, tearful expression the other day, extremely pissed off that I would write these letters without saying anything to her about it. I guess what I'm saying here is, strongly consider crafting an Ethical Will even when you're completely healthy. Also, don't hide its existence from your significant other.<br />
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So, anyway, the arm is amputated.<br />
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Yay!!!! <br />
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Yay???? <br />
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Yay!!!!!</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDA9QxE5ok4lcVsBKTS6y2UD2ZVWvhOfirst2sMsEsEWvSmQR7di29swIDx8llgX4Y4_CDhGDPxmCdQNduHfCwyWgVsQIGKf97fPxcTpAF1vpW8Rrgsl-HMzym4nMRoxkKEjme-uk7Zpju/s640/blogger-image-1661730475.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDA9QxE5ok4lcVsBKTS6y2UD2ZVWvhOfirst2sMsEsEWvSmQR7di29swIDx8llgX4Y4_CDhGDPxmCdQNduHfCwyWgVsQIGKf97fPxcTpAF1vpW8Rrgsl-HMzym4nMRoxkKEjme-uk7Zpju/s640/blogger-image-1661730475.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rocking the Kylo Ren quilt I got from my mother-in-law!!</td></tr>
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They ended up taking the arm, 3 ribs, most of the clavicle and scapula. My thoracic surgeon said the bones were the consistency of mush because of the bone infection, but they cleared all that out down to healthy bone tissue. The plastic surgeon flipped up my left arm muscle to cover the wound, so I didn't need a muscle flap from any other part of my body.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhozQXnogsKEBsQhUwMflQwJBtvvYPjm8zjkpFyZek_4lOvQwg-yqIrbukIKo_6AmISPDtHrIwSWIOU2bF0jPjRmbc9gx8IqkoVaguYKcY8Su-ar6vH0b8sJHsdJXrE8gFc-MBbQB-EeHfn/s640/blogger-image--579127097.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhozQXnogsKEBsQhUwMflQwJBtvvYPjm8zjkpFyZek_4lOvQwg-yqIrbukIKo_6AmISPDtHrIwSWIOU2bF0jPjRmbc9gx8IqkoVaguYKcY8Su-ar6vH0b8sJHsdJXrE8gFc-MBbQB-EeHfn/s640/blogger-image--579127097.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Doesn't this remind you of Marty's family photo in Back to the Future, <br />
where parts of his siblings start disappearing?</td></tr>
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I got the last of the staples out a couple weeks ago, and the wound seems to have completely healed. Also, finished up a final, six-week course of antibiotics, and so far there is no recurring infection.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNmXO8hx2MTxVqzciUuO-PR69q-HwyATptMj3YNxMZ9eYC7BgPRTUoNqYKIyY6i-DVU_sY4fwUtkP4lnFyNmBg0y0eVKamjSh976jD2m55LT81lF7C_JVwDozpIlpKJsTk2IPPxhICJ8Kg/s640/blogger-image--1290833896.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNmXO8hx2MTxVqzciUuO-PR69q-HwyATptMj3YNxMZ9eYC7BgPRTUoNqYKIyY6i-DVU_sY4fwUtkP4lnFyNmBg0y0eVKamjSh976jD2m55LT81lF7C_JVwDozpIlpKJsTk2IPPxhICJ8Kg/s640/blogger-image--1290833896.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Now it looks like I have no arms. Just a tube.</td></tr>
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Still adjusting to life with one limb.<br />
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Pluses: I use half as much deodorant (I've already saved hundreds of dollars!!!!), my nail trimming time has been reduced by 25% (did I do the math right?), when someone says, "Gimme five!!!" I'm saved from that awkward pause wondering, <i>Which five do they want???? Left??? Right??? Left???</i> Now I can confidently slap away! Plus all those amputee jokes I've been avoiding because I was afraid of offending anyone are fair game!! Yep, I converted to amputee-ism strictly for the jokes (<i>Seinfeld</i> reference)!<br />
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Minuses: My left arm still hurts. I know, there's nothing there so it shouldn't hurt, but I have the same burning/tingling pain as before. Actually, now it's worse. I get these awful pains in my left, imaginary hand like nail-under-the-fingernails-bad every once in a while and I have no control over it. It's like the limb isn't gone at all because I can feel it right now. I have to feel over there to know it's really gone. I'm told this phantom pain will go away over time--hopefully soon.<br />
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I can't control my body temperature as well. My right side can't feel temperature, so it rarely sweats. My body compensates by sweating much more on the left side. For some reason this was always much more pronounced in my arms than in my legs. During the winter, the weather gets so dry that my right fingers tips all start cracking and bleeding. Whatever the season, my left arm was almost always covered in a clammy sheen of sweat. With that arm gone, it's like I'm either too hot or too cold all the time. I can't seem to bring my body's temperature to a comfortable level as easily. Especially when I'm sleeping. I wake up roasting under the blankets, then after I get back from walking down the hall I'm shivering. It's hard to explain, but I haven't had a decent night of sleep in a while.<br />
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I'm hoping that this is still part of the adjustment and these discomforts fade with time.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5mE3DfFoFUDOI1ea35sge38gI2yjc80rACuKSzHLD6tIxH3vfSIxHogycON3En47CG4cBJ7J7gdUljPndJLuJcHDmk9t4EEMKUiylsHwPjPNPvGrCphpum-nxA03S-BJahGqQY5MxrIzU/s640/blogger-image--1843522938.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5mE3DfFoFUDOI1ea35sge38gI2yjc80rACuKSzHLD6tIxH3vfSIxHogycON3En47CG4cBJ7J7gdUljPndJLuJcHDmk9t4EEMKUiylsHwPjPNPvGrCphpum-nxA03S-BJahGqQY5MxrIzU/s640/blogger-image--1843522938.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From the back it looks like Frankenstein...sorry, I mean Frankenstein's monster</td></tr>
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Another bonus to losing the arm has been getting to meet other inspiring amputees like Californian try-lateral amputee Cameron Clapp. He lost both legs and an arm after getting hit by a train when he was 15. Now he travels around the country giving motivational talks about dealing with this tremendous setback. He runs and swims (even surfs!) despite his missing limbs. He has completed triathlons and even made appearances in episodes of a couple TV shows (<i>My Name is Earl</i> and <i>Workaholics</i>). Since we met him, I've already started looking into getting my own prosthetic.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Soon, I'll have my own hook hand!</td></tr>
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Travelingtubiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01289236463144244586noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-742410657981715477.post-91193107630966870612016-09-01T11:03:00.001-07:002016-09-01T11:11:45.027-07:00Disarmament<div>
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My arm is getting amputated next Wednesday, along with my clavicle and a few ribs.<br>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is how I'll say I lost it</td></tr>
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I'm still trying to process this and it likely won't really become "real" until the arm is gone. If you've been reading my posts, then you'll know that I got a bad sunburn in March of last year. It blistered up and never fully healed. Then, this past January, my wound Doctor did a biopsy and found skin cancer. The skin cancer was removed and a graft was placed over the wound, but the graft didn't really take because that area of my skin has such poor blood flow. So, I've been dealing with the wound since the surgery in February. I've been doing daily hyperbaric treatments, and Betsy religiously changes my dressing every day, but the wound got infected and now there is some bone exposed and a nifty little hole right next to the bone. Since the exposed bone has shown no signs of healing, I will continue to get infections there whenever I'm off antibiotics. Furthermore, the infections have moved into my clavicle bone and likely a few ribs (not sure if the ribs are infected, or dead because of radiation damage, but it amounts to the same thing). </div>
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With an ongoing bone infection that will continue because of radiation damage to my shoulder, the doctors at Vanderbilt recommend that I get the offending bones removed. Why the arm? My arm is in constant pain (not severe pain, but it's always there) because of nerve damage to my shoulder and because my shoulder doesn't have the musculature to hold the arm bone up. So, it's partially out of joint, a condition called subluxation. If my clavicle is removed, then the arm will lose even more support and would hang down even further out of joint. This would increase my pain and decrease my quality of life. Since I don't use the arm much anyway, it would be better if I just get the arm removed. I got a second opinion at Emory University Hospital in Atlanta a couple weeks ago, and the doctor there concurred with Vanderbilt that my arm will need to be removed. Even if they don't take the arm off and my pain doesn't immediately increase, I'll be set up for further problems down the road. Better to be aggressive and amputate now. </div>
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My life since radiation has been this slow deterioration of my body. I remember freaking out because I couldn't open my jaw as far as I used to be able to, then panicking at the ringing in my ears. Then, my right foot couldn't feel when I stepped into an icy creek and I thought it was the end of the world. Then I had this crazy nerve pain in my feet where it felt like my toenails were being pulled out. Then the paralysis started and I couldn't type at work as fast, couldn't run as fast. Then couldn't type or run at all. Lost dexterity to tie my shoes then couldn't lift my left arm to drive. Then I couldn't eat solids; then I couldn't swallow. Now, I contemplate the loss of my arm and fondly remember the days when not being able to fully open my mouth was a big deal.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Settle down, ladies...he's taken</td></tr>
