UPDATE --I'm grateful beyond expression for the kindness and generosity shown by so many of you; this is among my largest blessings.
Unfortunately, it looks very much like I'm headed back to the hospital. I earnestly hope this isn't the case, but right now it looks like I'm headed for another bout with (not bout "of") C.Dif. Please pray for me, and especially for Korrin and our children. As some of you know, Korrin has been very sick for a long time herself and she simply can't manage without my help, so please pray (or for those who don't pray, keep a good thought) that I'll be restored to full health soon.
For denizens of the dino-media, August is traditionally a slow news month. For me, it became downright torpid when I suddenly found myself laid low by a microbial assault.
As a result, an informative, if unwelcome, opportunity presented itself: I spent several days examining, in detail, the bowels of our much-discussed health care system. The system spent that time returning the favor.
The assailant that stole the better part of a fortnight from my life is commonly called C.Dif (colostrium difficile). Typically, that bacterium is content to bide its time lounging among our intestinal flora, playing shuffleboard or whatever it is that amuses the tiny livestock each of us constantly carries in blissful ignorance of this potentially lethal symbiosis.
From time to time, however, C.Dif gets riled up in reaction to a person's exposure to an antibiotic, or is summoned from dormancy through contact with an infected host or a tainted environment. As one would expect of a pathogen whose name sounds a bit like the showbiz handle of a Gangsta Rapper, C.Dif is a truculent and destructive organism once something gets its attention.
About two weeks ago, the Diffster made its presence known shortly after a swimming excursion with my kids.
As my stomach bloated and unbearably malodorous gas began to emerge in irrepressible burps, I assumed that I was being paid a visit by my old friend, amoebic dysentery, whose acquaintance I made in Guatemala back in '83. Then I suspected I had picked up cryptosporidium from the swimming pool, something I experienced as a child. (You wanna talk about me and intestinal parasites? Don't get me started!) With weary resignation I bought the usual suite of over-the-counter palliatives, assuming that, ah, this too would pass, as it were.
Except it didn't.
Now, assuming that you're still reading an essay devoted to an affliction involving bodily functions most people politely ignore unless paid extravagantly well to deal with, I offer the following advisory: From here on, things are going to get really rough. Caveat lector.
The Tuesday morning following the onset of first symptoms (bloating, runs, insurmountable fatigue) dawned innocuously enough. I was tired, but not abnormally so. My stomach wasn't complaining, as it had over the previous two days. Our family planned to go house-hunting and then visit an amusement park in fulfillment of a promise I had made to our children before the closing of the blessed parenthesis we call Summer Break.
Given all of this, I was stunned and troubled to discover during my routine morning ablutions that I had, ah, deposited something the color of borscht (my apologies to anyone who has enjoyed that Slavic delicacy or any other porridge made from that noble and misunderstood tuber, the beet).
What I had left behind was blood -- a lot of it. I wasn't terrified; my reaction was one of weary annoyance coupled with a mixture of resignation and regret.
Regardless of what else was to come, this much was certain: Sometime, in the near future, an endoscopic camera was going to take a long, scenic tour of my intestines -- sort of like thevoyage of the Starship Enterprise through V'Ger, I suppose, although I doubt that V'Ger felt degraded and violated by the experience.
My initial experience was repeated several times that day. Each time I got weaker and more light-headed. Yet, displaying the obtuse stubbornness that is my most salient trait I persisted with our schedule. We went and inspected our would-be new dwelling, and then I took the family to an amusement park in Meridian (a suburb of Boise).
I found myself increasingly weary: In the 90 degree-plus weather, my legs strained to carry me as if I were wading hip-deep in rapidly coalescing hot tar; breathing became an exhausting chore, a feeling I experienced a number of years ago while doing calisthenics from above the clouds during a visit to Colorado's Rocky Mountains. But we were at sea level, and the most rigorous thing required of me was to walk while carrying our seven-month-old child, Justus.
Still, idiot that I am, I insisted on taking a couple of rounds at the batting cage.
The most challenging machine at that particular facility is set to pitch at between 75 and 80 miles per hour, which means I usually compensate by standing about three feet in front of the batter's box.
On this particular day, I took 48 pitches -- two dozen right-handed, and two dozen as a lefty, a nicely bi-partisan allotment. Every pitch I beat right into the ground, a sure sign of exhaustion (my legs were too tired for me to make the appropriate adjustments in my swing). With each pitch, my breath grew shorter and my heart rate escalated -- which is not a normal state of affairs.
