You need to know about Team R4V!!!!!!!

Short version of this blog post:

Please go to this link (here) and help my brother-in-law' and sister's box ('gym' to the layperson) at Reebok Crossfit Nuernberg support Team Racing for Veterans (Team R4V). The money raised will be used for their Warrior Crossfit program, which helps disabled veterans at gyms like Crossfit Walter Reed. That's the box at Walter Reed military hospital where veterans who've lost limbs or suffered other injuries in combat learn that, not only can they overcome their disability, but they can improve their mental state and get in even better shape than they were before being wounded. Check out this youtube video:

CrossFit Walter Reed

So, please donate and help my brother, Drake, reach his fundraising goal for Lactic Acid Love Affair before February 14!!

Long Version of the blog post:

I've written a few times about the Disabled Veterans Winter Sports Clinic I go to in Snowmass, Colorado. It's normally at the end of March, toward the end of the season there. This is actually a perfect time to go--not too crowded, conditions are usually still good. We have an amazing time and meet so many inspiring wounded warriors. I really hope we can go every year.

However, it's pretty expensive. The clinic does give me free meals, and I get free equipment rentals and free lift tickets. But, we have to pay for flights for the three of us, we have to pay for the hotel room, Grace' and Betsy's meals, and their lift tickets. It's a costly week, but I couldn't imagine going by myself. Betsy is my spokesman; she's my advocate; she helps me travel, eat, and get where I need to be. Grace is our ambassador; plus I know it's an incredible learning opportunity for her, not just to be able to ski, but to meet all these different veterans and understand their disabilities. Just seeing Grace puts a smile on everyone's face--I think if I stopped going, they'd miss her more than they'd miss me.

Can we afford it every year though? It's a big chunk out of our budget, so we were thinking about maybe skipping a year. Then I applied for a grant from Team Racing for Veterans (Team R4V). If you read my blog closely (....wait....does anyone read my blog closely?!? Am I just blogging to myself? Do I even read this blog???) you'll know that I met the chairman of Team R4V, Jeff Haugh, at the last Winter Sports Clinic. He asked if I wanted to join him on a 60-miles-in-24-hours hike last May. So I raised money and managed to slow the whole team up while only hiking 16 miles. Despite my hiking ineptitude, Jeff recommended that I apply to Team R4V for a grant to pay for our family to go to Snowmass for the next clinic. So, I sent in an application. I thought the best they could do was maybe help pay for my plane ticket but I went ahead and asked for everything: plane tickets for three, hotel room for a week, and meal tickets. Worst that could happen is they say no, right?

A few weeks later, I got an e-mail saying that Team R4V would cover everything; not just my travel to the clinic but everything we needed for Betsy and Grace too!!! How awesome is that?!? What did they ask from me in return? All they wanted was for us to tattoo "Team R4V" over every inch of Grace's body and legally change her name to "Team R4V Liebenow." We were planning on doing that anyway so it's like free money!!!!

No, actually, all they requested was for me to write about my trip in a couple blog posts because I have trillions of followers and it's good publicity (pay no attention to that whole "does anyone read my blog closely?!? Am I just blogging to myself? Do I even read this blog???" thing above; world leaders read my blog closely; so does Oprah).

How amazing is this charity??? They understand that fitness has tremendous power for disabled people. It is so easy when you've lost a limb, or suffer from paralysis, brain damage, blindness, loss of swallowing, or any other debilitating injury to give up, sit on the couch, and lament the abilities you used to have. But this will only lead to a depressing downward spiral that will ostracize you from your friends and family and ultimately increase your health problems. Team R4V encourages veterans to set athletic goals and then helps them achieve them. They support veterans in any type of athletic endeavor, including Crossfit, several different marathons and triathlons (there was a big team at the last Marine Corps Marathon), and even events like the Winter Sports Clinic.

Speaking of Crossfit, my sister and brother-in-law are doing this thing called Lactic Acid Love Affair. It's on Valentine's Day, because people who do Crossfit are in love with exercise. Don't worry; none of the proceeds will go to support my trip to Colorado. All of the money raised will go toward helping wounded veterans vastly improve their morale while rediscovering their limits at Crossfit gyms. Again, here's the link: https://www.crowdrise.com/RCFNLacticLoveAffaire/fundraiser/drakesladky/1/return/success/success.

