The Return Line

Ahh, the holidays. Family, friends, food, fun and of course fresents. (Ok, "fresents" isn't really a word. I just now invented it because the word "presents" wouldn't of flowed as well.) Bad gifts and the holidays seem to go hand-in-hand. I mean it just wouldn't be the holidays without fruitcake and socks right? Gift cards can be nice because you pick out exactly what you want, but on the other hand, they are impersonal. And who wants an impersonal gift? Of course who wants socks for Christmas either? Then again, I was in need of some new socks and Santa did bring me some, so I'll stop talking about socks in this post now. And don't worry, I won't utter another word about fruitcakes. After all, I never even tasted fruitcake and I have no intention of doing so in my lifetime. My digestive system goes into lockdown when I threaten it with something that weighs more than a 10 inch brick. So thank you, but no thank you on the fruitcake.

Over the years I've received some bad gifts. No let me emphasize. Bad, bad, very bad gifts. I seriously got gold pants one year. I kid you not. Oh yeah, I should mention it was 2004, more than a decade after MC Hammer sang "2 Legit To Quit". These weren't any gold pants. These where SHINY gold pants. The kind with those gold flakes in them that caught the light and burned the retina in your eye. Yeah, that kind of gold pants. Solid gold pants. Gold TRACK pants even. The kind with elastic on the ankles and the waist. Baggy and gold. 3X size. By the way, I wear 32x34 pants so they were just a tad roomy on me. I believe I fit my entire body in one pant leg and had room for an extra person to swim in there with me. Did I mention they were gold? Stop. Hammer Time.

Other than gold pants, there was also the year of the unicycle. Yes, you read that right - a freakin' unicycle. Again, this is no joke. If I remember correctly, I was about 15 when I was given a unicycle on Christmas morning. My exact thoughts where "What the f*ck?" Of course I didn't say that. Instead I was polite (and shocked and frightened) saying "Wow. Hey. Um. A unicycle? Can't say I would of guessed that Gram." I should mention my Grandma isn't senile, just very...well very original in her gift ideas? I mean who even makes unicycles? Where do you even buy a unicycle? Does anyone ride a unicycle? I know bears do, but I wasn't aware 15-year-old boys were junking their BMX bikes for a one-wheeled wrecking machine. Perhaps it was all the rage back then and I was just left out of the loop? Somehow I doubt that. Being the good grandson that I am, I put on a smile, grabbed a ball and rode the shit out of that unicycle for Grandma all Christmas Day. If that's not "taking one for the team", then I don't know what is. Any circus bear reading this, look out - I just may steal your job!

The gold pants were given to the Salvation Army and the unicycle was sold at a garage sale...I think sold to a clown, who I'm sure re-gifted it and gave it to a bear the following Christmas. So to the kid out there rockin' the 3X gold pants and the bear who's perfecting his juggling routine on my unicycle, more power to ya.

So I ask you this...what is the worst gift you ever received? No need to identify the gift giver. In this case, I believe in protecting the guilty - the guilty person of bad gift giving.

(FYI: No rapper or bear was hurt in the writing of this post.

Wii Have A Problem

Wii Have A Problem is a blog focused on bringing you the latest trend in gaming violence. Specifically, Nintendo Wii injuries. Yes, the Nintendo nerds are actually hurting themselves at an alarming rate. Injury cases range from bloody hands, dislocated fingers, black eyes, broken arms and blunt force trauma to the head. The weapon of choice - their very own Wii wireless controller. Some overly excited Wii users (cough, losers) are reporting that the controller flies out of their sweaty little palms during a "spirited video gaming moment". This results in a trip to the ER and/or replacement of a broken TV screen, shattered lamp, etc.

How big of a problem is it? Honestly? Well to date, several hundred Wii injury cases have been reported. Now how many of those injuries were do to misuse of the product is yet to be seen. However, so much bad press has come out surrounding Wii injuries that Nintendo is considering a recall on the controllers. A bigger, beefier, more stable strap will be introduced. With proper use, it should greatly cut down or even eliminate injuries. All I can say is thank God nobody lost their wee-wee yet! That would be the most horrific Wii injury of all! (That's my bad joke of the day. Forgive me.)

Check out the the above website for a slew of injury photos and stories relating to the Wii.

A Family Affair

A Family Affair

When my nurse suddenly called out sick last night, the nursing agency had no one to send instead. It was extremely last minute. Plus, it was Christmas Eve and few nurses were available to work in the first place.

That meant that my mother had to stay up while I slept, in case my ventilator malfunctioned or its tubes came loose. Because a humidifier is connected to ventilator tubing, water droplets collect in the tubing. So the water must be emptied every hour. I also need medications at the end of the shift. They need to be mixed up and put into my feeding tube.

The most difficult part for anyone taking care of me overnight is obviously staying awake. Fortunately, my two sisters volunteered to keep my mother company throughout the night. I've never wanted my disease to affect my sisters any more than it had to, but I was really touched by their willingness to help.

I obviously prefer to have my nurses take care of me. They're more familiar with my routine, from medications to how I like to be positioned in my bed. But I appreciated how my family pulled together at a time like this.

Honey Do List

It's the holidays and as usual, I'm more overwhelmed than enjoying that Christmas spirit. So today I take a moment for myself to write up my To-Do list, or as my Mom likes to call it the "Honey Do List". Honey, do this. Honey, do that. You know how that works. Of course that sappy honey pet-name did not make me want to do the chores any more willingly as a kid. But at least she asked nicely, right? Here is my "Honey Do List" written to myself as just another reminder of all the shit, I mean great joy, this time of year brings. I swear I'm not a Grinch. I will get into the Christmas spirit just as soon as I have a few of these nagging items crossed off my list. Other items I will do with a smile on my face and I may even breakout the Santa hat to wear.

• Task: send out Christmas cards
  Status: kinda, sorta but not really done
• Task: set up tree, wrestle outside lights, hang mistletoe
  Status: done, check
• Task: swear at insane shoppers and drivers
  Status: done, check and double check
• Task: make-out by the fireplace
  Status: done, very well
• Task: finish any last minute gift buying
  Status: it's only the 22nd, no man is done this early, so uncheck
• Task: watch "A Christmas Story" and "Christmas Vacation" for the 155th time
  Status: will do
• Task: donate a present to someone in need
  Staus: R/C model airplane already sent to 8-year-old Nathan
• Task: offer to drive Granny in for the holidays if weather turns bad
  Status: done, check...extra brownie points for me
• Task: bake/decorate Christmas cookies with 2-year-old niece
  Status: canceled due to her having a fever
• Task: make cabin reservations for New Year's eve
  Status: I'm getting to it
• Task: order tickets to the Nutcracker and surprise a certain someone
  Status: mission complete
• Task: turn ringer off my new Razr so work related calls can't bother me on my 5 days off
  Status: doing that now!
• Task: pick up sister at airport
  Status: OH SHIT!!!

