Ruud Remarks

Amy or The Dog?

2010-07-02T11:49:00.000-07:00

I have been thinking about getting a dog and in an effort to better educate myself in caring for someone that isn't myself I decided to dog sit this weekend. Meet Amy. No, not me, the dog. Meet Amy (the dog). Why someone would name their dog Amy is beyond me, but nonetheless, I will be watching Amy (the dog) and chronicling our activities all weekend on Facebook and Twitter. Look for posts like, "Amy is taking a walk." But wait, which Amy? Well, that is for you to decide. Is it Me or The Dog? Then come back on Monday to view photo evidence and find out if it was Amy or The Dog.

Amy humping Lisa

The Unofficial End… and the Official Beginning

2009-09-15T10:54:00.000-07:00

Labor Day usually marks the unofficial end of summer – all of my teacher friends and grad school friends are back to school, the weather is cooling down… kind of, the new fall TV season is upon us. Labor Day usually marks the end of one thing and the beginning of another. This Labor Day also marks the unofficial end of the “What the Hell Happened to Amy, Anyway?” series and the beginning of someone much greater.

If you are not sure what this series was all about, you can read a recap of what the hell happened to me and a timeline here: http://ruudremarks.blogspot.com/2009/07/what-hell-happened-to-amy-anyway-circle.html.

I am not, unfortunately, 100% recovered. Physically, I feel great. Emotionally, I am pretty solid. Mentally, I am good to go. My eyes, however… Well, they don’t see the way they used to. I still have some vision issues and the last thing I told my doctor is that I am not sure if they are getting better or if I am getting more used to how I see. I don’t talk about it much, because there are other things to focus on. And worrying about my vision limitations is not going to make them work any better.

So with that, it is time to move on from this series. It is time to start anew. Sure, I will still post updates from time to time on my progress as I continue to face new challenges and struggles with my recovery. And I will continue to post funny insights regarding my doctors, nurses and parents concerning my condition when they come up. And of course, you can still look forward to funny and poignant stories about how my condition messes with my life. But now that you know the story - from start to present - it is time for me to move on and start to post about things other than the condition I call “Jack.”

So what I am doing now? Well, I am focusing on getting healthy - working out and eating right. I am focusing on extracurricular activities – outside of my massive TV watching schedule. I am getting back to being funny on stages in front of tens of people. I have goals and I am working towards them every day.

And as for this blog, what will you find here? Well, you will find letters – like the ones I posted when I first started this blog. And you will find random thoughts and musings. And you might even find a movie review or two – with a Ruud twist of course. And naturally, the updates on my progress – or regression. But now that you know all about what the hell happened to me, it is time to get back to the important stuff in life – like laughing and loving and living as much as I possibly can. So while this may be the unofficial end of “What the Hell Happened to Amy, Anyway,” it is also the beginning of something great, and this certainly is not the last you will hear from me.

Karma, the Reasons Why and This Too Shall Pass

2009-09-08T14:21:00.000-07:00

I believe in karma – the idea that, essentially, what goes around comes around. I also believe that everything happens for a reason and of course, I believe in the phrase, “This too shall pass.”

Let’s start with the last phrase – “This too shall pass.” It is hard to believe that just a few months ago I was laid up in a hospital bed starting my recovery from surgery. And when you are in the middle of something like that, it is hard to look to the future and know that you will be okay. When you are laid up in a hospital bed, recovering from surgery, can barely move, can barely keep food down, can barely see, can barely sleep, it is hard to think, “This too shall pass.” It is hard to imagine things will get better. But they do. It’s been a little over 4 months since my surgery and I must say, I feel pretty good and at times I am surprised. Sometimes it feels like just yesterday and other times it feels like forever ago. But the point is, this too shall pass and it did.

And I firmly believe everything happens for a reason. When you are in the middle of a difficult situation it can be hard to see the reason why it is happening. And sometimes it is clear and right there in front of you and other times it is not and it might take some time to see it. I cannot fathom a guess as to exactly why this happened to me – and I am sure someday the reason will become clear to me. But for now I would like to think this was the kick in the pants I needed to change my lifestyle. Kick received, lifestyle changing.

Now on to karma – what goes around comes around. I am not saying what happened to me is punishment for something I did in my past, but there is certainly plenty of stuff I did in my past that could – and should – come back to me one day. There is also plenty of good I have done in my life and I have been repaid many times over. And I believe if I continue to do good, good things will – in turn – happen to me.

With that said, I found out last Friday that I won a spot on the Dave Matthews Band Live at Port Paradise Cruise. I am more than just a little excited, because I am sure we all know how much I LOVE Dave Matthews Band. Do I deserve this after what I have been through this year? Hell yes. Will this cruise be the little extra incentive to keep me on track with my new healthy lifestyle? Of course. And will I continue to improve and actually survive a cruise weekend? I should say so.

Life philosophies are just that – philosophies, not facts. They work for me. They are the thoughts that got me through the hard times and helped see through to the end. They are the ideas that I will carry with me throughout the rest of me life and believe in.

Did I deserve what happened to me? Maybe not, but I am sure there is a reason why. And you better believe that some good stuff – like winning a Dave Matthews Band Cruise – is coming my way because of this ordeal. And that is what I am going to focus on moving forward – because this too has passed.

Reset on Life

2009-09-03T08:31:00.000-07:00

We didn’t really have a gaming system growing up. If we wanted to play Nintendo, we had to go to friend’s house to play. I distinctly remember playing Tetris non stop whenever I was at a specific childhood friend’s house. And I specifically remember that game getting stuck all the time. You know what I am talking about – the game freezes up and weird lines appear on the screen. You get all frustrated because you had the perfect tetris lined up and all you needed was the long line of 4 squares and you would have made it the next level which was faster and harder and now it is all blown. So you throw the remote at the wall and pop open the lid on the console. You press down and pop out the cartridge. You blow in it and dust goes flying and you shove it back in and press it back down and restart the game. We all know the routine – whether you had Nintendo or not, you know the routine. Sometimes you could get away with just hitting the reset button, but most of the time, you had to pull it our, blow it and shove it back in (Get your mind out of the gutter – you know who you are!). The point is, you started over.

I can look at my situation in one of two ways. I can sit back and blame what happened to me on all sorts of things. I can blame hormones or genetics or a shoddy hand being dealt to me. I can wallow in my misery and bitch and moan. I can complain. I can use this as an excuse to be lazy and just sit around and think about my limitations and let them… well, limit me.

Or I can do what I always do. I can say eff it. I can find the funny in my situation. I can name my condition (it’s called “Jack” by the way, after a concept in the movie Fight Club). I can tell people funny stories about how I talk to myself at Starbucks or literally run into people constantly. Instead of complaining, I am changing. Instead of waiting around for things to happen, I am making them happen. Instead of letting my limitations hold me back, I am pushing myself more than I have before.

I am taking the steps necessary to make changes in my life. Sure, it is scary and it isn’t easy. And I have moments of regression. I’ve eaten bad food and skipped a work out or two and picked smoking back up for a few weeks. But no one is perfect. I am not going to say I am trying, because I am not trying – I am doing. I have set goals and I am working towards them. And sometimes they need to be adjusted, but they are still there. And I am not going to let jack or “Jack” hold me back.

Some people might think there is something wrong with having to go through what I went through to make such changes in their life, but you know what I say? Eff it. If I thought that way I would have gone right back to my life before the surgery – my unhealthy life before “Jack.” Sometimes you can just hit the reset the button and move on. But sometimes you have to pull it out, blow it and shove it back in – and apparently that is what I needed – now, seriously, get your mind out of the gutter!

My Co-Pay is Paying for Your Watch

2009-09-02T12:20:00.001-07:00

When I was about 6 years old, my dad asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I told him I wanted to be either a doctor – a dentist, specifically, or a lawyer. When my dad asked me why, I told him, it was because I wanted to make a lot of money.

20 some odd years later, I am neither a lawyer (too much reading) nor a doctor (I don’t look good in white). I do still love money, but I digress…

When I was first admitted to the hospital and I met my neurosurgeon the first thing my dad asked when the doctor left the curtained area I was sequestered to at the time was, “Did you get a load of that guy’s watch?” To which I responded, “No, Dad, I am blind, remember?” To which my dad responded, “Well, it was so huge and shiny, I thought maybe you would be able to see it.” Touché.

On August 13, 2009 I went to a follow up appointment with my neurosurgeon – let’s call him Dr. Brain Surgeon. I spent a good 20 minutes in the waiting room before they called me back to the examination room. When Dr. Brain Surgeon came into the room the first thing I noticed was the gold watch with little shiny diamonds.

Dr. Brain Surgeon spent about 15 minutes with me. He checked my scars – looks good. He made me follow his fingers without moving my head – looks good. He asked how I was doing – looks good. He was on his computer a lot. I can only assume updating his Facebook status to something like, “Dr. Brain Surgeon is thinking steak for lunch.” Or maybe “Dr. Brain Surgeon wishes he was on the golf course this morning.” Though I am sure he was writing notes about me that could be used as Facebook statuses: “Amy Ruud is presenting signs of improvement.” Or maybe “Amy Ruud was stitched up nice and good by an awesome Dr. Brain Surgeon and will have minimal scarring.”

I asked Dr. Brain Surgeon a few questions about the shunt – what is it made out of? Will it move? If I lose weight will it jut out of my side? These are the things I worry about. He answered my questions: It is made out some sort of medical rubber. Not, it should not move. No, it will not jut out – even if I lose so much weight you can see my ribs. He then shook my hand, said, “See you in 6 months,” and he and his ridiculously expensive watch left the room.

In a few days I will get an Explanation of Benefits from Blue Cross explaining how much my 20 minutes of waiting and 15 minutes of talk time will have cost my insurance company and what my co-pay is. One of these days I will add up how much this whole ordeal has cost. I can tell you that it is well over $50,000. No joke. Thanks to some amazing insurance, I have paid out, probably about a grand. But that grand and the money Blue Cross has paid out is paying for that shiny gold watch. And suddenly I am thinking my 6 year old self may have been right – I should have been a doctor… or at least a lawyer.

(August 13, 2009)

No One Wants to See Your Ass: Amy Goes to Another Concert

2009-08-31T09:59:00.000-07:00

It is no secret I am a fan of Dave Matthews Band. Some people may balk at this. But I have been a fan of theirs for over half my life and I do not see that changing anytime soon. I have seen them play live 48 times – including the night in questions - July 28, 2009. That also includes seeing them in over a dozen cities in about a dozen states. One of the more memorable concerts was a road trip to Anderson, Indiana where Dave Matthews Band played at what was then called Deer Creek Music Theater. It was a 5 hour road trip with one of my (now) best friends (we barely knew each other when we went on this adventure).

This was the year I had a horrible fake ID – which I used at the show and I got a little… tipsy. On our way into the concert we saw a line up a guys urinating right outside a wooded area – I took note.

After the show, I needed to pee – BAD. Instead of waiting in the long lines, I decided to venture into the wooded area outside of the venue and do like the guys did and pee in the woods.

So outside the venue I made my way toward the trees. My friend yelled, “Keep going! No one wants to see your ass!” So I went a little deeper. Step, step, step, six foot drop and submerged in water.

Apparently, there really is a Deer Creek and apparently it is more like a rive and apparently I had fallen into it.

So there I was completely submerged in water – pee water, floating down stream, convinced I am going to die, I still had to pee. If I was drunk – it was now gone.

I am not sure how much time had passed, but finally my friend called out for me. “Don’t come any closer!” I yelped. And I looked up and there she was, looking down on me – probably in more ways than just the one. And now to try and get me out.

After several attempts, I finally crawled my way out of the creek using a tree branch and my friends reluctant hand. And I was able to relieve myself as well. Soaking wet, we found my car and I sat in the passenger seat on a floor mat and a box top. My muddy sneakers were in the trunk and my socks are still in the parking lot somewhere. We sat there for what seemed like days. My friend could not look at me without laughing hysterically – and since she had to pee, too, she just could not look at me.

We finally got back to the hotel, thanks to my friend explaining to a traffic cop that she had to pee and I was able to clean myself up. The next day we drove home and I showed up to my brother’s graduation party wearing red Hawaiian print pajama pants and a Michigan State T-shirt. It was a great road trip and a story my friend and I have told and will continue to tell for years to come.

But I have come a long way from falling into Deer Creak. And on July 28, 2009, I saw Dave Matthews Band – for the 48th time - at what was once known as Pine Knob (and has, to my knowledge, no creeks) with my sister Amanda. We were third row and it was an amazing show.

This was only the second concert since the surgery and MUCH different from the Coldplay show I saw back in June. No handicap seating for me. No earplugs or sunglasses and virtually no sitting. I actually danced. A lot. I may have dislodged my shunt, as a matter of fact. We did not get there late and we did not leave early. It was like any other concert I had been too – but better, of course, because it was Dave Matthews Band. But all in all I did pretty well with the noises and the lights and the crowds of people. And I was happy to have such a normal concert experience. And while I may have come out of there with a bit of a backache from all the dancing – at least I wasn’t soaking wet from falling in a creek.

(July 28, 2009)

Strong Like Bull

2009-08-27T09:40:00.000-07:00

I once helped my dad move a stove from my parents’ kitchen to their garage. My dad was unsure if we would be able to move it with just the two of us – but we did. When we set the stove down in the garage my dad, exasperated, said, “Amy, you are strong like bull.” Yeah, I am strong like bull.

Since then I have moved another stove, rewired all electrical outlets and light switches in my house, done minor repairs on my car, installed lighting fixtures, snaked drains, moved boxes and beds and desks, built Ikea furniture. I mow my own lawn and do my own laundry. I work out. I take pride in what I can do – especially in what I can do without the assistance of others. And then I got sick and needed surgery and my world changed.

All of a sudden my sister had to mow the lawn and carry my laundry from my room to the basement and back up. There was no cleaning – which was fine by me – and things that once seemed commonplace to me became a chore. And all of a sudden I needed assistance from others.

But the most jarring of restrictions – except for driving – was working out. All of my doctors were in agreement on one thing regarding my condition – I needed to lose weight. But, they explained to me, I had to be careful. The shunt that was placed in my lower back and wrapped around to my abdomen can become dislodged with strenuous activity. So no heavy lifting. No heavy exercise. No over exerting myself. For exercise I can walk. I convinced my doctor that I could do hand weights, too, but no bending over. Not until I lost enough weight that I don’t need the shunt and I can let it fail. No yoga, no bike, no aerobics, no moving stoves.

So walk I did, and walk I do. And I can feel my shunt – pulling slightly on my side. They tell me it is normal. I’m sorry, but there is nothing normal about feeling a contraption in your body. But I have a goal and as soon as I reach it I will step it up a notch and I will over exert myself as much as I possibly can. But for now I simply walk on – why? Because I am strong like bull.

(July 22, 2009)

I Feel 16 Again! But With a Different Kind of Awkwardness

2009-08-25T13:34:00.000-07:00

So I am driving again. No, my eyesight is not perfect; yes, I have blind spots in my peripheral vision; true, I once totaled two cars in 12 months – but that is beside the point. I am, for the most part, a very good driver. And since I have not been driving, and instead been a passenger, I have been very cognoscente of my limitation when it comes to being on the road. Am I scared to drive? Well, I wasn’t scared to drive when I got my license at 16 and I am not now. Though, maybe I should have been…

As I mentioned in a previous post I once put 100,000 miles on my car in 4 years – so you could say I am a seasoned driver. My driving habits in the past few years, however, have changed. I pretty much stay within a 5 mile radius of my house – and often get perturbed when I need to venture outside of said radius. As a matter of fact, in the past year I have put less than 10,000 miles on my car.

But as soon as I got the OK to drive, it was like, where can I go? What can I do? And what better way to act like an irresponsible brand new driver than to drive to see your best friend. Who happens to live 45 minutes away. Mostly highway, but some country road driving. In the evening. Yeah, I am a genius.

But I did it anyway. I hopped in my car, blared the radio and jumped on 696. I am pretty sure I hovered around 65 miles per hour. Keep in mind I have been pulled over, literally, countless times for speeding. I once had 8 points on my license and my insurance payments were $480 PER MONTH – but I digress. I did not speed. Cars buzzed by me the entire way out there – and when you have limited peripheral vision, this is both terrified and exciting. It’s like, “Oh hey, look, another car passing me!”

The drive out there was not too bad. Once I got to my exit I felt a little more comfortable driving overall and the rest of the drive was just fine.

My visit with my friend and her newborn twin boys was great – and long overdue. And then it was time to leave… at 11:30 at night… ugh.

I had made myself a deal, if I had any issue getting to the main road that would take me back to the highway, I would turn around and bunk up with the twins for the night. If I was okay, I would continue home. Driving on a 2 lane road in the pitch black was not as horrific as I thought it was going to be, so I figured I was good to go.