They wanted to use a picture of me bench pressing for their ad campaign, but it was too intimidating

If you don't like my brother-in-law because he took you surfing for your first time off Hawaii's North Shore in December and you had to be rescued after getting pummeled by monster waves, then donate to my sister's fundraising page here (link)!!! That seems like an oddly specific reason...

Again, please donate before February 14!

DNA Evidence

For the first year of her life, my daughter was an orphan. She does not know--nor will she likely ever know--who conceived her or why she was left in front of a photo shop the day after her birth. She will never know what her 'birth parents' looked like or if she has siblings or cousins still in China--or potentially adopted by another family.

Orphanage picture; they add extra clothes so the child looks healthier

These are difficult things for me to wrap my head around. I know my wife has trouble just reading those first three sentences. It's hard for us to think about Grace's life before we adopted her or her 'other' family. Neither of us were adopted. Everyone close to us growing up knew who their birth parents were. My best understanding of being an orphan came from Annie and Oliver Twist. How could I possibly empathize with how my daughter feels?

Now, my heart aches whenever Grace talks about family tree school projects or asks about her birth mother. On her Gotcha Day, we make it a point to think about Grace's birth mother and thank her for the courage to recognize that she wasn't able to care for her baby and give her up. Right now, Grace is content with her life and her family. As she grows older, will this change? Will she increasingly yearn for her birth mother and Yingtan City, the place of her birth? In a fit of anger for some future grounding, will she yell, "you're not my real daddy!!!!" That would break my heart, yet as difficult as it is for me to hear Grace talk about her birth mother, it must be a hundred times harder for my little girl to think that she may have been 'unwanted.' 

Recently, we came across a Facebook post that mentioned 23andMe DNA testing. Betsy and I looked it up and we were excited about the possibilities. Grace could discover other siblings or distant cousins. Could it give her a better sense of herself when she's older? We decided to buy a DNA kit and encouraged the other girls from her orphanage to do the same. Who knows, maybe the 'Yingtan Sisters' (the name we gave the girls from her orphanage) really are sisters!

The package arrived in the mail. It could not have been easier. Grace had to spit into a test tube multiple times up to a 'fill' line.

"I spit in a tube just like daddy!!!"

Then, we dropped it in the mail and sent it back to the company.

Inside this box is a tube of spit

In a matter of weeks, we got her DNA results!

Unfortunately, we did not find that Grace has any siblings, first, or second cousins. We were also disappointed that the other families from Grace's orphanage haven't shown a desire to get the DNA test done. The results were that Grace is 96.7% Chinese, 2.28% Korean, 0.6% Japanese, and 0.4% 'broadly East Asian.' We also discovered that Grace is distantly related to Yo-Yo Ma on her mother's side. Grace was extremely excited to do the test and ecstatic to learn she's related to Yo-Yo Ma. However, in the future, I fear that she'll be dissatisfied with the generalities of 23andMe's results.

But here's a video of Yo-Yo Ma with Sting

There are other places to get DNA tests. NationalGeographic.com (link to buy their test) and ancesty.com (Ancestry's link) are two other popular DNA testing centers. We really want to do them all (at least the reputable ones anyway) so hopefully Grace can discover something more about herself. I can see how other families might be reluctant to do these tests. Some parents feel like they could just get their child's hopes up. Other families might be of the opinion that "this is the only family that matters now; why confuse the child with knowledge about other relatives?" or "my child is already confident in herself; if she wants to do a DNA test later in life, we will certainly support her."

I think a lot of this depends on the child. Grace was enthusiastic about the DNA test and is eager to try others. From my standpoint, more information about Grace's heritage will help her feel more grounded. Any relatives of Grace's we find will be my relatives too, so I look forward to hearing more about Grace's ancestry and family connections!!

That time I fell through the attic

Oh yeah, about that time I fell through the attic.

It's sort of amusing and makes me look like an idiot, so I thought I'd share it with the world!