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The problem with my radiation damage is that it is this insidious progression where each little diminishment of my abilities is "bad, but not <i>too</i> bad," because it's really not much different from the way I was a week ago. Getting my arm amputated sounds like a horrible thing to you, but from my standpoint, how different is it really from the way I am now? I already can't use that arm. I have to constantly lift or adjust it with my right hand so it's not flopping around too much. I have very little feeling in it, other than burning nerve pain. So what's the big deal? I'm basically one-armed already. I feel like one of those 90 year-old guys you meet at a rest home who laments the vigor of his youth. But I'm 41, so it's happened a little sooner than it was supposed to. This is just one more thing I'll have to deal with and move on, hopefully with a long break before the next thing; preferably after Grace graduates high school.</div>
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But still...losing an arm...losing a limb...that's kind of a big deal. I can't really wrap my head around it yet, and I don't think it'll really hit me until after. Isn't there a song lyric along those lines? "<i>Don't know what you've got til it's gone</i>." That's been the way I am through all this. I could always skate through military fitness tests without working out. I did a 20 minute 5k as a casual runner. Push-ups, pull-ups, no sweat. I didn't have to <i>work</i> for anything, <i>train</i> for anything. Then I woke up and that stuff wasn't so easy, then it was impossible. So, yeah, losing my arm is not such a traumatic thing because I can't yet appreciate how fucking shitty it'll be to have one arm. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;">I cringe at the sight of my body, but we had to get some "before" shots</td></tr>
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I guess the main thing I'm worried about right now is the surgery itself. It sounds like it'll be a long surgery with at least three different surgeons working on me: orthopedic to take the clavicle, shoulder and arm; thoracic to take the ribs; and plastic to sew everything up. My surgery in 2009 to try to fix my radiation-damaged jaw required two surgeons and that was about the worst surgery I can recall (though at 7 hours, it wasn't as long as a 12 hour surgery I had in Texas). I woke up from surgery in 2009 unable to swallow, with a bar where my jaw bone should be. I'm worried about waking up from surgery this time much worse than expected due to some unforeseen complication. I'm dreading how long it will take to recover from such a long surgery. It wasn't so long ago I was proud about my progress at Crossfit and my brother-in-law got me into a Crossfit coaches course. But, then I had to cancel the course and who knows when I'll get back to doing workouts? It's just frustrating to take a step forward, then have my fragile health force me back two steps. I'm nothing if not stupidly stubborn though, so I'm sure I'll get back to hiking, snowboarding, and Crossfit after this upcoming hospital stay!! Also, on the bright side, only having one arm enables me to get out of even more chores around the house!!</div>
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Travelingtubiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01289236463144244586noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-742410657981715477.post-85360687588209279312016-06-26T16:34:00.000-07:002016-06-27T12:23:32.277-07:00I changed my feeding tube like a champion and you can too!<div>
I changed my feeding tube by myself!!!<br>
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Actually, Betsy did most of the work, but I'm taking the credit because that's what kind of man I am.<br>
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I wrote a while back that I normally get my tube changed by my GI, <a href="http://travelingtubie.blogspot.com/2014/03/my-advocate.html">Dr. Spaceman, or, as he prefers, "Dr. O'Connor."</a> So, last year, I found myself lying on his exam table trying to think happy thoughts as he casually ripped a tube with a disgusting glob of partly digested food on the end out of my stomach. While we examined the old tube with a mixture of revulsion and scientific curiosity, Spaceman exclaimed, "You know, you could do this at home if you want." <br>
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Whaaaaaaaa?!?!? Yes, as it turns out, I have a G-tube with a tiny water balloon inside my stomach, holding the tube in place. Changing the tube is as simple as deflating the old balloon, or 'Old Bag,' as I affectionately call her, gently pulling out the offending tube, inserting the new tube in the tight, moist stoma (nothing sexual about that step), and inflating the young, hip new balloon, or 'Pretty Young Thing,' as I've dubbed her.<br>
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I'm sure you have questions like:<br>
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"How did you do it?"<br>
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"Is this something I can do alone?"<br>
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"Is this lump on my left butt cheek serious?" <br>
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Well, to answer your questions, a) I'll tell you; b) If you have a balloon tube, YES; and c) You should probably get that checked out.<br>
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Let's take this step by step:<br>
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<b>Prepare a sanitary space for the operation</b><br>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It helps if you haven't showered in weeks</td></tr>
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This is our bedroom. Betsy washed the sheets only a few moons ago and our fat, flea-ridden dog hasn't drooled on my side in a couple days, so it's about as sanitary as it gets around here.<br>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Note the clean washcloth for catching stomach contents </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See how happy we look before the pain and horror?</td></tr>
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<b>Ensure your replacement feeding tube is a suitable diameter and has a working balloon.</b><br>
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Dr. Spaceman gives us replacement tubes whenever we ask. He's cool like that. Other people find it beneficial to get their own tubes through a supplier, either because they don't have access to their own Spaceman, or because their insurance company is trying to finish what Darth Vader started. I personally do not have links to feeding tube supplies, but if he hears of any, future Brian will post them here--future Brian is sooooo much better looking than present-day Brian.<br>
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It's a good idea to make sure the new tube is the same diameter as the tube in your belly. If it's too thick or too thin, it causes irritation and extra granulation (crusty stuff) around the stoma. It could also cause gastric leakage (stoma puke) at the site. Tube diameter is commonly expressed by the French scale because French men are good at measuring really tiny things. **ZING** Honestly, I've no idea where it gets its name but 1mm equals 3 French (Fr). So, a 9 Fr tube is 3mm; a 12 Fr tube is 4mm; a 15 Fr tube is...you get the idea. You're a mathematical GENIUS!!! Tubes run anywhere from 8 Fr up to 24 Fr. Mine is 18 Fr, which seems plenty big enough for blended food. I can always tell when they put in a slightly larger 20 or 22 Fr tube because it irritates my tube site quite a bit.<br>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSnnJOdSiFOe3UuphMzoQZAUxFhbuHahemUb7OSH7hN7ZEArMhNBeP62iv7Vpzzud-dsyOHzUCgFePJ9ftJ-CfrIPb2giR8r8NoGxCHXigJrAVYQ8ScDZZqJuJA03jEyAgO_-MXkF981wa/s1600/PF10681_PRI02+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="361" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSnnJOdSiFOe3UuphMzoQZAUxFhbuHahemUb7OSH7hN7ZEArMhNBeP62iv7Vpzzud-dsyOHzUCgFePJ9ftJ-CfrIPb2giR8r8NoGxCHXigJrAVYQ8ScDZZqJuJA03jEyAgO_-MXkF981wa/s400/PF10681_PRI02+copy.jpg" width="400"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Feeding Tube Rainbow</td></tr>
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Take the new tube out of the packaging and try pumping up the balloon. The feeding tube has 3 ports. Two of them are for food and medication (and alcohol). The third port is the colorful one on the pictured tubes above. This one is for a separate tube that runs inside the main tube and leads to the balloon. My syringes come with a small luer adapter that allows them to fit the balloon port.<br>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiUhtcipo7eRr-NuSmh-i-xxn6T84LcPbk1YSMHSWa2adjZm2mr8FyZtFDfnrZa_jDYu0Wee1n_E70A0rSr1Bu0sObcHFS1rrq4pIetTOhyphenhyphen_F5rlgu9480evVpPk4mrNBkYK5-RMRXmzNZ/s640/blogger-image-310157206.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiUhtcipo7eRr-NuSmh-i-xxn6T84LcPbk1YSMHSWa2adjZm2mr8FyZtFDfnrZa_jDYu0Wee1n_E70A0rSr1Bu0sObcHFS1rrq4pIetTOhyphenhyphen_F5rlgu9480evVpPk4mrNBkYK5-RMRXmzNZ/s640/blogger-image-310157206.jpg"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The luer adaptor, or catheter tip, is the blue do-hickey on the end</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Gf1lLlx-ffWcOUF8AgNwKyuac8ZtNavsmRuoYRSiZQUnlBCOmAxNWTIqM98nTqdlouUqIjGnWDJ41Z90ZchMP0EO_1nUdcq2agwPF69vSrwkGneiobDiJMcf360FoISdvxgLsavXjW_5/s640/blogger-image-1401377808.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Gf1lLlx-ffWcOUF8AgNwKyuac8ZtNavsmRuoYRSiZQUnlBCOmAxNWTIqM98nTqdlouUqIjGnWDJ41Z90ZchMP0EO_1nUdcq2agwPF69vSrwkGneiobDiJMcf360FoISdvxgLsavXjW_5/s640/blogger-image-1401377808.jpg"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My own spotlessly clean tube, complete with balloon access port</td></tr>
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With the luer adapter in place on your regular syringe, or using a smaller syringe specifically designed to lock into the balloon port, try pushing water into the new balloon until it's fully inflated. All the balloons I've had are 20cc, but I think there are smaller balloons out there. It should say right on the tube. Once you've blown up the balloon, look for signs of leakage. If the balloon is leaking, feel free to squirt the water on your loved ones before you start panicking because you have no extra tubes.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She's pumping up the new balloon and Grace is still learning how to take pictures</td></tr>
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<b>Prepare the new tube for insertion.</b><br>