And then the highway came – bright lights from oncoming traffic, reflecting white lane lines flying up at me, orange barrels, cars buzzing by. And then came the anxiety, the heart palpitations, the sweats and the excuse I would tell the cops if I get pulled over: “No officer, I have not been drinking. I have… um… a… uh…. visual impairment? Look, my doctor said I could drive!”

I was not used to this! I was not used to being nervous when I drove. I mean, I am a DRIVER. It’s what I do. I fly down the freeway at a comfortable 73 – 78 miles per hour. Cars move over for me. I hang out in the left lane and zip by the people who… well, who are like me, now.

So there I was moseying along in the right lane, never quite hitting 70 MPH (blasphemy!). Concentrating REALLY HARD on staying between the white lines, not getting too close to the orange barrels, staying on the road, really. I hadn’t concentrated that hard on driving since that one time when I… well, it’s been a long a time. At one point, I was confused with some construction and thought the highway was closed. It wasn’t. I took myself on a small detour that dragged my already excruciatingly long trip home out more.

I once said that one of my favorite places is the stretch of highway on 696E between Orchard Lake and Southfield Roads because it means I am almost home. This sentence as never rang more true! This part of the highway – construction free – I can drive with my eyes closed and I almost did – it would have been less terrifying for all involved.

When I finally exited the highway, I breathed a sigh of relief. I survived. I haven’t been so nervous to get home since the last time I… well, it’s been a while. But I made it home – alive – and so did the people I encountered on the highway that night – if, god forbid, they didn’t, it wasn’t because of me.

So, will I get on the highway again? Did I really think my life and the lives of other drivers were in danger? Should I be driving at night? The answers are yes, maybe and sure, why not. I will get on the highway again – but for now, it will be during daylight hours only. I really did not fear for my life. I am confident that as nervous as I was, no one was at any real risk. And yes, I can drive at night…, I should have done some local surface street driving instead of jumping right on the highway for my first nighttime drive - it was not the smartest move I have made, but I am acting like a 16 year old with their brand new license – so would you expect anything less?

(July 19, 2009)

I’m Not Waiting on a Lady, I’m Just Waiting on a Ride

2009-08-24T09:37:00.001-07:00

For some strange reason, my parents didn’t think I was trustworthy – or responsible enough – to take drivers ed when I was 15 like most kids did. As my mom once said to me, “Amy, you have this wild streak about you that just scares me sometimes.” I took driver’s ed after I turned 16 and I was already a junior in high school – I mean, there were freshman in my class! I didn’t actually get my license until halfway through the school year – and probably for good reason, I mean, I did get pulled over in the drivers ed car, but I digress. I had been waiting for that day for months and when I finally got my license, I could not stop smiling. The people are the Secretary of State got a big kick out of me. My mom almost refused to let me drive home, but she finally gave in. And then she yelled at me for speeding. And I have been speeding ever since.

For 3 months I had been carted around like a child.. or someone with a DUI. I missed driving. A lot. It felt as though my freedom had been stolen from me – having to rely on someone else to do pretty much anything. There are a few places within walking distance from my house – a drug store, bar, restaurant, market, gym, 7-11 – but not much else. And public transportation doesn’t really exist around here. So if I needed to go to the bank, grocery store, Target, work, a friend’s house – wherever – I had to get a ride. This was kind of cool at first, but it got old. It got old really quick.

And I missed my car. It’s a nice car. Fully loaded, with a sunroof, XM radio, leather seats – all of it. My mom was driving it, which was fine, except when I was in the car. It’s not that my mom is a bad driver, its that she does not drive like me. And did I mention I love to drive? I mean, I once put 100,000 miles on my car in 4 years… Yeah, I like driving.

My doctor explained that I have to be able to see 90 degrees in each eye. Now I know my vision isn’t 100% but I am pretty sure there are people out there driving with vision that is so much worse than mine. Seriously. So while I’ve held my fingers out 90 degrees from my eye and I claim that I can see them even though I might not, I am pretty sure I can drive a car. I need to be extremely careful driving the car and be aware of the limits of the vision, but come on people! I can drive – I need to drive! I love to drive!

So my appointment went great – for the most part. I have improved – which is great news. My optic nerves are no longer swollen – which is also great news! The nerves are pale, however, which is a sign of permanent damage – though they cannot tell me how extensive it will be – most likely to my peripheral vision. My doctor is confident I will continue to improve – though gradually – over the next 9 months. The “screen” I see – he thinks – will subside over time. I need to be patient and continue getting healthy and losing weight. Doctor, this is great, really it is, but can I drive???

In order to legally drive I will need to have another field test done – this is for the Secretary of State for when I renew my license – which happens to be this year. But, my awesome doctor did a little field of his own and came to the conclusion that I can drive! YES! I can have full driving privileges – no restrictions. I will never be able to get a chauffer’s license or drive an 18-wheeler and I will never be able to be fighter pilot in the Navy – but I can live with that as long as I can go to Target without having to check someone else’s schedule!

Just like when I got my license for the first time, my mom was hesitant to let me drive. But I grabbed my key and did a little dance in the parking structure and then I drove to work. It was a little weird at first – but it felt GREAT. I missed my radio and my sunroof and I missed my foot against the pedal. I missed it all.

So what do I do that first night? I had no plans, but I did contemplate driving to Ohio just because I could. But I just hung out at home and looked at MY car parked on MY street knowing I could go anywhere and do anything – I have my freedom back. No more waiting on a ride.

(July 16, 2009)

Maybe Today is the Day

2009-08-21T10:24:00.001-07:00

I’m about to get all philosophical on your ass:

Every morning when I wake up I lay in bed for a few moments and I think. I think maybe today is the day. Maybe today is the day I open my eyes and I can see everything clearly. Maybe today I will open my eyes and see straight lines and full words. Maybe I will see people coming up next to me or extending their hand for a handshake. Maybe today I will be able to walk outside in the sunlight without wincing from the harsh light. Maybe today I will be able to see something small I dropped on the floor or someone sitting across the room and know who they are. Maybe today is the day a miracle happens and I can see – everything – clearly – like I used to. Maybe today is the day.

And I open my eyes. And the first thing I see is my ceiling fan. And the first thing I notice is the jagged lines of the otherwise smooth blades. I rub my eyes and look again. Jagged lines. I close my right eye. Jagged lines and a screen – just like the night before. I close my left eye. Like looking through water – just like the night before. I open both eyes and stare at my ceiling. I can see it – which is good. But the white paint looks a little dark, like… like looking through a screen or a veil.

I look straight ahead and I put my hands out to the sides of my head and I wiggle my fingers. Do I see them? Honestly, I am not sure. It is hard to tell if you see your fingers wiggling when you know you are wiggling your fingers. Wiggle is a weird word. I put my fingers right under my eyes. I can see my finger under my right eye – the watery eye – but not the left.

If someone were to see me right now they would think I was out of my mind – maybe I am.

So today is not the day, but I am improving – slowly – and I know it. And I know it is going to take time, but that isn’t going to stop me from thinking maybe today is the day. One day I will wake up and see – maybe not as well or as much as I did before this ordeal, but it will be better. The veil will be lifted and the water will evaporate and the lines… well, hopefully they smooth themselves out. But in the meantime, it’s time to get up and go to the gym and go to work and not think about it. Not think about today not being the day and not think about when that day will come, but instead remember where I was just under 3 months ago and where I am now.

So maybe today is going to be a different kind of day. Maybe today is the day I make someone laugh or inspire someone or make a difference. Maybe today is the day I make myself laugh, inspire myself or make a difference. Simply put today is A day and I going to make the most of it.

(July 13, 2009)

Take Me Drunk I’m Home

2009-08-19T09:56:00.000-07:00

I remember the first time I got really drunk off of beer in a bar. I was 19 years old and I used a terrible fake ID to get into a micro brewery to see a band play in Rochester Hills, MI. I remember at the end of the night talking to one of the guys in the band and the room behind him spinning. I asked my friend – who was 23 – what was going on and she explained that I had the spins. I was the happiest drunk in the world. I cannot remember the last time I felt such pure joy as I did that first time I got drunk in a bar. And then I told my friend to take me drunk I’m home. That night may have the start a beautiful – yet at times troubled – relationship between me and beer.

But at some point you grow up and get responsible and things happen – like sick and have a life-changing surgery. And as Pearl Jam says, “I ain’t changed, but I know I ain’t the same.” As of July 11, 2009 I have had 1 beer in the past 3 months. It has been almost 3 months since the last time I smoked. I have gone blind, had surgery, regained most of my vision, lost weight, gotten over an addiction to pain pills, returned to work – a lot has happened.

But I miss my “old” life. I miss being all wild and crazy (sometimes) and being the life of the party (other times). I miss going out to the bars and drinking and for the first time since I quit, I miss smoking. Well, not really, but a little... I miss the act of it. I miss the spins.

With that said, I was really looking forward to this weekend. There were a number of social events all weekend and I decided that this was it, this was going to be the weekend that Amy slowly makes her return to… well, to life.

Unfortunately, one of the side effects of my medication is that it makes carbonated beverages taste metallic – and that is how the last beer I had tasted – metallic. I was also under doctors orders to stay away from wine and I do not do hard liquor, so beer was it for me, no matter how it tasted. And I was determined to have more than one beer this weekend.

Friday night included several stops at several locations and I managed to choke down 2 beers. I was a little disappointed with my first showing, but there was still Saturday night…

I headed over to my co-worker’s good old fashion house party. I had ever intention of leaving these by 10:30… that is until I actually got there. It was like, what surgery? What vision impairment? What metallic taste? The beer tasted good – the way beer should taste – so of course I just kept on drinking it! And then the games started. A little beer pong, where I dominated. My partner commented on my eye sight telling me to mention to my doctor how good I was at sinking the ping pong balls in the beer cups – I agreed. And of course there was flip cup. I stayed and I played and partied it up!

I didn’t get home until 2AM and I felt great. Finally I was able to take advantage of my inability to drive! Finally I felt like myself – my old self - again! I felt that pure joy I felt way back when I first got drunk at that brewery in Rochester Hills. I was drunk. And sure enough when I went to bed, I had the spins. It made me very very happy. I managed to slur to myself, “Oh the spins! How I have missed you! Welcome back!”

The next day I paid for it though… I blame my medication, mostly. I know, for the most part, my limits and I will, for the most part, stick to them. But it’s nice to know that I can go out, have a good time, have a life, actually survive, and someone will be there to take me drunk, I’m home.

(July 11, 2009)

Peripheral Vision: You Don’t Know What You Got ‘til it’s Gone

2009-08-18T13:40:00.000-07:00

I have a peripheral vision FAIL. When your optic nerves swell (papilledema) your peripheral vision is the first to go. Unfortunately, there is no way to repair swollen optic nerves. It is literally a game of wait and see. Wait and see if the swelling subsides and the vision returns to normal. This can take days, weeks, or even months. I am 9 weeks in. It could be a few more months before anyone knows if my vision will be fully restored and if there is permanent damage. If there is permanent damage, it will most likely be to my peripheral vision. Hopefully it won’t be as noticeable as it is at this point. Peripheral vision is important – trust me. Not just for driving, but for every day activities. And I am learning this more and more as I am get out and about more and more. Here are a few example of how my peripheral vision has caused me to FAIL.

While driving with Amanda we approached an intersection where we were to turn right. Only Amanda wasn’t turning. After vowing to not comment or criticize Amanda’s driving (see post Parked Cars vs. Moving Violations) I said nothing and then saw the biker in front of the car – whoops. Did not see that coming! Something I probably would have seen had I had peripheral vision. So I can see why it is important for driving. Bikers have the right of way FAIL.

I got a ride into work with a co-worker on my second day back and we stopped at Starbucks. Since I am not a coffee drinker, I had to take a minute to check out the menu. My co-worker, James, was standing next to me and asked what I was getting. I mentioned a smoothie and then I paused. James walked away and I kept talking – finally looking over and noticing that James was long gone. Conversation FAIL. Without the peripheral vision you cannot see when people standing directly next you leave your side, thus making you look like an ass in the middle of Starbucks.

The same is true when walking side by side with someone or a group of people. If someone deviates, I most likely will just keep walking – and have. Walking FAIL.

In addition to the peripheral vision, I have little vision below my eyes as well. For example, look straight ahead and put your hands on your keyboard. You can still see your hands, right? I don’t. I can’t even see the ball of my nose – something I have seen my entire life. It’s a little odd. I kind of miss it. So imagine this, you are at an event being introduced to your sister’s boyfriend’s parents, being the cordial person that you are, you are making eye contact and smiling as your sister introduces you. If, while looking straight ahead you can’t see your hands on a keyboard how on earth are you going to see someone putting their hand out for a handshake? Introduction FAIL.

This is a great story. I was downtown for City Fest with the older sister and a friend. We were standing around chatting and I was, of course, telling a story. All of a sudden I looked down and there is an arm in front of my chest – grazing my boob. Now, they are large, I understand this and I am used to them being grazed, touched, brushed and in some instances, punched, but WTF? I look over there is this dude is standing next to me, WTF? I look around for a minute in complete bewilderment and awe and after a few moments he walks away. WTF was that? My sister, Jennie, starts laughing and says, “You had no idea he was there did you?” Um, no. So she explained that this guy came up to my right and was trying to give something to my friend who was standing to my left – thus reaching across me to get to her. I, of course, saw none of this. NONE OF IT. Warding off creepy homeless guy FAIL.

So now I have found myself adjusting in ways to make up for this lack in my vision. Walking slightly behind so I can see you, looking around me at all times so I know who is where and what is going on. This feeling is weird and challenging. Especially because I am not upset about it. Don’t get me wrong, there are moments of frustration and hopelessness, but those are only moments and they are brief. I am just adjusting and taking this on and dealing with it. I’m not sure if it is something I will ever get used to. I don’t think I want to get used to it. But as of right now, it is something I am going to deal with and when I get caught talking to myself in the middle of Starbucks because I didn’t see you walk away I am going to laugh about it – because let’s face it, FAIL can be kinda funny.

(July 5, 2009)

Look for a Minute Through My Eyes

2009-08-17T09:08:00.000-07:00

I am notorious for jumbling my words when I talk. Something I think faster than I speak – hard to believe, I know. I am usually very articulate, but something I just get so darn excited! I do the same thing when I type – I have a tendency to leave out important words. I have also been known to transpose the first letter of 2 words. For example, it is not uncommon for me to say “Lakob and Jisa” when I mean to say, “Jakob and Lisa.” As if it wasn’t bad enough to speak and write like I'm drunk, now I read like I am drunk...

At 9 weeks after surgery my eyes were still pretty messed up. It’s hard to explain, but I will try. I have edema in my right eye – which means there is fluid in my retina. This is annoying. It’s like looking through water – all the time. The central vision in my left eye is OK – which makes up for the right. Though I do have dark spots still. When I say dark spots, I mean it is like looking through a screen. Not blurry, necessarily, just not right. Lines are not straight – they are jagged. This is not something glasses can fix. For the most part I can see. Reading is doable, but a little trying. For example, here is a sentence:

The cat jumped over the moon.

Yes, this is my current reading level… This is how I see the sentence:

Th ct jumed ovr thm on.

Weird, huh? Luckily, the mind sees what it wants to see – and what it knows - so while it might take me a little longer to read, I can, for all intents and purposes, read words. It gets a little difficult when looking at numbers. Because my mind doesn’t know what a phone number is supposed to be, for example. It takes a little patience and a lot of eye movement to read a phone number – or my back account balance. But luckily my account balance isn’t 10 digits… Or unluckily. I’m not sure which at this point…

But the most significant thing I am lacking is my peripheral vision – of which I have none. Sit down at your desk at work and look straight ahead and you’ll notice “out of the corner of your eye” your coworkers on either side of you. I do not see this. I do not have a “corner of my eye.” Well, I do, but it’s more in the front. This is the main reason I cannot drive. Apparently you have to see 90 degrees in each eye to drive. I don’t know about you, but I do not remember ANYONE checking this at the DMV when I got my license. Of course, I didn’t go to the DMV, I went to the Secretary of State Office because that is where we go in Michigan, but I digress. Now sit at your computer and look straight ahead and you’ll notice your hands on your keyboard. I, sadly, do not see mine. I also cannot see the tip of my nose – something I have been looking at for most of my life – and I kind of miss it.

Tomorrow I will post about some instances when peripheral vision is good to have. But for now, forgive any typos, I’m not the best reader.

(July 2, 2009)

Back to Life, Back to Reality, Back to Work

2009-08-14T10:55:00.000-07:00

When Amanda was in the second grade – and I was in the sixth grade – she contracted mono. She had it bad, too. Thinking back on it now, I feel really bad for her. Back then, though, I was thoroughly jealous. I rarely got sick when I was kid, most of the time I faked it. And in true “Scamy” fashion, I faked mono too. Actually, I tried to get mono by sitting really close to Amanda and I tried to get her to breath on me. I may have gone so far as to drink out of her water glass. And because Amanda had been sick, I knew the symptoms and since I felt fine, I faked them. My mom took me into the doctor and I prayed the test would come back positive so I wouldn’t have to go to school for a few weeks. It came back negative. But because Amanda had been sick, the doctor said it was likely I had mono, too. And so in the sixth grade I faked mono and got out of school for a few weeks.