This happened two years ago I think? As I've mentioned, I'm an avid reader and there isn't enough shelf space for all my books in the house, so we keep several boxes of books in the attic above our garage. I always wait until Betsy's out of the house to do risky things because I know she'll just say, "You know you'll just fall and hurt yourself, dummy!!!" So one morning, while my wife was at work, I decided to go up in the attic to find some books.

It was summertime. I went up there early so it wouldn't get too hot, but the temperature was already rising rapidly in the dimly lit, confined space. Like many attics, ours has an area running down the middle (where the roof peaks to its highest point) that has a plywood floor we use for storage. Step off the wooden floor, however, and you find yourself trying to balance on 2 by 6 inch joists with nothing between them but a flimsy layer of sheetrock.

The books were far from both the entry to the attic and the only light source, so I was trying to juggle a flashlight while slinging boxes around. Sweat was already beginning to drip off my nose as I struggled to find the right books as quickly as possible. After a lengthy amount of time partially bent over and perspiring, I was so intent on looking at the next box that I failed to look where I placed my foot and brought it down on sheetrock.

Abruptly, I started to drop through the floor to the garage below. Using my cat-like reflexes, I was able to grab on to one of the joists on my way down. Or maybe I was just flailing wildly in my panic and got lucky--we'll never know. Regardless, I managed to arrest my fall and dangled from the joist with nothing but a five foot drop below me.

It took roughly 500 man-hours to create this image

A decade ago, this would have been no big deal. I could've just brought my other hand up to grab the joist and gently dropped down to the floor below. In this case, though, my left hand wasn't working and I wasn't sure about my ability to land without hurting myself since my left leg is partially paralyzed and it can't absorb the impact from falling like it used to.

There was another, much more pressing, consideration. In the picture, can you see the cable dangling down from the hole? That is part of the cable that runs from our TV, back into the wall, up through the attic, and out on the roof to our antenna because we're too cheap to buy cable. That cable was between my legs.

Here's what was running through my head (yes, I hanged there from the ceiling for quite a while): just how strong was that cable? Because if it was a strong cable, I could let go of the joist, then painfully take that tight wire straight to the balls, then perhaps it would flip me over, and I would land on my head, and Betsy would come home to find her husband's brains spattered on the floor.

So, there I was. Dangling from the ceiling like that kitten on the "Hang in There" poster. I kept trying, unsuccessfully, to swing one leg over the wire. Also the garage door was open. I hoped that someone would pass by, walking their dog on the street. Then I could yell at them to come up and help me down. But my neighborhood picked that moment to be devoid of life.

"Why don't you try 'hanging in there,' asshole!!"

Nobody tells you what happens when that cat can't hold on any longer. Where's that demotivational poster?

I was fighting a losing battle. My pitiful cries for help went unanswered. My right side has the strength of ten men, but even my herculean muscles begin to flag over time. I finally figured oh, screw it, kissed my private parts goodbye, and let go of the joist.

As you can tell from the dangling cable--and the fact that I'm alive and writing this post--it snapped as soon as I put weight on it. I came down fairly hard and banged my head on the car hard enough to put a dent in it, but otherwise I was fine. No pain to the groin area!!! 

There's still a chalk outline on the ground where my body fell

After hitting the ground, I realized I'd dropped my flashlight and it was still up there where I fell through. So, like any moron, I went right back up the ladder to retrieve the light (didn't fall that time though...SUCCESS!!). I didn't say anything to Betsy until she happened to call later that afternoon:

Betsy: "Hey, babe, I'm on my way home. I think I'm going to stop by Target. Do you need anything?"

Brian: "No, I'm good...well I might have a medication ready. Could you stop by the pharmacy?"

Betsy: "Sure. I'll see you in a bit! Love you!"

Brian: "Love you! Oh, I fell through the attic so don't freak out when you see the hole in the garage."

Betsy: "WHAT?!?!?!?!?"

Brian: "See you later!"

Betsy: "YOU SON OF A-"

*click*

I ate duck yesterday.

Here's my latest confession: I use Twitter a lot (@Traveling_Tubie). This probably isn't much of a revelation if you're a Millenial, or if you're a techno junkie. But most of my friends have never tweeted in their lives.

