Monthly Archives: July 2012

France/Don’t order the fish/Raining Redux

With all the talk about United Airlines falling apart after the merger with Continental, there was no small measure of fear & trepidation that something would go wrong getting from Redwood City, California, to Lourdes, France. Plenty of opportunities; Flight from SFO-Chicago, Chicago to Frankfurt, Frankfurt to Toulouse, bus from Toulouse airport to Toulouse Train station, train from Toulouse to Lourdes… what could possibly go wrong?

Hardly a TGV, yet our low-rent “Intercity” train from Toulouse to Lourdes still does a better speed than Caltrain’s so-called “Baby Bullet.”

Lots! But fortunately the only snag was that our Lufthansa flight from Frankfurt to Toulouse landed late due to having to fly a longer route than normal (weather issues) and then it took forever for our baggage to arrive from the plane. Thus we ended up taking a train two hours later than planned, but y’know, not that big a deal.

Malfunctioning seat control copied from a Trilobite, the movie Tron, or a tribal mask?

But that’s not to say there wasn’t some grief along the way. For starters, I ended up upgrading to business class (at my son’s expense; he was on an award ticket in First, using miles I’ve earned). OK fine, maybe I can get some sleep. Or maybe  not. You see, my lie-flat seat wouldn’t do anything but put up the footrest and alter the lumbar support. Everybody else was sleeping away, all stretched out and semi-comfy (including my son in First), and me? I’m all contorted trying to figure out a way to relax. Yeah right. That much was United’s fault, and yes they did try to fix it by “resetting” it but to no avail.

The rest was my fault. About the fish thing. A long-running joke, championed by the movie “Airplane”, says whatever you order, don’t order the fish. People always get sick eating the fish. Well, my choices where a beef thing with mushrooms, a pork thing with

I should have known better than to order an unknown fish dish.

mushrooms, or a shrimp & fish thing with a mexican-sounding name. I’m not a mushroom person, so I went for the fish, knowing full well that I should never order mixed fish dishes that I don’t know about because I react rather violently to many types of shell fish, in particular scallops & muscles. And when I got it, yes, there should have been red flags all over the place because the plate had a couple of muscles or clams or something in closed shells but it tasted good and it’s been years since I’ve had any issues (because I’ve avoided scallops, muscles & clams) so maybe I’m fine now.

Did I tell you that Kevin can sleep anywhere, anytime?

Two hours before landing it became clear I was not fine. It wasn’t long before I had to make a run to the toilet because a barf bag in business class is so gauche, and the last hour of the flight I was breaking out in a pretty bad sweat. I was just barely feeling alive wobbling off the plane in Frankfurt, and was wondering how in the world I was going to make it the rest of the way. But two more trips to the toilet and I was suddenly all better. Dramatically so. As in feeling pretty darned good the rest of the way.

And the rest is history. We’re in Lourdes, it’s raining outside but should be nice by morning, and I’m feeling surprisingly perky for hour 31 or so of this travel day. Tomorrow we get the bikes put together and go out for an easy spin, likely no more than 50 miles. Nothing having to do with the Tour de France; they’re miles away right now, and we’ll intercept them on Sunday.  –Mike–

Scared to death but ridiculously-normal

(If you’re looking for something cycling-related, there’s nothing to see here, move along. Just an overly-lengthy piece about a guy’s fear of needles and having blood drawn, along with mortality issues and a bit of gulit.)

Confession time. Yesterday was my first “voluntary” trip to a doctor in… could be 35 years. Seriously. Yes, I’ve had a few life insurance physicals, and yes, there was that broken wrist (actually the base of the thumb) a couple years ago. But aside from that, well, let’s just say I’ve done my best to avoid encounters with doctors. It’s not that I have problems with hospitals or doctors per se. I don’t look at Kaiser and think “This place gives me bad memories, ‘cuz it’s where my dad spent the last days of his life 24 years ago.” I don’t live in denial, thinking if I see a doctor, they’re going to discover something terribly wrong with me that I’d rather not know about.

It’s far simpler than that.

I have a pathological fear of needles and having blood drawn. Seriously. I am tough as nails on virtually any sort of pain (for the most part, broken bones & teeth have never bothered me, and when the ‘doc would insist that I take something like Vicodin to “stay ahead of the pain”… well I tried it… once… didn’t like the way it made me feel, and didn’t need it anyway), so this isn’t about pain. It’s about needles, and watching or thinking about blood bubbling up in a tube. It’s about the blood drawer looking at my arms and saying “You’ve got great veins, this is going to be easy!” and I get nervous and manage to collapse them so they have to keep stabbing at me over and over as I get white as a sheet. And when you associate that with anything having to do with a doctor visit.. well, you can see my problem.

This even caused me a fair amount of guilt; when my father was dying (of an unusual blood cancer that hit a lot of people who worked in the newspaper biz at the time, probably having to do with a deadly combo of benzene, lead and photo chemicals), he needed blood, which many family members and friends generously provided. But not me.

But I’m 56 years old now, and in that full-circle sort of thing, the same age as my father when he died. A rude reminder of mortality, and when you talk about metaphorically seeing death staring you in the mirror, you start noticing things like that mole… has it changed? You notice that you’re not as fast on the climbs anymore… is it really just a breathing issue?

So I made an appointment with a generic Doctor at Kaiser, ostensibly to discuss just my breathing issues (likely exercise-induced asthma), but when it becomes quickly apparent that I’m a guy with no (medical) past, it’s almost as if I can hear the door to the exam room locking, aware of my desire to flee, so the good Doctor can order up all manner of blood tests, lung x-rays and whatever else.

And so it was that I went from there to the place they collect your blood, and it was there that I nervously sat down in the chair, and started to think about things in a fatalistic manner, as in, it’s only a matter of time and this will be over. I noticed two vials and hoped that both weren’t going to be used; I imagined blood being coaxed from my veins one drip at a time. But I gamely looked to the side, hoped for the best, felt the slightest of pin pricks, and then did the unthinkable. I forced myself to relax. And amazingly, it was as if I could feel the release of tension and my veins willingly open up and easily fill both vials in record time.

8 minutes later… I kid you not… I get my first email from Kaiser, letting me know the automated part of my blood tests are available. All ridiculously normal. Not happy about the hematocrit level of 44; do I need to microdose EPO to get it up to 50 (max legal limit for cycling before they accuse you of doping) or what? Yes, I can laugh about that.

The second panel came in today, all the cholesterol stuff, liver tests, quite a few things that, if readings are “bad”, point to things that could be trouble. And agin, every single one of them ridiculously normal. Blood sugar levels, cholesterol, the two biggies, perfectly fine. No indications whatsoever of anything like my father died from, and yes, even though I realize it was almost certainly environmental, you still wonder.

There’s more in store for me down the road; internal plumbing inspections for one (I shouldn’t have joked about cyclists being obsessive and “anal” about heart rates, as that provided a nice lead-in to a discussion about colonoscopies), and the previously-mentioned x-ray of my lungs to rule out any damage from 2nd-hand exposure to cigarette smoke as a little kid. But the rest of it doesn’t scare me. And the next blood test doesn’t scare me nearly so much as this last one did.  –Mike–