After a few weeks off of school, I returned. And after 10 weeks off of work, I returned. I was happy to come back to work. I was pretty bored at home. I was feeling better, but couldn’t go anywhere or do anything, there wasn’t much going on in my life besides getting over an addition to pain killers - and besides once you are off those, the TV stops talking back to you.

I was nervous, too. Like the first day of school. Who I am going to sit next to – while I was out my team moved to a different part of the building. Are people going to be happy to see me? What am I going to do all day? How am I going to get through 2500 emails? How am I going to get through the day with my eye sight not at 100%? How am I going to get through the day without a nap? How am I going to get through the day without watching Ellen?

But it was great. My team welcomed me back with open arms. My desk – which was still packed in a box from the move – displayed pictures stolen and printed from my Facebook page, there were balloons and someone brought bagels for the team. In the afternoon there was a Costco cake. It was chocolate – which is so un-American (inside joke, as there was a misunderstanding about how I actually don’t like chocolate cake), but it was delicious nonetheless.

My boss told me this day was my “Welcome back tour.” The head of our Talent team told me I was like the graduated senior returning to high school to tell everyone what it’s like in college.

So I spent my day talking – talking more than I had in the past 10 weeks. I deleted all but 3 emails. I met with my boss about my course of action to get back up to speed and I fooled around on Facebook – a lot. Oh, and I left early. It probably wasn’t the most productive day, but it was a start.

It was official, I was back. And as much as I may complain and bitch and moan about work - I was happy to be there. I was happy to be anywhere but my couch, really. But I did miss it. I missed my friends and my co-workers. I missed doing things and feeling accomplished at the end of the day. I even missed a couple of my clients – but don’t tell them that. I was back. Back to life, back to reality, back to work. And something tells me I won’t be faking mono anytime soon - but I promise nothing.

(July 1, 2009)

Good Days and Bad

2009-08-13T10:12:00.000-07:00

At some point in high school a friend of mine threw a small surprise party for a friend of ours. It was in her basement and like most high school girls having a party in a basement we were being pretty obnoxious. Someone thought it would be a good idea to pretend to slip and fall down the stairs. We, of course, found this to be hilarious. I am pretty sure at one point, while pretending to slip down a few steps and attempting to make it look real, I peed my pants a little. Little did I know…

Little did I know that 10 plus (wow) years later I would have a similar incident, only it wasn’t for a laugh, it was for serious.

When you are recovering from a major surgery, you have good days and bad days. There are days when you know you are going to be okay and everything is going to get better and there are days when you are sure you will never return from the depths of hell. They were few and far between, but I had these days.

The last two weeks on disability before returning to work were a bit tumultuous. I was getting over an addiction to pain killers and side effects from my other medications were rearing their ugly heads.

One of the medications I was on in particular was giving me a really hard time. I was anxious and nervous all the same time. I was a bit depressed and I felt like a crying at the drop of a hat (which made watching Ellen give away money to needy people on her show really really heart wrenching for me) – and I am not a person who cries at the drop of a hat. And there were a few other side effects that I will not get into details about, but let’s just say I spent a lot of time in the bathroom.

With limited eye sight – especially at night, getting from my bed – upstairs - to the bathroom – downstairs can be tricky. I relied heavily on my keen sense of direction and counting skills to get myself there. 3 stairs, turn, 10 stairs and straight ahead to the toilet. Simple, right? Well, most of the time it was. But there was one night in particular when it wasn’t so simple and I miscounted. I missed the last three steps and bam I was down. I woke Amanda from a dead sleep as I was sprawled out at the bottom of stairs. “I miscounted,” I told her as she helped me up. She asked if I was okay. “I need to go to the bathroom,” I said.

Looking back on it now, it probably would have been pretty funny. But at the time it wasn’t. I was concerned that I had dislodged my shunt – which was, and is, a possibility. And I really really needed to go to the bathroom.

This is what I would consider to be a bad day – or night. But those didn’t happen too often, thank God. It wasn’t so much that I slipped down a few stairs in the dead of night, it was that I had to get up in the dead of night in the first place. If I am getting up in the dead of night it better be for a good reason – like to catch a plane or start a road trip. And if I have to slide down my last three steps it better to get a laugh and not because I miscounted.

It’s All Fun and Games until Someone Gets Addicted to Pain Killers

2009-08-12T12:24:00.000-07:00

I used to love Flintstone vitamins. Loved them. I couldn’t wait for my mom to give me one every morning. I liked the orange ones the best. As a matter of fact, I remember once climbing on the counter, grabbing the bottle of vitamins and hiding behind a recliner in our family room to chomp on a few orange ones – you know, as if they were candy.

I can’t remember when my mom weaned us off the vitamins, but I am sure it came with a fight.

5 weeks after my surgery I met with my neurologist. Like I did every time I met with one of my doctors, I ran through the lengthy list of medications I was taking, the dosage and the frequency in which I took them. When I got to the pain pills, my doctor was appalled. “You’re still taking those?” Yes, I told him. Though at this point, I didn’t need the lower dosage of Oxycontin as often. “You need to stop take those. Those are highly addictive, who prescribed those to you?” Appalled. Okay, I said, I’ll stop taking them. Only you can’t just stop taking a highly addictive narcotic. I had to wean myself off them. And then the most exciting thing since the surgery happened to me...

Each pill was cut in half. So instead of ingesting one 20mg pill twice daily, I was to take half a pill twice daily for half a week and then half a pill once daily for half week. The first half wasn’t too bad, though I did notice a bit of a difference in my body – it is hard to explain, but I just felt a little off.

The 2nd half of the week is when things really started to get exciting! I couldn’t sleep. I was irritable. I was anxious. I tossed and turned at night. My napping throughout the day quickly ended. I woke up earlier. My arms and legs felt restless – to the point where I had to sit on my hands. I had this feeling once before – the first time I quit smoking (when I didn’t have the aid of morphine to help me through it). And that is when I updated my Facebook status: “Amy Ruud is addicted to pain killers.”

I was going through withdrawal. 6 weeks on pain meds and my body was hooked. Funny how that happens. Coming off of the pain pills all sorts of other things started happening with my body – reactions to the other medications I was on, mostly. Reactions I wanted no part of. But I was happy to come off of the pain pills. After all, I was due to return to work in a couple of weeks. And the pills – while they helped with the pain – made me sleep all the time. And there wasn’t much going on in my life. I was either sleeping or eating or watching TV all day long. I had nothing to talk about with my friends other than the advancements in my vision and what song Ellen danced to that day. So while it’s all fun and games until someone gets addicted to pain killers – at least I had something else to talk about now besides the fat dude on the Today Show.

(June 16, 2009)

Don’t Sell Your Pain Meds

2009-08-11T09:15:00.000-07:00

I was a pretty sassy child. I am sure this comes as a shock to no one. And when I was young, about 5 years old as a matter of fact, I approached my father, looked him dead in his eyes and said, “Dad, I have a proposition for you.” My dad, undoubtedly, got a big kick out of it. I am not sure what I was proposing to him, but I am sure it had something to do with exchanging money for something – perhaps good behavior or a promise to go to bed on time. Or maybe I promised to keep my mouth shut for 5 minutes for a dollar. This exchange of money for goods and services has never been lost on me. In grade school it was not uncommon for me to garner goods from my mom’s work (she worked, at that time, for a rep for Wet ‘N Wild makeup) and resell it to kids at school. I sold everything from eye shadow and lip liner to the girls to temporary tattoos to the boys. I was a sassy – and entrepreneurial - child.

I have carried these skills with me into adulthood. Selling everything from CDs and DVDs to high profile concert tickets on eBay, for example. My family soon gave me a new nickname – Scamy - a combination of “Amy” and “scam.” Not that I was scamming anyone, necessarily, but because I knew how to… work the system.

About a month after my surgery and I was feeling pretty good. The pain pills were really helping and I was able to move around a little easier - I was even getting out of the house more. After going to a Coldplay concert, I decided it was entirely possible for me to head out to the bar to say good bye to a co-worker who was leaving the company. For the most part, this was one of my first really social events. I was actually going out... to see a slew of my co-workers and friends... at a bar. This was a big step.

My sister was going to be there – my security blanket - and she was going to make sure I didn’t freak out and end up crying in a corner. This may be one of the only reasons why my mom was more than happy to drive me there. Yes, my mother drove me to the bar. Yes, it is odd when your mother drives you to the bar, in case you were wondering. I invited her in, but she declined. My mother is too classy for dive bars. Before I stepped out of the comforts of my mother’s presence and into a smokey pub my mother asked if I would be okay. “Yes, mom, I’ll be fine. I brought a pain pill just in case something starts hurting.” And then she said it. The line I would repeat a dozen times before my mom would be picking me up from the bar (which is equally as odd – especially when you are sober and fully aware that your mother is picking you up from a bar). She said, in all seriousness, “Amy, don’t sell your pain pills.”

I laughed. I laughed because I needed those pills and I had a limited supply. I laughed because I knew I wasn’t going to be able to get refills forever on those things. I laughed because I knew I could take the money and pay my medical bills – which were not as astronomical as some may think, thanks in large part to my amazing medical insurance from work. I laughed because I knew, without a doubt in my mind, that someone in that bar would surely buy those pills if I offered them. And I laughed because, if strapped enough, I would have considered selling them - and she knew it. I laughed and then assured my mother that, as tempting as it was, Scamy would not sell her pain pills.

So I went into the bar and I didn't freak out, I didn't end up in the corner crying. It was weird being back in a smokey bar and not smoking or drinking, but I was okay and I was glad to see so many familiar faces. Things were starting to look up - way up - for me and this would only be the beginning of getting back to some semblance of a normal life. And while I didn't need that pain pill I brought with me, I didn't sell it either - just like my mom told me not to.

(June 4, 2009)

Don't Stand Where You Puke: Amy Goes to a Concert

2009-08-06T09:49:00.000-07:00

I am no stranger to concerts. I’ve been to hundreds of concerts since my first concert when I was 14 (Lollapalooza 1995). During one summer I went to a total of 32 concerts. I love everything about concerts. First, you can’t beat live music – there is nothing like it. The music flows through your body and makes your soul shake (okay, it might be the baselines, but whatever). The people watching is top notch. And they are just fun! I once went to see Rusted Root – back in my hippy days. My friends and I did a a little tailgating in the parking lot for a few hours before the show and we were nice and toasted when the concert finally started.

If you have never heard Rusted Root – go check them out now. Lots of unique instruments, hand drums, guitars, flowy skirts and people dancing around as if it were the 60s. Hippy music. So there we were: a big group of us dancing around the main walkway at our local outdoor music venue without a care in the world and then it hit me. The booze hit me… hard. I learned up against a wall and put my head down towards my knees. One of my friends came to me and asked if I was okay. No, I was not okay. She asked if I needed to throw up. And just like that scene in the movie Parenthood I said yes, turned my head a bit and puked. Right next to where I stood. “Not right here,” my friend said, “I meant in the bathroom!” Oh, whoops. “Okay, well, let’s move so we aren’t standing right in it.” So we moved about 2 feet to the right. It wasn’t long before someone came and stood next to us and I politely tapped the young hippy man without a shirt on and said, “You don’t want to stand there. Some guy over there just puked where you’re standing.”

Yes, concerts are fun. And the week before I ended up in the hospital I got to see the soulful Ray LaMontagne and about a month after my surgery I was supposed to see Coldplay. I am not a huge fan of Coldplay, but they are good and I have never seen them before so I was really looking forward to show. And I was confident that a month after the surgery I would okay to go. I asked my doctors to be sure and they gave me the go ahead.

So on June 2, 2009 I got to see Coldplay at that same outdoor music venue I had puked in 10 years prior. But this time, I had feeling, was going to be a bit… different. I had lawn tickets, which meant I was going to have to sit on an incline on the ground. This was not going to fly, so I called the venue and inquired about “disabled seating.” I may or may not have said something along the lines of “My daughter had back surgery and I am still deciding if she can go, what can you do for her?” when I called, but whatever. They were very accommodating and I was able to park in VIP (fancy that!) and sit in a chair behind the regular reserved seating. At one point during the show, the band made their way to a mini stage 10 feet behind us to perform a few songs – so we had great seats!

Now, I have been to hundred of concerts, seen hundred of live shows but I have never had an experience quite like this one. I found myself suddenly nervous around the crowd of people. Scared I was going to lose my friend in the sea of people and have to curl into a ball and rock myself into my happy place. And the music was loud. So loud in fact that I had to wear earplugs. And the stage lights were bright. So bright in fact that I had to wear my sunglasses. So there I was looking like a complete ass hole in my disabled seating wearing earplugs and sunglasses drinking my water and sitting for every other song. The only similarities between this show and the Rusted Root show from 10 years ago was that I felt like puking the entire time – but not because of booze, because of nerves and anxiety.

While I would never dream of getting to a concert late or leaving a concert early, we did both. While I would never even think twice about going to a concert, I was suddenly second guessing myself. Something so simple something I had done – and enjoyed – hundreds of times and I was suddenly that person everyone wonders why even bothered to show up.

But the concert was great – Coldplay was awesome and in the end I am glad I went. After all, I had been stuck in my house for weeks at this point. But mostly I am glad I didn’t puke where I stood or feel the need to blame it on someone else.

Parked Cars vs. Moving Violations

2009-08-05T09:20:00.000-07:00

It’s no secret that I love to drive. And if you know me at all, you know a bit about my driving history. If you don’t know or you need a refresher – here are some highlights. I have been pulled over more times than I can count. If I had to guess, I would have to say I am in the high 30s by now. I have been pulled over for everything from running stop signs and red lights to illegal turns. But mostly I have been pulled over for speeding and once for speeding in a construction zone. I have lost track of how many tickets I have received – I have fought all of them and some have even been dismissed completely. (I can offer you advice on how to get out of a ticket either on the scene or at court – I have done both successfully... more than once). I’ve been pulled over at all hours of the day and night, in different states, with and without friends and family in the car, with and without my license, even. At one point in time I had a total of 8 points on my record – all for various violations – my insurance was $480 A MONTH and the company threatened to drop me. I have been in 2 major accidents within a year where I totaled my car each time (one was not my fault, the other one was). When I got my new car the second time, I was pulled over 2 hours later for going 15 over. But ask anyone – especially Amanda – and they will tell you that I am actually a very good driver. Ask my friend Celia (who was in the car for one of those accidents) and she will tell you I should not sing in the car. And if I am coming across as proud of my driving mishaps, it’s because I am.

I have a love have relationship with driving – I love to drive and the roads hate me. Or at least the cops do. But not being able to drive was probably one of the hardest things I had to endure during my recovery. Driving, to me, is like freedom. So to taking that away was like taking away my freedom. Patrick Henry said, “Give me liberty or give me death.” And I say, “Give me the car keys or I’m not going.”

I love driving so much I even like to drive when I am the passenger – which of course drives everyone crazy (pun intended). Every time I got in the car with someone – my mom, my sister, whomever – I got nervous. They are going too slow or too fast, they are not stopping soon enough, they are breaking too hard, they are waiting too long to merge or merging too soon, they can turn on red but they aren’t. I was even starting to annoy myself.

About 5 weeks after surgery Amanda was kind enough to drive me to a house warming party about 30 miles from here – so a nice long drive on the expressway. Now, Amanda has confessed to me more than once that I make her a nervous driver, probably because of all of my comments and criticisms. So there we were on the expressway and there I was critiquing her about something and there she was snapping at me.

I am pretty sure she something along the lines of “How many tickets have I gotten? And how many have you gotten?” Touche. She had me there. Amanda had never gotten a ticket, pretty sure she had never been pulled over. And she was doing me a favor by chauffeuring my ass all around town. And there I was freaking out about not stopping soon enough or a car trying to cut her off or something stupid and trivial like that.

So I made a promise to myself. I would not say another word about her driving – and I haven’t. Amanda is a really good driver. And while she has never received a moving violation, she does have a penchant for hitting parked cars in parking lots. So while I vowed to not say another word about her driving habits on the road, parking lots were still open game for comments and criticisms.

At Least the Drugs Are Good

2009-08-04T09:47:00.000-07:00

When I got my wisdom teeth pulled, I was not knocked out, I was given nitrous oxide – the gas. This was the first time I had ever been given the gas and I was told the gas was… enjoyable. Sitting in the chair, the nurse put what looked like a fake pig’s nose with tubes on either side over my nose and told me to breath normal and she left the room. As soon as her white Ked clad feet were out of sight, I started inhaling as if my life depended on it. Deep deep breathes. The room got fuzzy, my body was tingly and I was feeling… good. By the time the nurse got back in the room I am pretty sure I had a goofy smile on my face and I wouldn’t be surprised if my eyes were half closed.