I had bought three batting tokens; I offered the third to our ten-year-old, Isaiah (who acquitted himself with distinction against the 65 MPH machine). I walked woozily over to where Korrin was sitting and sat down. I caught my breath, but it soon managed to break free of my grasp. The visible horizon started to wobble ever-so-slightly, and a cold sweat began to ooze from me.
"Dad, you look white," William said, his brows conjoining in concern.
"Honey, we've got to get to a hospital right now," I gasped to Korrin. She helped me round up our offspring and we made a beeline to the nearest hospital, which -- praise God from Whom all blessings flow -- was about fifteen minutes away.
As I was admitted to the ER, I looked at William and we carried out a ritual that became familiar during my years on the speaking circuit.
"William, while I'm away...." I began.
"I know -- I'm Daddy ex officio," replied my Firstborn with the same quiet confidence displayed by Mr. Spock as he assumed command in Captain Kirk's absence.
For the next several hours, Korrin and our children waited while I was poked, prodded, interrogated, scoped, and -- most unnervingly -- examined in the time-honored fashion of victims of alien abduction.
That last experience prompted me to make a wisecrack (pardon the expression) about the title of Led Zeppelin's last studio album.* That sortie didn't reduce the ER staff to puddles of mirthful admiration, nor did several others in the same vein ("Mr. Grigg, do you suffer from constipation?" "Actually, I rather enjoy it" -- drum kick). "Man, this is a tough room," I complained as the grim-faced staff tried to figure out why an overweight but otherwise healthy man was apparently bleeding to death from his retreating aperture.
It took just a few hours for the lab to report a positive result for C.Dif, which -- given some of the other possibilities -- actually left me relieved. I was admitted overnight for observation and treatment and put in a room subject to isolation protocols. I was also immediately put on an IV antibiotic following a second positive lab finding for C.Dif.
Within a day, the bleeding stopped, and I was permitted to eat actual food. A day and a half later I was discharged.
Two days after that, I was hospitalized again following a relapse that left me so weak and breathless I could barely stand -- even though I insisted on walking into the ambulance, rather than being carried on a stretcher.
Through a gathering hypoxia-induced fog, I tried once again to crack wise: "Please tell me we're not going to Bethesda Naval Hospital," I croaked to the competent and personable paramedics, who didn't understand the allusion and couldn't have cared less to have it explained to them.
During the next four days, I was given six units of blood. I was also given the privilege of consuming a gallon of something that tasted like a cocktail of liquid copper and film developing solution in preparation for the dreaded colonoscopy.
"If copper bullion were actually a broth made from metal cubes," I commented, "it would probably taste like this."
My nurse, who was polite enough to pretend that I was amusing, told me that I could have some ice if lukewarm electrolyte solution was difficult to choke down.
"No, thanks," I replied, "I prefer my electrolyte solution `neat.'"
The product in question, incidentally, is called "Go-lyte-ly," which struck me as both a really bad pun and a very inappropriate allusion to Breakfast at Tiffany's -- or to any meal at any location, for that matter, given the purpose of that purgative.
Following a night of torrential outpourings that brought to mind a passage from the Book of Jeremiah ("My bowels, my bowels!... I cannot hold my peace..." -- Jer. 4:19, KJV, sort of), I underwent the dreaded inspection, which -- as experiences of that kind go -- was relatively painless and brief.
The most difficult part of the experience, of course, was waiting for the results. After a couple of hours on tenterhooks, I was told that the examination had found nothing.
Just a few hours later I was told that I would have to undergo a barium X-ray. That procedure would be much less invasive. The "prep," however, involved the consumption of 1200 ml of a heavy concoction, the progress of which through my innards would be followed in search of unauthorized detours -- the slightest of which would divert my life onto a new and unwelcome path.
"This is a remarkable concoction," I commented to the X-ray tech as I swilled the irradiated milkshake, a viscous brew the color of rotting bathroom caulk that tasted a bit like a mixture of government-grade powdered milk and chalk dust with just a soupcon of metal filings and a dash of strawberry flavoring added as a contemptuous concession to human tastebuds.
