Have you ever been busy, going about your life, only to have it interrupted by...well...life? Diem interruptus! (interrupted day)
So there I was, sorting laundry, when I began to develop a visual aura. For those of you who've never had the "pleasure," an aura (for me anyway) is like that annoying little spot you get after someone takes a flash picture of you. An aura, however, can be any size or shape, can take up residence anywhere in your field of vision, and can last as long as it jolly well pleases. Also, my auras have always been translucent. What ever was being blocked by the aura was still visible, although less so.
This aura, though, was different. It developed quickly, and grew. And grew. And grew. To give you an idea....
Me: Lloyd, I’m getting a major aura.
Lloyd: What? (already, the aura has taken over about 50% of my right eye’s vision)
Me: I’ve got a really bad aura. (I realize aura is opaque)
Lloyd: How bad? (by now, the aura has almost completely blocked the vision in my right eye)
Me: I can hardly see anything!
Lloyd: Really? (vision in my right eye is totally gone)
Me: Lloyd! I have no vision in my right eye!
That really is how quickly it happened, in just the small amount of time it took to have that conversation. Ten minutes later, vision began to return. An hour or so after onset, my vision had cleared.
Long story short, I went to ER. Bloodwork (again), EKG (again), CT of head (again). Conclusion: I probably had a TIA or an optic artery spasm--possibly in connection with an atypical migraine--which temporarily created a crucial drop in blood flow to the eye.
Next Thursday, I’m scheduled for an MRI of my brain, which will look at the blood vessels there. The Monday after that, I follow up with my neurologist.
Outcomes:
What exactly happened? They don’t know.
What triggered the episode? They don’t know.
Will it happen again? They don’t know.
Am I allowed to drive? NO.
How long will the driving ban last? Who knows.
So, Dear Reader, before you face your diem interruptus.... Carpe diem! Celebrate the sunset. Memorize your lover’s face, your child’s face, your dog’s face. Study the way a rose’s petals snuggle around each other. Drink it all in.
Because you never know....
Thursday, July 09, 2009
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Mashed Potatoes, Black Olives, and Brussels Sprouts
Have you ever noticed there are two kinds of food aversions? With a natural aversion, the person seemingly is born with a dislike for a certain food. An example of this would be my hate/hate relationship with mashed potatoes. I have no memories of a time when I enjoyed mashed potatoes; I can’t stand their taste, their smell, their texture in my mouth. As far as I can tell, I entered life with a disdain for mashed potatoes.
Glut aversion, on the other hand, is caused by indulging in a surfeit of a particular food and developing a revulsion to that food as a backlash. An instance of glut aversion is my Aunt Jo’s hatred of black olives. At family dinners, she would visibly cringe as we kids piled our plates with olives and started munching even before we passed the serving dish. When I grew up enough to care about adult food preferences, I learned the reason for her repulsion—an olive-eating contest in her childhood, ending in a disgust for olives that she never outgrew.
One of the election results for me is that I’ve developed an aversion to politicking, with its mudslinging and personal attacks. Where I used to salivate at a charmingly crafted campaign speech, I now eye the latest oratorical offering with the sickly gaze of one being urged to eat a fifth piece of wedding cake. It may be beautiful, but I don’t like it! The same goes for political punditing and election forecasting. I used to devour it all. Now, thanks but no thanks.
Don’t misunderstand, I’m a responsible citizen. I research platforms and track records. I vote, but it’s the civic equivalent of eating my brussels sprouts: it’s good for me and a good example to others, but it only seems to affect my life in a far-off, slow-grinding way. Afterward, I drive home and return to my regularly scheduled life. Four years. I’m thankful for the breather. Maybe in four years, I’ll learn to like the taste again.
Glut aversion, on the other hand, is caused by indulging in a surfeit of a particular food and developing a revulsion to that food as a backlash. An instance of glut aversion is my Aunt Jo’s hatred of black olives. At family dinners, she would visibly cringe as we kids piled our plates with olives and started munching even before we passed the serving dish. When I grew up enough to care about adult food preferences, I learned the reason for her repulsion—an olive-eating contest in her childhood, ending in a disgust for olives that she never outgrew.
One of the election results for me is that I’ve developed an aversion to politicking, with its mudslinging and personal attacks. Where I used to salivate at a charmingly crafted campaign speech, I now eye the latest oratorical offering with the sickly gaze of one being urged to eat a fifth piece of wedding cake. It may be beautiful, but I don’t like it! The same goes for political punditing and election forecasting. I used to devour it all. Now, thanks but no thanks.
Don’t misunderstand, I’m a responsible citizen. I research platforms and track records. I vote, but it’s the civic equivalent of eating my brussels sprouts: it’s good for me and a good example to others, but it only seems to affect my life in a far-off, slow-grinding way. Afterward, I drive home and return to my regularly scheduled life. Four years. I’m thankful for the breather. Maybe in four years, I’ll learn to like the taste again.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Apology and Explanation
OK, folks, I want to say "sorry" for my recent scarcity, and offer an explanation for my recent extended (and somewhat continuing) absence. Let me offer some "facts of (my) life."