The New Blogger Gets A "One Thumb Up" Rating

Blogger is officially out of beta this week, but the new version is only kinda sorta better, but not really bug-free. While I had no problem migrating my existing Blogger account to this new Blogger version, other users have reported some bugs. The only "bug" I notice thus far is that some people who have left a comment in the past on my blog are now appearing to be "anonymous" when they originally logged in with their account. Their username and profile pic are not showing up. An annoying glitch, but hopefully one that will be fixed shortly. I'm pretty sure it's nothing on my end. It's more than likely tied to a bug in the new Blogger version.

The upgrade includes integration with Google accounts, allowing users with existing accounts to log into the service. Also onboard is a new Layout feature, which utilizes Web 2.0 functionality for code-free updates to blog layouts. The new Labels tool allows users to tag and sort posts by keywords. Blogger has also added more template options to help people get started with their blog design. Dynamic Publishing allows users to see changes to their blog almost immediately after they're made, without the lengthy publishing process that marked previous versions. Private blog restrictions have also been added, allowing users to specify who can see their posts by entering the e-mail addresses of potential readers. New feed options are on board as well and the service now supports RSS 2.0 and Atom 1.0 standards.

If all of that tech jargon sounds like Charlie Brown's teacher talking to you (mmm waaa wa wa mmwa), then let me simplify - the upgrade is worth it. Especially for those that want to customize their blog, but aren't the most computer savvy person. If I had to rate this new Blogger version, I would give it one thumb up. Not worthy of two thumbs, but then it isn't all that shabby either.

I Can't Give You A Happy Period, But I Can Give You A Happy Heart

(Work in progress. I may save this post for a later date.)

Out with the Old, In with the New (Part II)

Out with the Old, In with the New (Part II)

I had my trach (tracheostomy) tube changed last night. Unlike my g-tube changes (see post from 10/5/06), trach changes can be done at home, as I lay in bed. Typically, I have it changed every other week. It is easiest to do with two people, usually my mother and a nurse. One person pulls out the old trach and the other person inserts the new one. I have had my tracheostomy (hole in my trachea) for four years, so there is less of a rush to get the new tube in before the hole starts to close, but the tube should be inserted quickly.

Once the new tube is in, the velcro ties are attached and a gauze pad is placed around the trach. (above, right). An adapter (the blue piece seen in the picture) is also connected; my ventilator tubing is hooked to the bottom, while the top (clear part)can be opened for suctioning.

The curved tube (above, left)is 6.5 mm in diameter and about 9 cm long and has a "cuff" or balloon that can be inflated with water by connecting a syringe to the piece with the thin tube attached to the trach, to ensure the maximum amount of air reaches my lungs without escaping through my nose and mouth.

However, I never fully inflate the cuff because if I do, air cannot reach my vocal cords and I am unable to speak. (Imagine me speechless!)

During the day, I keep the cuff fully deflated. At night, I inflate it partially so I am still able to call my nurse when I need assistance.

Changing the trach doesn't hurt as long as the new tube has enough lubricant on it (a little K-Y jelly does the trick). However, changing it tends to stimulate the trachea to produce more secretions (mucus), so I usually need more suctioning afterward.

The Calm After The Storm

Incoming IM, mid-day workday.

HER: what are you doing home today?
ME: working
ME: I had a few meetings I had to go to this morning, then thought I could get some of this other stuff done at home
HER: like make nice with me?
ME: ha
ME: you should make nice with me
HER: oh, I'LL make nice with you
ME: hmm
HER: I'll make really nice with you
ME: make nice with me a few times?
HER: definitely more than once
HER: make nice all night long
ME: Nice.
ME: or as Borat says...Nnnice

Have A Happy Period :)

Sometimes angry women scare me. Sometimes angry woman make me laugh. Sometimes angry woman scare me AND make me laugh. Such is the case with this girl, her rant will follow shortly. Needless to say, when a woman is on her period, look out! I fear anything that can bleed for nearly a week straight and still live! Can that even be human? Anyway, I'll admit it, I'm somewhat frightened of women around that time of the month. However, growing up with 3 women (Mom and 2 sisters), I learned how to deal with these types of things. I even have a tried and trued method on how to keep a "happy girlfriend" and survive her PMS rages. Although that is for another day, another post. For now, enjoy this piece below. Let me warn you that she has a potty mouth. Fowl language will ensue. She will spew the F bomb with a vengeance. If phrases like "motherfucker" offend you, then discontinue reading now. If you want to hear this woman roar, then read on. Unedited, uncensored and in it's entirety.

You can actually send a Happy Period e-card to a friend!
Are you kidding me? Most women would probably reply with
a nice big "Go Fuck Yourself Procter & Gamble".

Written by an Anonymous PMSer...

Ok so Always, the brand that makes pads, is on this whole "have a happy period" kick. Now they put it on their pads, ya know on the little piece of paper that covers the adhesive side, yup in some nice little feminine script it says "have a Happy Period." I see that shit and I'm like what the hell...it's bad enough that they actually say that crap in commercials like i'm really gonna stop and think and be like...wait...I never thought of that...all this time i've just decided to be bitchy, and bloated, and broken out, and crampy and in tears during my period, when all along i could've been having happy periods. On the beach in a bikini (maybe an itsy bitsy teenie weenie yellow polka dot one), or in a coffee shop with my girlfriends who also have their period, but you wouldn't know it cuz we're all just so fucking happy about it.

Forget the fact that I'm bleeding like a slaughtered pig, forget the fact that I now have to walk around wearing a fucking diaper hoping I don't bleed on everything, forget the fact that now I'm horny as fuck but can't get any and guys must know when a girl has her period and find us extra attractive cuz they always wanna try to touch your ass on those 5 fucking days a month that you've gotta wear this mini diaper and period panties, and when u ask them not to touch your ass they always gotta fucking ask why, CUZ I'M ON MY FUCKING PERIOD YOU MORON, forget the fact that I'm already bloated but craving french fries, potato chips, chocolate, cake...chocolate cake. Forget all that shit and have happy period. HOW THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO HAVE A HAPPY PERIOD!!??