I was wearing my college sweatshirt – which is known for its school of dentistry – and the nurse started asking me about what I was studying and how I was doing and basically all the things you don’t want to talk about as nitrous is pumping through your body. So I turned to the nurse and I said, “You’re ruining this for me.” And she smiled, patted me on the shoulder and responded, “Honey, that’s the point.” At least for a while there, the drugs were good.

While I was in the hospital I had discovered that I didn’t like Vicodin – it made me sick. So some doctor decided to send me home with 2 separate doses of Oxycontin. Yeah. I was to take a 20mg pill twice daily and a 5mg pill every 4 hours as needed.

And they were needed. I can see why people get addicted to pain pills. I wasn’t crushing and snorting them, so I wasn’t getting high or anything, I took them as instructed. And they just made everything… okay. They made everything… normal. They made everything… not hurt. And they made me sleepy.

I was taking a slew of other pills as well, and I will later find out that the pain pills masked the side effects from the other drugs. Now, I am not a closet pill popper and I am not addicted to pain pills (anymore – but we’ll save that for a future post), but I can certainly see how someone can become addicted to these things.

And sure there were side effects from the pain pills. I wasn’t gaining weight, but I wasn’t losing weight either – and I was barely eating, so theoretically I should have lost weight. And some other side effects I am sure you do not want to hear about. So there was a downside to them. But the good far outweighed the bad.

So just like being stuck in the dentist chair about to get a few teeth ripped out of their sockets, I was stuck in my house, spending my days either watching TV or sleeping – but hey, at least the drugs were good.

My Life is so Scheduled it Could be Listed on the TV Guide Channel

2009-08-03T09:44:00.000-07:00

I used to watch the TV Guide Channel. Seriously, I did. Even before the TV Guide Channel had TV shows and convinced Melissa and Joan Rivers to host red carpet events for them. I used to watch the old school scrolling TV Guide Channel and I used to get really excited when it reached the end of the half hour and the little bar with the new hour and a half of time slots would push the old times up and out. Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I am talking about. I used to watch it as a kid during the day when there was nothing else on TV. Seriously. This may be where my infatuation of infomercials comes from. Or my love of TV in general. Or my obsession with schedules.

As a lover of TV and an avid TV watcher, spending at least 6 weeks recovering from surgery on my couch seemed like a dream come true and as a someone who is extremely scheduled and has OCD tendencies, it wasn’t long before I developed a schedule so regimented the TV Guide Channel could have added me to their listings.

Generally speaking, daytime TV is terrible, but there are a few gems here and there. And thank WOW Cable for movie channels and OnDemand! Between my scheduled medications, nap times and TV lineup – my days were packed! Here is what a typical weekday looked like for me:

7/7:30AM – Wake up and move to the couch. Eat breakfast with Matt, Meredith, Ann and Al – also known as the anchors of the Today Show. Pop a few pills.

9AM – Nap time! The Today Show is most likely replaying most of what they covered in the first 2 hours.

10AM – Mid morning snack and pop more pills. Watch Ellen. I love Ellen. I want to dance like Ellen.

11AM – Rachel Ray sucks. Tune into the Price is Right – which is not the same with Drew Carey and those weirdo glasses, so I will most likely doze off for another hour.

Noon – Local news depresses me too much, so why not enjoy lunch while watching Family Feud with the dude who played J. Peterman from Seinfeld? Survey says… YES!

12:30 – Lunch time is spent with my mom, and she loves Jeopardy and I like to pretend like I am smart, so Jeopardy it is!

1PM – I watch the first 10 minutes of Days of Our Lives and although I haven’t watched it in years, I did watch it for the majority of my life, so I pretty much know exactly what is going on. The rest of the hour is spent napping.

2PM – Afternoon snack and more pills! Check out the movie channels. Hopefully something cheesy and fantastic is on – like Bring It On or Never Been Kissed. If not, I tune into the crazy ass Kathy Lee and Hoda.

3PM – Check the movie channels again. If I am desperate, OnDemand – which doesn’t come in HD and I am HD snob, so this is a last resort.

4PM – If I am watching a movie, I will continuing watching. If not, it’s nap time!

5PM – Dinner is washed down with more pills while watching reruns of Scrubs.

6PM – 8PM – I flip between episodes of Scrubs, Seinfeld, and Family Guy while chatting it up with my mom and getting all the ePrize gossip from Amanda.

8PM – There is always something on during prime time – whether it be a show or a movie, but you can bet I am watching it! And most of time, I am in and out of sleep while it is on. After all, I haven’t taken a nap in, like, 4 hours.

10PM – More pills and head off to bed. Good night TV Land – it was nice spending time with you today.

Don’t judge me. I can tell you are judging me. You need to remember that my eyes were too bad to read and my TV is 50 inches of HD goodness. I tried books on tape, but it put me to sleep. Once my eyes got a little better, I got on the computer more and eventually caught up on some reading (my Rolling Stone and Entertainment Weekly’s really started to pile up there!). Oh and I may have signed up for Netflix. I wish I could tell you I rented educational and thought provoking documentaries, but it was mostly romantic and gross out comedies. Again, you are judging me aren’t you? If we learned anything form this post it’s that Amy loves her TV and you could bounce a quarter off that schedule it’s so tight – and that is something that at least the TV Guide Channel would love.

Welcome to the New Site!

2009-08-02T09:20:00.000-07:00

Friends,

Welcome to the new site. For those of you who have subscribed to the RSS feed on the last blog, please subscribe here. You can also become a follower. Please do this as I always had a secret wish to be a leader of a cult (or a madame in a burlesque house, but this is neither the time nor the place to start that venture).

I have moved all of my previous posts and comments to this site - so nothing has been lost. If you have not read them already, check out some of my letters. I am told they are funny. More of those will come in future posts - as well as other funny type stuffs.

The old blog will be left up for a little over a week and then the old URL will redirect to this site.

Thanks for reading and thanks for all of your support - I really appreciate it. I have some pretty exciting stuff I am working on right now and some great ideas for the future. The adventure is just beginning and thanks for coming along for the ride. And just think, you'll be able to say, "I knew Amy when..."

Best,

Amy

Relearning How to Live

2009-07-31T11:40:00.000-07:00

Up until a few years ago I was anything but a morning person. I was a night owl. I stayed up until all hours of the night, could barely drag myself out of bed and often times functioned on little to no sleep. My mother tells me I had been this way since I was a baby. When I was in high school, it was not uncommon for me to wake up 10 minutes before I had to leave the house – and a mere 15 minutes before classes started – which was just enough time to throw on my uniform of a button down shirt and plaid pleated skirt, brush my teeth, pull my hair into a pony tail and pray I hit all the green lights in order to make it to school in 7 minutes. This was actually an improvement from my early years of school when my mom would literally dress me while I was still asleep so I wouldn’t miss the bus – my mom must’ve hated me… or loved me… a lot.

And then a few years ago, I learned that I could not continue living this way. I had to drag my own ass out of bed, I had to get to work on time – a phone call from my mom on why I was late was not going to cut it in the real world. I learned to go to bed at a reasonable hour most nights, get up early to work out, shower, eat breakfast and get to work… early. It took a while to get used to this new way of living, but hey, no one every said change was easy.

After temporarily losing my eyesight and having a pretty major surgery, change in inevitable. Adjustments needed to be made. I found myself having to relearn how to do everyday tasks. I found myself relearning how to live.

Sleeping – something I have never had a problem with and something I have enjoyed since infancy – became a choir. I found myself sleeping on my side (normally I am a stomach sleeper), being careful with my movements so I wouldn’t rip out my staples or dislodge the shunt inside my body. In the first few weeks, while my mom stayed with me, I would often call for her in the middle of the night for me more pain medication or even help me to the bathroom. There I was, in my late 20s (shudder) calling for my mom in the middle of the night.

And when you are spending most of your time either in bed or lying on a couch, standing for long periods of time can seem like torture. I’ve heard of Chinese water torture before but I must admit I am not entirely sure what it entails. I can only imagine it is something like my first time showering post surgery. With hot water gushing down on me, my senses seemed to be heightened. Every drop of water felt like a tiny needle. The water was loud and it hurt my ears. The light in the bathroom was bright. And I was even more aware of my incisions then when I slept. I felt like the steam was constricting my airwaves and I was pretty sure I was going to collapse right then and there. The last thing I wanted to do was call for my mom in the middle of my shower. We had already gotten very personal in the hospital, I wasn’t going to let it get any further than that.

My walking – when I did walk - was slow and calculated. I could barely see where I was going and I must have looked drunk to most people with my constant weaving. And I could feel the shunt in my side, tugging slightly. My doctor would later tell me this was normal. To which I would tell him – I wouldn’t say “normal.” Expected maybe, but certainly not “normal.” There is nothing normal about feeling a foreign object inside your body.

Even interacting with people changed slightly. Can I joke with them about my condition? Can I tell them I puked on a nurse? Or that I can only get through my day by popping pills every few hours? Do I sound upbeat and happy? Or sad and depressed? I had been talking about condition and my recovery so much – what else was there to talk about? And do people really want to hear about it?

There may have been a moment or two where I thought I would never be able to shower without having a panic attack or sleep through the night without thinking I was doing severe internal damage, but eventually I learned – just like I had a few years ago – that I could not and would not have to live my life this way. And sleeping, showering, walking and talking would all get easier. And I would relearn how to live and no longer need to call on my mom in the middle of the night.

What the Hell Happened to Amy Anyway – Circle Back and Follow Up

2009-07-30T08:59:00.000-07:00

For those of you who are confused as to my current status or for those of you who are new to my blog and have no idea what is going on or for those of you who just like to read what I write – this is for you!

In my line of business we use a lot of buzz words like “circle back,” “follow up,” “touch base” and even the ever popular “under a bus.” If you have ever seen me do stand up, I have come up with funny and some what accurate definitions for this corporate jargon. (If you have not seen me do stand up – look for me hitting the stage again in a couple of months – I promise!) At the risk of over using these buzz words outside of the workplace and at the risk of “overusing” quotation marks where quotation marks are “not needed,” I wanted to take a moment to “circle back” with you all on a few things and provide a “status update” as to where I was, where I am and where I would like to be with my condition.

Some of you have seen me around town – doing things like drinking and driving – separately of course, not at the same time and are unclear as to how I can be fresh off of surgery, not showering or wearing pants and yet playing beer pong or dancing at a Dave Matthews Band concert.

The facts are these:

These posts were written not as they were happening, but shortly thereafter. Many of them at the same time and I am just now posting them – one a day until I catch up with myself.

I expect to be posting in “real time” in the next few weeks – probably not every day, but close to it.

Once I catch up with myself, I will be posting not only on my recovery and the challenges I am facing moving to the next step, but getting to the good stuff as well – Writing letters (see the first few posts I did if you want to know what the letters are about), maybe some movie reviews and some new comedy type material – like how I annoy and scare my neighbors – complete with photos.

I started writing posts as they were happening when I returned to work on July 1, 2009. So those posts will be a little more “fresh” since they were written as they happened. When I post them, I will include a “Written on” date.

Here is a quick timeline for you:

End of Feb 2009 – I got a headache. Like, a really really bad headache and they were happening daily. It was around this time I realized that these headaches were not normal and I set up an appointment with my doctor.

March 16, 2009 – Met with my doctor who seemed unconcerned with my headaches but ordered blood tests and an MRI.

March 23, 2009 – First time I realized MRIs are like giant techno music machines. First time I ever removed the piercing I have in that little piece of my ear that protects the hole.

March 30, 2009 – Doctor tells me the MRI and blood tests are all normal. To which I said, “Great! But I am not normal.” Doctor diagnosis’s me with migraines.

For the next 2 weeks, I start to get worse. Headaches are worse and the pain has moved to my upper shoulders and back. Ringing in my ears starts. My vision graying out when I stand or bend over gets worse.

April 10, 2009 – Meet with my eye doctor and go over symptoms. He immediately diagnosis’s me with pseudotumor cerebri (also known as intracranial hypertension).

At this point, I can still see pretty well, though my vision field test shows blind spots in my peripheral vision.

April 13, 2009 – Meet with neurologist who orders a second MRI and a spinal tap.

April 14, 2009 – Second MRI completed. Had to refrain from bringing glow sticks and a pacifier with me.

April 16, 2009 – First spinal tap. First time I saw my brain fluid.

April 18, 2009 – I now have blurry and double vision and decided to stop driving. Amanda becomes my chauffeur.

April 20, 2009 – Neurologist calls me back and concurs with diagnosis of pseudotumor cerebri and prescribes a medication for me. I explain my vision issues and the doctor tells me to take the pills and that I’ll be fine.

Noon April 22, 2009 – I go home early from work because I do not feel well – bad reaction to the drugs. Last day of work – unbeknownst to me – for 10 weeks.

April 23, 2009 – Admitted to the ER because I could not keep anything “down” (that’s the nice of way saying I was puking my brains out for 24 hours straight).

April 24, 2009 – Released from the hospital. Told the doctors my vision was worse, they told me to keep taking the pills.

That weekend my vision got even worse, to the point where all I could see were shapes and light and dark.

April 28, 2009 – Go back to the eye doctor who tells me I need to go directly to the hospital for surgery to relieve pressure that is being put on my brain and my optic nerves – causing my “blindness.”

April 29, 2009 – I have surgery. A shunt is placed in my lower back at the base of my spine. The shunt drains fluid from my brain, down my spine, around my side and deposits the fluid into my abdomen. I have 3 incisions from the surgery and about 40 staples.

I am now in the hospital where I throw up on a nurse, am convinced my roommate is trying to kill me, don’t like the food and am doped up on all sorts of drugs.

May 2, 2009 – I am released from the hospital and head home.

At this point the headaches are pretty much gone, so is the ringing in my ears and my vision is already starting to improve.

May 4, 2009 – First follow up with eye doctors – miraculous improvement.

May 8, 2009 – I have my staples removed by something that actually looks like a staple remover – weird.

Over the next few weeks I am at home recovering. My days are spent either in bed or laying on the couch. I am going to see at least one of my three doctors about once a week. I am on all sorts of drugs and eating very little. Friends and family are visiting with me and I am relearning how to live a normal life. All of this will come up in future posts.

July 1, 2009 – I return to work after being gone for 10 weeks. I have 25000 emails. I erase all but 3 of them.

My eye sight is better, but not 100% recovered. I still have blind spots in my peripheral vision and some dark spots, but it is manageable.

July 16, 2009 – I am given the all clear to start driving again. My eye doctor informs me that the swelling of my optics is completely gone and he expects my sight to continue to get better – though slowly – over the next 9 months.

Today – July 30, 2009 – Things are good. I am getting back into the routine of life. I am going out – without freaking out – I am working and even working out again, and of course I am back to some of my old hijinx. Physically I feel really good, though I have some aches and pains here and there. My vision is still recovering, though everyday I think it is getting better and better. Or I am just getting used to it.

My recovery – of my eyes especially – is going to be long. I need to be patient and I need to focus on getting myself physically healthy – which will help my condition overall as well as my vision.

So there you have it – there is my “status update” for you. Feel free to “follow up” with me in person if you want to discuss it any further. Otherwise, I will continue to post something daily and eventually we’ll all be at the same place in time.

In the meantime, thanks for reading and be sure to keep reading. I will try and keep things light and airy and funny.

And look for a new site design coming soon! Yay improvements!

Curiosity Doesn’t Always Kill the Cat… Or Shred Your Fingers

2009-07-28T08:53:00.000-07:00

When I was in the fourth grade curiosity got the best of me. I wish I could say this was the first and the last time, but it wasn’t and i won't be. Anyway, my curiosity about the inner workings of an uncovered manual pencil sharpener got the best of me and a couple of my fingers. I will spare you the gory details, but let’s just say my teacher freaked out at the amount of blood pouring out my fingers as she abandoned the rest of the classroom and rushed me down the hall to the bathroom yelling, “Why on earth would you stick your fingers in the pencil sharpener!?” Needless to say, I spent the rest of the day with my hand above my head in the principal’s office – which was also the nurse’s office, only we didn’t really have a nurse. Two of my fingers were torn to shreds and I was slightly disappointed they didn’t look more like a pencils once the bleeding stopped. It didn’t take long for my fingers to heal and I have no scars from that experience – except maybe an irrational fear of uncovered manual pencil sharpeners. There are two points to this story – yes,sometimes my stories have a point or two. There is nothing wrong with curiosity – just be careful where you stick your fingers; and wounds – scrapes, bumps, bruises – heal. Most of the time, pretty quickly. The same is true of surgery incisions,headaches, ringing in the ears, palsy and swollen optic nerves.