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Once the old tube has been painfully ripped from your gut, the new tube will need to be jammed into place through the nasty, bloody hole so you can continue to do that keg stand you were right in the middle of (has anyone tube fed alcohol while in a handstand? Challenge accepted!!). In order to make the tube penetration as painless as possible, it's a good idea to lube your tube. Dr. Spaceman kindly provides a packet of lubrication for us to use, but I'm told K-Y Jelly will also do the trick. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Betsy is lubricating the tube and my feet are looking pretty stinky</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Note Betsy's latex gloves, which she wears whenever she has to touch me</td></tr>
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<b>Deflate the old tube's balloon and gently remove it.</b><br>
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I've been entertaining myself watching YouTube videos of other people demonstrating how to change feeding tubes--I have no life. They always pull out the old tube like it's the easiest thing in the world. Right in the middle of a sentence, the tube slides right out like they're pulling a meat thermometer out of a turkey. In my case, it's rather painful. This crusty gunk slowly builds up around the tube, so even after I fully deflate my balloon, there's still a sizable gob for me to yank out. I like doing this part myself, so there's no surprises. The best way to do it is just not think, and yank the sucker out. Once the tube's removed, Betsy tries to avoid looking at the disgusting glob on the end of my tube so she won't puke all over our sanitary space. Also, we Iike to force our daughter to witness the whole procedure because it's always fun to listen to her screams of disgust as she runs to barf in the toilet.<br>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grace's photography skills need work, but my balloon is being deflated here</td></tr>
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<b>Insert the new tube and inflate the balloon</b></div>
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Once the new tube is well lubricated, insertion is pretty smooth and painless. You should do it as soon as possible because the hole in your stomach will immediately start to heal and close back up (like a pierced ear) if there's no tube in it. So, if the new tube doesn't work out for whatever reason, you'll want to get to the nearest ER before the hole closes up and you have to go through surgery to get a new one placed. If you're in some third-world slum or the middle of the Australian outback, and your new tube is a dud a) this probably isn't the blog for you and b) you're screwed. Wish I could help you out. Maybe try duct tape? It worked for NASA.</div>
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With the new tube inserted, slowly inflate the balloon to hold the tube in place. We were told to inflate with distilled water, but we normally just use tap water with no adverse effects. Next time, I'll try inflating with <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Jägermeister</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"> so I get a pleasant surprise when the balloon pops. Don't over inflate because the balloon will burst and you'll have to take a trip to the ER, unless you're a tube feeding virtuoso and you have a second replacement tube. Pro Tip: Even with a burst balloon, leave the new tube inserted on the way to the hospital so the stoma won't close up.</span></div>
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Here's a professionally made video we had Grace shoot while Betsy inserted the new tube. Note the disgusting gob of digestive gunk on the end of the old tube:</div>
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Did I hear someone say "Academy Award nominated short film?" Pretty sure I did.</div>
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<i style="background-color: rgba(255 , 255 , 255 , 0); background-image: none; border: 0px; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Voilà!!! </i><span style="background-color: rgba(255 , 255 , 255 , 0); background-image: none; border: 0px; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">You just changed your tube like a pro, and now you can do anything! The IKEA bunk bed/desk combo for your daughter that came in 9 boxes? DONE!! The neighbor's kid who broke his femur with part of the bone protuding from the leg and a sucking chest wound? COMPLETELY HEALED!!! Einstein's elusive theory of everything that explains all of life's astrophysical mysteries? PIECE OF CAKE!!! With a new tube, the world is at your feet. Go forth and try not to let your three year-old niece wrench the new feeding tube out while she giggles at your agony.</span></div>
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Travelingtubiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01289236463144244586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-742410657981715477.post-3191494831635448752016-06-26T11:08:00.000-07:002016-06-26T11:08:08.324-07:00Distractions<div>
Pain.</div>
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Pain, discomfort, and general 'suckitude' have been my constant companions the last few months. </div>
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Actually, I've had tingling, burning pain ever since I began to feel the harmful effects of radiation more than a decade ago. But that pain was manageable. Just take enough neurontin--a drug to dull nerve pain--and I could ignore the pain. Relegate it to the back of my mind. On the pain scale from 1 to 10, it was a 3: always there, but I could live with it, like a tight fitting, old leather shoe. </div>
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But this recent agony is much worse. For the first couple weeks, it was constant aching in my back; sharp pains in my armpit, across my chest; burning down my arm that turns into stabbing pain whenever I tried to lift anything in my right hand. Lately, much of the pain has settled back down to the 'manageable' variety, but the discomfort, crapuation (that's defined as "a situation of crappiness;" I'm making up words left and right), and a dose of depression are still with me. </div>
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How did I get here? I was getting back into Crossfit and looking at getting back to normalcy after the skin cancer surgery I had in January.</div>
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I should catch you up on events since my last blog post concerned my decision on whether I should get a skin graft or a skin flap after surgeons cut out the skin cancer on my neck. In the end, I went with Vanderbilt's doctor, and asked him to just put a skin graft (a piece of skin from my thigh) over the wound, rather than the much more complex flap surgery. I figured I could always get the flap surgery down the road if the graft didn't take.</div>
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Good news! The graft was successful. The surgeon successfully cut away all of the squamous cell carcinoma and the skin graft took to my neck...for the most part. There were still areas on my neck that hadn't healed; areas that needed wound management. I started going to a different wound care clinic here in Knoxville to, <i>ideally</i>, finish the healing process. I started hyperbaric oxygen, yet again, to hopefully improve blood flow in the area. The wound is now looking better than it's looked in a long time, thanks to this new clinic's ministrations, or the hyperbarics, or both of these. Yea!!!</div>
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And yet, the wound is infected. Not with just one bit of nasty bacteria, but two distinct colonies of the little bastards. Pills won't be enough to kill these suckers; I have to do IV antibiotics for weeks. Hyperbarics takes up three hours of my day. Now I have a PIC line--a permanent IV going up my arm and into my chest--so I can spend more of my day getting drugs pumped in my system to kill the infection, and all the fun side effects that come with hardcore antibiotics.</div>
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Back in May, the pain was really getting to me. </div>
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I spent more than two weeks mostly bedridden from pain. I complained about it to my wound care doctor and infectious disease doctor enough that they did an MRI of my neck and chest to see if my infection had possibly spread. Happy news (it you're in the pro-bacteria camp), it looks like the infection has spread, at least to my clavicle bone. So, instead of two weeks of IV antibiotics, I'm doing six weeks. </div>
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Not only do I have an infection in my bones, but there is now exposed bone at my wound site and an unexplained hole next to the exposed bone that Betsy has to pack with gauze every day. I swear though, the wound is looking better! There's just a bit of bone sticking out and a fun little hole that I can use to smuggle drugs across the border.</div>
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In the meantime, what can I do about the pain? My wound care doctor said a steroid shot to the area could alleviate pain, but that would also give a nice boost to the tiny bacteria monsters I'm trying to get rid of so steroids are a no go. Fortunately I have a drug my brother started me on when I was a kid. It's gotten me through many difficult periods in my life and I've been helplessly addicted to it. Not a day goes by that I don't crave its soothing effects. Betsy asked me the other day how I'm dealing with this. She's been having a difficult time with the constant doctor visits and a husband who's basically good-for-nothing around the house. She's the one holding the house together. Am I in pain? Am I losing sleep? Am I feeling constant frustration at having to sit on my ass all day (can't exercise with a PIC line). Sure, I'm all these things, but I'm dealing with it. I'm not moaning about it constantly. I'm not screaming, "Why Me?!?" shaking my fist at the sky. </div>
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Books. Books are my drug. Betsy knows about my addiction of course, but doesn't realize how much reading helps me escape. Not just any books either. Fantasy. Science Fiction. Books that give me other worlds beyond this one. I can sink myself so deeply into a good fantasy novel that I'm completely oblivious to the world around me. </div>