For thirty-five minutes I was photographed by the X-ray tech. For another twenty minutes I was examined by a specialist in radiological medicine. And then I spent another two hours in anxiety waiting to learn what, if anything, had been found.
Eventually a nurse was dispatched to offer the news:
"The tests were all negative," she said. "They didn't find anything."
"Well, it's certainly not for a lack of looking," I replied in an homage to the cinematic Patron Saint of investigative journalists, Chevy Chase's Fletch.
It has been said that there is no stronger force in nature than necessity. Human beings, designed as we are to adapt and learn, can re-adjust their perceptions of necessity very quickly, and with those adjustments comes a reconfiguration of one's subjective perceptions of value.
To put this in practical terms: Given the fact that people can and do die from C.Dif, I now find myself pathetically grateful -- literally, to the point of offering prayers of thanksgiving -- for a normal BM, one that doesn't involve passing blood.
As someone who only recently managed to overcome a lifelong aversion to hypodermic needles, I found myself willing, and even eager, to undergo the poke-and-burn necessary to restore my blood volume when sudden symptomatic anemia left me bug-eyed, pallid, tremulous, and dying.
The past month has been unusually freighted with unsought "learning experiences" for our family.
Just days before my illness, we were subjected to an anonymous, and malicious, "child endangerment" report that upended our affairs for several days.
The morning before my hospitalization I received a letter from the thuggish parasites at the IRS (who are easily as loathsome as, and even more potentially lethal than, C.Dif) informing me that they had decided I owe them more than a thousand dollars more than I had paid in 2007 for the privilege of living under a government that is destroying the economy and waging war against freedom and human decency.
Our home of the past four years is being foreclosed out from beneath us because our absentee landlord decided to walk away from the mortgage -- not only on that property, but on his own home as well. Since no legal action has been taken yet to seize the property, we could stay on it rent-free for up to six months or more. However....
There is a very good chance that some plumbing issues left un-fixed by that same former landlord created the environmental conditions that led to my recent sickness. I can't permit Korrin -- who, as I've mentioned before, is an invalid -- and our children to run the risk of similar exposure. So we're technically homeless at present, living as refugees in my parents' home in eastern Oregon while trying to find another dwelling in Payette County, Idaho.
A long-running freelance gig (arranged by a man of angelic generosity and supernal kindness) that has kept our family alive and solvent for nearly two years ended while I was in the hospital. This means that, for the first time since I was thrown to the wolves by former friends and professional associates in October 2006, I am now completely unemployed.
"Honey, the van is running funny and may be about to break down," Korrin told me during the phone call in which I reported that my tests were negative and I was coming home -- wherever "home" might be at the time.
"Oh, that's a relief," I replied. "For a moment I was afraid that we were running out of problems."
Indeed, this past month has had a flavor that reminded me of the five scariest words in the first chapter of the Book of Job: "While he was yet speaking...." That refrain refers to the multi-partner tag-team of messengers who reported the cascade of disasters that took place during a particularly crowded morning.
Job didn't wake up that day suspecting that he would be destitute and bereaved by noon. But after being pummeled in rapid-fire by losses that no human being should be able to bear, Job still knew that his Redeemer lived, and that He remained sovereign over the universe.
Apart from the genuine agony I feel as I watch Korrin suffer, and the anxiety I experienced wondering if I was going to be taken and leave her to raise our six children alone, what I've experienced is -- at most -- a bit like a trite sitcom based loosely on the sufferings of Job.
Our family has been fortified by countless prayers offered by our friends and family. My parents are, as they have always been, gently and quietly heroic. Several friends have distinguished themselves through their caring and generosity; I would make public and particular mention of several of them, but in doing so I might thoughtlessly slight others, given that so many have taken an interest in our welfare and given of themselves with an eagerness that has left me astonished and, sometimes, ashamed of myself.
I won't minimize the magnitude of the challenges our family faces. This much I know: My sense of necessity has been permanently re-defined. The experience of being left breathless, even though my lungs are filled with air, has fortified my sense of determination and re-focused my attention on the essentials.
Sure, we're still in a lot of trouble. But at least now, after several days when doing so was a challenge, I can truly breathe -- and while I breathe, I fight.
___
*For those of you who don't know -- and, really, why should you? -- the name of the last original Led Zeppelin LP was, for some reason, "In Through the Out Door."