When I first heard about Twitter, I scoffed at the idea. All you do is tell all your followers what you're doing?? The only people who might be interested in such a thing is the Kardashians--because they're so self-absorbed--and anyone who avidly cares about the Kardashians--because they have no life. Why on earth would anyone care if I tweet that I'm going to get a haircut? Who am I so enamored with that I would check twitter to see what they had for breakfast?

It's not really like that though, and actually it turns out there are certain people I love to follow on twitter. I'm a geek, and I love to read fantasy and science fiction books. I kept this from Betsy until after she married me (Ha Ha!). You can read more about it in my road trip post. It turns out that many of the authors I like (Tad Williams, Patrick Rothfuss, Brandon Sanderson, Scott Lynch, Neil Gaiman, John Scalzi...wait...you don't care do you?) are on twitter and tweet often about the projects they're working on. I love reading their tweets and sometimes they respond if I say something to them. Usually they tell me stuff like, "please stop tweeting me," or "what is wrong with you?" so I'm clearly making an impact!!

I also follow news outlets because I get news much faster on Twitter. During that Australian hostage standoff the other night, I turned to Twitter for news because I could get eye-witness accounts of what was happening. Plus I follow ESPN and CBS Sports because every team I like has a Twitter page and if I can't watch the game on TV, they tweet scores real-time on their feed. I follow the University of Tennessee women's soccer team because Grace and I like going to the games. They keep their Twitter page updated with play-by-play action during every game.

On top of this, I can follow others who inspire me. I'm interested in astronomy so I follow Neil deGrasse Tyson, the Mars Curiosity Rover, NASA, SETI, the 2013 class of NASA astronauts, and the astronauts on the ISS for pictures from space. In terms of tube feeding, I follow Real Food Blends, Vitamix, Blendtec, DrinkYourMeals, and other tubies (my current favorite is Shane Burcaw; check out his book, Laughing at my Nightmare).

But anyway, the point of me telling you this is that I follow the Washington Post's Food page on Twitter. My Aunt (not my real Aunt, but I've known her all my life and I've always called her 'Aunt') is an Editor for the Food Section of the Washington Post so I like to hear their fun recipe ideas.

It's hard to cook turkey for our family because they weigh about 100 pounds (rough estimate) these days and this is way too much meat for the three of us. Even turkey breasts have more meat than we could eat over three or four days. So, I got the idea to try duck this year. Before Thanksgiving, I bought a Peking duck at the grocery store.

The picture doesn't show the dog drooling under the counter

They are the perfect size for two or three people. I've never cooked duck before so I tweeted to the Washington Post and asked if cooking a duck was the same as cooking a turkey. They immediately responded, told me the two don't cook the same, and they gave me a link to a recipe I could use. I followed the recipe exactly and it turned out perfectly.

Looks delicious, if I do say so myself (Aspen was still drooling)

Betsy said it tasted like "really good turkey;" Grace loved it.

We also had rice and a vegetable medley

I put a bunch in my Vitamix, and we still had quite a bit for leftovers today!

Betsy makes me pose like this until it pours out on my lap

If you're not on Twitter, give it a try. If you are, then follow @Traveling_Tubie. I only tweet about vitally important things (like the last time I trimmed my nose hair).

You can call me Brain

This has nothing to do with tubefeeding or my health, but I feel the need to rant.

I hate the DMV.

Is there anyone, other than people who work there, who likes the DMV? Do people who work there even like the DMV?

For those who don't live in the US, the DMV is the Department of Motor Vehicles. It's where you go to get your license to drive.

Everyone I know, or see, around Knoxville is perfectly normal, they regularly groom themselves. They all possess average intelligence. Basically, everyone I come in contact with in this town is a productive member of society.

Then, I go to the DMV.

Much like the "Fourth Floor" on Parks and Recreation

You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy.

On Parks and Rec, the "Fourth Floor" has the DMV, divorce court, and probation officer (and poisonous popcorn)

Where do these people, these creatures, come from?? I don't see them in everyday life. Am I in some small bubble of normalcy while the  rest of the population lives in a sort of dystopian, alternate-dimension Knoxville?