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As with any drug, my addiction to books carries risks. I can get so engrossed in Pierce Brown' or James S.A. Corey's action-packed science fiction that I lose track of the good things going on around me. But, for times like these, when I'm tethered to an antibiotic pump all day, books really help me keep my sanity.</div>
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If you've no interest in SF/F then read no further. I intend to thoroughly geek out.</div>
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What are the latest books that help me forget my pain? I've been enjoying Joe Abercrombie quite a bit. One of the characters in his <i>First Law</i> series, Glokta, is a crippled man who was brutally tortured in a foreign prison, to the point where every moment is pure agony. He's unable to chew food, and walks only by painfully dragging one foot over the ground. Glokta used to be a dashing swordsman, loved by the people, but now they look at him with disgust. Since he was set free from prison, he's taken a job doing something he's uniquely qualified for: torturing others into giving bogus confessions for his government. I know it sounds like an awful story, but Glokta has a macabre sense of humor that I find hilarious, and somehow reading about his loneliness and various ailments makes me feel better about my own problems. </div>
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Of course, there are many other authors I've been into reading. As a kid, I had Lloyd Alexander, Alexander Key, Terry Brooks, David Eddings, Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman, R.A. Salvatore, Alan Dean Foster, Raymond E. Feist, Orson Scott Card, Tad Williams, and Robert Jordan. More recently, the authors I've been engrossed in are Scott Lynch, Patrick Rothfuss, George R.R. Martin, Robyn Hobb, Brandon Sanderson, Neil Gaiman, Pierce Brown, James S.A. Corey, Brian McClellan, Brian Staveley, John Scalzi, Andy Weir, and Lev Grossman (in no particular order).</div>
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I'm always on the lookout for books with strong female protagonists that I hope Grace will one day read, if she ever gets off her iPod. She's read all of Harry Potter, but it's been hard to get her to enjoy other series without forcing her to do it. I have a hard time reading to her because I get out of breath easily when I read out loud, and it makes me dizzy. I loved Anne McCaffrey's Pern books and can't wait until Grace reads <i>Dragonsong</i>. More recently, there have been excellent series by Samantha Shannon, V.E. Schwab, Leigh Bardugo, and Marie Brennan. Of course, the one thing all these female protagonists have in common is that they're white. N.K. Jemisin and Ann Leckie have really cool books with non-white female leads (in Leckie's case, the protagonist is a spaceship, but she's mostly written as female), yet I'm still looking for fantasy or science fiction with an Asian female protagonist. Any suggestions?</div>
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Travelingtubiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01289236463144244586noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-742410657981715477.post-22755654724801370252016-04-18T11:58:00.003-07:002016-04-18T11:58:50.541-07:00Health UpdateApologies. It's been a while since I posted, so I thought I'd write a short update on my situation with the skin cancer/pending skin graft or skin flap.<br />
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The short version is, the skin cancer is completely cut out (yea!) so no need to worry about that anymore. I ended up going with a skin graft, rather than the more invasive skin flap, because I can always get a flap in the future if this doesn't work and I didn't want to end up with a permanent trach after some unforeseen complication with the complex flap surgery. </div>
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So, I'm back to going to wound care every week waiting for this skin graft to finally heal. I'll also be doing more hyperbaric oxygen treatments because the wound currently looks like this:</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sorry if you're in the middle of eating</td></tr>
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For a while after the surgery, I was dealing with pain at the site where the doctor took the skin graft on my thigh and unexplained headaches. I've also had a couple upper respiratory infections that required antibiotics, but I'm finally getting back to a sense of normalcy, just in time for warmer temperatures. I've been out to eat a few times, like this trip back to Outback celebrating my mom's 70th birthday:</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I know it's awful lighting, but my mom is in the photo and I'm tube feeding. That's all you need to know.</td></tr>
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We went to the local air show over the weekend:</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's a Blue Angels FA-18 behind us and, even more impressive, a tan minivan</td></tr>
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I went with the in-laws for a hike and picnic in the park on Sunday:</div>
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And I coaxed Betsy into finally giving me a ride to the Crossfit gym:</div>
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Hope you're all enjoying the hotter weather! Or, if you're reading this from the Southern Hemisphere, I hope you avoid frostbite (my American public school education didn't prepare me to empathize with whatever it is you upside-down people are going through right now).<br />
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Travelingtubiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01289236463144244586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-742410657981715477.post-10561332007327917152016-01-24T09:15:00.001-08:002016-01-28T12:29:13.699-08:00Decisions, Decisions<div>In a funk for the past few days. Why? Because I got diagnosed with Squamous Cell Carcinoma (SCC) at the site where I got radiated and where I’ve been dealing with this wound that hasn’t healed since I got a bad sunburn last March. My wound care doctor says this seems to be a recent occurrence because she took a biopsy of the same area last fall and it wasn’t malignant. But all the ‘what ifs’ have been running through my mind. What if she missed it, and I’ve had SCC much longer? What if it’s already metastasized to other organs in my body? I’ve had to pee much more frequently at night; does that mean it’s spread to my prostate?</div><div><br></div><div>SCC is a pretty common type of skin cancer. My grandfather had it more than once. There’re around 700,000 new cases each year in the U.S. (Too much sun exposure and tanning bed time). Normally, in an out-patient procedure, the doctor cuts out the malignancy and you’re done. That’s all my grandfather had to do. Sometimes they add radiation on top of the surgery to make sure they got it all—obviously, I won’t be doing that. In my case, since it’s in an area that has a hard time healing, I’ll probably need a skin graft or a skin flap to cover the wound. The skin flap is where they take muscular tissue from another part of the body and ‘flip it’ up to the wound. The muscular tissue stays connected to blood vessels so there’s a ready blood supply so the skin flap surgery is much longer and more detailed than the skin graft—where they just take a piece of healthy skin from my leg and put it over the wound.</div><div><br></div><div>Yesterday, Betsy and I went to Vanderbilt University Hospital in Nashville and talked to an ENT doctor. He said there is a range of options for me. The surgical option with the least risk would be just cutting out the SCC and then letting the area naturally heal. That's what most people do, but in my case I already know from experience that the site likely wouldn't heal. If it did, it would take over a year and I would have to go to wound care and deal with infections the whole time. The next level of surgery, like I said above, would be to cut out the cancer and cover the wound with a skin graft. I've had a couple of grafts there already and they healed up well. Unfortunately, the area the surgeon is talking about cutting is much bigger than those skin grafts. He wants to cut out every bad looking part of skin on my shoulder and neck just to make sure he's gotten every last bit of cancer. So, a simple skin graft would have a hard time adhering to the new site. The ENT was really steering us toward the most aggressive option: the skin flap.</div><div><br></div><div>The ENT thought he would be taking muscle tissue from my leg for the flap, then using a vein and artery from my chest to provide blood to the area. The procedure would be long, 6-8 hours, and the ENT would be doing all of it with potential help from a couple other doctors on his team. I would need to stay in the hospital at least 72 hours after the procedure to make sure the flap works. He also talked about potentially giving me a trach for the procedure. This is because there may be swelling in my neck and he didn't want my airway obstructed at all. Getting a trach scares me. I fear losing the ability to speak, but I see why it's a necessity and he will remove it (<i>hopefully</i>) right after surgery.</div><div><br></div><div>Today, I had an appointment with a surgical oncologist at the University of Tennessee (UT) medical center in Knoxville. He told us many of the same things as the ENT. While the ENT only focuses on cancers in the head and neck, the surgical oncologist operates on tumors throughout the body. He would work in concert with a plastic surgeon for my procedure. So, he would cut out the SCC, and the plastic surgeon would perform the skin flap. Next week, we meet the plastic surgeon and she will tell us how she plans on doing her portion of the procedure.