You can fucking suggest the shit, why don't you give some pointers. Maybe it involves a whole lot of valium, And you know normally I would think that some dimwitted dick came up with that slogan, but no I'm sure it was some high powered business woman in her navy blue skirt suit and stilletto pumps trying to show that she can make it in a mans world...I bet she doesn't have happy periods, i bet she takes fucking birth control year round so that she has no periods, so that instead of spending a week with premenstrual syndrome, a week on her period, another week with post menstrual syndrom and then another week dreding that in a week she's gonna be PMSing again she can have the time to come up with nifty slogans as if telling me to have a happy period is gonna make me buy your product more, like theres something extra special about your pad. Guess what bitch, you've got a product that people are gonna buy whether u advertise for it or not... it's like gasoline, or toothpaste, or condoms we're gonna buy it no matter what, we have to, we need it to survive . so FUCK YOU and fuck your happy period.

and for the record, I am NOT having a happy period.

(Side Note: If I'm not mistaken, it's 2006, almost 2007. Who still uses pads? I didn't know the pad was still competing since the invention of the tampon. I wasn't aware they sold pads, but then again I'm not really up on the feminine hygiene line of products. And just for the record, that girl...I think someone needs a hug. But I'm not touching her. She's super angry and scary sounding! Be afriad. Be very, very afraid.)

The Interrogation

The Interrogation

Don't worry, I'm not suspected of a federal crime or anything like that. But I did have my pacemaker "interrogated" at a routine visit today to the electrophysiologist (cardiologist specializing in heart rhythm problems), meaning that information was downloaded from the memory of the device implanted in my chest.

My pacemaker, made by Guidant, is similar to the one pictured to the right and is about 1 centimeter thick and about the size of a doorknob, so it's really quite small. However, the left side of my chest, where it is implanted, does look bigger than the right side (in case any of you ladies out there were wondering why I only have half of a studly chest!)

Actually called an ICD (implantable cardioverter defibrillator), the device is not only capable of "pacing" my heart back into a normal rhythm, but can deliver a shock if pacing doesn't work. Pacing doesn't hurt, but I've been told a shock feels like a swift kick in the chest (hasn't happened to me so far). The ICD also constantly monitors my heart and records any unusual rhythms, even if it takes no action.

To download that information, a magnetic "wand" (left) is placed on my chest, directly over the device. The wand is connected to a laptop computer-like machine that prints a lengthy report. The process is completely painless, although I hate one of the tests that the machine performs because it briefly increases my heart rate. It feels like being in an elevator that is going down.

The report downloaded today was a good one. Over the previous three months, the ICD recorded one dangerous rhythm that lasted about a second, but it resolved on its own.

While people with Duchenne's are susceptible to fatal arrhythmias (irregular heart rhythms), I don't know anyone else with an ICD. It's a relatively new phenomenon. My ICD cannot stop the breakdown of cardiac muscle due to my disease, but it gives me a shot at surviving a sudden dangerous abnormal rhythm.

It's a chance I'll take, and that should come as no "shock" to anyone who knows me.

Mac Addicts Aren't Made, They're Born

Mac addicts are a peculiar bunch of people. Often they go to great lengths to further bond themselves with their machines. You've seen the Apple tattoos, but Apple birthmarks? The parents of this baby see the Apple logo on their son's back. What do you think?

Bueller, Bueller, Bueller, Anyone? Bueller...

Ok, so here's the deal. I know I haven't put up a new post in a week. I also know I have barely visited anyone else's blog in the last month or so...well, several months. I know I have been getting a little slow on replying to e-mails, answering IMs and even returning phone calls. Yes, shame on me. Which as I write this, it also reminds me to call my Mom back. Sorry, I swear I'll do it the very second I hit "publish" on this post. In short, I've been a bad blogger and a not so good correspondent. However, I have an excuse. Not a new excuse. It's actually an overused excused, but an excuse none the less. My excuse - I've been busy. I know it's not original and often not acceptable to say, but in life there are priorities and my priorities right now don't consist of blogging. I know, I know, please dry that tear that is streaming down your face. It will be ok, I promise. Despite the fact that I try to make time to write, I struggle to find inspiration in which to fuel my writing and therefore I continue to fall short. My forehead hits the desk.

It's a little bit of depression, a little bit of frustration. A little bit of anxiety, a little bit of stress. And a whole lot of overwhelming. My priorities lately consist of juggling my business, working on completing my masters, selling my house and of course trying not to be so indecisive in my selection with this new place I shall soon call home. On top of all of that, throw in the holidays. Then try to squeeze in dating, friends, family and a little "me time"...which there seems to be less and less of. It can be enough to make anyone feel overwhelmed and rightfully so. Now for the good news...

An entire makeover of my blog is currently in the works and nearing completion. A custom layout that is long overdue. I'll also be renaming my blog (once again) and doing some reorganizing of the archive and other aspects on the main page. It's on track to be implemented before January 1st. So stick around. I'll make it worth the wait. I think. I hope. I'll at least try my best. I shall do my utmost.

The Doctors of Tomorrow

The Doctors of Tomorrow

In what has become an annual tradition, I addressed the second-year medical students at the University of Pennsylvania today. After sharing my medical history, with a particular focus on the nutritional and pulmonary issues that arose while I was in college, I answered questions from the students.

Interestingly enough, most of the questions I received did not pertain not to the specifics of my disease. I was asked, for example, whether I had any siblings (yes, two younger sisters) and how my disease has impacted them. Another interesting question was about my relationship with my friends.

My favorite question was about the technology I use on a daily basis. I nearly brought the house down when I described the arguments I have with my voice-activated environmental control system (see my entry from 10/12/06). Cursing under my breath, I explained, is the only way to blow off steam at the system without eliciting a response from it.

For me, the most touching moment occurred when all of students in one of the classrooms (I addressed three separate groups) got out of their seats and gathered around my wheelchair as my pulmonologist explained the settings on my ventilator.

It was obvious that they truly cared. Translate that into a hospital setting and you have some pretty good doctors.

Just Hangin' Around

Just Hangin' Around

This post is part of a Winheld's World series on the equipment on which I depend on a daily basis.

No, that's not a medieval torture device pictured above. It's the Hoyer lift I use to transfer me between my bed and my wheelchair and between my wheelchair and the toilet. The lift is a major back-saver for my caregivers, but it is also the safest and most comfortable way for me to be moved.

