Category: General

If you grew up in the 70's, you know what I'm talking about.  If you grew up in the 90's, you think I'm talking about a band that had to change their name because of a brouhaha over the name of a toy.

My friend, Duey Chambers had a Stretch Armstrong.  We would stretch him out and watch him return to his actual size over and over again.

Then came the day that we decided to see just how far he would stretch.  Duey took one arm and I took the other and we pulled in opposite directions.  I'm sure that there was something in the instructions prohibiting this for obvious reasons, but we weren't thinking about that.  We were finding out, for the sake of toy science, how far he would stretch.

The answer:  a long ways farther than we thought it would, though we don't have any actual measurements.

I remember that Duey was all the way against the staircase in his living room and Stretch was still stretching.  I had decided to walk around the sofa to give myself more room to pull.  Duey was digging in with his heels and I was very slowly inching backwards, tugging with all of my might when poor Stretch had taken all he could take.

His arm snapped off near where his super-stretched elbow used to be.  All of that potential energy in the stretched-out toy turned into kinetic energy, all of it directed at Duey.  He fell backwards, hitting his head against the wall below the staircase and a supersonic Stretch Armstrong smacked him in the eye.  He had a pretty good shiner.

Which goes to show you that if you give two boys enough unsupervised time with a toy, they'll find a way to destroy it.

However, for the sake of toy science, I'll add that Stretch Armstrong wasn't filled with any sort of goo or liquid.  The severed limb was quite solid--as solid as a stretchy Stretch Armstrong can be.  That bit of knowledge satisfied my other curiosity about Stretch Armstrong's anatomy.  I had always thought he had a super-stretchy skin and liquid innards.  I was wrong.

So what brings up this dissertation on Stretch Armstrong?

Tennis elbow.

I have lots of stretches that I do to make my elbow better.  Or, better put, I'm stretching to make my arm strong.

This really is turning into the year of the physician for me.

I went to see my orthopaedic surgeon this morning.  The tennis elbow that I developed during my racquetball trournament earlier this year is not going away.  I have been doing the stretches that my ortho suggested last time I had tennis elbow.  They help, but it's just not going away, so I decided it's time to get a little help.

He didn't get out his big needle and try a cortisone injection.  He said that they're finding out more and more that tennis elbow is usually more than inflammation of the tendons.  There are usually micro-tears in the tendons as well.  Cortisone will help with the inflammation, but not so much with the healing process of the tears.

He referred me to a physical therapist for ASTYM therapy.  They use hard acrylic tools to break up scar tissue and promote blood flow to the painful area.  I had ASTYM done on my ankle with very good results, so I'm hoping that this will take care of my tennis elbow.  The ortho recommended 2 treatments a week for up to 6 weeks.

If the ASTYM doesn't fix the problem, then it's likely that I'll need an expensive MRI and an even more expensive surgery.  Oy...

My health insurance plan pays for the first $2250 of medical expenses for the year.  I had a routine physical, for which they gave me a $100 bonus, so the first $2350 plus the cost of the physical exam will be covered.  I have about $850 of that left, and they still haven't billed me for the Lithotripsy yet.  Then next $2250 comes out of my pocket 100%.  After that, we go to a 90/10 coinsurance.

Normally, this plan is ideal for my family.  It costs less than the traditional insurance plans, and even if we have one major health expense (like a kidney stone, for example), we don't have to pay very much out of pocket.  This year, it's going to cost $2250 plus 10% of what's left over.  *ouch*

There IS a maximum out-of-pocket, so maybe I should get both knees replaced and have shoulder surgery, and see what else I can have done this year.  Might as well...  It only costs time, and pain, and therapy and more pain and...  Never mind.  All that pain scares the willies out of me.

When I was a cub scout, I remember going to Cub Day Camp.  The Day Camp near Billings had a BB-Gun range.  I came home frustrated and upset, because I couldn't hit anything.  I don't remember even having hit the target, let alone anything that would have scored well.

My dad worked with me and helped me realize that although I am right-handed and do everything with my right hand, I'm left eye dominant.  I was shooting right handed, but I should have been shooting left handed.

When the summer was over, I was given the opportunity to buy one of the BB guns from the day camp for something like $20, so I did.  I spent quite a bit of time in the back yard shooting into a little trap target that my dad made.  I started to get good at it, and I also realized that I liked to shoot.  My dad told me that if I worked at it, I'd be a sharpshooter someday.