</div><div><br></div><div>So, the decision we have to make is whether to go to Vanderbilt for my surgery (3 hours away in Nashville) or stay here in Knoxville. We liked both doctors. All the nurses are very good and they were more than willing to sit down with us and answer every question we had. I think I'm leaning toward Vanderbilt just because it has a good reputation, and because the ENT specializes in these types of procedures while the surgical oncologist is more of a generalist. Also, I get the impression that if anything goes wrong (horrible infection, too much swelling, bleeding in the brain, and now I'm thinking of awful things that could happen, <i>great</i>) Vanderbilt is better equipped to deal with it. They have all the specialists to stitch me back together. I'm reserving judgement until after we meet with the plastic surgeon.</div><div><br></div><div>Now, Betsy says she feels like we're leading these doctors on. The nurse at UT already got me an appointment with the anasteasiologist and set a tentative date for the surgery (March 2). So, in a couple weeks, we'll be calling her to say, "sorry, we're just not that into you." We have to keep in mind that they are being paid a crapload by my insurance to do this and in the end, my life is really a more important consideration that hurt feelings.</div><div><br></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Next week, I’m also meeting with my regular oncologist at Thompson Cancer Center. He's a pretty straight-shooter, tell it like it is kinda guy, and he will hopefully have an opinion about Vanderbilt vs. UT. So, second and third opinions. With luck, I’m not missing anything. I worry abut the doctors who assume this is a ‘typical’ case of Squamous Cell Carcinoma. In my experience, my health is anything but ‘typical.' Thankfully, the doctors at UT and Vanberbilt all seem to appreciate the seriousness. They also seem pretty certain that my cancer hasn't spread, but they've ordered CTs and an MRI to make sure.</span></div><div><br></div><div>Now, I just wait for more appointments, CT scans and MRIs. This is the really shitty part about cancer: the waiting. Waiting for test results and waiting for doctor’s appointments. It'll be a month before the surgery. Waiting gives me more time to run through all the ‘what ifs’ in my head until the absolute worst possible outcomes become certainties in my brain.</div><div><br></div><div>Waiting…</div><div><br></div><div>Waiting…</div><div><br></div>Travelingtubiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01289236463144244586noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-742410657981715477.post-45884565479625813012015-12-13T10:19:00.000-08:002015-12-13T10:25:48.940-08:00HBO GO<div>
If you're an avid reader of my blog (mom), then you may recall that this past spring, the family took a <a href="http://travelingtubie.blogspot.com/2015/05/lifes-beach.html">trip to the North Carolina outer banks</a>. The weather that week was cold and, for the most part, overcast. However, there was a day when the sun came out, the temperature warmed up, and we all went horseback riding on the beach. Normally, when it's really hot and sunny, I'm hyper-vigilant about having sun protection for my neck. It already has some nasty radiation burns, and I don't need sun burns on top of that. So, I usually smear on the sunscreen and maybe wrap a silk scarf around my neck (fashionable!). But, the weather was still chilly, and I wasn't entirely certain the sun was going to peak out that day. So, I had a sweatshirt on, which I later took off, and my neck was totally exposed above my T-shirt. The sun was beating down on my neck for over an hour, yet I didn't even think about covering up because it was windy and still a little chilly. Who thinks about sunburn when it's cold out?? You know...other than people with <i>common sense</i>.<br />
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We got back to our rental house, and I immediately knew I was in trouble when I spied the enormous blister on my neck. I took my shirt off and the blister popped after barely brushing against the shirt's fabric. This disgusting sunburn left me with an open wound that I am STILL dealing with today. Even a scratch in this area takes forever to heal because everything around my left shoulder and neck is compromised. When I <a href="http://travelingtubie.blogspot.com/2014/06/a-walk-in-woods.html">hiked up in Maryland last year for Team R4V</a>, I wore a backpack and the strap on my left shoulder rubbed against my neck so much that I was dealing with the resultant wound for months.<br />
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I go to a wound care clinic at the University of Tennessee Medical Center. They treat a variety of injuries there, but severe radiation burns are infrequent. So, I don't have a great deal of confidence in my care. For the most part, my doctor scrapes away the dead tissue from the edge of my wound until it bleeds, then tries various salves and bandages to see which combination has a positive effect on the injury. Here's a picture of my wound in September when they were trying one bandage that looks like a piece of paper towel, but would actually cost my insurance company a couple hundred bucks:<br />
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And here's the wound today after I took my monthly shower:</div>
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In my opinion, the wound looks about the same, if not slightly larger, than it did way back in March--it definitely looks just as gross. This is extremely annoying for myriad reasons. I can't swim because I don't want it infected (no pool time for me this past summer). The injury sometimes bleeds a crapload--although this never leads to healthy coagulation/new skin growth. Other times it just oozes yelowish pus. I have no feeling in that area, which is nice in a way because I don't feel pain, but I can also can never tell how it's doing. Is it bleeding today? Draining some other fluid? What color is the fluid? Does it smell funny? Did an axe-murderer just chop a chunk out of my shoulder? I wouldn't know, and it's in a awkward area that's hard to see in the mirror and nearly impossible to keep any sort of bandage on the curve of my neck long-term. The worst indignity is that I have to go to the wound care clinic once a week where the good doctor often keeps me waiting in a cold room, shirtless, for at least an hour before she graces me with her presence.<br />
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This thing has gone on so long that we finally decided to try hyperbaric oxygen (HBO) therapy. HBO involves sitting or laying in a pressurized chamber that is filled with an abundance of oxygen (the equivalent of one atmosphere of extra oxygen). You stay in the chamber for about 90 minutes and the added oxygen aids the healing process. I've done this a few times before (okay, I've done it about 80 times before) in Colorado and Texas when my oral surgeons were trying to heal my jaw bone from radiation damage.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6aOg8rE5ClRgnssCyw35a7sXMd0rCEZZ_aOi6wbFfz-8NG1TpFPtLQg-CgrdcniFH-ywn35LqvRRPbVeDZnKBFQAiN89k4fP1PDS2pOsg5kA40aw4BZLomj5sebA0ijadZh7y5W-M43V2/s640/blogger-image--615385975.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6aOg8rE5ClRgnssCyw35a7sXMd0rCEZZ_aOi6wbFfz-8NG1TpFPtLQg-CgrdcniFH-ywn35LqvRRPbVeDZnKBFQAiN89k4fP1PDS2pOsg5kA40aw4BZLomj5sebA0ijadZh7y5W-M43V2/s640/blogger-image--615385975.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These are the four chambers at UT. We each get our own TV</td></tr>
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Amusing sidenote: the 15 HBO dives I did in Texas were in a walk-in chamber that was originally used during the construction of the Panama Canal. You can use HBO to cure divers who get the 'bends' from coming up to the surface too quickly. What I'm saying is, the chamber was more than a century old. One of the guys I was in the Texas chamber with got bitten by a brown recluse spider and lost half of his foot, but he was seeing amazing results from doing HBO.<br />
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I my case, however, HBO didn't do much for my jaw that I could see. I was hopeful that this round of HBO in Tennessee would yield better results because my neck/shoulder wound is a different type of injury than radiation damage to my jaw bone.<br />
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The University of Tennessee doesn't have a big walk-in chamber. Like the hospital in Colorado where I got treatment, UT has these glass 'coffin' looking tubes that you lie down in. You're not allowed to bring anything in the chamber because there's a huge risk of fires in the highly oxygenated environment. So, I couldn't do what I'd really prefer to do for 90 minutes: read a book. Instead, I had to choose from crappy, mid-day programs on basic cable or I could watch a DVD. I usually chose the DVD, so I can give you a run-down on most of the recent movies available to rent (<i>Pixels</i> really sucks). I'm even man enough to admit that I watched <i>The Fault in Our Stars</i> one day, and I may have had something in my eye toward the end of the film. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not so cool for 90 minutes if you're claustrophobic</td></tr>
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So, yeah, HBO sucked a whole lot of time out of my day and involved a lot of boring TV. I've just finished 40 dives, and I'm not sure if it was beneficial. We're leaving for Germany in a few days. I'll see if anything about my wound improves while we're away or if I need to look around for a different wound care clinic when I get home.<br />
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Travelingtubiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01289236463144244586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-742410657981715477.post-22886553199996344272015-12-12T12:23:00.001-08:002015-12-12T12:29:47.386-08:00Syringe holder updateI did a <a href="http://travelingtubie.blogspot.com/2015/03/syringe-holder.html">post a few months ago about my homemade feeding tube holder</a>. I converted it from a cheap clamp lamp I got at Lowe's, so I don't need to hold my syringe while I eat and I can do everything one-handed.<br />
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My friend, Jesse Jones, recently told me about another syringe holder that's been around for a while, the Jackson PEG Stand (<a href="http://www.jacksonpegtubestands.com/">http://www.jacksonpegtubestands.com</a>). I was initially put off by the price of this syringe holder ($250!!!!). I wrote to the company and asked if it was made of titanium, but they never responded. Despite the cost, I really had to get this syringe holder. The one I have, and the <a href="http://www.jofas.net/">Jofas Clamp</a>, need to connect to a table or some other surface that's not too wide, but not too flimsy. The beauty of the Jackson Stand is that you don't need to be tethered to a table. You just put the stand between your legs and sit on the base.<br />