As you can see above, the lift's metal chains connect at four points to the nylon sling on which I sit. The sling, pictured below, has a cut-out for toileting purposes. Thus, it is of the utmost importance that the white sling be properly centered under me!

Funny story: When the hydraulic pump on the lift started to wear out a few years ago, using the toilet proved to be quite the adventure. Every two minutes, my attendant had to come in and raise me.

"That's fastest you've ever gone to the bathroom," she remarked afterward.

Damn right!

Anyway, several companies beside Hoyer make patient lifts. There are various styles, including some whose slings can be removed once the person is sitting in his or her wheelchair. My style of lift, actually called the Hoyer Classic, is considered a dinosaur by many in the healthcare field.

Forgive me, but they aren't the ones whose asses are hanging in the air. Call me old-fashioned, but I'll stick with what's familiar when I'm the one up there!

The City Bakery, In Search Of The BIG Brownie

If you know me, you know how much I love the show "Sex And The City"...and no I'm not gay. I always have to declare my heterosexuality anytime I declare my love for that show. Why? Well because how many straight men do you know that could give you the ins and outs of Carrie, Charlotte, Miranda and of course Samantha's lives? Seriously, if Trivia Pursuit made a SATC edition, I would clean house! Some will find that fact pathetic. Others will find it adorable. I'm just going to own it because it is what it is and that is me - pathetic and adorable. If you are a true loyal SATC fan (yeah, real fans abbreviate and speak in code), then you remember The BIG Brownie episode. You know the one where Carrie runs into Adien's new girlfriend Nina Kats, the girl who works for SNL. Nina gives Carrie "the face". Carrie is devastated by "the face" and is reading into the multiple possible meanings behind "the face". Good girl pal Samantha reassures Carrie the best way she knows how, by buying her chocolate, it's consoling. But not just any chocolate. She takes Carrie out to lunch at The City Bakery and talks her into getting The BIG Brownie. Nothing puts a little happy on a girl's face like chocolate and nothing will wipe the image of the Nina Katz face away like chocolate. In the form of what else, The BIG Brownie. That Samantha...slutty AND smart!

Walking thru Manhattan you will find there is no shortage of great places to eat. From fine to casual dining and anything and everything in-between. As I'm walking down the street the other day, one place comes to mind. One food comes to mind. One Nina Katz face burned into my brain. I know what I need to do. I need to go in search of The BIG Brownie. I must stop in to eat at NY's infamous City Bakery. You'll find this little cafe between Fifth and Sixth Aves. 3 W 18th St to be exact. Among the street construction scaffolding, you'll see the big white banner screaming the name "The City Bakery" and quietly whispering my name. It calls out to me..."Psst, David, over here. Come get a brownie. Carrie likes it, so will you." I succumb to the pressure, turn the corner and find myself where Miss Bradshaw once stood. Although it didn't look like The City Bakery featured in the show, I believe it has been renovated since the taping. Still, it's the home of The BIG Brownie!

Sadly, there were no BIG Brownies to be had that day. Instead they had an assortment of other sinfully good sweet treats just waiting to be devoured by sugar hungry New Yorkers. Despite the fact that their Oatmeal Raisin Cookie was highly raved about and recommended to me, I opted to go for a Chocolate Chip Cookie. It's not your standard chocolate chip cookie. This one you could almost hear yourself getting fatter as you ate it! I think I paid $3.50 for that single cookie, but it was money well spent. You could taste the layers of butter and sugar, which would later lay in my stomach aching. The gooey chunks of chocolate in every bite, mmm. I think I tasted a little love baked right into it as well. When I finished eating, it was Nina who? Yeah chocolate will do that to a girl...and apparently a guy too.

The City Bakery may not be the best place to eat in NY, but it has it's pluses. If it's good enough for my SATC girls, then it's good enough for me. Besides, how can a girl (or guy) go wrong with one of the best selection of baked goods? I think NY Magazine summed it up nicely...

"In a city of insipid (if not downright dangerous) salad bars, City Bakery's is a thing apart: gorgeously eclectic, culinary inspired, effortlessly seasonal. When Mother Nature gives us juicy heirloom tomatoes, savory chef Ilene Rosen gives us delicious tomato sandwiches. She also gives us caramelized French toast and a mildly spiced Mexican tortilla soup, among too many other delectable things to mention. And once you've had your tofu-skin-and-edamame salad, you can reward yourself with a cup of Maury Rubin's signature chocolate, hot or cold. Like its pretzel croissant, the City Bakery is a true original."

Excuse #1365

Thanksgiving thru my eyes. Let me break it down for you...

Food = Good.
Lots of Food = Very Good.
Mom's Home Cooking = Very, Very Good.
Leftovers awarded to this cooking-challenged bachelor = Priceless.
Me not cooking = Something EVERYONE can be thankful for.

Hope your holiday was equally swell.

I had a similar drawing that said "Eat Me" on it,
but felt it probably wasn't the most appropriate art piece
to decorate one's cube with.

I'm too full to blog. So there will be no new posts until I digest some of this turkey and/or sweat out the gravy.

Side Note: (Are there still starving people in Africa? If so, someone send a turkey leg. I'm too selfish to share my bird remains. Sorry.)

If I Did It, This Is How I Would Of Done It, But I Didn't Do It

If there was a "Sick F*ck Of The Year Award", OJ Simpson would win it hands down, with black leather gloves on. Finally, sanity reigns. Decency gets CPR. Integrity staggers to its feet. And the power of the people is reasserted. Today, News Corp announced it would cancel its television interview and book with OJ Simpson. "If I Did It" was replaced with "It Isn't Worth It."

That only happened, of course, after an insurrection took place. A popular uprising in which angry citizens not only voiced their displeasure, but flexed their economic muscles. Viewers reportedly were organizing boycotts of the sponsors of the scheduled television interview, in which Simpson would discuss how he WOULD HAVE committed the murders of his ex-wife Nicole and her friend Ron Goldman IF he had done it. Granted, just about everyone involved believes he did it, so this was simply going to be an interview with someone who got away with murder and was gloating about it for profit. It was about as disgusting a spectacle as had ever been prepared for the public airwaves.

The TV interview was all set for November sweeps. After all, if you're going to try and capitalize on the brutal murders of two innocent people, what better time to do it than sweeps? Here's an idea for sweeps week...how about I field dress OJ and make a nice butterfly filet out of him? People would want to see that, right? It's just good wholesome family entertainment around the old boob-tube. Remember, a family that eats together, stays together. Anyone for steak? Don't get me wrong, I'm not going to actually filet him. But this is how I would do it, but I'm not going to do it. Yeah, we live in a sick world.