My first week-long camp for Boy Scouts was called K-M (K bar M) scout ranch near Lewiston, Montana.  I was 12 years old (almost 13) and one of the activities available there was rifle shooting.  They taught us how to shoot in the prone position, laying on our stomachs.  I found out quickly that if I controlled my breathing and if I took my time (sometimes to the chagrin of others that were waiting their turn) I could shoot really well.

K-M had a "sharpshooter" competition.  They would take the best (highest scored) target of the week and they would be named the camp sharpshooter.  I tried my best to shoot as well as I could.  At the end of the week, at the campfire, I was the camp sharpshooter.  My dad's words had come true.  I was a sharpshooter.

Since then I have rarely had the opportunity to shoot.  I had shot a few times at different activities when the opportunity presented itself.

Last week at scout camp, I had more opportunities to shoot.  They had a very excellent rifle range and they let scoutmasters and leaders shoot.  After remembering to breathe and take my time, I started shooting REALLY well.

In addition to merit badges, the range also offered NRA light rifle qualifications.  I worked on those as much as I could during the week.  Later in the week, too many boys were shooting, trying to earn their merit badges, so I couldn't continue, but I ended up with my NRA Marksman 1st Class qualification.  If I would have been able to shoot two more times, I would have earned my Sharpshooter qualification.

One of the most fun moments of camp came on the last day during the camp-wide super activity.  In the shooting sports area, they had a water balloon shoot.  They wanted the scout and the leader that were the best shots to shoot.  One of my scouts had also earned his NRA Marksman 1st Class qualification.  We shot for our troop.

We decided to shoot separately instead of shooting together so we could spot for each other in case we missed.  The scout shot first.  We each had 3 rounds to shoot.  He shot 3 out of 3 water balloons, and it was SO much fun to see the huge grin on his face each time he exploded a balloon.  It was fun to hear the whole troop cheer each time he hit his target.  It was a great moment.  Incidentally, I also hit 3 out of 3 targets, so we ended up with a really good score.

I've been missing in action here for another week.  I was at Camp Tifie near Mount Pleasant, Utah this week with my scout troop.

It was a great week!  Camp Tifie is brand new.  It had only been open a week when we got there.  There are still a few kinks to work out, but overall, it was a great experience.

My troop of 14 boys earned 55 merit badges and a couple of boys even taught a merit badge class.  We were easily the best troop there, and that's a completely unbiased opinion.  No, REALLY.  We were chosen first for the "spirit stick," we had a troop yell at every flag ceremony, we earned the Baden Powell patrol award, we were chosen to present our skit at the closing campfire, and best of all, we earned the White Buffalo award, the highest award given at Camp Tifie.

My own son had a ton of fun too, including sleeping overnight in a shelter he built with two other scouts.  It was a requirement for the Wilderness Survival merit badge.  It was SO fun to see him learn and grow and have a ton of fun.

I'm exhausted though.  It will be nice to sleep in my own bed tonight.

That's good news.  I don't have an ugly surgery to schedule, worry about, and recover from.

I didn't find out from my Urologist.  My wife looked up the result for me.  I'm not too happy about that, so it's a good thing I'm changing doctors now.  My Urologist's office hasn't been too good with communicating with me.

I called a Nephrologist this morning and they'll call me back to schedule an appointment.

My mom grew up on an eighty acre farm in Star Valley, Wyoming.  They lived in a small home about three hundred yards to the east of US Highway 89 between the towns of Grover and Afton.  My grandfather more or less built the house with his large, powerful hands.  You can see it on Google maps here.  My mom's family came up with the name Lonetree Lane, and it made me smile to find it labeled as such on Google maps.

My dad grew up in the very-slightly-less-rural setting of Circleville, Utah.  Circleville is a small town of about 500 people.  The home where he grew up can be found on Google maps here.  Interestingly enough, my dad's boyhood home is about three hundred yards to the north of US Highway 89.

My parents met after my dad returned home from his mission.  They moved to Billings, Montana after they married, and they lived there for more than 30 years.  All five of their sons eventually moved to Utah, so when the opportunity arose, my dad took a job in Utah County.  My parents have now put down roots in Spanish Fork, Utah.  They built a home where we all fully expect them to live for the rest of their lives.

By some strange coincidence, they built that home about a thousand yards south of US Highway 89.

The more things change, the more they remain the same.

It's not over yet, I guess.  Sorry that my blog is becoming a medical journal of sorts.  I'm sitting here trying not to be stressed out, but I'm on pins and needles.

The results of my 24-hour urine test showed higher-than-normal levels of calcium.  It was about 25% above where it should have been.  My blood test showed normal levels of calcium in my blood.