During my first week home from the hospital, I had follow up appointments with my doctors. I was only home for 3 days before I saw my eye doctor in his office for the first time. I was still on copious amounts of drugs and not moving very quickly, so leaving the house was a bit of challenge. And I was pleased when I didn’t have to put on real pants, which, as you know, I believe are totally overrated, but I digress.

Once we were seen by my doctors – I had more than one because they all wanted to hang out with me... Well, maybe because they were astounded at my condition and how severe it was. But once we were seen by my doctors I was told that there had been “Miraculous improvement.” My headaches were pretty much gone, the whooshing sound in my head was gone, the palsy was gone and the swelling of my optic nerves was subsiding. The doctor actually said “Miraculous improvement.” I think it was at this point that I knew – like, really knew – that I was going to be okay and that I would eventually be back to normal – well, as normal as I can be, anyway.

And I guess curiosity got the best of my parents too, who at one point during the appointment pulled out what seemed like a shopping list for a small army bu twas actually a list of questions for the doctor. Looks like Big Jon has been on the Internet lately, Googling his little heart out about my condition and my recovery. My condition, to him, was like an uncovered pencil sharpener to me (I would like to thank those little vocab. books I had to fill out for years in school for that analogy). Luckily, my amazing doctor sat there patiently and answered all of my parent’s questions – all 187 questions. Apparently my doctor is much more patient than a pencil sharpener. At one point my dad asked if I had something specific – I don’t even remember what – and my doctor said yes, I did have signs of whatever it was he was asking about. My mom turned to my dad and said, “What is that again?” To which my dad answered, “I don’t know, but she has it.” Thank God with all the limitation with my eyes I still had the ability to roll them.

After my parents were done, my doctor turned to me and asked if I had any questions to which I said, “Um, no I think my parents covered everything – and then some.” It’s good to have curious and informed parents, I guess. I wouldn’t have thought to ask 90% of the questions they did – but put a cylinder of razorblades that move in a circle in front me and I have no problem sticking my fingers in. I am sure they didn’t need to ask 50% of the questions they did. But at the same time, I probably could have gotten a good idea as to how a pencil sharpener worked by looking at it as opposed to sticking my fingers in it, bu they, now I know.

"Real" Pants and Showering are Overrated: Amy Comes Home

2009-07-27T08:51:00.000-07:00

On April 27, 2009 I was admitted to the hospital. On April 28, 2009 I had surgery and 4 days later on May 2, 2009 I went home. I was excited and nervous. Happy to be leaving the hospital, my crazy roommate, the terrible food, the bed alarms, the 2AM blood pressure checks, the smell of... sterile. Nervous to not have doctors checking in on me, nurses at the call of a button, drugs to be injected for instant relief, putting pants on again. But everyone felt it was time to go home. So armed with half dozen prescriptions for everything from Oxycontin to steroids, I went home.

I decided I wanted to stay at my house instead of shacking up with my parents during my recovery. After all, I have a 50 inch flat screen TV, every movie channel, countless DVDs and an over-sized super comfortable couch. I did have to ask Amanda to “parent proof” the house. Not that we had anything that bad in there, but still, you don’t want your mother to find anything… questionable.

It was also decided that I would not be sleeping in my bed – which is on the second floor of the house – but instead in Amanda’s room – on the main floor. My mom – at her request – slept on the couch... Yes,it is that comfortable. And we were one big happy family.

I was on a lot of drugs. Two different pain pills everyone 4 hours, steroids, and two other medications specifically for my condition. I was still in some pain and not quite “with it.” I basically slept and ate. When I wasn’t in my (sister’s) bed, I was on the couch. If I wasn’t in either of those places I was in the bathroom and that was about it. Everything I did was slow and delayed – including interacting with people. I didn’t move much. I was just kind of present. And I slept. A lot. Like, 18 hours a day. I was like a small child or cat. Except I don’t poop myself or lick myself clean – well, most of the time, anyway.

I also was never alone for very long in the first few weeks I was home. My mom had taken time off of work to stay with me. My dad came over and my older sister – who worked from home – stayed with me as well. Amanda even stayed home a few times to sit with me. A few friends came and saw me while I was recovering and I always felt bad I wasn’t more entertaining. Though, I am sure some of the things that came out of my mouth on all those drugs were probably entertaining.

There wasn’t much to be happy or excited about while I was home – except that I was home. But there was the fact that I wore sweat pants all the time – which is pretty much a dream come true for me. And I didn’t really shower much – I couldn’t quite muster up the energy to stand for that long. But when you are going from the bed, to the couch and back to bed with a few pit stops to the bathroom, there isn’t much need to wear real pants or wash yourself. Besides, real pants - the kinds with zippers and buttons and back pockets - and showering - the kinds with water and soap on a rope - are overrated. And I was more than happy to take comfort in that.

It Pays to Know the Nurse

2009-07-25T08:50:00.000-07:00

Nurses are really great people. I know a few personally and they really are great people. The nurses I had during my hospital stay were all really amazing people – so kind and easy going – they always made sure I was comfortable even when I was in some of the most uncomfortable of situations.

What upsets me a little bit about my time in the hospital, my condition and my nurses is that I never got to actually see them. If I were to ever run into them I would have no idea who they were. I am sure I didn’t make much of an impression on my nurses – except maybe the one I puked on and even then probably not - but they made an impression on me.

We discovered that the nurse I had on my last day in the hospital went to high school with my younger sister. While she was more than accommodating before we discovered this fun fact, she was even more accommodating after. And this put me – who was nervous about leaving the secure - albeit nerve-racking – hospital environment and go home.

She went over all of my medications and answered all of my questions – even the ones that may have seemed repetitive or even dumb. And best of all, she gave me my last shot of morphine before leaving. This is something she technically wasn’t supposed to do, but it was going to be at least an hour before I would official leave and I was obviously in pain.

If I ran into her at the store later today – I would never know. The same is true for all of my nurse and even my doctors (with the exception of the doctors I would continuing seeing – pun intended - as I recovered ).

It took a while for me to officially leave the hospital, but when I finally did the fresh air felt nice, and it was off to home I went. I was happy and scared at the same time. Thank god for that last shot of morphine – I may have freaked out right then and there – I guess it really does pay to know the nurse.

Hospital Diet: Facebook Should Give Me a Weight Loss Ad

2009-07-23T08:47:00.000-07:00

When I was in grade school our “hot lunch” program was served to us in little paper containers covered in plastic. I had never been on an airplane at this point in my life, but this is what I imagined airplane food was like. In high school the cafeteria food was… well an improvement (I still dream of pizza sticks – which were essentially 12 inch long pizza rolls – but better!). And in college the cafeteria – which I only ate in maybe twice (I commuted to college)- had food served by a company that supplied food to prisons. After years of being subjected to what I can only consider to be food product (not quite real food but not quite fake food either) I was right back to somewhere between the airplane food and the prison food: hospital food.

I thought I was getting lucky when I actually got a menu in my room from which to choose my next days meals – like a fancy hotel –until I actually got the food. Couple that with the fact that I was totally doped up on morphine and that my mom had to spoon feed me and I was reaching for the IV bag fast than the pizza sticks sold out in high school!

And what made it worse? The fact that everyone who spent any decent amount of time with me in the hospital (i.e. my parents) all raved about the great food court/cafeteria the hospital had. And here I was stuck eating something described as turkey but tasting like tires. Needless to say after a few spoon fed bites I was done: "Nurse? Can I get another shot of morphine so I can pass out and let the hunger subside? And fill up my IV bag while you are at it – I still need nutrients after all."

By the time I left the hospital I had dropped 15pounds. Let me remind you I was in the hospital for a total of 7 days (2 days the previous week and 5 days for the surgery). And that was the best diet I have ever been on. Facebook should give me an ad: "How to drop 15 pounds in 5 days - guaranteed!" Not the healthiest of ways to lose weight and I felt a little guilty when someone said that I looked good or that it looked like I lost weight. I mean, it’s not like I did anything to contribute to it – except refuse to eat and ask for more drugs. OH! So that’s how models stay so skinny…

When Life Gives You Lemons – Grab a Bottle of Vodka and Take Some Shots

2009-07-22T08:45:00.000-07:00

Let me tell you a true story… I was on a job interview once for a job that I really really really wanted – mostly because it wasn’t in retail, which is what I had been doing for some time. During the interview, the potential employer asked me what my “dream job” would be. I answered – in all seriousness – "I want to be a boat captain in the Caribbean." The interviewer looked at me like I was a total nut job and responded with, “How is this job going to get you there?” Well, lady, it’s not, but just like the commercial in the 80s that said, "No one says I want to be a junkie when I grow up," I am going to bet no one says, “I want micro manage 10-15 employees at a mid-size direct mail marketing company when I grow up,” either.

Was this the best time to make a joke or make light of the situation? Maybe not, but you know what, I got the job. Thus proving that it is never a bad time to make a joke or make light of a situation. Well, almost never, but you get the gist of what I am saying.

Making jokes and being able to make people laugh is probably one of the most important things that got me through this entire ordeal. From criticizing people in the ER waiting area, to cracking jokes with my nurses and doctors – after my surgery one of my nurses asked if my vision was getting any better and I said, “Yeah, I think so. I can tell that you have blond hair.” She responded with, “Amy, I’m black.” I did know this, but it was funny nonetheless. Most of my doctors got my jokes too… most of my doctors… most of my jokes. And most of what you are reading here has been told at least once - just for a laugh.

A couple of days after surgery I was given a hearing test – which was kind of a joke because I could hear just fine. I had just received a dose of morphine a few minutes earlier so I was a bit sleepy during the test and I may have fallen asleep in the middle of it. The nurse had to wake me up to finish. I apologized and explained that I hadn’t fallen asleep during a test since I took the SAT. I don’t think she appreciated the joke as much as I - or my mother - had.

If I wasn’t laughing about something – the fact that I had to have help “emptying” my bladder (I’ll spare you the details, but trust me, it isn’t enjoyable); my bizarre roommate; being given an extremely powerful pain killer; falling asleep during a test; getting flowers from a client I can only barely stand; the backless gown; and mesh underwear (yes, hospital issued mesh underwear – don’t ask, because I won’t tell), the hospital food (if they can even call it that); the fact that I couldn’t see, that I had staples in my back, side and stomach… if I couldn’t laugh about these things I was just going to cry – and I am not a crier.

In the end I think most people I encountered enjoyed my sense of humor. I mean, it did get me an extra shot of morphine on my last day and even 2 months after we met, the first doctor who saw me in the ER (the one I told that I go big or I go home) recognized me during a follow up appointment with another doctor – to which I said, “Wow, it is really nice to actually SEE you.” So when life gives you lemons, don’t make a sour face, grab some vodka and start pouring some shots.

Semi-Private Room/Take That White Girl

2009-07-21T08:44:00.000-07:00

A semi private room is not private at all. It’s a room with a curtain that separates you from your roommate. My roommate in the South wing of the 8th floor – neurology - was Jamie Lee. An elderly woman who did not – or could not - talk. I do not know what was wrong with her, but I imagine it wasn’t much fun.

During my hospital stay, if I had to get up to say, go to the bathroom (and really that was the only reason I ever left my bed), I had to call for a nurse to help me. I’m pretty sure Jamie Lee wore a diaper, but she was in the same situation as me. If she wanted to get up, she had to call a nurse. Only Jamie Lee didn’t talk so how was Jamie Lee to call for a nurse? I learned the first night that Jamie Lee called for a nurse by simply getting out of bed and setting off her bed alarm – which was a terribly loud beeping sound. Sometimes they came right away to tend to Jamie Lee and sometimes they didn’t.

On the day after my surgery – when I was a total mess – I puked on a nurse and I felt terrible about it. I think Jamie Lee secretly thought I was trying to one up her so that night when she got out of bed and set off her alarm, before the nurses came in, Jamie Lee started to pee… on the floor… right were she stood. One point Jamie Lee.

Jamie Lee got up and set off her bed alarm at least once every night during my stay. I, of course, would wake up when this happened. Because it was a semi private room and I was still somewhat blind, I couldn’t see what was going on – nor did I really want to. I could only imagine what Jamie Lee was doing. Actually, a few times I was convinced she was coming over to my side of the room where she would clench my gown in her fists and whisper sternly in my ear, “Get me the hell out of here!” Or maybe she would try and smoother me with a hositpal grade pillow – really, it could’ve gone either way.

I was also convinced that Jamie Lee was not as out of it as everyone thought she was. I imagined she was in there laughing at all these young folks yelling at her to get back in bed and asking if she can hear them. Peeing on the floor, Jamie Lee was thinking, “Take that, white girl.” I also believed that Jamie Lee could talk, she just chose not to talk.

Most importantly I imagined Jamie Lee planning a great escape. One of the nights Jamie Lee got up and set off the alarm it took a while for the nurses to come in and get her back to bed. I thought, “Jamie, you old bat, you did it, you got them at the right time! Make a run for it, Jamie!” I imagined Jamie Lee getting to the elevator and out the front door, her diapered ass hanging out for all to see. Maybe she would make it all the way to the road before someone got her. Maybe not. Either way, she gave it a go. You go Jamie Lee, I thought, you go.

I didn’t see Jamie Lee the day I left the hospital. I am not sure where she is now. But I'd like to think she is waking someone up every night while trying to either attack or make a run for it or just pee on the floor to get back at a nurse who talked to her wrong. As much as I believed Jamie Lee was still in her head somewhere, I believe Jamie Lee is still out there now – laughing at all us white girls.

Mighty Morphine Power Ranger

2009-07-20T08:42:00.000-07:00

So I am mostly blind and I’ve just had surgery. I have a contraption in my body draining fluid from my brain. And I have bruises all over my arms from various blood tests and ports to administer drugs – including one in my left arm and another in my right hand for my doses of morphine and steroids – I felt a little like Neo from the Matrix. Yeah, it’s all weird. It could have been a lot worse, I know this, but it still weird. So let me just recap you real quick…

By the time I got to the hospital I was mostly blind. My headaches were so bad I could barely move and they had moved into my upper back. I had a whooshing sound in my right ear. And in doing additional tests we found out I had palsy on the right side of my face. For those of you who do not know, palsy is the paralysis of a specific body part. In my case, it was the right side of my face. My right eye could not close fully (since I couldn’t see much anyway, I didn’t notice) and the right side of my mouth was droopy – which, in turn, caused me to droll while sleeping – which was so awesome! The funny thing is that my friends and I have a bit of running joke about a condition called bells palsy – a condition which affects the face specifically. So when I heard I had palsy on the right side of my face I could not wait to tell my friends. Pretty sick and twisted, huh? Yeah, just wait until you here what I did next… to my mom.

After the surgery and I after I finally regained full consciousness, I was back in my room. I felt great. I am guessing this is due to the massive amount of drugs in my system. But the day after the surgery I was a mess. I mean a mess. I couldn’t move, I was in excruciating pain and I was sick to my stomach the entire day – I couldn’t keep anything down. I am pretty sure everyone – including the nursing staff felt bad for me. I was such a mess even the amazing effects of morphine weren’t doing it for me.

Now, I must mention that the entire time I was in the hospital and even on morphine I was always lucid, always aware of everything that was going on. As a matter of fact, my parents were getting slightly annoyed with me because of it. More than once I would close my eyes and my parents would think I was knocked out from the drugs and they would whisper to each other only to have me interrupt a few minutes later with a, “I can hear everything you’re saying.” This went on the entire time I was there – and even when we got home. You would think they would have eventually realized I could hear them and at least the leave the room! But I digress…

So there I was in terrible pain and it was getting late in the evening. There was no way I was going to be able to sleep. Finally, the nurse got permission from a doctor to administer dilaudid – which is a pain killer ten times more powerful than morphine. They give me the shot and it starts working within a few minutes. Even with this powerful drug, I was never loopy or out of it and I heard my parents discussing staying overnight (in a small chair in my semi-private room and/or the waiting room) or going home.

Always wanting to make sure my parents – specifically my mom – is as comfortable as possible, there was no way I was going to let my parents stay overnight in the hospital and sleep in a chair or a couch in a waiting room. So I very quietly told my mom to go home and that I would be fine through the night.

My mom leaned over me, very concerned and said, “If you need anything, you just have the nurse call us, we’re only a few miles from here and we’ll be right over.”

I, being sick and twisted and always looking for a laugh or to at least lighten up the mood a bit, said, “Okay… and who are you again?” Assuming, of course, that my mom knew I was kidding. Apparently, she didn’t know I was capable to joking around while a drug ten times more powerful than morphine is pumping through my veins.

If only could have seen the look on her face when she said, “I’m Mom and Dad is in the hallway.” At this point a devilish smile spread across my face and I am pretty sure my mom was ready to smack me.