If You Want PS3, Then You Better Be Packin' Heat!

Be afraid of a nerd, be very afraid! Unlike normal people, you know the "cool kids", nerds don't fight if their girlfriend is in danger. Nerds don't fight for their girlfriend because nerds don't have girlfriends. Nerds don't date. Nerds are busy at home masterbaiting to Lara Craft. Nerds are camping out at their local Best Buy for 3 days straight to get their boney hands on the highly anticipated new PlayStation 3 gaming consol. By nature, nerds aren't fighters. The majority of nerds aren't hostile creatures. When shoved into a gym locker, they have the tendency not to come out swinging. They will stand there with a sweaty jockstrap on their face in silence. However, say the magic word...PS3...and the maylay begins! Nerd on nerd violence breaks out. Robberies. Shootings. Stabbings. Beatings. You name it. It's all done in the name of the PS3.

In Hartford, Connecticut two armed thugs tried to rob a line of people waiting for a new PS3 to go on sale early this morning - one man was shot when he refused to give up his money. In Sullivan, Indiana a man is in critical condition after being stabbed when he and a friend tried to rob gamers of consoles they waited 36 hours in line to buy. In Fresno, California gamers were arrested after a riot ensued when Wal-Mart opened their doors to PS3 customers. The huge crowd of people trying to rush into the store led to many being trampled in a parking lot. If you actually made it into a store and bought a PS3, you would hear stories like this...

A shopper was surrounded by 5 men and beaten for his new PS3 just minutes after he bought it. And if you made it to your car with your new PS3 in hand, teens would approach you carrying chains and tire irons, demanding your console as you were unloading the box in your trunk. Other incidents around the nation included people getting stabbed over the PS3, store employees being held hostage at gunpoint and drive-by shootings.

Nationwide, short supplies of the PS3 and strong demand led to long lines of buyers, some waiting for days outside stores. Only 100,000 units were available in Japan when the PS3 went on sale there about a week ago. In the States, just 400,000 units. Once the doors opened Friday, they pushed and shoved their way to the shelves to get at the limited supply. The new PS3 is such a hot item that many people bought one just to turn around and make a profit from it, selling it on eBay. The retail price of a PS3 is $600 and the going price for one on eBay is, get this...$9,000! Yes, the price of a Kia car.

If you didn't get a PS3, then congratulations because you are probably free of bodily harm this weekend. Sony says they will have another shipment out before Christmas. This Monday, Nintendo will release their new gaming console, the Wii. It's expected to retail for $250 and hopefully people won't be getting killed over it. Just to be safe, I suggest you strap on your 50 Cent bulletproof vest and slip your glock in your sock. Nerds - go hard or go home.

An Unhappy Home

Home isn't where my heart is. I hate being home. Not in my parent's house where I grew up, but in my house. My parent's house is what will always be known as "home" to me. No matter how far I go or how long passes before I visit, that is home to me, where I'm always welcomed. The house I bought a few years back as the "fixer-upper", that is my second home. It's where I reside as I write this. The house where I remodeled the kitchen, starting with the ceiling. The house where I remodeled the foyer, starting on my knees. Stripping hardwood floors and making them new again. Sanding, sealing, waxing and buffing. I was bringing the once vacant house back to life. The long days turned into nights and the muscles in my arms and shoulders eventually caved. Although I was growing weary and sore, I refused to cave. My reward - I could see my reflection beginning to appear between the knots in the wood. The knot in the wood led to a lump in my throat. I let out a heavy, happy, heartfelt sigh. Running my hand over each imperfection felt nothing short of exquisite to me. Gazing into that lustrous mirror-like shine was my first taste of the fruits of my labor. A sweet reward. The floors may of been finished, but I was not. Progression. I was truly seeing it. In my house. In my life. The days would turn into weeks and the weeks into months. An entire season had come and gone.

I was taught to measure twice and cut once. But at age 23, this first time home owner learned the hard way, thru trial and error. From one room to the next, I would tear down and build up. Even when I painted, each passing wall brought me a sense of accomplishment and a fresh outlook on my new budding life. It's remarkable what a coat of the right color paint will do for your attitude. It was hard work, but I wasn't going to stop. It had become my mission to own the perfect house. Correction, the perfect home. Warm and inviting. Modern and unique. It had it's own special charm and the hardwood floors would not only show the reflection of those that would walked upon them, but also show the reflection of the man who labored to create them. It would be the house that David built. Well maybe not "built", but redefined. It was a reflection of me. Who I was and where I wanted to be. If home is where the heart is, then my heart was radiating beyond every wall.

A mixture of paint, saw dust and sweat permutated the room when she entered. I had been working for nearly 12 hours that rainy Saturday when she stopped by. Lacquer on my hands, drywall bits scattered on my t-shirt, I didn't look my best. I hadn't shaved and was in need of a shower. It was second nature for me to great her at the door with a hug and kiss. But I was stinky and dirty. She was "prettied up", as always. She didn't have to try. She just was. Pretty. Naturally, by nature. It was one of the many things I loved about her. Before I could explain why I didn't want to give her a proper greeting, as if my pigpen appearance wasn't obvious, she dismissed the grit and grime by wrapping her arms tightly around me with an enthusiastic..."This looks amazing! I love you for doing all of this." She was pleased. And I was happy.

"My boots aren't going to nick or scuff the new floor, are they?" she nervously asked.

"No, you're fine. These floors are made for walking. (a dumb joke, the song - These Boots Are Made For Walking) Here, check this out..."

I went to the far end of room, kicked off my shoes and slid in my socks across the freshly polished floor. To her, my simple often child-like heart was one of my most endearing qualities. Although at 23, I knew what I wanted and I was achieving it. My goals were not just marks to shoot for, marks scribbled on some random piece of paper. My goals were plans set forth into action. I was living my dream and inviting her along for the journey. I had become a grown-up, but yet this little kid would pop out of me to play. To slide across the floor in his socks. Like a modern day "Risky Business" movie reenactment. After the 3rd time whooshing past her, she grabbed the front of my t-shirt. A firm handful. She held onto it tightly and pulled me in. "I love you." She said it serious. Like I didn't know. Like I was hearing it for the first time. She emphasized the "you". She wanted me to know that who I am is enough. Over the course of dating her, I had struggled in my head trying to figure out how I could maintain the lifestyle she was accustom to living. I wasn't able to give her all the fancy things she grewup on. She wanted to reinforce the fact that even though she loved the house, it was me she loved most. Just then my dog ran into the room, wiping out on the floor, of course. She quickly scooped up my little buddy and cuddled the furball. Her compassion, that was one of her most endearing qualities.

