Life Update - Job and Health

A number of people have mentioned that not only have I been scarce recently, but that my blog has not been updated in a while. True as it is, at least it’s for good reasons – sort of.

As you probably know I changed jobs in May. An opportunity came my way for what is essentially my dream job. I am running the New York office of a healthcare consulting firm based in Toronto. We have offices in Edmonton as well and starting next month, our first UK office will open. It is very exciting as I have my hands in a number of things including service delivery, business development, recruiting, management of the firm, and finding and building out a new office. We have a team of 20 people working in New York.

As my wife observed a couple of weeks ago, “I’ve never seen you work so hard, yet not complain a lick.” It’s true, and is a combination of loving the work, the people, and the culture of the company. It is truly a collaborative, collegial, and supportive organization filled with very smart, very passionate people and I am proud to be associated with it. That being said, I am working my brains out, and with many summer weekends at my in-laws pace on Fire Island, I have not been as present in my friends’ lives as I would like. At least I’m not traveling much any more . . .

While settling in, I had a somewhat un-settling thing happen to me earlier in the summer. Around mid-June I was having some unusual abdominal pains that were not going away (don’t worry – everything turned out okay). It was somewhat confounding and after about 3 weeks, I finally went to my doctor. After ruling out appendicitis and an intestinal infection, he was both confounded and confused. I was too and my anxiety was heightened by the fact that he couldn’t figure it out and that wanted me to have a CT scan.

Now this was a big deal for me. I am a bit of a baby when it comes to my own health so not only was I completely unnerved by imagining all of the worst case scenarios of what might be wrong with me, I was also worrying about the CT scan. It wasn’t the scan itself that bothered me, but the fact that it was to be with contrast. For those who don’t know, in order to have one’s insides show up better in a scan, there needs to be contrast material in those insides. For the abdomen, you don’t eat for a day and then are given a barium smoothie to drink (radioactive substance that essentially makes your intestines glow). For the pelvis, however, iodine-based contrast dye is given intravenously just prior to and during the scan.

I was most anxious about the dye. Aside from the fact that there are not-in-frequent cases of people being allergic to the dye with potentially life-threatening results, I have never had an IV before and I hate needles.

Upon arriving at the imaging center, I was given about 48 ounces of an apple-scented, chalky white substance to drink – the barium smoothie. Yum. When brought in for the scan, I was given the IV. Although I had a mild panic attack, due more to anticipatory anxiety than anything else, it went fine. At least I’m not afraid of IVs any more.

The funny part, however, were the breathing instructions for the scan itself. The technician, who cannot be in the room during the scan, told me to just relax and the machine would give me breathing instructions. It is a recorded voice, and I don’t know how they found this guy or where he was recorded, but it sounded like a conductor’s announcement on the Long Island Rail Road. With a lot of background noise, a very stereotypical Long Island-voiced older man says – almost yells – “Stay still, take uh deep brett, and hold it.” It was very hard to keep still while at the same time suppressing giggles. The scan lasted about 10 seconds, after which the train conductor came back over the speakers telling me, “You may now brede nohmally”. More giggles. I had to do this twice.

Lo and behold, the CT was negative. Just before seeing my doctor, I had been reading up on my symptoms and found that if it was something irritating my colon, then a liquid diet was in order. Doing that actually started to soothe some of the pain and my doctor told me to continue on it for a few days and then move to a bland diet. He was of the opinion that if these steps resolved my symptoms, then I likely had an irritated colon, cause unknown. If it didn’t, I would have to have a colonoscopy. Luckily my symptoms resolved, and I have lost some weight as part of the bargain. I’m not eating dairy, red meat, spicy or acidic foods, but my tummy is much better.

Speaking of colonoscopies (how’s THAT for a segue), it reminds me of the first time my mother had one. I had referred her to a physician whom I liked at NYU Medical Center. Rob is a very nice and very quiet fellow – the kind who is easily embarrassed and an atypical personality for a surgeon. My mother was on the table in the O.R. on her stomach, somewhat drowsy and loopy from medication, when she turned her head back just as Rob was about to invade her nether regions with the tools of the trade and said, “Does your mother know what you do for a living?” Love that story.

Long story short (or long story long), life is good. I love my job, I have my health, and in a few hours I leave to take my family to Disneyworld. Not bad if you ask me.

Cell Phone Rant

I gratefully acknowledge that cell phones are now a part of our life. While I remember getting along just fine without one, today’s speed of business and the realities of needing to be in touch with my family – particularly in case of emergency – make a cell phone a welcome addition to my wardrobe.

That being said, those who talk while driving (that “hands-free” operation makes it less dangerous is a complete and utter fallacy), those who use their phones in inappropriate places (the theater for example), and those who think that they must speak loudly or shout to be heard, all deserve my wrath. I had thought that the previous list covered most egregious errors in cell phone etiquette and judgment. I have been proven wrong.

