Posted 6:21 PM by Michelle
In the middle of the busy Saturday lunch shift, my friend Heather came up to me and said, "What's up with table 12?" We refer to people by their table number, and the man on table 12 was alone, immersed in the menu, and had his cell phone to his ear since he sat down. Heather and I were at the computer, which is not in sight of table 12. I asked her what she meant, and she said, "He's touching his duffle bag and praying. What's in that huge bag?" I crossed over to take a look, and realized that he looked Arabic. Oh, boy, I thought. What to do? I did not want to judge him on his appearance, I did not want to jump to conclusions, but I have to admit that from that moment until the time he left I was a little terrified. I kept an eye on him, on the door, on his bag. He was sitting in the very front of the restaurant, and his enormous bag was just under him. In the end, he left without a fuss (and after leaving a mediocre tip) and I think I was more relieved that my ugly fears were totally misguided than relieved that he didn't blow the place up. The thoughts crossing my mind- what would I do? If I am the only one here, will I throw myself in harm's way to save all of these people? Would this wall, just around the table, hold if a bomb goes off? Would we be safe jumping behind the bar? All of these questions raced through my mind. It reminded me of the terrible vision I had at the end of yoga class a couple of weeks ago- in it, my mom and I were at my restaurant and someone came in with a bomb. I dragged her first behind the bar, and then through the kitchen and up the stairs to another exit... and I don't really remember what happened at the end. My fear, with her here, is only that I can run faster.

I tell you what, though. I didn't think about my butt for at least fifteen minutes.

On that note, I'm off for a bath.

Posted 8:01 PM by Michelle
I wrote an entry at the hospital, on my trusty Palm Pilot, but the experience was so over the top that I thought I'd put it more simply. I was given terrible information on pretty much every side of my little medical issue. First of all, when I got to the hospital, they had no record of me. They finally figured out where I was supposed to go, but said my appointment wasn't for an hour. So then I get down to the pre-surgery clinic, where I find out that I am NOT there for surgery, but for a check-up to (for the fourth time) schedule surgery. So I waited another lifetime before seeing first one, then two, then three doctors, all of whom made me drop my pants. I won't go into graphic detail, in order to spare you squeamish ones, but I got a FULL exam. Ladies, like what they do to us once a year? Yep, but from the other direction. Hoo, boy, yeah, yuck. So the first two doctors are telling me that the surgery I need is excessively painful, that they would have to use general anesthesia rather than local, that my recovery time would be long. I told them that my little problem in not responding to my prescribed therapy, that I had to get back to work, that I had to get back on my bike. I did not like nor trust the male doctor- he seemed to not care so much. After his very very thorough exam, he and the woman doctor left the room and I could hear them talking in the hall. They brought in a third doctor, who introduced himself as a fellow cyclist, and said that a money-happy surgeon would tell me to go under the knife, but that he said that would be a bad idea. He said that only if it was chronic, if I got them over and over and they were debilitating, would surgery be a good idea. He said it was a last resort, and that I would be off my bike for a lot longer if I went that route. Basically, I am to live with the pain, and use all sorts of treatments, including laxatives, baths, other icky stuff, and hope that it goes away.

Talk about a pain in the ass.

But he did say it would get better, and I choose to believe him. I asked how long I had to be off my bike, and he said that was common sense. He said I couldn't make it much worse, but that it was a matter of pain. These last few days haven't been bad, but I've not been physical at all, and that more than anything is driving me crazy. When I worked earlier in the week, it really didn't hurt too much, beyond a steady annoying pain, until the last few hours of my shifts. And then I felt it all the time. So I am fully determined to get better. I am going to try to give up my night shifts, since they are longer, and work mostly days. I'm going to take a bath every night, and religiously take all the goofy stuff to make my bodily functions more bum-friendly. And I'm going to wait a few days before going on even a short ride, and see how I feel. What I need most is to get back to yoga... maybe in the middle of next week.