Today I could provide those fancy things, but it doesn't matter. It's just material possessions. I've learned real value can not be measured in dollars and cents. Real value you have a hard time replacing. Real value is sometimes invaluable and can't be replaced. My dog has since passed. My almost fiancée has since left. They are irreplaceable, but I keep trying. I miss the sound of 4 pattering paws and the click clock of her heals on my hardwood floors. I come home to a quiet house. Not even the hardwood floors squeak. The silence is deafening. It fucking sucks. I'm not bitter. Just awfully sad. I'm starting to despise these floors. I hate being home. And hate is a strong word. I hate being home.

(In case you were wondering, the hardwood floors will soon be for sale...they are going along with the house.)

Back to School

Back to School

It was my privilege to speak to Professor Ruth Ost's Honors American Lives class about my newly completed manuscript today at my beloved alma mater, Temple University (Journalism, 2000).

Afterwards I traveled across campus, visiting with a former professor and several friends. I also made sure to stop for a cheesesteak at Ernie's lunch truck (the red one on 13th St., between Cecil B. Moore and Montgomery). It's the best on campus!

I had a wonderful time today, but I still had some mixed emotions about my visit to Temple. My time as a college student was the greatest period of independence in my life. Since then, I've become much weaker and far more dependent. On the other hand, at least I'm still here and able to relive those great times.

Though I fondly recall my college days, it sure was nice to be delivering today's lecture as opposed to listening to it!

I'm Writing, But Having Trouble Finishing Anyth

...blog to be continued.

THE BOOK IS DONE!

THE BOOK IS DONE!

I'm pleased to announce that after just over a year, I have finally completed the first draft of my memoir.

It has been an interesting ride, to say the least, and one which has challenged me intellectually, emotionally and even physically. I have learned more about myself and about others and their perceptions of me than I had ever imagined. I've revisited countless memories, both good and bad. And I have reconnected with so many friends with whom I had lost touch over the years.

Many thanks go out to all of my family, friends, doctors, and nurses (and anyone else I have forgotten) for your patience, support, and assistance. I could not have reached this point without you!

As I move forward in my quest to get this thing published, I will post any exciting developments right here, at Winheld's World...

Steeping Up On The Soapbox

Posting about Election Day a day late is like talking about what you are planning to do Saturday night on a Sunday afternoon. It would make you a day late and a dollar short...whatever that's suppose to mean. I just reused the phrase, I didn't write it. Actually I know what it means - it's too little too late. Of course if you are only carrying around a buck in your wallet on a Saturday night, then you have far bigger problems that I can help you tackle at the moment. Anyway, before I get caught up rambling, let me try and make a point here. They say every vote counts and even though the ballots continue to trickle in, I can give you the current standings. The results? A whopping 18 of you think I'm the shiznit! Or rather voted "What isn't to love? I love him!" So for that, I thank you. I feel the love. As I type this, I'm virtually shaking your hand and kissing your baby.

The "I Voted" sticker is free to all voters.
However, I'm sorry to say that reverse jazz hands
are not included with absentee ballots.

I know it's not politically correct to ask someone who they voted for. However, I'm going to offer this info out. Yesterday, I voted for Pedro. My Grandma's best friend Bess (God rest her soul) shouldn't of been allowed to vote. Don't get me wrong, I'm not racist towards old ladies with canes. Nor do I discriminate against anyone who can pull off the Easy Spirits orthopedic shoe look and can eat for half price with a senior discount, because frankly, I'm jealous of that. I say this based on the fact that in the 90s, she casted a vote for Clinton because she thought he was "good looking" and no other reason. I don't know, perhaps I'm a little hard on politicians, but I think they should possess other things besides good looks. Clinton = good looking? Seriously Bess, I know your glasses were thick, but good lord woman.

I also feel those who have no clue who is even running, should not be allowed to vote. If you don't know what a canadate stands for, then how can you stand behind him/her with your vote? Think about it. It's like the blind leading the blind and even a blind, deaf and dumb man can tell you that's no way to run a country. Of course if you want to cast a vote for a canadate because his puffy nose and pasty cheeks turn you on, then who am I to stand in the way of an old woman who carries a big stick?

The point is (and yes believe it or not I have one) that you shouldn't vote just for the sake of voting. Don't do it for the free "I Voted" sticker. Although highly coveted, trying to re-stick your badge of honor after removing it from your fall fleece pullover isn't suggested. Just trust me on that. You are far better off just slapping that puppy on your forehead. And what is with the "I Voted" sticker? Do you want a cookie? Big deal, you voted, so did a billion other people. In the words of Napoleon - "gosh!"

I'm just happy I won't have to see anymore smear campaign ads on TV. No more phone calls from Rudolph Giuliani, Hillary Clinton and Rick Santorum just to name a few. And most importantly, no more obscene text and e-mail messages from Mark Foley! Now if I would of saved my "I Voted" sticker, I would stick it over Foley's mouth so he stops licking his lips at me. Politics are dirty and now I must conclude my soapbox speech because I have that not so fresh feeling.

Voidance

I'm an avoider. I avoid. It's what I do. I avoid what I can't stomach. What I can't face. Who I don't want to stand face to face with. Somehow the vacancy and emptiness fills me up...or so I try to convince myself that it makes me whole and not weird. I'm not a coward, but I don't care for confrontation. I don't look to fight, but I'll stand to fight if need be. Conflict is not a friend of mine, but it's a part of life that I'm aware I must deal with. I deal with emotional voidance when it comes to my family. If I ignore it, it will go away, eventually. It's that mentality. If I pretend it doesn't exist, it will cease to exist. If I will it not to be, my will will be stronger than it's being. The ugly will disappear if I close my eyes and count to 10. In the dark it will die and in the light, I shall escape.

It's a terrible trait. Perhaps it's the worst part of me. I know I'm made-up of many pieces, but this is one piece of me I loathe. It's my demeanor. It's cold and bare. I'm not welcoming. It's much like the black suit. This is not me. I'm not that guy. But to my Mother, she fails to see anything but this right now. And it's not her fault, it's mine. I won't allow her to see more of me. And for that, I blame myself. Things of me I openly could share with a girlfriend or even a perfect stranger, but with my Mom, I clam up. Why is that? My emotions go into lockdown. I brush it all off. I'm brave and unscathed from anything thrown at me. Or so my hard outer shell likes to proclaim. It's strong and resilient to pain. It's that mask. The protective shield. And I wear it well.