Anyway, let me share the story of the DMV's latest affront. In 2009, we moved to Knoxville. At that time, I went to the DMV office (eerily similar to every other DMV I've been to) to exchange my Colorado license for a Tennessee license. I walked in at 9:00 AM and I was out of there by dinner time--it was a typical visit to the DMV. They cut up my old license, snapped my picture (the most hideous picture I've ever seen), and I had my new card.

I was a Tennesseean.

A few months go by.

One fine day, I was showing my license to Betsy to prove to her that my license picture was far worse than hers (she agreed), when she happened to notice that they'd misspelled my name.

No, surprisingly they spelled 'Liebenow' correctly. No one ever spells that right. Even I misspell Liebenow at least once a day but the DMV got it right.

They actually got 'Brian' wrong. Nope, they didn't spell it 'Bryan.' That happens fairly often, but they got that right. The state of Tennessee decided to call me 'Brain Liebenow.'

BRAIN.

Betsy and I shared a good laugh about it, but I decide not to get it changed. Nobody ever notices it anyway. I figured it would be a pain in the ass to switch it. Plus, I try to make a habit of spending as little of my life as possible at the DMV. So, I thought, I'll just get it corrected when I renew my license in five years.

Fast forward to the present day.

I get a renewal notice in the mail, so once again, I make the trek to the DMV. I walk through the gates of hell and into their office and low and behold, there is almost no line in front of me. Only one kindly old woman getting her own license renewal. The people behind the counter have smiles on their faces. There's no one in handcuffs over in the corner. No one curled up in the fetal position mumbling profanities. Is my life about to change? Is this a sign that things will get better? Will 2015 be the year I finally get my hoverboard and flying car??

I walk up to the counter with a shy, hopeful grin on my face.

"Hello, I'm just here to get my license renewed," I declare.

"Alright, sir," the man answers kindly.

As though I'd just thought of it, I mention, "Oh, also I need to get an error changed on my name. You guys spelled it 'Brain' last time. Could you please change that to 'Brian?'"

The man gets a crestfallen look on his face. "Oh, I'm sorry sir. We can't change names at this office. You have to go to a state office to do that. The closest one is about 45 minutes away. Do you know where it is?"

My mouth gapes open in surprise. "No, I don't know where it is," I snap.

"Here's the address," he says helpfully. "You'll need to bring your birth certificate with you."

I grow more incredulous. "So you guys made a mistake and spelled my name as 'Brain.' But now you can't just go on your computer, and switch out the 'a' and the 'i' without me producing proof that my parents weren't cruel enough to name me 'Brain?!?"

"Sorry, I'm not allowed to change names here," he repeats. "You should really get that changed though. So....uh...did you still want to renew your license or go and get your name changed?"

You see what's going on here, right? This guy can renew my license, even though he knows my name is 'Brian.' Even though I have IDs indicating that my bank, my health insurance, the University of Tennessee, the Department of Defense, United Airlines, Costco, Target, the Public Library, and the Veterans Administration all agree that I'm not called 'Brain.' The local DMV office can overlook all that evidence and give me a new 'Brain' license because he's not permitted to fix a typo. But if I want to fix THE DMV'S mistake, I have to dig up my birth certificate and drive 45 minutes to wait in line at some other office.

A judge in Tennessee can order that a newborn's name has to be changed from 'Messiah' to 'Martin.' Yet if the family had named him 'Martin' to begin with, but the hospital had mistakenly typed his name as 'Messiah,' it would have taken an actual Messiah to get the kid's name changed back. Yes, I know these two things aren't in any way related but can you see the madness that is bureaucracy???

So that's it. I'm changing my name to 'Brain.' I figure it'll be easier to switch my name to 'Brain' with every other agency in the country--including the IRS--than it would be to get the DMV to fix their typo.

I will only respond to 'Brain' from now on. It's because I'm incredibly smart.

I nearly died the other day

Sorry I haven't blogged in a while, but I was moments away from death last week.

Ok, I was definitely at risk of dying.

Ok, ok, there was a slight chance I was going to die.

Alright fine, I fell down, broke several bones, drove the car to the ER while in blinding pain, and I'm currently in the ICU encased in a body cast.

ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT!!! I fell down on some rocks and it really hurt. Are you happy?!?