Strange how much I've shrugged off the war the last few days. I still think about it just as much, but suddenly my thoughts are so conflicted that I don't have any clear feelings anymore. Reading about what Saddam Hussein has done to his people makes me think that maybe something good can come from this war, even if Bush's reasons are entirely different than my own. I feel like there is little to do now, other than hope. I still think Bush is, well, fill in expletive here, but maybe despite him, despite the hatred created around the world because of this war, maybe... I don't know. Maybe.

By the by, slowly but slowly, the weather is back to sucksville. In the 30's, windy, wet, no fun of any kind. In my mind I'm going to Carolina, where my brother and Tessa roam the streets in tank tops.

I have to add, though, that my life is still amazing. My mom gave up a day of work to spend it with me. She sat in the hospital, took me to lunch, came over and watched four movies with me as I lay on my futon. My dad was the first message on my cell phone when I got out of the hospital, wanting me to come stay in California for a week so I could get better. Ian and Tessa were willing to drive me to an upstate hospital at midnight last Friday if I couldn't get in to see anyone locally. And Sean and Jordana- well- there is simply nothing they wouldn't do to help, regardless if I was hemrrhoidal (yeah, I know that's not a word) or well. Beyond that, the miracle of health insurance. Yes, it is by no means a perfect system, but each visit to my doctor cost all of $10, and each trip to the ER cost all of $35. All I'm out is a week of work. I cannot begin to imagine what this would have cost... I can't even think about it. But you know what- even then- no one in my family will ever let me go hungry, and better yet, not one of them, in my extended family reaching from here to California, would let me do it alone. I feel so blessed, and so embarassed sometimes that I've complained about all of this. Because, really, I don't feel sorry for myself. This could have been cancer, I could have no family. Enough said.

Posted 6:20 PM by Michelle
It's the night before my wee surgery. Am I nervous? Not really, although maybe I should be. I'm going to eat some Annie's Mac and Cheese, watch the extended version of Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, and go to bed early.

I love my city. I love my neighborhood. I have no idea what it means to be proud to be an American., but I know exactly what it means to be proud to be a New Yorker.

My cat Zooey ate some styrofoam and then puked it up all over my new rug. I mean, it couldn't have tasted good in the first place. I think he liked how it crunched.

All I really want, on the home front, is to feel good, and ride my bike. And I want to know when this war will end, and I want to know, to that end, what I can do. I feel great things are in store for this summer- I feel great change, great events... something. Something is just around the bend. It may not be good, but it will be different. I am looking for it.

Posted 7:49 AM by Michelle
My doctor was pretty cool- it was my first break in this whole business. And my surgery is tomorrow morning. Strange, how I've been out of work and taking it easy since Monday, and then this morning I wake up with a terrible cold. This always happens. The minute I slow down, the minute a show ends, a semester is over, a stretch of hard work is finished, my body decideds, "Great! Now we can get sick!" And that is exactly what happened. My throat is closed, my body is aching. Oh, yeah, and my butt is hurting even more. Super!

I'm not good with this kind of inactivity. I think I'm not feeling well because I haven't been to yoga.

On that note, I think I'll go back to bed.

Posted 6:56 AM by Michelle
It's April Fools day. I HATE April Fools Day, as I tend to believe anything anyone tells me.

I slept nine full hours last night. Strangely, I haven't had any trouble sleeping all week. Nine hours, without waking up? It's a miracle. I dreamt about riding, about flying around the city on my bikes, and at one point, I couldn't get out of the toe clips on my hybrid, but somehow, I wasn't scared. Then my cat Fezzik, in the waking world, started washing my face, which is what finally woke me up.

I'm off to the doctor.