Later, my mom would make me retell this story and she would tell me that this little prank is the only reason she left and the only reason she actually slept that night. So I guess sometimes laughter can really be the best medicine – even if you are not the one who is sick.

Blackout Backlash

2009-07-18T08:37:00.000-07:00

I drink… a lot. Well, I used to. I miss it. Not gonna lie. But in all my years of drinking – and trust me, I have been drinking for years, I have been fortune enough to have never ever blacked out. Not an experience I think ever want. And now I know why.

On Tuesday, April 28 2009 at 10AM I scooted my mostly blind arse onto a gurney and headed to a prep area for my surgery. My mom came with me. I was in the prep room for what seemed like forever. I finally met the anesthesiologist who told us the surgery would be 3-4 hours. While I was waiting to get knocked out, I got a healthy does of morphine.

Now, I am not sure if you have ever had morphine, but it is… powerful. When given through an IV it shoots through your body and you feel it immediately – at least I did. But I was always lucid and aware and mostly "with it"while on all my pain meds. I will blame years of drug use for this one - just kidding... sorta.

When it came time to take me to the OR I received another shot of something… I remember getting the shot. I remember seeing my mom – well, as much as I could see her and that is about it. I remember nothing after that. And this disturbs me – to this day it disturbs me.

Being knocked out is not like sleep. Not at all like sleep. It is like… nothing. Like a void. Like… 8 hours of my life that are just lost and gone forever, I cannot account for this time. There were no bizarre dreams, no tossing and turning, no drunk texts - like when I normally sleep - it was just nothing. I was told that in this time I had surgery. I have scars to prove it, so it must have happened, but I do not recall any of it. I have no recollection of this time whatsoever and I have a problem with that.

At least with sleep you know you are sleeping. There is a routine to it, there are dreams about Edward Cullen or Shia LaBeouf (and now you know my guilty pleasures), there are drunk text messages from Jess, drunk dials from Sam, some tossing, some turning and an alarm goes off when it is over. The entire time I was knocked out there was none of this. Have you ever seen that episode of Seinfeld when Jerry goes to the dentist and he wakes up with his shirt untucked?

The next thing I remember is possibly putting up a fight. I am not sure. But there may have been a struggle. While I was blacked out - presumably having surgery - I had a breathing tube down my throat, so the struggle could have been the removal of this tube. Again, I’m not sure. Maybe I was pissed because my shirt was untucked - just kidding... sorta. I do remember being wheeled around. I remember thinking I was being wheeled around my office - with lots of twists and turns. I remember thinking 3 things: Does my mom know I am okay? Does my sister Amanda know that I am okay? Do my coworkers know that I am okay? (I did, after all, believe I was being wheeled around my office). I remember slowing coming to –not being able to see – and being really really thirsty. I kind of wanted a beer.

Needless to say, I was totally freaked out after I realized the last time was conscious was 8 hours prior and I had no recollection of this time. I can only imagine this is same feeling countless college kids have after a night of binge drinking. Or how Jerry Seinfeld felt after the dentist. I am glad I have never had either of those experiences, nor do I ever want to. All I know is that if I ever need to be knocked out again, I am going to get drunk first so at least I have an excuse... and I'll keep my shirt untucked.

I Thought Hospitals Were All About Privacy?

2009-07-17T08:32:00.000-07:00

My parents, I love them dearly, are very involved. They show up to everything. I am pretty sure the first time I was going to talk to a client they wanted to be on the phone. So naturally they did not leave my side that first day in the hospital. They were right there. And when I saw “right there,” I mean like, “right there.” And,I guess, since I didn’t put up any sort of fight with them being there the doctors, nurses and administrative folks at the hospital assumed that my parents were more than welcome to listen to and receive updates regarding my condition – which, of course – they were.

But… this does not mean they are more than welcome to hear about every minute detail of my life. When you are in the hospital there are a lot of people asking you a lot of questions. A lot of very personal questions. And I am not sure why SO MANY people had to ask me the same questions over and over and over again. And the whole time there were mom and dad. Only one nurse and later one doctor who actually made my parents leave the area before re-asking me these personal questions about my life and lifestyle. And to them I say, thanks, but they already know everything. And when I say, “everything,” I mean EVERYTHING.

By the time I was admitted to the hospital for surgery I had pretty much quit smoking (again, that is, since I had quit for 6 months in early 2008). I mean, I was in the hospital for 2 days the previous week and my mom pretty much moved in with me over the weekend, so there was no smoking since before the first hospital stay(quick back story: I have never smoked in front of my parents – except when my dad caught me smoking when I was 18. While it was obvious I was a smoker – and how can it not be obvious – it was never formally discussed except for the occasional mini lecture on the dangers of smoking). So there we were in the little curtained off area and the nurse firing away question after question as if this were the Spanish Inquisition (I have no idea what that means, by the way). Name, age, height – I can handle. Weight – Ugh, fine. Last bowel movement – really? You really need to know this? Alrighty, you’re the one who asked. Last menstrual cycle – slightly uncomfortable, but whatever that is fine. Level of sexual activity – oh gawd – followed by a list I had to choose from. Can I just tell you there is noway I am pregnant since that is what you are most concerned about? Do you drink? Yes. Do drugs? Um…. No? Smoke? Um… not anymore? Please elaborate. Here it goes…

Me: I quit smoking.
Nurse: When?
Me: Last week.
Nurse: And how long did you smoke before you quit?
Me: (Deep breath) 10 years.
Nurse: How much did you smoke?
Me: Half a pack to a pack a day.
Big Jon Ruud: Jesus, AMY!
Mama Rose Ruud: Jon, please.
Me: Dad, not really the time or the place.
Nurse: Good for you for quitting.
Me: I was forced into it.
Big Jon Ruud: GOD DAMNIT, AMY!

Mind you, we went through this at least half a dozen times in the 5 days I was in the hospital. Looking back on it now I can think of 4 things:

1. Since I couldn’t actually see the look on my father’s face (who is what I would consider a self righteous non-smoker) I can only imagine the look and I am sure it was priceless.
2. Being laid up in the hospital while admitting that I have been a full time smoker for the past 10 years was probably pretty genius since it really is neither the time nor the place to get into it with my parents. And it has not been discussed since. I also have not smoked since (almost 3 months now – go me).
3. Being laid up in the hospital and receiving morphine every 4 hours is a great way to quit smoking… and lose 15 pounds – trust me I know.
4. If I had to do it all over again – and God I hope I never do – I will request everyone to leave the room when the interrogation begins. I suggest you do the same, unless you don’t care who knows when the last time you pooed or got a piece was.

Facebook Freak Out

2009-07-16T08:30:00.000-07:00

I’m not an emotional person, I’m not a crier. For the most part, I am pretty laid back and easy going. They entire time I was in the ER I was making jokes – most at the expense of the people behind the curtains around me whose conversations I could here as clear as a bell. I was laughing and having a good time, complaining that I was hungry, thinking about what I would put up on Facebook when I got my Blackberry back. Maybe something like, “Amy Ruud is totally amused by the lady who is upset that the ER is not 5 star restaurant.” All in all I was taking the prospect of having surgery – something I had never had done before – pretty well. And then the surgeon came in….

Apparently he had a nice expensive watch – my Dad pointed this out – I of course couldn’t see it. He explained that the shunt would go into my lower back at the base of my spine, it would have a valve, it would drain fluid from my brain, down my spine and into my abdomen for my body to get rid of – naturally. The surgery would happen the next morning. I asked him how long I would need to recover – expecting to hear a week, I freaked out a little when I heard recovery time was going to be a minimum of 4-6 weeks. What? I have promotions launching! I have a mortgage to pay! I don’t have that much vacation time! I don’t have that much in savings! I have work to do! I have concerts to go to! I have trips to take! Bars to hit up! Parties to throw! It’s almost the summer!

I guess this 4-6 week recovery time was the straw that broke the camel’s back… It wasn’t the 3 incisions they would be making on my back, side and stomach, it wasn’t the contraption they were placing inside me, it wasn’t my near blindness, it was missing work of all things! So there I was, having been in the ER for a few hours, waiting for a room, starving, needing surgery the next day, and all I could think about was how I was going to pay my mortgage, who was going to take over my promotions at work and what my last Facebook status update said…

17 Days Later – I Go Big or I Go Home

2009-07-15T08:28:00.000-07:00

On Monday April 27, 2009 my mom made me call my eye doctor. Over the weekend my eye sight had worsened to the point where I could barely see. I was able to see light and dark and basic shapes. You know the silhouette of the cowboy leaning against, well, something? That is basically how everything looked to me. To say I had blurry vision was an understatement. It would be a couple of weeks before I would find this out, but apparently my eyes were scary looking as well – unable to focus on anything and drifting.

So I called my eye doctor and got an appointment the next day. Both of my ever-involved parents came with me. The nurse took me into a room to perform a field test (you stare into a large thing and press a button every time you see a light flash). I had this test done during my initial appointment – 17 days earlier. After a few minutes of me not pressing the button the nurse stopped the test and asked if I could see anything. I replied, “No.” But you were here 2 weeks ago and took this test, you could see then? “Yes,” I told her. And then she brought me back to see the doctor. He took one look into my eyes and told me I needed to go the hospital. That the pressure in my head was so great that it has caused my optic nerves to swell so much that I cannot see and that they have to relieve the pressure in my head and to do that requires surgery. A neurosurgeon will confirm, but it is his recommendation that I have a shunt placed in my back to drain fluid from my brain, down my spine and into my abdomen. And that I need it done immediately. And that I might go blind. I need to go to the hospital now, but don’t worry, he’ll call ahead.

Okay, I thought to myself. We can do this. Surgery, no big deal, you’ll be out a week and everything will go back to normal and you’ll feel great when this is all done. “Amy Ruud needs a shunt.” That’s what I’ll put as my Facebook status.

So I get to the hospital and I am led inside and I explain what is going on. I continue to explain it about 2 dozen times to different doctors and nurses and administrative personnel in the ER. Meanwhile, I see practically nothing. And I felt bad. I felt bad that I couldn’t see what these doctors and nurses looked like. So I kept asking my mom if they were cute – they were doctors, of course they cute to my mom!

It’s annoying enough to have lights shinning in your eyes when you have perfectly fine eye sight. But when you’re practically blind from swollen optic nerves a light shining in your eyes is painful. Worse than a spinal tap. But necessary – I guess.

I was relieved when I met the Ophthalmological resident and some interns – all of whom came to see the marvel that was me. All of them eager to shine their lights in my eyes and take a look at my nerves. Did you know that the optic nerves are the only nerves in your body that you can see without actually cutting your body open? It’s true – look it up. They also used this totally archaic machine to take pictures of my nerves (we would find out later that it didn’t work).

They stood there and asked me questions like, “How many fingers am I holding up?” To which I would reply, “You’re holding up fingers?” Finally the doctor told me my case was quiet remarkable and that no one in the hospital had seen a case as severe as mine – to which I replied, “Hey, look, I go big or I go home.” And they concurred with my eye doctor, I needed surgery. Next stop by would be the neurosurgeon.

I Don’t Like Saltines or Coca-Cola, Thanks Though

2009-07-13T08:26:00.000-07:00

On the evening of Monday, April 20, 2009 I was officially diagnosed with Pseudotumor Cerebri and put on medication. A diuretic called Diamox – it is essentially a water pill that is supposed to dilute the CSF building in my head and relieve the pressure it is putting on my brain and more importantly on my optic nerves. I started taking it on Tuesday morning – One pill 2 times a day.

Wednesday morning I was at work. For the first 3 days of that week, I had been working in a separate area in the office because my eyes were becoming very sensitive to the harsh fluorescent lights over my desk. The headaches were so bad and my neck was in so much pain that I could barely read my computer screen. And for some reason I felt sick to my stomach. Needless to say, I was a mess.

At this point I had given my boss a heads up as to what was going with me so that he would not be concerned with me leaving the office all the time. Wednesday morning I felt so horrible that I had my sister Amanda (thankfully we work together) drive me home – because I was no longer driving at this point. I went home and went to bed. Little did I know that this would be the last time I would be at work for two and a half months.

By Thursday morning everything I put in my body came back up – this is not something that happens to me. So my mother decided I needed to go to the hospital and to the hospital we went. I was given an IV and stayed overnight. I saw my neurologist’s partner in the morning – I told him my vision was worsening and he explained that I needed to stay on the medication.

The hospital was ready to get rid of me, but I told them I had a splitting headache and still hadn’t been able to keep any food down. The nurse and the neurologist both suggested I drink some Diet Coke (caffeine helps with headaches) and try some saltine crackers. I explained to them that I have not had caffeine in years but sure, let’s give it a try! Why not add heart palpitations to my list of systems – which is what happened the last time I had caffeine.

Now, for most of Friday morning there was some douchbag standing outside of my little area (short term emergency room “rooms” are not really rooms but areas with curtains – at least they are at Beaumont) who was talking extremely loudly on his phone. So I had no problem making the loudest most obnoxious barking noises while I was hurling the saltine crackers and Diet Coke everyone insisted I ingest. My mom was slightly embarrassed. The nurse laughed. My job here was done – at least for now.

So on the afternoon of Friday, April 24, 2009, I went home with a slew of anti nausea pills and worsening headaches and vision. My mom insisted I take the following week off of work to concentrate on getting better. This was not something I wanted to do. I mean, if I was going to take a week off of work it was going to be to go to California or Colorado not to sit on my couch and concentrate on not puking every time I hate or drank something! But we can’t always get what we want, can we?

So on Sunday evening April 26, 2009, I called my boss, explained the situation and then dictated an email to Amanda about the status of all of my projects at work. At this point, I could barely see – let alone type a letter. 2 days later I would end up in the hospital facing the scariest challenge of my life and here I was worrying about the SMS component for a promotion launching in 2 weeks.

MRI’s are Like Techno Shows, Spinal Taps are Like Going to See Kenny G

2009-07-10T08:22:00.000-07:00

It had been about 2 months since I’d seen my internist and 2 days since I saw my eye doctor and found out that I have this weird fake tumor condition thing. Under my eye doctor’s advice I called the neurologist and made an appointment – luckily there was a cancellation and I was able to get in the same day. After a few tests in the office and a brief conversation, the neurologist agreed with my eye doctor and ordered an additional MRI and a spinal tap. He explained the condition to me and explained what the treatment would be. I, of course, asked all of about 3 questions. One of which had to do with my deteriorating vision –by this point, it was getting worse. I had double vision in the evenings when my eyes were tired and some blurry vision as well. The doctor explained that the medication would help with and I left his office gearing up for more tests.

First up was an MRI. I had had one before, so I knew what to expect. Like with most things I do, I have to find the fun in it. And MRI’s – if you are not claustrophobic – can be fun.

It’s funny, they actually ask you when you schedule the appoint if you are claustrophobic – to which I replied, “Not yet.”

I’m sure if you haven’t actually had an MRI you have seen one on TV. It’s the big machine they slide you into to take pictures of a specific part of your body. You have to remain completely still and in some cases the test can take some time. In may case it was about 30 minutes.

They put you in a gown – and you look super hot – and lay you on a board, put a cage looking device over your head and in some cases something to cover your ears because it is LOUD.

They slide you in and start the tests. A series of booms and ticks and whomps and swooshes and before I know I am trying to keep my body from moving to the techno beats of the MRI machine. At one point I was actually doing a llittle “Uhnsa, uhnsa, uhnsa,” in my head. I wanted to slide myself out of that over sized microwave, grab some glow sticks and start jumping around. The test flew by and before I knew it, they were sliding me out and I had a sudden urge to listen to the techno station on my XM rad on the way back home. The whole experience reminded me of the Ravers are Dumb clip I saw a few ago:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UeyG4UJDlKo

But if MRIs are like a techno show, spinal taps are like a Kenny G concert - what I imagine to be pure torture. The procedure itself was not that bad, it’s the recovery that is no fun. Kind of like Kenny G... At the dentist office it's okay, but you don't want to sit through 3 hours of that crap.

Whereas with an MRI you are on your back, with a spinal tap you are on your stomach. In an open back gown – again, super hot. It’s a medical procedure preformed by a doctor with a Physician’s Assistant and Nurses present – they do not take this lightly. Nor should they - at least not when dealing with anything with the word “spine” in it.

The second the doctor touched my lower back, I jumped. Wouldn’t you? I have never heard anything good about spinal taps, after all. So they numbed the area, and for me this was the worst part of the procedure. I didn’t feel anything after that except a little pressure. It was great, actually.

So with this particular condition, brain fluid (cerebral spinal fluid or CSF) is not properly absorbed and thus creates pressure inside the head. With the spinal tap, the doctor was to measure the opening pressure – not sure what that is, but okay. Normal opening pressure should be between 15 and 20. The instrument used goes up to 45. They estimated my opening pressure at over 50. I don’t know anything about this measurement but that sounds pretty high.