1. I have a play script that must be done by December 31, 2008.
2. I need to finish a brochure that I signed up for months ago.
3. I need to submit an outline for a resource I proposed weeks ago
4. I have a manuscript that's been ready to be shipped for almost a year.
5. I'm taking a university writing class.
6. I have a new baby grandson!
Sooo....
I'll get here when I can. Please be patient with me.
1. I have a play script that must be done by December 31, 2008.
2. I need to finish a brochure that I signed up for months ago.
3. I need to submit an outline for a resource I proposed weeks ago
4. I have a manuscript that's been ready to be shipped for almost a year.
5. I'm taking a university writing class.
6. I have a new baby grandson!
Sooo....
I'll get here when I can. Please be patient with me.
Dog & Cat Diaries - Nicole C. Slivensky
The Dog's Diary
8:00 am - Dog food! My favorite thing!
9:30 am - A car ride! My favorite thing!
9:40 am - A walk in the park! My favorite thing!
10:30 am - Got rubbed and petted! My favorite thing!
12:00 pm - Milk bones! My favorite thing!
1:00 pm - Played in the yard! My favorite thing!
3:00 pm - Wagged my tail! My favorite thing!
5:00 pm - Dinner! My favorite thing!
7:00 pm - Got to play ball! My favorite thing!
8:00 pm - Wow! Watched TV with the people! My favorite thing!
11:00 pm - Sleeping on the bed! My favorite thing!
The Cat's Diary - Day 983 of My Captivity
My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets. Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength.
The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape. In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet. Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates my capabilities. However, they merely made condescending comments about what a "good little hunter" I am. Slimeballs!
There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of "allergies." I must learn what this means, and how to use it to my advantage.
Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow, but at the top of the stairs.
I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches. The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released, and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded. The bird must be an informant. I observe him communicate with the guards regularly. I am certain that he reports my every move. My captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe. For now ...
8:00 am - Dog food! My favorite thing!
9:30 am - A car ride! My favorite thing!
9:40 am - A walk in the park! My favorite thing!
10:30 am - Got rubbed and petted! My favorite thing!
12:00 pm - Milk bones! My favorite thing!
1:00 pm - Played in the yard! My favorite thing!
3:00 pm - Wagged my tail! My favorite thing!
5:00 pm - Dinner! My favorite thing!
7:00 pm - Got to play ball! My favorite thing!
8:00 pm - Wow! Watched TV with the people! My favorite thing!
11:00 pm - Sleeping on the bed! My favorite thing!
The Cat's Diary - Day 983 of My Captivity
My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets. Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength.
The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape. In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet. Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates my capabilities. However, they merely made condescending comments about what a "good little hunter" I am. Slimeballs!
There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of "allergies." I must learn what this means, and how to use it to my advantage.
Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow, but at the top of the stairs.
I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches. The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released, and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded. The bird must be an informant. I observe him communicate with the guards regularly. I am certain that he reports my every move. My captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe. For now ...
Monday, August 25, 2008
Monday's Mischief
The relatives gathered in the waiting room of the hospital where their family member lay gravely ill. After what seemed like an eternity, the doctor finally joined them, looking tired and somber.
"I'm afraid I'm the bearer of bad news," he said as he surveyed the worried faces. "The only hope left for your loved one at this time is a brain transplant. It's an experimental treatment, and very risky, but it is their only chance. Insurance will cover the procedure, but you will have to pay for the brain yourselves....'
The family members sat in silence as they absorbed the news. After a great length of time, someone asked, "Well, how much does a brain cost?"
The doctor quickly responded, "$5,000 for a male brain, and $200 for a female brain."
The moment turned awkward. Men in the room tried not to smile, avoiding eye contact with the women, but some actually smirked.
Eventually, a man unable to control his curiosity, blurted out the question everyone wanted to ask, "Why is the male brain so much more expensive?"
The doctor smiled at the man's childish innocence and explained to the entire group, "It's just standard pricing procedure. We have to mark down the price of the female brains, because they're used."
"I'm afraid I'm the bearer of bad news," he said as he surveyed the worried faces. "The only hope left for your loved one at this time is a brain transplant. It's an experimental treatment, and very risky, but it is their only chance. Insurance will cover the procedure, but you will have to pay for the brain yourselves....'
The family members sat in silence as they absorbed the news. After a great length of time, someone asked, "Well, how much does a brain cost?"
The doctor quickly responded, "$5,000 for a male brain, and $200 for a female brain."
The moment turned awkward. Men in the room tried not to smile, avoiding eye contact with the women, but some actually smirked.
Eventually, a man unable to control his curiosity, blurted out the question everyone wanted to ask, "Why is the male brain so much more expensive?"
The doctor smiled at the man's childish innocence and explained to the entire group, "It's just standard pricing procedure. We have to mark down the price of the female brains, because they're used."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