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See their handy promotional video </div>
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This allows me to eat independently in places I wouldn't normally be able to eat, like on a bench or out in the woods camping, or sitting at my gate at the airport, or at our Crossfit Christmas chili cookoff last night:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxR8_vwD2A1AGc3YC08SntHcUzI30g-QNnwCZuSuekXyOzy9uylxvWyU5UKPAZqahacqatslH-PSxnxHA1sKpGXE0BwJ3yI2jdTOTcx_zPBsIwwIQ-fjes80IRJdyFCfeUDRXm1k59qQqO/s640/blogger-image-259627643.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxR8_vwD2A1AGc3YC08SntHcUzI30g-QNnwCZuSuekXyOzy9uylxvWyU5UKPAZqahacqatslH-PSxnxHA1sKpGXE0BwJ3yI2jdTOTcx_zPBsIwwIQ-fjes80IRJdyFCfeUDRXm1k59qQqO/s640/blogger-image-259627643.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Unfortunately can't blame the stand for allowing me to drink too much beer last night</td></tr>
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So now I don't need to worry about the width of my table when I go out to eat. The Jackson PEG Stand is a game-changer for me and I highly recommend it if you have the means (that's a big "if," I know).</div>
Travelingtubiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01289236463144244586noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-742410657981715477.post-55865287626511324572015-10-08T11:33:00.001-07:002015-10-08T11:33:21.254-07:00FNCE 2015!<b><u>A TALE OF TWO FAMILIES</u></b><br />
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<b>The Bombacino's</b></div>
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Julie and Tony Bombacino have two children. Their youngest, A.J., is four years old. He's been diagnosed with cerebral palsy, global developmental delays, autism and epilepsy. Due to his condition, he is still unable to walk or communicate. He also eats through a feeding tube. When Julie first started feeding him at home, he couldn't tolerate any of the formulas his doctor prescribed. So, she started blending all his meals up in a Vitamix. This proved to be time consuming, but it worked, so the family endured. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6-4muAOkTkJ1Qrcc73eAikzZE6hyphenhyphenxnx3JkP3UymfhxF6tD5Q7oQaiYXHvEBgAdchWP4uEyQF8dBT2hfgIez9uMZbl6uiNdau8ioE0ipzKINzhKjsjodCRQV91zXKO4HJDk_NnQ4kFXbIo/s1600/aj1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6-4muAOkTkJ1Qrcc73eAikzZE6hyphenhyphenxnx3JkP3UymfhxF6tD5Q7oQaiYXHvEBgAdchWP4uEyQF8dBT2hfgIez9uMZbl6uiNdau8ioE0ipzKINzhKjsjodCRQV91zXKO4HJDk_NnQ4kFXbIo/s320/aj1.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Julie and A.J., who is also Superman</td></tr>
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Then, on a family trip to Disney World, while spending most of her time blending food for her son, Julie had an idea. What if there were commercial, shelf-stable blended meals for tube feeders? Not formula; REAL food, with REAL ingredients like she blended at home! Julie went through all the steps of starting a business: work with nutritionists and food scientists to develop meals and get them approved by the USDA, get investors and launch a crowdfunding (Indiegogo) campaign to raise money and awareness, find a factory in the U.S. that could mass produce each meal, develop a website and marketing campaign, and I've probably missed a few dozen more steps she went through. Around January, 2014, the Bombacino's dream became reality and the first Real Food Blends started shipping out to eager customers.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWh7KOmHvMWe9YUByjPxzIPC6XPYFK7y1gDfq8aVWYY0QFKekglGWd6O5iGghJ1HlKfqXOQBfX7p30u6jARfBDiN1g38AVa4yiWd2htWCL53A8ekcHz5rzRCwanb1cOV_fA-BWeD9l_9wG/s1600/12075083_894237697335673_6484170512793812730_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWh7KOmHvMWe9YUByjPxzIPC6XPYFK7y1gDfq8aVWYY0QFKekglGWd6O5iGghJ1HlKfqXOQBfX7p30u6jARfBDiN1g38AVa4yiWd2htWCL53A8ekcHz5rzRCwanb1cOV_fA-BWeD9l_9wG/s320/12075083_894237697335673_6484170512793812730_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coming next month in powdered form!</td></tr>
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Fast forward to today. Real Food Blends has grown dramatically. The meals are approved by most insurance and starting to be accepted in hospitals. A new meal is coming out next month (Turkey!). Julie and Tony are incredibly busy. Meetings with insurance companies, hospitals, doctors, nutritionists, dietitians, and individual customers have them criss-crossing the country with little time for themselves. On top of this, they still have to focus on A.J. He still has seizures, still can't talk or walk. They still need to bring him to see various specialists both near and far from their home in Indiana. <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">A.J. is the C.I.O. (Chief Inspiration Officer); t</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">hey started this whole thing because of him. They pour so much love and support into their tube-fed son, and now they've taken on countless other tubie children and adults who rely on Real Food Blends for their nutrition.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Forget the meals; how do I get a Real Food Blends chef's coat??</td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">The Liebenow's</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Brian and Betsy Liebenow have one kid, Grace. She's eight. The other day, the couple were sitting on the couch watching T.V. when Grace called down from the kitchen:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">"Mommy!" ...no response... "MMMOOOMMMMEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">"Yeah?!?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">"I'M HUNGRY!!!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">"Well, find something to eat!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">"WE DON'T HAVE ANYTHING!!!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">"We've got lots of stuff. Have a granola bar!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">"I DON'T WANT A GRANOLA BAR."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">"Keep looking!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">"MOMMY, MY TUMMY HURTS BECAUSE I'M SO HUNGRY!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">"Fine. I'll make you some ravioli. JUST LET US WATCH THIS SHOW!!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I'd say one of these couples isn't putting the proper amount of effort into parenting. </span><br />
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Early this month, Julie and Tony were in Nashville for the Academy of Nutrition and Dietetics' annual Food & Nutrition Conference & Expo (FNCE). Nashville isn't too long of a drive from where we live, so Julie asked if they could take Betsy and I out to dinner one night. We were thinking, <i>YEAH, sounds great!</i> Free dinner and we can spend a Saturday night in the 'big city' away from the in-laws! Ok, maybe it was just me thinking that last part, but I told Julie that it would be awesome to meet them and learn a little more about the company.<br />
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Then Julie said that since we were in town, maybe we'd like to stop by the Expo for the day on Sunday and spend some time at the Real Food Blends booth. She also said Real Food Blends was willing to pay for our hotel room for the night. This overnight stay is sounding better and better! The FNCE is where registered dietitian nutritionists, dietetic technicians as well as many researchers,
educators, students, nurses, physicians, pharmacists, clinical and
community dietetics professionals, consultants and food service managers from all over the country gather to learn about the latest trends in nutrition. The Expo happens in a different city every year, and this year it was in a huge room at the Music City Center in Nashville. The day we were there, over 11,000 people were in attendance. It's kind of a big deal.<br />
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Saturday afternoon, Betsy and I left Grace on a street corner to fend for herself and drove over to Nashville. We checked into our hotel room, then met Julie and Tony for dinner at Puckett's, a really popular barbecue restaurant a couple blocks from where we were staying. Thankfully, Julie had reservations because this is one of those places where it is impossible to get a table on a Saturday night without reservations. Like pretty much every other restaurant we've been to, the wait staff at Puckett's were very accommodating. When the first table they showed us didn't fit my syringe holder, they let us take another one that was thin enough for me. I ended up getting the BBQ patter with a mix of pork, chicken and brisket. The meal included sweet potato fries, baked beans, and coleslaw, but I left off the fries so my blend wouldn't get too thick. I also got a Peach Ice Tea (like a Long Island Ice Tea, but peachy) because Real Food Blends paid for my meal and if there's one thing I'm good at, it's being a freeloader.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Would've been a good pic, but a weird couple photobombed me</td></tr>
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The next morning, Betsy and I walked to Music City Center to check out the Expo. It was so fascinating to see!! It's like going grocery shopping, if there were two people standing behind each item in the store explaining why it's such a healthy product. All the big food companies were there. Betsy and I only walked around a little bit, but some of the booths I saw in no particular order: Kellogg's, Monsanto, Abbott Nutrition (makers of Ensure), the Sugar Association (ironically, this was at the booth next to Real Food Blends), Dole Fruits, Blendtec (didn't see the Vitamix booth but they were there), Campbell Soup Company, Organic Valley, Chick-fil-A (one of the more popular booths), Dr Pepper Snapple Group, Gluten Intolerance Group of North America, Kikkoman Foods, Nestle, NutriBullet, PepsiCo, StarKist, the Wild Blueberry Association, the Cranberry Marketing Committee, Pfizer, and Sun-Maid. This is just a fraction of the 380 exhibitors at the Expo and most of them were giving out free samples, so you could graze your way through the conference if you were so inclined. </div>