Being the weirdo I am, I asked to see my CSF. Do you know what brain fluid looks like? iI’s crystal clear. It was a little weird looking at something in a tube that just moments before was inside of my head. Of course I also feel that way every time I pick my nose, but I digress.

So the worst part of the procedure was the numbing of the area. But the worst part of the ordeal is the recovery. I had to lay flat on my back in the hospital for a good 4 hours before they would let me leave. I could sit up only to go to the bathroom and leave. And I had to lay flat for the next 24 to 48 hours. Only able to get up to go to the bathroom and eat. They require this so that more fluid doesn’t leak out and cause a spinal headache – which apparently is the worst feeling in the world.
I survived the second MRI and the spinal tap without issue. But eye sight was getting worse and I was seeing double pretty much all the time at this point. By that Saturday, April 18, 2009 (1 week and 1 day after initial diagnosis and 2 days since the spinal tap) I stopped driving – it was getting too dangerous. I had no idea it would be months before I would drive again. At this point I wanted an official diagnosis and medication so I could start seeing – an driving again. Little did I know, this is where things got really really weird…

It Started With a Headache... Now Everyone Panic!

2009-07-08T08:20:00.000-07:00

Headaches are nothing new. People get headaches all the time: I drank to much last night,; the concert was too loud; I spent the whole weekend with my parents; I worked 16 hours today. Headaches happen. But there was something off about the headaches I was getting. I am sure it had been a couple of weeks before I realized that I was downing 3 Advil at least twice a day to stop my headaches. And I don’t like to take pills – so the headaches were bad. I found myself coming home early from work, sleeping a little more, not wanting to work out because the headaches were so bad.

And then the ringing in the ears started. I’ve had a probably will tinnitus (the medical term for ringing in the ears) for a while now – I blame years of front row general admission concerts and bar bands for that one – but this was a different kind of ringing. It was in my right ear and it was more like waves or a whooshing sound. And it worsened when I worked out or even went up a flight of stairs – which really sucks when your bedroom is on the second floor of your house.

But the freakiest thing was the blurry vision. Which at this point, happened every once in a while when I stood up. Everything would go blurry for for a few seconds and then right back to normal.

I did a few Google searches and came to the conclusion that I either have a brain tumor or migraines. Either way, I should call my doctor.

It’s mid February and I am rattling off my symptoms to my doctor. We discuss a few things and decide to do some blood work and an MRI to rule out a tumor. And in the meantime he prescribed me a low dose steroid for the headaches.

The MRI and blood tests were all normal – which was great – but I wasn’t normal. I was on the steroid for 1 week – 1 week of which I didn’t have 1 headache. But as soon as the steroids were done, the headaches returned. And the entire time I still have the wave sound in my ear and the blurry vision. I talked to my doctor and he diagnosed me with migraines and prescribed a migraine medication.

I wasn’t 100% convinced it was migraines. Most people I knew with migraine had sensitivity to light and I didn’t. And I never heard of blurry vision and a wave sound being associated with migraines. After a few more weeks, the blurry vision got worse – it was happening more often and for longer periods of time so I called my eye doctor.

It was April 10, 2009 - Good Friday - when I saw my eye doctor. I explained what was going on and told him the MRI and blood tests were normal. Without missing a beat he said, “You aren’t crazy, there is something wrong.” It was nice to know I wasn't crazy, only thing was, there was something wrong. He explained that I have something called Psuedotumor Cerebri. It’s not a tumor, but my body reacts as if I have a tumor. It is a build up of brain fluid putting pressure on my brain and optic nerves – causing headaches and blurry vision. The good news is that 90% of the time it can be treated with medication and I will be fine. But I need to be officially diagnosed by a neurologist and in order for that to happen I need to get a spinal tap. Awesome!

So how do you react to something like that? On one hand, I was relieved – there was something wrong and someone is going to do something about it and I going to be okay. On the other hand, I was terrified – there is something wrong and I know nothing about this or what to expect.

So there I was – on a Friday morning being told I have this weird neurological disorder that I have never heard of, that I need a spinal tap and that most likely medication is the only thing I was going to need to get this under control. So what is a girl to do? Google the shit out of this disorder and get drunk – and that is exactly what I did. Like, really really drunk.

The next day my eyesight got a little worse. It may have been the puking, but I was seeing double. So much so that when I drove my car home from my friends house, I had to drive part of the way with only one eye open. Looking back on it now, getting painstakingly drunk probably wasn’t the best idea – but it was fun at the time! (Little did I know it would be months before I would have another beer!)

So what started as a headache has now led to an initial diagnosis, an appointment with a neurologist and a possible spinal tap. Who would have thought…

What the Hell Happened to Amy Anyway? - Intro

2009-06-13T08:17:00.000-07:00

Friends, it's been a while.

For those of you who do not know, I have been slightly, well, ill. I've been out of work and lounging, I mean, recovering on the couch for about 7 weeks now. I am BORED. I never thought I would be longing for the day I would return to work. But here I am 7 weeks into disability and I cannot wait to get to back to the grindstone only to dream of the of the day I hit the Mega Millions jackpot and move to the Caribbean forever.

As of right now most of my recovery has to do with my eyesight, but more on that later. I discovered the HUGE font option on my computer, so I decided to start up on the ol' dusty blog again. Since I am not at work and most of my time is filled with daytime TV and sleeping, I don't have much to be disgruntled about - so the letters will be at a minimum. Though you may see one pop up here and there as the medical bills start to pile up. And since I practically went blind and now find myself with a heighten sense of sound, I have not been able to enjoy any recent movie releases (unfortunately), the movie releases wiil be at a minimum as well.

What you will find is a story. My story. Of what I have gone through over the past seven weeks and what I will continue to struggle with as I regain my eyesight, return to work and recover from this crazy ass ride I have gone through with this crazy condition I had never heard of until just a couple of months ago. With a humorous twist of course. I hope you read about what started as a headache, led to a surgery and ended up with me sitting a chair in my dining room wearing sweatpants I have been wearing for a week with my face 2 inches from the computer screen telling all of you my story.

Coming up this week:
Installment Number 1 of What The Hell Happened to Amy Anyway?:
It Started With a Headache... Now Everyone Panic!

Letter of the Week: Loud Talker

2009-02-04T16:19:00.000-08:00

I want to preface this post by saying that this letter was written years ago while I was working at another company. It does not appy to anyone I currently work with and I am sure most people who with some one like this - so we can all relate.

Dear Loud Talker Who Sits Not So Far From Me at Work,

I just wanted to inform you that while everyone within 100 feet can hear every word that is coming out of your mouth, no one is really listening to you. More importantly, no one really cares what you are saying. You are not as important as you think you may be.

Sure, we all have issues with clients and co-workers but we don't discuss said issues using a voice level equal to that of a stage actor whose microphone just went out in the middle of an important scene to no one in particular in hopes that someone will respond. And when no one responds to you it is not because we can't hear you it's because WE JUST DON'T CARE. Oh and no one likes you either.

Here's a piece of advice: inside voice. Here's another piece of advice: when you think no one can hear you realize that no one cares.

On behalf of 60% of the people in the office we thank you in advance for shutting the fuck up.

Thanks,
Amy – your esteemed colleague

Letter of the Week: Gas Company

2009-01-27T16:15:00.000-08:00

In honor of the ridiculously high gas bill this past month:

Dear Gas Company,
Can we try and not raise gas prices this winter? I fear that I will not be able to afford to turn on the heat this season. I didn't buy my own house so I could die in it. I would rather not think of it as a $150,000 coffin.

Thanks,
Amy Ruud

Ruud Review: Australia

2008-12-17T16:17:00.000-08:00

Australia starring Nicole Kidman and Hugh Jackman

When I think of Australia, I think epic. I think the outback - Grainy red sand, land as far as the eye can see, accents, kangaroos, dirty shirtless men, barefoot kids who speak not quiet English. And that is exactly what this movie felt like to me, the outback minus the bloomin’ onion and epic.

Director Baz Luhrmann teamed up again with Nicole Kidman for this glimpse into life in the outback. Kidman plays an English socialite, Lady Sarah, whose ranch owning husband has died. She hires Hugh Jackman’s character Drover – who is a drover, which is basically a cowboy - to herd hundreds of cows across hundreds of miles of outback to be sold into slaughter. Kidman joins him for the ride and high jinx ensue! Also along for the ride is a young boy aboriginal boy, Nallah. Nallah is, by far, the best part of this entire movie – all fourteen and a half hours of it. Lady Sarah treats Nallah like her own son after his mother is killed by authorities who are trying to take Nallah – who is half aboriginal and half white – to a government and church run school for kids of mixed race. What follows is a long and hard journey across Australia – complete with a cattle stampede and Wizard of Oz reference. What doesn’t follow are song and dance numbers by Kidman and Jackman – much to my disappointment.
Australia is long. Like, really long. Just when I thought it was going to end, it kept going. It felt as if Luhrmann was trying to go bigger and better and more each chance he could get – and he took them all. From what I understand, some of the references in the film are facts – children of mixed race were taken from their families for decades, for example. The color was brilliant – just as most of Luhrmann’s are. But the movie was just… Way. Too. Long. Perhaps if I had a bloomin’ onion to help me through it…

Ruud Review: Four Christmases

2008-12-11T16:11:00.000-08:00

I Can Barely Handle One Christmas, Let Alone Four Christmases...

I love Vince Vaughn. Fell in love with him the first time I saw Swingers. Fell even more in love with him the second, third, and fourth times I saw Swingers. Fell a little out of love with him when I saw him in the Psycho remake, but fell right back in love with him in Old School. And while Four Christmases may not be next to Elf, Home Alone or A Christmas Story on my "Much Watch Daily During the Holiday Season" shelf, it wasn't the worst movie I've ever seen.

Brad and Kate (Reese Witherspoon) have what seems like the perfect life - they are in love, carefree, and getting ready for a nice holiday vacation. But when their flight to Fuji gets canceled, they will need to face the hardest challenge in their relationship - instead of couples massages and scuba diving, they will have to visit all four of their parents on Christmas day. What comes next you think would be a series of family mishaps, awkward situations, sarcastic remarks, slap stick humor and tons of Vaughn's on the spot ad libing. And it was all there - but there was something missing. Visiting four families during an hour and a half comedy doesn’t leave much time for a full relationship to develop – between main and supporting characters or between the audience and supporting characters. Though each quirky family serving was just right – there wasn’t enough time to get tired of each family’s quirkiness. All I’m saying is that it would have been nice to form some ties to the supporting cast. Especially when said cast is as stellar as this one: Jon Favreau and Tim McGraw as Brad’s brothers reminded me of the Bushwhack Twins from the WWF (before it was the WWE). And it’s always a treat to see Dwight Yoakam (remember his cameo in Wedding Crashers?) as Pastor Phil – Kate’s Mom’s boyfriend. The peppy Kristin Chenoweth, Robert Duvall, Sissy Spacek, Jon Voight, and Mary Steenburgen (who added a nice “cougar” feel to the film as Kate’s mother) all play various family members.

Witherspoon and Vaughn played their parts well. Vaughn seemed a bit diluted and possibly held back by the lack of improvisation by Witherspoon, though I am not sure who else could have played the role of Kate – cute, but sassy. And perhaps this is Vaughn’s way of maturing out of the frat boy roles and into more adult roles – although I hope not. But if that is the case, I will still follow, because let’s face it, Vaughn is still money, baby.

Next Review: Australia

Letter of the Week: Postmaster

2008-12-06T15:56:00.000-08:00

It snowed today. Like, a lot. I would say it snowed a foot, but I have no sense of measurement, so it could very well be only about 3 inches of snow. But regardless, there is enough snow on the ground to cover the grass and prompt my neighbors to pull out the snow blowers (which are for wusses, by the way, especially if we are talking about just a few inches of snow, but I digress).

Since I spent the majority of the day on my couch, I decided to venture out and shovel the porch and sidewalk. When I walked out my front door I noticed some very distinct footprints in the snow. Footprints that look somewhat like the ones in the photo in the header of this blog. Big, moon-boot like footprints very close to my house. Footprints that could be from one person and one person only... my mail carrier. The below is an actual letter I wrote to the Postmaster. I never did receive a response, but I hope to soon. Enjoy!

Dear Postmaster,

It recently came to my attention that my mail carrier can refuse to deliver my mail if my walkway and/or porch are not cleared of snow and/or ice. While I understand and appreciate your attempt to provide a safe workplace for those field postal workers, I cannot for the life of me understand WHY my mail carrier did not deliver my mail for 2 entire days until I shoveled my walkway and porch and then after dropping off my mail WALKED ACROSS MY SNOW COVERED LAWN TO THE NEIGHBORS HOUSE.

No, this is not a joke. This is fact. I have pictures of to prove it. I actually watched my mail carrier trudge through 6+ inches of snow covered lawn. All I can say is WTF.

WTF?

Amy Ruud, busy homeowner

Ruud Review: Milk

2008-12-04T16:10:00.000-08:00

Milk, starring Sean Penn and James Franco.

Penn stars are Harvey Milk, the first openly gay elected official to serve public office. He held a City Executive position in San Francisco – similar to a City Councilman. He was known as the Mayor of Castro Street – known to have a large gay and lesbian population. Before taking office he organized several rallies and boycotts – including teaming up with the Teamsters Union to boycott Coors – which was the number 1 beer in America during that time. While in office, he fought for equal housing rights for gays.

In all, the movie was fantastic. Directed by Gus Van Zandt, the film used archive footage of the San Francisco area during that time to give the movie a bit of a documentary feel. Penn embodied Milk with precision – right down to his mannerisms and facial expressions. The supporting cast was stellar in their portrayals as well – especially James Franco as Milk’s long time partner. And who doesn’t love a bunch of good look guys in tight jeans? Well, this girl does!

Milk wasn’t a perfect man, and the movie did a great job portraying him as someone who threw himself into his work and let his personal relationships fall to the side.

But what disturbed me the most about this film is that 30 years after Milk successful fought against the passing of Prop 6 (which would have banned gays and lesbians from working in public schools. The Briggs Initiative, as it was more commonly known, was the first failure in a conservative movement that started with the successful campaign headed by Anita Bryant to repeal a local gay rights ordinance in Florida. Read more about it here.), California passed Prop 8 (which essentially banned same sex marriage). It’s just sad to see that 30 years later, not much has changed or maybe history repeats itself.

Next review: Four Christmases

Ruud Review: Twilight

2008-11-26T15:52:00.000-08:00

Twilight, starring Robert Pattinson and Kristen Stewart.

When I started reading Twilight this past August, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. A little over 2 months later and while I wouldn't call myself a Twilight fanatic, I do display an Edward key chain proudly at my desk. It's not big, it's not intrusive, but it's there. A little reminder of the fictional character I love. The fictional vampire character I love. Do I get all giddy like a school girl when I think about the forbidden love between vampire Edward and the love of his life Bella? Yes. Do I let out a little sigh when I think about Edward pressing Bella up against her red truck and breathing softly against her lips. Yes, yes I do. I am not ashamed. So needless to say, I have been looking forward to the release of Twilight since I first cracked the spine of the first book in the Twilight series by Stephanie Meyer.

Four of my girlfriends and I ventured out opening weekend to catch the movie that is being pegged as "The next Harry Potter" starring Robert Pattinson as Edward and Kristen Stewart as Bella. If you do not know what Twilight is, please remove yourself from the rock you are under.

Bella has recently moved in with her father in the constantly gray Oregon city of Forks and as the new student at school, everyone is enthralled with her – including Edward. Edward is the illusive and insanely gorgeous local vampire. Edward and Bella quickly fall in love and into trouble. Edward, as dangerous as he is to Bella, has sworn to keep her safe. Of course he will have to prove his love to her and protect her from a nasty vampire who has decided to "track" Bella and kill her.

Stewart played Bella well. She was stronger than the book character and not as needy or annoying. But Stewart also played it like she has played every other character she has ever played. If I didn't know any better, Bella didn't come from her mother's house in Phoenix, but from New York where she just had a horrific experience being locked in a panic room without her insulin meds. Pattinson as Edward – great choice casting directors. Pattinson is hot. He has great hair and a jaw line that won't quit. But Pattinson played Edward's moods inconsistently. While I agree Edward had some crazy mood swings – I wouldn't consider them to be as pendulum like as Pattison played it. The no name supporting cast was good as well – mostly because I imagine kids in high school to actually be that obnoxious and annoying.

Pattinson and Stewart had obvious chemistry on screen, but I didn't feel the passion as much in the film as I did in the book. And where were the "steamy" love scenes – and when I say "steamy" I mean Edward pressing Bella against the truck, some light sensual – but not too sensual - touching, the subtle innuendos. Remember, this is aimed toward young adults and written by a Mormon, light touching is as steamy as it gets. I just didn't feel the intense love and passion these two have for each other. I could have used a few more make-out scenes, too. I'm just saying

Shot on location in Washington, the landscape was magnificent. And caught the tone of the book well. The screenwriter and director tried to stay as true to the book as possible, but the film seemed disjointed, like a series of scenes as opposed to a fluid story. And maybe that is because I know the book so well and I know what was skipped over and pared down for the screen version.