Posted 4:01 PM by Michelle
So I spent a total of six hours in emergency rooms over the weekend. At the end of those six hours, I was told that they couldn't help me, that I had to wait until Monday and make an appointment to have surgery. So this morning I called at 8:30 AM and was told that before I could even schedule surgery, I had to get a referral from my primary doctor. Huh. So then I called my primary doctor, and after waiting on hold for about twenty minutes, I was told that I could get a referral over the phone. So I was transferred to the referral extension, where I waited another five minutes or so, and I told them what I needed. I was asked if the doctor knew what was wrong. No, I said, I've never even met the doctor but that I was told I could get a referral over the phone. No, she said, I had to see the doctor first. I was transferred back to the appointment person, who I eventually found out was at the desk NEXT to the referral person. So. I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow at noon, after which I can make an appointment to see this certain doctor at the Brooklyn hospital, who will then tell me if he, or someone else, is able to do the surgery.

Needless to say, I was in tears of frustration as I limped through my morning sidework. The pain wasn't really bad until the tail end (ugh) of my shift, at which point it was bad enough to skip my mandatory EMS meeting and come home. I actually bought some ibuprofen, finally, so hopefully I will be in la-la no pain land soon. And I met a terrific couple at work today- they own a restaurant in the Carribean, and are promoting their newest cookbook, and I jokingly brought up the fact that the two restaurants should have an exchange program. When I went back to the table, they were talking about this idea in earnest, saying that I could come over for a month, and stay in their beach house, and teach their staff a thing or two about service. God... a month in the Carribean... umm, okay. I would not say no to that.

Posted 8:01 PM by Michelle
What more can I say and think about the war? What more can I say and think about my bum? Both of them are hurting me terribly. Only one can I remedy. I would trade having a hemorrhoid for life if it meant that we could instantly repair all of the damage we've ever done to the Middle East (and hoo boy, that's a lot of damage. But it would be a big pain for me too). I find it hilariously awful- the reports of the generals who are saying, "Gee, we were told that we would come into these towns and everyone would wave flags and pop champagne. Instead they are dressing as civilians and shooting us or blowing us up as well as themselves." I feel stupid myself for actually hoping that the Iraqui people, at least some of them, would welcome us. Well, the joke is on us. And the idiot on the hill is trying to retract his words, trying to say that all along he's insisted that this war might take a long time. When are Mr. and Mrs. Joe America going to wake up to his lies?

And now, to quote Teddy Roosevelt:
"To announce that there must be no criticism of the president, or that we are to stand by the president, right or wrong, is not only unpatriotic and servile, but is morally treasonable to the American public. Nothing but the truth should be spoken about him or anyone else. But it is even more important to tell the truth, pleasant or unpleasant, about him than about anyone else."

I know this is a dangerous time to be vocal about disagreeing with my government. But I cannot be quiet. I invite anyone to delve into my life to find one thing I've done that isn't patriotic. In fact, I daresay that I don't even do anything illegal. But I will not support my government, I will not bow to this war, I will not speak or think well of the man running my country. Not until he... oh, god, at this point, he's screwed up so badly that I feel there is nothing he can do to win my favor. He can resign and go quietly home.

So back to my butt. Yeah, it hurts. A lot. And everyone at work was asking where I was yesterday, and why I'm walking funny, and why I'm wincing... and although I'm sharing it with you, cyber reader, it's another thing altogether to tell my friends. Most people don't even know what they are. I wish I didn't, either. I don't know how much I'll be able to work this week, given that the only time I'm not in pain is when I'm horizontal. I'll know more tomorrow, when I schedule my surgery. I have to work in the morning, and then attend a four-hour meeting with the Central Park EMS, and then hopefully lay on my back for a full twenty-four hours. I feel foolish for even complaining about this. I belong in the coal mines, or trekking across America with the Mormons, for god's sake, not whining about my bum. But, well, yeah, my butt hurts. It's sure been fodder for plenty of jokes, though. I spent the evening with part of my family last night and left in more pain than I got there with, only because I spent too much time laughing. It's amazing. You have no idea how often you use that particular muscle until you are made (painfully) aware of it.