I'm usually cuddly and warm. Open and honest. In touch with my softer side and willing to share. Open to listening. Desiring the closeness and the connection. I'm the guy who goes in for the hug. Not the guy who's spine stiffened and who's body became ridged when she laid her hand on my shoulder. I feel awkward and uncomfortable. Disconnected and distant. Even nauseas and angry. The space is becoming greater and I fear one day I'll be in that dark room where I'll count to 10, wishing things will fade away, and that my wish will actually come true. I'll be alone and it will be too late. This is what I'll be granted. I need to open my eyes now.

RunForRuby.wordpress.com

On November 19th, Jessica from SassySuspect.com will running the Philadelphia Marathon. Completing a full 26.2 mile marathon is a goal in itself, but it's not just about crossing the finish line. The goal here is raising money for a little girl nicknamed "Ruby" (Jessica's niece) thru the MAGIC Foundation. Ruby was born with a chronic, life-threatening disorder called panhypopituitarism. If you've never heard of panhypopituitarism, then you aren't alone. Since panhypopituitarism is rare, it is often a struggle to find information about it...and especially to find adequate, informed medical care. That is where the MAGIC Foundation steps in. The MAGIC Foundation has had a dramatic and life-saving impact on Ruby's life. Now, Jessica is asking for your help to continue the ongoing support and care for Ruby and other kids like her from the MAGIC Foundation. To learn more about Ruby, the RunForRuby, panhypopituitarism and of course the MAGIC Foundation, check out www.runforruby.wordpress.com And while you're there, be a love and donate to the cause. If I still haven't convinced you, then take this into consideration...

If a heart warming tale doesn't move you emotionally, then perhaps I can move you visually. Yes, Jess is easy on the eyes. So you can donate a lil cash to help a good cause and in the process watch a cute girl run a marathon! It's a win-win situation all the way around. So you can't lose and neither will Ruby, even if Jess doesn't win the marathon.

Best of luck to you in Philly Jess. May your kind heart fuel your ruby red slippers/running shoes and carry you thru the 26.2 miles. You're a better man than me. I say that because I've never run a marathon and I should be running with you or at least running in this weeks NYC marathon. One of these days I'll do it. Like I told my sister when she ran the LA marathon...just remember, pain is only temporary and there's nothing you can't overcome.

And the Beat Goes On...

And the Beat Goes On...

Paid a visit to my cardiologist today. In heart failure when I started seeing him four years ago, I'm doing a whole lot better today. My condition remains serious -- that's why I have a pacemaker/defibrillator implanted in my chest -- but I consider myself fortunate to be in the position I am.

My checkup went so well that we were able to shift the focus to the doctor and his wizardry (or lack thereof) with the new computer equipment in the office. It's a good thing he has a better understanding of how the heart works, because I certainly wouldn't ask him to show me how to navigate the internet!

Thanks, doctor, for making everything possible in my life...

Miss Me...Or Pretend You Do To Make Me Feel Good

It's time for a little pre-birthday party and post-congratulatory celebration. With the recent resigning of one of my biggest work contracts with the government, a proper celebration is called for, and one that is nearly 2 weeks overdue. If they want to give me a ridiculous amount of money for just a few months work, who am I to argue that they may be overpaying me? Instead I will drink to it! Yes, I'm worth every single penny, or at least I am going to keep letting them believe that. I'm feeling more confidant this time around. It was just a year ago that I was wringing my hands worrying that I wasn't living up to their expectations. That the pressure I was under had me on the verge of cracking. Now, I look back and wonder why I was so unsure of myself. Sometimes I think I invent insecurities in my head, when there is no reason for one to exist, I imagine one and bring it to life. Perhaps I'm not alone in that. Maybe that is how everyone's insecurities are born?

In case you were wondering, that isn't my baby picture.
I was waaay cuter! I know, hard to image, but true.
My Mom will confirm that as fact.
Basically, when your Mom said YOU were the cutest baby ever...
she was lying. Just thought you should know.

And in just a few days I will be turning another year older. I guess it's not too bad, if I was hitting my 30s, then that would be bad. Isn't there some law that states once you hit the big 3-0 that you have to act all grown-up and shit? However, I don't have to worry about that. I can keep using phrases like "I know you are but what am I." I'm still enjoying the 20something life and will continue to do so.

One thing that I won't continue doing is blogging. Well at least for a week. I'm going to be traveling out of state and away from cyberspace as well. So that means no new posts until November. I just wanted to let my one loyal reader be aware of that. I think SiteMeter pads my stats to make me feel good. It says I get 70-80 visitors a day, although I feel more like I have an audience of one - me, myself and I. Oops, there I go again...inventing an insecurity. Note to self, stop doing that. Also stop biting your lower lip when you are deep in concentration. It's beginning to hurt and one day when you are old and 30, your face will freeze like that!

"C" Is For Chat Room, Crazy & Oh Crap (because Oh Shit doesn't start with C)

On the web, nobody can hear you scream, but they will surely hear you if you arrive at their house with pickaxe handle! After a heated exchange in a chat room, one internet user has been found guilty of what London police are calling the first ever "web-rage" attack. 47-year-old Paul Gibbons hunted down John Jones (age unknown) using details obtained online after the pair exchanged insults and threats in a Yahoo chat room called "Islam 10". Their exchanges soured after Gibbons accused Jones of spreading rumors about him. It was then that Gibbons snapped and traveled 70 miles to the man's home where the plan was to beat him up with a pickaxe handle.

Gibbons arrived at Jones' home armed and accompanied by another man carrying a machete! Mr. Jones, whose partner and 3 children were in the house, opened the door holding a knife for protection. A fight broke out during which Jones was disarmed and beaten with the pickaxe handle and cut with the knife. Gibbons fled after the victim's partner called for help. Gibbons, who has a violent past, admitted to unlawful wounding and will be sentenced on November 7th.

Where are the sane people in this world? Seriously.

Related Post of Interest

• 01/16/06 Be Annoying Online And You'll Be Arrested Offline

Coming Down the Homestretch

Coming Down the Homestretch

I completed the next to the last chapter of my book late last night. It covers the period from about ages 5 to 10. Events described include standing up to a school bully, serving as a local poster child for the Muscular Dystrophy Association (MDA), and going to MDA overnight camp for the first time. I could tell you more, but then you wouldn't read the book!