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The best part of the day, by far, was sitting in the Real Foods Blend booth and watching Julie and Tony changing hearts and minds about eating blended food through feeding tubes. Like I said, there were thousands of health professionals in attendence and many of them (most?) had patients with feeding tubes or they were students preparing themselves to work with tubies. This was the third year that Real Food Blends had a booth at FNCE, so there wasn't quite as much disbelief from attendents on feeding tubies real food, but there were still those who insisted that blended meals were "too unsanitary" to use in a hospital setting or didn't offer the "total nutrition" that Abbott Nutrition touts with their formula products. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Julie and Tony spreading the gospel of real food</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Who's that hot tubie model at the RFB booth??" -overheard at FNCE 2015</td></tr>
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I especially enjoyed sitting in the booth while Betsy pushed a coffee and Salmon, Oats & Squash meal through my tube. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh, <i>Betsy</i> is the hot model</td></tr>
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I liked being able to tell people that I've been eating Real Food Blends since they started and the meals ABSOLUTELY sit better in my stomach than Ensure ever did. I think bit by bit, the health community is becoming aware of the benefits of eating real food, rather than corn syrupy formulas. Hopefully Betsy and I helped Julie and Tony on Sunday, but then we had to get back to our couch and starving child, while the Bombacino's continued making the world a better place.</div>
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Travelingtubiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01289236463144244586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-742410657981715477.post-33838126192100601872015-09-21T10:49:00.004-07:002015-09-21T10:51:52.934-07:00Bolender Horse Park, WA<div>
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Last month, I was lucky enough to take part in a mountain trail horse riding workshop for wounded warriors. The Wounded Warrior Project sponsored the event and paid for everything, including our flights to western Washington for the event. My post is kind of long and rambling, so if you’re just interested in the travel aspect, please read the next section. If you’re more interested in the horse riding, feel free to skip down to that part.</div>
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<b>The Flights</b></div>
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Unfortunately, Betsy couldn’t join me for the trip because Grace has already started school. This was my first time traveling by myself since I got my tube, and I was pretty nervous about flying alone. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flying alone is a whole lot easier when you have a good book to keep you occupied!</td></tr>
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Betsy called the <a href="https://www.tsa.gov/news/releases/2011/12/22/tsa-announces-launch-tsa-cares-toll-free-helpline-travelers-disabilities">TSA Cares</a> phone number at <a dir="ltr" href="tel:1-855-787-2227" x-apple-data-detectors-result="0" x-apple-data-detectors-type="telephone" x-apple-data-detectors="true">1-855-787-2227</a> to make sure someone would help me, my suction machine, and my meals get through security. Usually, one or two TSA agents meet me at the ticketing counter and escort me the whole way through. It’s a great program, and we’ve been very happy with it—until my return flight from Seattle. </div>
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Betsy called the TSA line before my flight back and they said they would meet me, same as always. But two hours before the flight at SEATAC, nobody met me at ticketing. Betsy and I called the TSA Cares line after I’d waited a while and they gave me the number for the local agent (Patty Something) in charge of helping out people with disabilities. I called her number and got nothing but an answering machine. At this point (an hour left until the flight) I was panicking because the line to get through security was insanely long and I was thinking I should be standing in line rather than waiting at ticketing for TSA. I finally asked my airline (American) if they could help get in touch with someone at TSA. They said they didn’t have a way of calling TSA. <i>Really, American Airlines??? Are you not on speaking terms or something??</i> There were agents all over the place, so I walked up to the closest one and asked about TSA Cares for disabled veterans. He said that TSA couldn’t escort me through security. I would have to get my airline to do it, even though TSA has escorted me through security at <i>every</i> other airport I’ve been to. So, I’m freaking out because I’m running out of time. Betsy is freaking out because I had her on the phone and she wanted me to give it to the nearest agent so she could chew them out. American airlines finally got someone (who spoke no English) to help get me through security and I’m thinking that there’s no way I’ll make it.</div>
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But, I was worried over nothing. The no-English guy apparently knew some shortcuts because he got me right up to the front of the line. The TSA agents were very nice and helpful during screening, though I didn’t even want to ask them about TSA Cares. At that point I just wanted to get to my gate. Anyway, the moral is, we’ll make extra sure that a local agent will help me out next time. If there is a next time. Betsy made a formal complaint to TSA. She was really stressed out over the whole thing and doesn’t want me to do any more solo traveling. </div>
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Going to, and coming from, Seattle, I had to make a connection in Dallas which required me to ride their Skylink system between terminals. The one-hour layover gave me time to do it, but I move pretty slow and I felt rushed. I didn’t really have time to stop and eat; just some time to hit the bathroom then jump on the next plane. I had to do all my eating and drinking during the three hour flight between Dallas and Seattle<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coffee with butter and coconut oil on the way there</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can I eat a powdered Real Food Blend, glass of wine, AND bottle of water by myself flying coach???</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">DAMN RIGHT I CAN!!!! My neighbor doesn't seem so impressed...</td></tr>
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...and at SEATAC’s USO while I was waiting for transportation. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Real Food Blend at Seattle's USO when I arrived; had more coffee before I left</td></tr>
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I brought my syringe holder in my carry-on so I could eat independently. I also packed some butter and coconut oil in a small tupperware container. This was for both lubricating my syringe plunger, and for bulletproof coffee during the long travel day. Other than a couple hours of stress in Seattle, I’d say travel was a success, although it’s a <i>whole</i> lot easier with Betsy to help out.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Luggage carts are a necessity when flying solo</td></tr>
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<b>Dan and Bolender Horse Park</b></div>
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I met the other eight veterans I’d be spending the next five days with at SEATAC (another veteran didn’t arrive until the next day) and we rode a shuttle bus down to the horse training facility that Rainier Therapeutic Riding used for the event. Getting to know the veterans, I became pretty intimidated by my relative lack of horse experience. I’ve been riding horses for an hour each week with a disabled veterans program in Tennessee for about three years. I’ve been riding independently (with no one leading the horse) for a couple years, but only in an arena setting, where my horse has limited distractions. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So, no distractions like this one</td></tr>
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Most of the other veterans had considerably more time on horseback. One guy ran a veteran riding program in Gainesville, Florida. Another managed a program where veterans spent time with horses in southern California. A Marine vet from northern California frequently went trail riding in the Sierras with his neighbor’s horses. And winning the prize for the most time in the saddle: a 19-year Marine veteran from Phoenix rode across the country to raise awareness for disabled veterans. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Group shot. The horse and vet to my left are freakishly tall. Just had to say that.</td></tr>
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Save for myself and one Navy veteran, all the participants were either Army or Marine vets with varying time in service (from a few years to 26) and various wounds. Most bore the invisible scars of PTSD on top of other injuries sustained in combat or from accidents back here in the U.S. I was the only one who ate through a feeding tube and had no use of an arm (though another vet had some paralysis in his dominant arm), so they all said they were inspired to see me out there. Honestly though, after hearing some of their near-death experiences, and knowing there were many other stories too painful to share, I was extremely inspired to be with them and honored to be included in this group of riders.</div>