During the film I decided to read Twilight again this weekend. And let's face it I'll most likely see the movie again. I sure I will giggle like a little school girl during some of the scenes with Edward and Bella. But do I consider myself a fanatic at this point? I'll let my Edward key chain decide.

Next Review: Milk

Letter of the Week: Girl Who Terrorized Me in Grade School

2008-11-24T15:48:00.000-08:00

I am quickly approaching my 10 year high school reunion and I honestly cannot wait. The past weeks I have been inundated with - and inundating - friend requests from - and to - my dear high school chums on Facebook. As I reminisce about how wonderful (and at times tragic) high school was, I am reminded about how tragic (and at times wonderful) grade school was.

I am not exactly sure why I was terrorized in grade school and I am going to bet that I was not the only one. My mom used to tell me it was because these psychological bullies were jealous of me. After I found an old grade school "bully" on MySpace, I am going to guess that my mom - as per usual - was probably right:

Dear Girl Who Terrorized Me In Grade School Who Shall Remain Unnamed,

It has recently come to my attention that after you accused a beloved teacher of molesting you and then immediately moved to the Texas that you did not in fact burn in the Waco Texas Massacre involving David Koresh. Instead you dropped out of high school to pursue a career in modeling.

From what I understand you have successfully climbed your way to the middle. Way to go! You're now a not so well known LA socialite. You have been linked to semi successful musicians, clean faced models and most recently mildly famous former American Idol contestants. You even have your own video on YouTube. I watched it and I could not be more embarrassed for you – I felt as though I was living out an uncomfortable episode of The Office. Congratulations, you are officially an idiot.

What happened? Is this because during an argument we once we had over who was better at free throw shooting, I yelled, "At least I have a dad!"? Even though I was a way better free throw shooter, when my mom made me be the better person and apologize, I really did mean it.

OMG, is this because you don't have a dad?!

So, after successfully cutting me down for a good portion of my tenure in grade school, and making me cry on more than one occasion and possibly being the root cause of my insecurities and any self esteem issues I may have had, you have now made me feel better about myself.

And, being the nice person that I actually am, I do feel a little bad for you. After all, you are pushing 30 and while you may have a hot body and a non ugly face (which is to say that while you are not ugly you aren't gorgeous, either), it won't last forever. No, you may not need "g'ometry" as you state in your video, but you do need to some sort of education to truly succeed in not just this world, but life in general.

You may walk the red carpet from time to time but I least I walk with my head held high with my dignity.

Yours not so bitterly,

Amy Ruud

Ruud Review: Quantum of Solace

2008-11-20T15:44:00.000-08:00

Quantum of Solace, starring Daniel Craig.

I've seen The Matrix, probably, a hundred times. It's a great movie. Complicated storyline that really makes you think. Action. Adventure. Love. It has it all. But it wasn't until halfway through the 15th or 16th time I saw The Matrix did I actually understand what was going on. The same is true for the Bond films. Are they above my head? Is there so much going on that I can't quite following it to a t? Am I distracted by all of the colors and sounds that I just can't seem to pay attention to the plot? The answer is "yes." But do I care? Not really.

Quantum of Solace started out with a splash. No, I am not referring to the chase scene in the sewers of Italy, but me spilling 32 ounces of Root Beer on Mr. Brian Kemper (Sorry Brian!). But aesthetically speaking, the film is nothing short of spectacular. With the parkour influenced action scenes, this film is visually stunning. Each fight scene is like a well choreographed forbidden dance of sorts - but nothing like what you see on Dancing With the Stars. And these dances are dangerous (I mean, people die... a lot). From what I was able to pick up, 007 is pissed. I mean, like really really pissed. Either about a girl named Vesper or a Vespa bike, I cannot be sure. Either way, he is out for blood. And someone tried to kill M. I am pretty sure Bond is looking for a secret terrorist group, like the Sierra Club or something (yeah, I totally think they are up to something... you can't just give away free backpacks without being up to something, but I digress). And some guy in said terrorist group is retaining water (but not in the "that time of the month, I'm bloated" kind of way) from some South American country. The point is, Bond is pissed and there is a lot of action. Nuff said.

But I do miss my old Bond. Craig, as Bond - even with his piecing blue eyes - is cold and emotionless (I don't think he smiled once). I get it, you're pissed, but past 007 agents were always open to drowning their sorrows in a signature drink (shaken, not stirred of course) and with the comfort of a fine looking lady. Bond is supposed to be suave and debonair and certainly flashes a bright white smile every once in a while. And Craig as Bond had his Bond moments - opening a hotel room with a credit card - classy! A dry comment about being a teacher on sabbatical - hilarious! Hopping over a railing and prancing across the edge of the hotel balcony - hot! But something was missing. Maybe it was Q. Or the famous Bond gadgets. But at least we still have M, played by Dame Judi Dench, and she is spot on. But then again, she is always spot on in everything she does. And of course, there is this installment's Bond Girl. The perfect mixture of wholesome and exotic in her perfectly bronzed skin.

I still don't know what Quantum of Solace means exactly. And I am pretty sure I only heard the word "quantum" muttered, maybe, two times. But, I must say, this was a solid effort. Action was everywhere! By Land! By Sea! By Air! This film had it all. Even a crotch shot. Yes, a crotch shot. (And I am pretty sure they slowed it down a bit so that everyone in the theater had just enough time to process it - "yes, i did indeed see what I thought I just saw.") And let's not forget the knife fight - there is nothing I love more than a good knife fight! As for the overall plot, I'll let you know what I think after my 15th or 16th showing.

Next Review: Twilight

Ruud Review: Rachel Getting Married

2008-11-16T15:37:00.000-08:00

Last Friday I saw Rachel Getting Married starring Anne Hathaway.

On what I imagine was a dark and cold night in December of 1987 my parent's dressed their four children in matching Santa Bear sweatshirts, strapped them in the family sedan and trekked out to the mall to see Santa Claus - something they had done for at least a few years by this point. I vaguely remember this, but I am sure the next few hours were filled with begging, screaming, and complaints about being hot, hungry and/or tired. I am sure someone, most likely me, complained about the long line to see Santa Claus. Jon would have pleaded for the latest Lego set, Jennie would have asked for a Barbie and Amanda would have wanted some sort of princess dress or palace. I am sure that my parents both dreaded and looked forward to this day every year. This is evident by the fact that my mother proudly displays each year's Santa photo every Christmas. But the December 1987 photo is the one that sticks out in my mind. In this picture, Jennie is all smiles. Jon, with a death grip around Amanda is all smiles, too. Amanda is, well, I imagine Amanda is shrilling so loud the dogs at the pet store on the other side of the mall are going nuts in their cruel cages. And I... I am embarrassed. You can tell I am embarrassed by the way my head is slightly turned and my face is being covered by my hand. The poor bastard playing Santa Claus is, I'm pretty sure, terrified.

This scene in my life, straight out of 1987, is the closest thing I can equate to the film Rachel Getting Married. Anne Hathaway plays a recovering addict who is let out of rehab to attend her sister's wedding. The first thing I want to say is that Anne Hathaway did a fantastic job in this film. I enjoy Hathaway is mostly everything thing she has done (expect that weird short lived Fox series, Get Real, a show that Amanda still quotes every now and then). Her performance was convincing, powerful and heart wrenching. Kudos to you Anne Hathaway. The rest of the film, however, was nothing short of painful. It's like watching an episode of The Office, but without the humor. So Hathaway is selfish and self absorbed recovering addict. Like most addicts, I imagine, Hathaway's character feels the need to constantly be the center of attention and everything has to be about her and her disease. Her sister is bitter, or maybe just tired, because their father is an enabler. The mother is... well, distant and emotionless. That is until the big fight between her and Hathaway's character. There is little plot - the film revolves around the wedding and a family dealing with the return of their addict daughter/sister and their relationships. It's poignant, but painful to see a family go through what they have gone through and to try and make a special day happy, despite the past. It's also painfully long... I could have done without at least half of the unnecessary dialogs/monologues during the rehearsal dinner, wedding reception dinner and the bizarre dancing that followed. It was also shot using a single digital camera, so it has that home movie/Blair Witch Project feel to it.

Overall thoughts: If you get motion sickness, take some Dramamine before watching this film. Hathaway was stellar - check this movie out just to see her. It was a moving film, it just didn't move very fast. Parts were very uncomfortable to watch, but you can really feel something for this family. And it was long. There was one scene during the wedding (which was Hindu themed despite no one in the film being Hindu) where I actually said to myself, "Really?"

But let me tell you, if you feel as though your family is dysfunctional or embarrassing or you have a sister who screams at the shear sight of Santa Claus and you are dreading speading time with them this coming holiday season, go and see this movie and they won't look so bad anymore.

Next Review: Quantum of Solace

Ruud Review: What Just Happened?

2008-11-16T15:33:00.000-08:00

Last week I saw What Just Happened, starring Robert DeNiro.

In the film, Robert DeNiro plays a Film Producer. I now know why my company decided to change our titles from "Project Manager" to "Producer." From what I gather, Producers do a lot of talking on the phone and a lot of driving. They have strained family relationships because they work all the time. They are the ones who have to deliver bad news, get yelled at, appease everyone else around them, make sure things start on time, end on time and are delivered to the studio in the manner they want it delivered. There seems to be a lot of risk and change management as well. I could totally do that job.

So DeNiro has just finished a film starring Sean Penn. And at the end of the film, a dog gets shot and everyone is horrified, so DeNiro has to convince the director to edit the scene so the dog doesn't get shot - all in time for Cannes. Meanwhile, his next film is about to start filming. It stars Bruce Willis and DeNiro has to convince Willis to shave his mountainman beard before filming can begin. All the while, he is going to therapy with his ex-wife so they can learn to be apart and learns that his daughter from his first marriage was dating a DB agent who has recently killed himself.

Overall thoughts: I would have enjoyed it more had the people sitting in our row weren't snoring. It was a little slow. While I did laugh out loud more than once, I could have used a little more humor. I think it was more a story about a guy with a demanding job and the toll it takes on him and his relationships more than about a film producer - which I enjoyed. DeNiro could have easily been playing an lawyer, investment banker, or an ePrize Project Manager (who are, oddly enough, now called Producers).

Next Ruud Review: Rachel Getting Married

Letter of the Week: HGTV

2008-11-16T15:30:00.000-08:00

With the Michigan weather turning from 70 and sunny to 32 and snowy - it just a couple of days, my Sundays are turning into lazy days and that means lots of TV. And today I was reminded of my love/hate relationship with HGTV:

Dear HGTV,

Since purchasing my first home over a year ago, I have become quite enthralled with your programming. I find myself not only watching but taking notes from such shows as Design on a Dime and Don't Sweat It. Unfortunately, it isn't before Sunday afternoon that I realize my entire weekend has been spent watching other people fix up their homes and nothing actually gets done to my house, but I digress.

Do your viewing audience a favor and be a little more selective when it comes to the caliber of people you put on your shows. I realize that many of these shows are on a pretty low budget and you are going for that "real people" feel, but if I have to see one more slightly obese woman wearing white sneakers, fatigue cargo capris and a tank top that is 2 sizes too small, I might take my reciprocating saw to my television set. If I want to check out how white trash lives, I'll go to the mall.

I'm not saying everyone has to be pretty and perfect, hell, I often the leave house wearing lounge pants and a discolored sweatshirt, but I'm not going to be TV. Let's just try and make some sort of effort to make these people a little more presentable otherwise I might have to make a permanent switch over to the trendier TLC.

Sincerely,

Amy Ruud – somewhat loyal viewer

Letter of the Week: Amsterdam Security Agent

2008-09-24T15:26:00.000-07:00

Last week I headed to New York for work. This was my first time in an airport since my trip to Norway. Going through the security checkpoint, I was reminded of my experience in the Amsterdam airport.

Dear Amsterdam Security Agent,

First I want to thank you for all the work you do keeping our airports safe and making everyone feel comfortable flying. I also want to thank you for making me feel uncomfortable by the methods used to keep our airports safe.

Have you ever heard the phase, "touch it once you're adjusting it, more than that you're just playing with yourself"? I am not sure how that translates into your language or if that is even a problem in Amsterdam (I am going to go ahead and assume it is a problem, especially in the red light district, but perhaps you just look away… or even look right at it, but I digress). My point is, I understand that if randomly chosen, I must endure a somewhat humiliating and certainly somewhat uncomfortable "pat down" to ensure I am not hiding weapons, drugs, liquids exceeding 3.7 ounces, etc. But did you really find it necessary to cup my tats twice? Once I can understand – they are on the larger side, they themselves could be used as weapons and I could in fact hide liquids exceeding 3.7 ounces somewhere in there – but twice? Cup them once and you're checking for contraband, cup them twice and you're just copping a feel.

But thanks for being the first person to feel me up in a foreign country. After spending 7 hours in your mall looking airport and trying to sleep on uncomfortable bench chairs, I needed a little… stimulation. While you were certainly an attractive security agent, my only hope is that next time you call over one of the foxy male security guards to cop a feel (for example, the ones that zoom around on the Segways – hot). This is Amsterdam after all – I am pretty sure anything goes.

Cheers,

Amy "Tats McGee" Ruud

(Original post 7/29/2008)

Letter of the Week: Creepy Garbage Picker

2008-09-11T15:22:00.000-07:00

While I was spying on my neighbors this evening, I noticed a truck with a trailer stop in front of my neighbors house and remove some PCV piping and a three legged chair and it reminded me of this post. Enjoy!

Dear Creepy Garbage Picker,

Please stop rummaging through my garbage at 3AM, I promise you there is nothing good in there. I'll make a deal with you – if there is something that I think you might find the slightest interest in, I will leave it outside of the can in plain sight so you can just pick it up and be on your way.

And don't bother with the neighbors garbage either. If there was anything good in there, I already took it.

Best of luck,

Amy Ruud

(Original post date 10/08/07)

Letter of the Week: Lindsay Lohan

2008-09-06T15:18:00.000-07:00

Dear Lindsay Lohan,

Last night I was disturbed to hear that mere days after your release from a rehabilitation facility as well as your 21^st birthday you were arrested for driving while under the influence of alcohol and possession of a controlled substance. Lindsay, Lindsay, Lindsay… We all had such high hopes that your release and your willingness to wear a probationary alcohol monitoring ankle bracelet (mind you, this is was your idea and not mandated by the judge) was a sign that you were truly "cured." That you were making an effort to show everyone you're turning your life around and working hard towards a full recovery.

I understand that your assistant had just quit hours before your arrest. I know how upset I get when my assistants quit on me. But try meditation, or eating a cheeseburger, some French fries and a frosty. You really can't go wrong with the Wendy's Super Value Menu when you are feeling down. Lindsay, I am saddened and disappointed in you.

What happened? You used to be cute. I mean, I could pretty much stand both of you in The Parent Trap. And I hated you so much less than Jamie Lee Curtis in Freaky Friday. And although you were upstaged by the less controversial Rachel McAdams in Mean Girls, it is still tops in my books.

Lindsay, I am not so much concerned with your work, I am concerned about your well being… Although how will you promote "I Know Who Killed Me?" I know who killed you Lindsay – you did. Do you really want to go down the road that so many young celebrities have traveled? Sure it worked out well for Drew Barrymore (with the exception of flashing David Letterman and marrying Tom Green). And while Kurt Cobain, Biggie Smalls, TuPac Shakur and Chris Farley rose to eternal stardom and became household names after their untimely deaths – is that the life (or lack there of) you are striving towards? Eternal stardom due to death is not a guarantee. Look at Dana Plato and Johnathan Brandis (although I hear the dolphins miss him).

Lindsay, I am done feeling bad for you. I feel bad for those who still have faith in you and I feel bad for the thousands who girls who look up to you. I feel bad for the employees of your rehab facility who devoted countless hours to you and your recovery. I feel bad for me, who has to see your mug shot all over the damn place.

There are so many people who want to be famous, I used to be one of them. But if that means pulling the stunts that you seemed to have mastered then, in the immortal words of James Van Der Beek in Varsity Blues, "I don't want your life."

Sincerely,

Amy Ruud

(Original post date 7/25/2007)

This is the Place to Be

2008-09-06T15:11:00.000-07:00

Welcome to Ruud Remarks. In an effort to get serious about being funny, I am starting this blog. Don't judge.

Since all of my creative engery was drained this week by forces beyond my control (work). I am going to start this blog with the first letter of the week that I wrote over a year ago and was first posted on MySpace.

I think the letter is pretty self explanatory.

Look for future posts containing new letters of the week, old letters from past weeks, random thoughts, things I've said, things I've heard and things I've observed.

Enjoy!