I turn 40 next month. It's crazy how the older I get, the more one fall has the potential to inflict some serious damage. In this case, no broken bones, but I was so sore I could barely walk the next day, and it still hurts to take a deep breath.

How did this happen? Let me set the scene. 

I love taking my dog, Aspen, for walks. He is the perfect dog for walking. He never pulls on his leash. He loves being outside, doesn't care how cold he is (obviously; he's a freaking polar bear), and really enjoys exploring new places. 

He especially likes hiking in the snow. We get a TON of that in Eastern Tennessee!

I've been all over Knoxville with him--to every park I can find. My favorite place to go with Aspen is Ijams Nature Center. Ijams is a beautiful natural area on the Tennessee River just outside downtown Knoxville. There are hiking trails all over with a boardwalk along the river and plenty of wildlife scampering through the woods. The park is never overly crowded and has just enough hints of wildness that you can forget for a moment that you are still near the city.

I had to show Betsy and Grace the scene of the accident yesterday

On a whim, I took my handsome, noble pet to Ijams last Thursday. It was a perfectly crisp fall day--still fairly early in the morning so few people roaming the trails in the park. Normally, I took Aspen on a loop along the boardwalk by the river. But, he gets bored if we go the same route. I can tell when he's bored because he no longer stops to sniff every foreign object along our route. Instead, he just walks, glumly behind me. He steadily falls further and further behind, until I'm practically dragging him back to the car. So instead of hiking down to the river's edge, I chose a different route that first climbed up to a river overlook, then meandered down past a sinkhole and over a swampy area back behind--and probably 100 ft below--the park visitor's center.

Grace loves packing a really heavy backpack...then making us carry it

Such a beautiful morning for a hike. The autumn leaves carpeted our path and the high canopy of the older trees dimmed my surroundings and kept undergrowth away so I had a mostly unobstructed view of the rolling landscape and small woodland creatures surrounding us. Not another person in sight; only the peaceful sounds of nature that were so far removed from our suburban life across town. My fiercely loyal pet and I wandered, first following a tributary of the river, then circling around the visitor's center and some other historic buildings. As I said, we ended up far below the parking lot, on a series of boardwalks in a marshy area. By this point of the hike, I was tired, and--as so often happens on our morning walks these days--feeling the call of nature and in need of a bathroom.

His camouflage is amazing, isn't it?

So, I'm standing down there looking up this steep incline at the back end of the visitor's center, knowing our vehicle is within easy reach, ready to just get this walk over with so I can find the nearest restroom and do my business. The trail seemed to continue on, with a series of steep stairs cut into the hill and a rope railing leading up about 20 feet. 

Looks safe to me!

With my best friend at my side, I climbed those stairs, thinking there would be a trail leading me straight back to civilization. Instead, the path abruptly ended. That was it. The only way I could get back was retracing my steps and following the winding trail back over the roughly 10 miles* I'd just hiked. I looked my steadfast companion in the eyes and we decided to take a little shortcut, even though we'd just passed a sign warning us to stay on the trail.

Actually, it was this sign

Aspen swore he would help me over the difficult parts. I knew I could rely on my dog--just as early man depended on the first domesticated wolves for our survival. I set off up the mountain with my partner cautiously picking out a path in front of me. With only one working arm and my left leg weaker than the right, I couldn't race up the rocky hillside like I could've done a decade ago. But, I made steady progress with my furry white knight leading the way.

The hill I climbed looked strikingly similar to this

I was nearly at the summit. I could see the tops of cars and the pressure from my bladder had me in panic mode. Then, disaster. My left foot slipped on the moist ground. My left arm couldn't catch my body and there was nothing to prevent my left side from slamming against the sharp rocks embedded in the hillside. I emitted a sharp cry of pain and maybe a profane word or two as I wallowed in the dirt and leaves in agony. As I vainly tried to count the number of broken bones, I cried out for my friend, my loyal companion, the pet who I've fed and sheltered for countless months to come to my rescue!!

Did he come rushing back to my side? Did Aspen immediately rush off to find help or medical assistance?? Nope. The fat bastard just scrambled the rest of the way up the hill and without a backward glance, he walked away as though declaring, "I never really liked that dude anyway. Anybody want to finish my walk with me?"