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This was only the second time that PATH (the Professional Association of Therapeutic Horsemanship) has tried to have a mountain trail program for disabled vets—the first was a couple months earlier. They were anxious to make sure it was a success so they can continue doing it in the future. Rainier Therapeutic Riding (RTR), based in Yelm, WA, opted to hold the event at Bolender Horse Park, about an hour south of Yelm. The park is managed by Mark Bolender, who is world-renowned for introducing his own unique style of mountain trail riding and competitions to the equestrian community. Mark built a beautiful mountain trail course on his 40-acre farm with many challenging obstacles for both horse and rider to overcome. I was especially awed when he and his horse, Checkers, breezed through every obstacle—backwards and forwards—with no bridle. Checkers knew instinctively what Mark wanted to do from the way he applied pressure with his legs. </div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/s_vi/2xXw7ZV-zKs/default.jpg?sqp=CIzogLAF&rs=AOn4CLDau399wOAHGointcNs5RW4XFmt1A" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/2xXw7ZV-zKs?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
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Short Clip From Mark's Demonstration (thanks Joe)</div>
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Also, check him out doing this timed competition with no bridle</div>
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Our challenge was to learn how to lead (and ride) our horses through some of the easier obstacles in four days, so we could prepare for our horse show on Sunday. The first step to accomplishing this feat was to earn the trust of the horses we met on Thursday. My horse was a 16 year-old Mustang named Dan who came from a wild herd in Oregon.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"I used to be wild and free, but now I'm stuck with this loser"</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Such a handsome guy!!! Dan looks good too.</td></tr>
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A few words about Dan. Dan is a Mustang who gives Mustangs a bad name. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dan's ink shows which herd he came from and when he was claimed by the B.L.M.</td></tr>
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I say this because when I think of Mustangs, I think of spirited horses, as wild and untamed as the prairie lands they roam on. If Ford Motor Company had known Dan when they were developing their signature muscle car, they would have changed the name to the Banana Slug. This may sound like I didn’t care for my horse, but I absolutely adored him. Dan reminds me a lot of my dog, Aspen. They are both extremely mellow and not bothered by much of anything. If robbers broke into our house and held us at gunpoint while stealing our most valuable possessions, Aspen probably wouldn’t get off the couch—unless they offered him a treat. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He's got fleas so you should probably avoid sitting here</td></tr>
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If all the males in Dan’s herd decided to start an epic battle for dominance, Dan would just continue contentedly munching on his hay—and likely the hay of the otherwise occupied males. These are the kinds of animals I like. Let the other guy go and try to achieve dominance over his wild stallion. I’m cool with the Zen animal who does all his thinking with his stomach. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"You promised me five apples after all this, you jackass!"</td></tr>
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Yes, Dan couldn’t take his mind off food and water. You’d think they were starving him, but I was giving him the same hay every other horse got, even the massive horse (Zeke) the 6’7” vet was riding. Plus I was slipping Dan apples on the side like crazy. All this food didn’t stop him from trying to eat every tuft of grass within reach on our course or guzzling down half the pond of water we had him walk through (the same pond the other horses peed and crapped in on a regular basis). Dan actually did bite me, but not because he’s ill-tempered. He was trying to get some hay at breakfast before I could put it in his stall and took a small chunk out of my arm. You might notice in many of the pictures I’ve shared of Dan out on the course that he’s wearing a Hannibal Lecter-type muzzle. This was so he wouldn’t be tempted to stuff his face out on the course (didn’t make too much difference in Dan’s case). Dan was the only horse in the group who needed a muzzle because the first day I was walking with him around the course, he pulled me over while going for grass.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After Fatty McFatButt pulled me down, they had somebody walk with us everywhere (thanks Melody!)</td></tr>
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The first day of our horse training, we had to practice walking with our horses and “sending” them over obstacles. This means having the horse do the obstacle while we stood to the side with a long lead rope. The best way to send the horse over rocks or through a pond is to hold up the slack of the lead rope with one hand while the other twirls the rope off to the side. The twirling rope is supposed to motivate the horse and tell it which way you’d like it to go. I found this to be especially difficult because I could only use one hand. I tried using my weak hand to hold onto the rope but I kept dropping it. I think eventually I would have adapted and figured out a workaround to sending the horse with one hand, but it was difficult to be ready for our horse show on Sunday. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We were all about making our horses do the crap we didn't want to do</td></tr>
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Another difficulty was neck reigning Dan. As I understand it, the two primary ways of steering the horse with reigns are direct reigning and neck reigning. I would imagine that direct reigning is the easiest for the horse to understand. If you tug on the right reign, the head of the horse is pulled right and the body follows. Pulling the left reign achieves the opposite result. Neck reigning is more challenging and was not one of Dan’s strong suits. With neck reigning, you simply hold both reigns with one hand and apply gentle pressure to one side of the horse’s neck to convey your intent. If I want to go right, I move the reigns right, putting light pressure on the left side of my horse’s neck. Dan—and probably most other horses—required extra motivation for neck reigning in the form of leg pressure. When I wanted to go left, I moved the reigns left with one hand while squeezing him with my right leg. Left turns were great, but I had a hard time applying enough pressure with my weak left leg to turn right. So then, when he wouldn’t immediately go right, I pulled more forcefully to the right. All this did was pull the left side of his bit, so he would start to turn left, thinking he was being reigned directly. Sorry if you can’t understand some of these horse concepts (I barely understand them myself). All you really need to know is that Dan wasn’t so good at going where I told him, and it was likely more my fault than his (you probably figured that out already).</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Turn right, Dan!"</td></tr>
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One part about our time at Bolender’s that I especially liked is that we were responsible for all aspects of our horses’ care. This included cleaning out their stalls, making sure they ate before we did, and grooming them—especially hosing off their legs after they waded through the poop/pee ponds on the course. Although I was only with him for four full days, I think this responsibility deepened my bond with Dan and gave me a real appreciation for what goes into caring for a horse.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I led Dan right over Melody's foot one day. Sorry about that.</td></tr>
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This workshop was less than a week but I learned SO much, not just from walking and riding Dan, but also talking with the other riders and instructors at Bolender’s. A gentleman from Italy—who teaches mountain trail riding in Europe—was at the farm getting some pointers from Mark. He was one of our judges on the last day and he gave me some great advice for neck reigning my horse. Too bad I didn’t get the advice until after the horse show, where I managed to steer Dan into some bushes.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dan really enjoyed walking me into foliage</td></tr>
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Bolender Horse Park is a beautiful place to have these events. Very picturesque part of rural southwest Washington. I roomed with a 19-year Marine veteran in this tiny cabin:</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Actually, I was in the dog house</td></tr>
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We had fantastic meals cooked by an Army veteran named Greg.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Master Chef at work</td></tr>
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They had a full kitchen where I could plug up my Vitamix and blend all Greg's awesome food every day.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Bolender kitchen</td></tr>
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I ate Greg's food for breakfast and dinner and two Real Food Blends for lunch throughout my stay. I never had any trouble blending and the table next to the kitchen was a perfect place to clamp my syringe holder.<br />
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I had a really enjoyable experience at this workshop. I hope they continue doing it every year because I know many veterans will benefit from it! HUGE THANK YOU to Jayla Neufeld (Greg's wife) for all the stunning pictures!!!!</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcba2at0dC51aruKjBwi7NLDKupZrIuqh0SpDcGlpyQOWbMoLq8_wWbSTPKn6DCdu4W6Cq0dS52IGTjhxYDvpa_KAc_YKCAZowDSgiDcYp1RCLUyYs8Df6BWUL_0xKhTSeGvdpSHt3FX4F/s640/blogger-image-1634104164.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcba2at0dC51aruKjBwi7NLDKupZrIuqh0SpDcGlpyQOWbMoLq8_wWbSTPKn6DCdu4W6Cq0dS52IGTjhxYDvpa_KAc_YKCAZowDSgiDcYp1RCLUyYs8Df6BWUL_0xKhTSeGvdpSHt3FX4F/s640/blogger-image-1634104164.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The forest fires in Washington gave us great sunsets! Otherwise, they were pretty horrible.</td></tr>
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Travelingtubiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01289236463144244586noreply@blogger.com0