As for the final chapter, I have a few ideas knocking around my head, so hopefully it will happen quickly. But after making and breaking several deadlines, I'm making no bold predictions this time.

Stay tuned...

I'm No Modern Day Shakespeare

I'm not a poet. I don't pretend to be. I don't even try to be. I just say what I'm thinking. Today, I said this. It doesn't rhyme, but it has reason.

"...and never say never, today is a good day to begin "never" and it just may end with happily ever after."

You just never know.

Fire and Rain (A Lot of Rain)

Fire and Rain (A Lot of Rain)

I saw James Taylor perform last night at the Tower Theater in Upper Darby. My father introduced me to Taylor's music at a young age, and I've been a fan ever since. In 2005, I often listened to his soothing music while recovering from pacemaker surgery, a very emotional time for me.

But with the monsoon-like weather outside, it could not have been a worse night to venture out. When my parents and I arrived, I desperately needed to have my trach suctioned. However, we first had to figure out how to assemble my new suction machine. (If you're wondering why I didn't think of that beforehand, don't worry; I've already heard that one!) Then, I nearly got killed by a car as I crossed 69th Street!

Fortunately, James Taylor didn't disappoint, performing favorites like the aforementioned "Fire and Rain", "Carolina In My Mind ", and "Sweet Baby James". So while it was a bit of an adventure getting there, the concert was well worth the effort.

The Real Beauty Campaign

They tell women not to read beauty magazines, they will only make you feel ugly. Feeling beautiful has nothing to do with how you look externally. It has everything to do with how you feel internally. Unfortunately, we let the outside determine how we feel on the inside. It may not be right, but it's normal. And I don't just mean that we let our appearance affect how we feel about ourselves. I mean that we often let society determine how we feel about ourselves. Society tells us what is considered beautiful and what is not. Perhaps we should blame the fashion magazines with their airbrushed supermodels. To them, beauty is what is displayed on the cover of Vogue. They don't buy into the phrase "beauty is in the eye of the beholder" or that "beauty is only skin deep and that real, true beauty lies underneath the skin". Although they do buy into the mindset that even the smallest flaw can be perfected with a little magic. So don't always believe what you see in the mirror - that you aren't that beautiful. And don't always believe what you see in the pages of Vogue magazine - that they are that perfect. Here's proof...

Too many girls develop low self-esteem from hang-ups about looks, and consequently, fail to reach their full potential in later life. So, Dove created the "Self-Esteem Fund" as an agent of change to educate and inspire girls on a wider definition of beauty. On their website, they encourage you to share your self-esteem building story to inspire others with your success. The direction of the Fund is guided by a group of people who are passionate about raising women's body-related self-esteem by offering kind and insightful support. The Fund currently supports self-esteem related programs in countries around the globe.

Personally, I think it's a good thing. I meet countless women who do not see themselves the way they should. Some are really pretty, but yet they fail to see what I see. I think the world of modeling is partially to blame for this. Believe it or not, even some supermodels aren't exempt from having a poor body image. Take a girl off the street and girl out of a modeling agency and you would be surprised how similar they are in terms of what they dislike about their body. When you look at a behind the scenes model shoot like this, it's no wonder our perception of beauty is distorted. Part of the key to feeling beautiful is having a positive attitude. I think there is something to be said about that. I believe that is what Dove is trying to achieve with their "Self-Esteem Fun". A negative vibe radiates off a person, making them "ugly". Whereas a positive outlook, it has a special glow to it - warmth, friendliness, fun. Who wouldn't want to be around a beautiful woman like that? Remember, confidence is S-E-X-Y!

Side Note: To the "I need to lose 2 lbs first" girl...you are not as fat as you imagine. A size 4 isn't even fat in the world of professional modeling.

Dum Dum

She speaks of thoracotomy, endotracheal tubes, EKGs and stories of resuscitation. Medical jargon. They are common words in her world. In mine, it's like a foreign language. If it wasn't for Grey's Anatomy and Hollywood scripted movies, I would be lost when our worlds collide, when she tells me about her day. I consider myself a fairly intelligent guy, but sometimes I feel like a dum dum in her presence. I'm listening when she talks. I am interested and trying to learn, but I can't help it if from time to time my eyes glaze over. My head gets a little clouded and I feel like saying "whoa, dude". Of course I don't say that, but that's how I opt to articulate myself when I feel like a big dummy.

She's not showoffy (I just invented that word). She doesn't throw these terms at me trying to impress me with her brains or to test my brain. She's simply sharing her world with me and that's a good thing. I just wish sometimes that her world didn't make my head spin. I get lost among the rubber gloves and needles. It all becomes a blur. Still, I follow along. I ask questions. I nod. I smile politely. She has to know this is going over my head. She's no dummy. She surely sees that. It's then that she changes the subject..."Hey, you didn't tell me. How did your (long pause) thing go on Friday?" Hmm, it seems she gets a little lost in my world too. When she's out of her element, she replaces the unfamiliar jargon with the word "thing". Tech jargon isn't her thing.

It's become apparent. We speak 2 different languages. It's a lesson in linguistics. It's also a lesson in simple communication as she tells me she brought me a little surprise. Like a child, I am eager to see what awaits me in the pocket of her scrubs. It's a lollipop. "I remembered you had a sore throat and I wanted to cure you. I stole it from the hospital, but I figure they owe me after pulling a double shift." She's sweet...and a candy criminal. It's cherry - my favorite! It's also the exact same kind I use to get from my doctor when I was a kid. She knows me well. I glance at the wrapper. The brand, "Dum Dum Pops". Fitting.

Like a Fish out of Water

Like a Fish out of Water

With the headset for my environmental control unit (ECU) in the shop for repairs the past two days, I have felt helpless. The voice-activated ECU -- which makes it possible for me to answer and dial the telephone, control my stereo, TV, VCR and DVD player, operate my hospital-style bed, and even page my nurses when they are not in the same room with me -- has become a vital part of my life.

While it is true that I have a nurse with me all day who could certainly help me answer the telephone, for example, there is nothing like being able to do things for myself. Before purchasing the ECU, I never realized how great that felt. But after owning the system for more than a year, I had come to take it for granted.

Having lost much of my independence as my disease has progressed over the years, it's important for me to maintain as much of it as possible. That's what makes the ECU so wonderful.

I should have the repaired headset back by Saturday (overnight shipping is a godsend) and then all will be well. That is, until the first time I tell the system to change the channel on the TV and it answers the phone instead. Then, things could get nasty!