With the advent and recently increased popularity of “walkie-talkie” type phones, I am now treated to hearing BOTH sides of what frequently should be a private conversation. The worst offenders – those who carry on such conversations in an elevator where the sound quality is better and the possibility of escape limited – are the ones who should really give second thought as to what it is there proximal neighbors are hearing. Last week in the elevator, I did not need to hear a woman quizzing her friend on how good the sex was on her friend’s date the previous night, nor did I need to hear the graphic and detailed answers. I’m no prude by any stretch of the imagination, but some people are, and there is always the chance of children being present and within earshot. I just don’t want my kids learning about the birds and the bees courtesy of Verizon.

Keep it in your pants! (the phone, that is . . .).

Father's Day

Upon arising on Father’s Day, my children flew into our bed with wishes of “Happy Father’s Day!” They then announced that I had the honor of choosing where we would go out for breakfast. First of all, I was not aware that we would be having breakfast out – Betsy then revealed to me that we had little or no breakfast foods in the house – and second of all, Sam and Molly were trying to influence my decision by repeating their own faves for breakfast over and over again.

I decided that I wanted to go to The Pink Tea Cup in the West Village. The Pink Tea Cup is barely bigger than a hole in the wall, but is famous for their soul food. They also serve what are probably the best grits available north of the Mason-Dixon. There was no traffic in the city that morning and we arrived just a few minutes after their 8:00AM opening time. Having the place to ourselves for a few minutes, we also took advantage of the R&B and Soul-oriented jukebox to play some Aretha, Stevie, and Earth, Wind & Fire.

It was still early and starting to become a beautiful day, so we strolled around the Village. We ended up at a playground at Bleecker and Hudson, primarily because we were waiting for the Magnolia Bakery across the street to open. Magnolia is known for their cupcakes (made even more famous by Sex and The City), and this is what Sam and Molly had their sights set on. Betsy and I, however, also know that they have excellent banana pudding and deciding to continue our foray in culinary treats from the south, we shared a cup. And it was only 10:30AM!

The real treat of the day – what made it the best Father’s Day I could ask for – was that around lunchtime, we decided to try and get Sammy on his bike without his training wheels. We had tried this briefly a few weeks ago, but met with much frustration due in large part to the fact that I had not researched this task enough. What I have since found out, is that when removing training wheels, the seat must also be lowered far enough so that the child can place both feet firmly on the ground. I had not done this the first time around, and can only imagine the fear and anxiety of a 7-year old trying to figure out how to balance on this big moving metal contraption when they can only touch the ground by stretching out their toes.

Lowering the seat really did the trick, and Sam became instantly comfortable. He did stop me at one point because I kept telling him that once he figured it out, it would seem so easy for him. He proceeded to lecture me on the fact that someone such as myself who has done this many times before may find it easy, but that I should remember that this is new to him, and even if he were to find it easy, “the devil might make it hard.” Pretty heady stuff coming from a 7-year old.

I am not exaggerating that it took Sam all of about 10 minutes to figure it out, including how to start off from a complete stop. He’s no Lance Armstrong yet, but he kept at it and gradually got more and more comfortable. I was beaming!!!

I should have expected that Molly would want to follow in her brother’s footsteps and she insisted that I remove her training wheels as well. I lowered her seat and we had some limited success with her. Unfortunately, all best efforts kept getting thwarted by the fact that she was wearing sandals and shorts. The pedals, which have little nubs on them to hold a sneaker in place, kept whacking her in the legs and hurting her. I give her a lot of credit because she wanted to keep at it. She knew what to do, having watched me instruct Sam, and I would guess that another couple of trips to the park will have her joining her brother in the two-wheeled world.

For dinner, my brother-in-law Mark came over with his family and we were joined by my in-laws. I went up to Dinosaur BBQ and brought home a feast, topped off by a cake made by Betsy and an original Father’s Day skit created and performed by the four cousins. Not a bad way to spend this “Hallmark holiday” if you ask me.

Remembering Memorial Day

For most Americans, Memorial Day is the unofficial kick-off to summer. The first barbecue. A long weekend. Time to start wearing white again. Perhaps a sale that you've been waiting for so you can afford the big-screen television.

Having grown-up in relative peacetime, the Memorial Day parade on Riverside Drive to the Soldiers and Sailors Monument on 89th Street was an opportunity to watch older men marching along, carrying ceremonial wreaths to lay at the monument. I didn't know anyone who had been lost at war. I could not relate.

As we start this "holiday" weekend, it is important that we take at least a moment to realize that in the past few years, a whole new crop of soldiers - over a thousand - have given their lives for something they believed in. These were men and women - virtually all of them younger than me - who joined the armed forces out of a desire to either better themselves or to better their country. They chose a noble path and met with the ultimate sacrifice. And all of this for a war most of us feel was uncalled for. A tragedy no matter how we look at it.