"Thanks a lot, lard-ass," I muttered to the no-good mongrel as I painstakingly dragged my body the rest of the way up the hill and slowly limped back to the car. The hairy, conniving traitor, as though coming to the realization that the park was deserted and no one was likely to rescue him from his incarceration with the Liebenow's, trotted back to me and climbed into the car. As he sat in his preferred spot in the front seat, slowly drooling on the dashboard, he gave me a look that said, "Guess you didn't die back there after all. Since you're the only human around, I suppose I'll have to abide your company a while longer. You just gonna stand there staring, you scrawny punk?? Let's go!!!" Yes, his look said all those things. He's a very expressive animal!

Somehow, I was able to drive through the pain and dragged myself home. I managed to whine to Betsy enough that she took me in to see the doctor. I was certain I had a few broken ribs and a cracked pelvis but the X-ray came out completely clean. A couple days later, my hip was feeling better but my chest was hurting even more. I couldn't even take a full breath without being in pain. So this time, I got a CT scan because surely I had multiple fractured ribs that the X-ray failed to catch. Nope. All that extra radiation from the CT scan was for nothing because I only had badly bruised ribs. The only positive thing that's come from this experience is that I've gotten out of even more chores around the house. Also, I've come to see my evil, self-serving dog in a whole new light. 

Oh Aspen, how can I stay mad at you??

* This may, or may not, be accurate. Could've been 5 miles. Could've been 0.5. The truth is we'll never know just how far that return journey would've been. Hey, aren't we all on our own separate long journeys called 'life?' Think about it. 

Fulton's Crab House

On our last night in Orlando, we all went out to eat in Downtown Disney. In case you didn't know, Downtown Disney is an area of shops, restaurants and clubs near the Disney parks. It is Disney World's attempt to keep the tourists spending their money on all things Disney every minute they're in Orlando. So, not only are you blowing your money on hotel rooms, parking, Magic Kingdom passes, lunch and snacks; you can also bring the kids to Downtown Disney after hitting the parks for Cirque du Soleil, the Lego Imagination Center, and dinner at the Rainforest Cafe.

Kerrie and Betsy discovered they have something in common. They are both CRAZY about crab legs. I wrote about Betsy's obsession with crab legs in another post (link). Kerrie is about that bad--maybe a little worse. So, we decided to go to a crab leg mecca in Downtown Disney: Fulton's Crab House.

It's on a boat...how clever

It was such a lovely dinner. Matt's kids and Grace played quietly down at one end of the table while the adults could enjoy cocktails and talk at the other end. Or maybe the kids weren't at our table at all. I lost track of them but I'm sure they were fine.

I had a drink called the "Category Five." Then Betsy drank it.

I fully intended to get nice and tipsy during the meal, but for once Betsy decided I should be the responsible one that night. She finished off her martini, then proceeded to drink some of my "Category Five." Not sure what was in that thing, but by the end of the night my wife was singing loudly with a saxophone street performer playing "Billie Jean."

Then we got to the meal and Betsy and Kerrie tuned the men out as they attacked the poor crustaceans with gusto.

These innocent morsels never knew what hit them.

On the surface, Kerrie appeared to be enjoying her meal and politely devouring her crab legs:

"Om Nom Nom Nom"

But, if you look a little closer at her face, you'll notice something fascinating:

The Zombie Apocalypse has begun!!

I really loved this restaurant and wanted to give it a special mention on my blog because the chefs were so amazing to me. When I ordered my meal, THREE chefs came out to ask me about my feeding tube, the Vitamix, and make doubly sure they knew how to blend up the food the way I needed it.

Fulton's chefs are the best chefs

Fulton's bent over backward for me. The food was excellent. The service was fantastic. We couldn't have asked for a nicer family to share this dinner with. It was the perfect end to an awesome vacation. It's always a little bittersweet to talk with friends I knew before cancer. It reminds me of all the things I've lost, physically. But at the same time, it brings back memories of happier times and assures me that no matter how crazy my life gets and how much crap I go through, good friends will always be there to listen to me, to support me, and to punch me in the balls when I get too full of myself.

Cheers, Dunker's!!