Elevated calcium in the urine plus elevated blood calcium would make them think that I had a problem with my Parathyroid glands.  Elevated calcium in the urine plus normal blood calcium plus multiple kidney stones makes them think the same thing.

The Parathyroid glands are four rice-sized endocrine glands that maintain the body's calcium level within a very narrow range so that the nervous and muscular systems can function properly.  When blood calcium levels drop below a certain point, the parathyroid glands release Parathyroid hormone (PTH) into the blood.  PTH increases blood calcium levels by stimulating the break down of bone to release calcium.  It also activates vitamin D, which increases gastrointestinal calcium absorption and it promotes calcium uptake by the kidneys.

So this morning, I had another blood test to measure the amount of Parathyroid hormone in my blood.  If it is elevated, it means that at least one Parathyroid gland in my neck is out of control and is dumping PTH into my bloodstream constantly.  The only cure for this is surgery to remove the offending glands.

There are two types of surgery.  The traditional variety involves a 6- to 10-inch incision between my collar bones and my adams apple.  The surgeon would then dissect my neck until he found all of the parathyroid glands and removed the offending ones.  There is a new surgery called Minimally Invasive Radioguided Parathyroidectomy (MIRP) that uses radioactive dye to pinpoint the overactive glands.  It requires an incision about 1 inch in length.  It's a much easier procedure to recover from, though I wouldn't have as much fun explaining away the scar as a run-in with cut-throat pirates.  If I want MIRP, I'll have to find a doctor that does it regularly to make sure I have a high probablity of being cured.  I might have to leave the state to find one.  And then there's the worry about how much of a new procedure, if any, my health insurance will cover.

If my PTH level is normal, then I'll be put on a calcium-restricted diet for a couple of weeks and then they'll repeat the 24-hour urine test.  At that point, I'll probably stop seeing the Urologist and I'll head to a Phrenologist - a doctor that specializes in kidneys.

But a calcium-restricted diet??  I'd have to say goodbye to:

• Milk, cheese, yogurt, ice cream...  Pretty much all dairy.
• Cereals and Grains.
• Green, leafy vegetables.  (Ok, maybe that's not so bad.)
• Spices:  Cumin, coriander, cloves, oregano, mustard seed
• Fish

So I'm back to three options:

A)  Surgery
B) Calcium-restricted diet
or
C) More kidney stones.

Whatever happened to:

D) None of the above?

*sigh*

The PTH-level blood test results should be in tomorrow afternoon.  Until then, I'll be nervous, wondering if I'm going to have to have surgery.

What a wonderful week!

My family spent a relaxing week on vacation last week.  We rented a 4 bedroom house just north of Williams, Arizona.

We woke up when we felt like waking up.  We drove to Grand Canyon National Park.  We stayed as long as we felt like staying, and then we went home and relaxed some more.  One day, we stayed "home" all day, just because we could.

We read, played games, watched movies, and generally didn't rush anything.  It was wonderful!  We hiked 7 or 8 miles of the rim trail of the Grand Canyon, amazed at the ever-changing views of this wonder of the world.

In the two pictures above, you can really see how the view changed as we hiked.  The rock formation is the same, but from different perspectives as we hiked around the rim of the canyon.

It was an incredible time.  The only sadness is that it's over.

Eighteen years ago, we were married.  Eighteen years ago this morning, we knelt across from each other and made covenants with God and with each other.  Eighteen years ago, we exchanged rings and started our life together.  Eighteen years ago, we were giddy and happy and we started this journey together.

What a wonderful journey it has been.

I will forever be grateful for the incredible blessing of having her in my life.  Each passing year brings us closer to each other as we live and love and laugh together.  Each new trial of our faith, of our patience, of parenthood... each of these things, a potential weakness, becomes a strength as we learn and grow and overcome.

Together.

Eighteen years is just the beginning.

Happy Anniversary to us, my love!

I repeat, we have normality.  Anything you still can't cope with is therefore your own problem.

I actually think I'm starting to feel normal again.  Yesterday was a really good day.  I was able to work the full day without wanting to take a painkiller.  I was able to concentrate on work and everything.

I also took my rock collection in to the urologist and they told me I don't have to keep trying to collect more.  This is also good.  I don't have to take a whole kit with me to use the facilities.  Also a big step towards normality.

I'm still going to stay very hydrated, but not so much that I have to get up two or three times during the night.  I think a big part of why I'm feeling more normal is that I've been able to get more sleep the past couple of nights.

I have a follow-up appointment scheduled and they'll be able to tell me what's skeewampus in my body that is making it want to produce solids where only liquids ought to be.  In the meantime, I'm going to try to get back to life as usual.

*whew*