So enjoy your time off, enjoy that grilled burger. Smell the sea air. Just take a moment to remember that in the last century there were thousands upon thousands of men and women who put their lives on the line to preserve something we generally take for granted. Remember that we hope we never again have to use their services. And remember that they have gone to their final rest fighting for life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. They will not be enjoying a day at the beach this weekend, nor will their families. It is the least we can do to remember that the word "memorial" implies that a loss has been suffered. It is the least we can do to pause and say "thank you" from our hearts.

Farewell Houston

I finished my nine-week assignment in Houston this past week. I left not because the project was completed, but because I have left the company I was working for to accept an offer of a great new job that will also keep me mostly local.

While I am excited about the new opportunity, I did have a great experience in Houston (travel aside) because I had a great team to work with. I had inherited a project that had gone bad and with the help of the team, was able to turn it around and get it back on track.

The hospital and hotel we were at are all part of a section of Houston called Texas Medical Center which is right next to Rice University. About a mile from the hotel is a four square-block collection of shops and restaurants called Rice Village. The previous week we had gone to a great tapas restaurant called Mi Luna in Rice Village. Everything about it was great and festive, including the food, the drink (we had Sangritas - a mixture of margheritas and sangria), and the entertainment. The live music was provided by a pair of classical guitarists - Garcia y Reyna - playing modern classical guitar. They were so good, most of us bought their CD - "Baile del Sol" - on the spot.

For my last night in Houston, I was asked to choose where we would all go out and I chose to return to Mi Luna as we knew that Garcia y Reyna would be there again (they play every Wednesday night). It was even better than the previous week. This time, they had a percussionist with them that played the Cajon - a wooden box that is sat upon, with guitar strings behind the front face which when struck in different places, produces varying sounds. We went through several pitchers of Sangritas and everyone was drumming along on every possible surface. We met two other fellows - Javier and Marco - who are friends of the musicians, and Javier sings with them sometimes. They were even louder than we were, singing along and Javier playing the spoons. Javier is from Bolivia and we spent some time chatting. At the end of the night, he gave me a big hug and told me to say hello to everyone in New York.

It was a little tough walking back to the hotel that night, and it wasn't just the alcohol, spicy food, and music humming through my body. As happy as I was to be getting off the road, it was also the sadness associated with leaving a great bunch of people with whom I had achieved some real results. I may not miss the Marriott, but I will miss the people, the camraderie, and nights at Mi Luna. Farewell, Houston.

Thanks, Richard!

I spoke to my very good friend Richard Stoerger yesterday and the subject of my blog came up. Richard reminded me that he was the very first person to post a comment to one of my entries (see "The Gates" in February 2005), but felt slighted because I had not acknowledged this ceremonious event.

T H A N K Y O U, R I C H A R D ! ! ! ! !

Even In Death, Aunt Judy Keeps Me Laughing

My aunt Judy passed away two weeks ago. As posted here previously, she was diagnosed in February with cancer that had metastisized and was given a terminal prognosis. She spent two months in hospice care and passed quietly and peacefully.

Growing up, I have some very distinct of memories of Judy. First, she was a court stenographer for a good bit of her adult life, continuing on to become a legal secretary. When I was little, she would let me play with her stenographer's machine, trying to help me understand what the combinations of vowels and consanants translated to. She would do much of her transcription at home and had an early-model IBM Selectric typewriter which she also let me play with. I would watch her doing her transcription sometimes and I have never before and never since, seen anybody type as fast as she did.

Judy was also a voracious reader of both fiction and non-fiction, and probably kept the Book of the Month Club in business for many years. Same for costume jewelry manufacturers as she had a thing for rings (most of which my daughter Molly has now inherited).

My most beloved memory, however, was that a few times a year, my brother and I would have a "date" with aunt Judy where she would take us to lunch and then to a movie or show. These were very special times. Judy was not a parent and treated us like adults, and we loved these ventures. The key is that Judy always took us to see something funny. It was not that Judy was such a funny person, but she had a deep understanding and appreciation of comedy - something that runs deep in my family. It was my aunt that took us to see "Young Frankenstein" when it opened in 1974, and she also took us to see Monty Python live at City Center, also in the 70's. We had such great seats that I could touch John Cleese as he cavorted in the aisles.

This past Saturday, my uncle Gary and I went to pick-up Judy's cremated remains. From the funeral parlor, we went to her apartment to start going through her things. While there, Gary's wife Gail called to tell us that the funeral parlor was frantic and that they wanted us to contact them immediately. Only one thing could have possibly inspired such a call and sure enough, when we checked the name on the box in the shopping bag that had been given to Gary, it wasn't Judy's. They had given us someone else's ashes.

Thankfully, the ashes were intact and we were able to come back and exchange them for Judy's remains. As I've said in the past, my family believes in finding humor in everything and since there were no unfortunate outcomes, we couldn't help but giggle at the circumstances, and believe that in her own inspired way, Judy had given us just one more laugh.