As a result, an informative, if unwelcome, opportunity presented itself: I spent several days examining, in detail, the bowels of our much-discussed health care system. The system spent that time returning the favor.
The assailant that stole the better part of a fortnight from my life is commonly called C.Dif (colostrium difficile). Typically, that bacterium is content to bide its time lounging among our intestinal flora, playing shuffleboard or whatever it is that amuses the tiny livestock each of us constantly carries in blissful ignorance of this potentially lethal symbiosis.
From time to time, however, C.Dif gets riled up in reaction to a person's exposure to an antibiotic, or is summoned from dormancy through contact with an infected host or a tainted environment. As one would expect of a pathogen whose name sounds a bit like the showbiz handle of a Gangsta Rapper, C.Dif is a truculent and destructive organism once something gets its attention.
About two weeks ago, the Diffster made its presence known shortly after a swimming excursion with my kids.
As my stomach bloated and unbearably malodorous gas began to emerge in irrepressible burps, I assumed that I was being paid a visit by my old friend, amoebic dysentery, whose acquaintance I made in Guatemala back in '83. Then I suspected I had picked up cryptosporidium from the swimming pool, something I experienced as a child. (You wanna talk about me and intestinal parasites? Don't get me started!) With weary resignation I bought the usual suite of over-the-counter palliatives, assuming that, ah, this too would pass, as it were.
Except it didn't.
Now, assuming that you're still reading an essay devoted to an affliction involving bodily functions most people politely ignore unless paid extravagantly well to deal with, I offer the following advisory: From here on, things are going to get really rough. Caveat lector.
The Tuesday morning following the onset of first symptoms (bloating, runs, insurmountable fatigue) dawned innocuously enough. I was tired, but not abnormally so. My stomach wasn't complaining, as it had over the previous two days. Our family planned to go house-hunting and then visit an amusement park in fulfillment of a promise I had made to our children before the closing of the blessed parenthesis we call Summer Break.
Given all of this, I was stunned and troubled to discover during my routine morning ablutions that I had, ah, deposited something the color of borscht (my apologies to anyone who has enjoyed that Slavic delicacy or any other porridge made from that noble and misunderstood tuber, the beet).
What I had left behind was blood -- a lot of it. I wasn't terrified; my reaction was one of weary annoyance coupled with a mixture of resignation and regret.
Regardless of what else was to come, this much was certain: Sometime, in the near future, an endoscopic camera was going to take a long, scenic tour of my intestines -- sort of like the
My initial experience was repeated several times that day. Each time I got weaker and more light-headed. Yet, displaying the obtuse stubbornness that is my most salient trait I persisted with our schedule. We went and inspected our would-be new dwelling, and then I took the family to an amusement park in Meridian (a suburb of Boise).
I found myself increasingly weary: In the 90 degree-plus weather, my legs strained to carry me as if I were wading hip-deep in rapidly coalescing hot tar; breathing became an exhausting chore, a feeling I experienced a number of years ago while doing calisthenics from above the clouds during a visit to Colorado's Rocky Mountains. But we were at sea level, and the most rigorous thing required of me was to walk while carrying our seven-month-old child, Justus.
Still, idiot that I am, I insisted on taking a couple of rounds at the batting cage.
The most challenging machine at that particular facility is set to pitch at between 75 and 80 miles per hour, which means I usually compensate by standing about three feet in front of the batter's box.
On this particular day, I took 48 pitches -- two dozen right-handed, and two dozen as a lefty, a nicely bi-partisan allotment. Every pitch I beat right into the ground, a sure sign of exhaustion (my legs were too tired for me to make the appropriate adjustments in my swing). With each pitch, my breath grew shorter and my heart rate escalated -- which is not a normal state of affairs.
I had bought three batting tokens; I offered the third to our ten-year-old, Isaiah (who acquitted himself with distinction against the 65 MPH machine). I walked woozily over to where Korrin was sitting and sat down. I caught my breath, but it soon managed to break free of my grasp. The visible horizon started to wobble ever-so-slightly, and a cold sweat began to ooze from me.
"Dad, you look white," William said, his brows conjoining in concern.
"Honey, we've got to get to a hospital right now," I gasped to Korrin. She helped me round up our offspring and we made a beeline to the nearest hospital, which -- praise God from Whom all blessings flow -- was about fifteen minutes away.
As I was admitted to the ER, I looked at William and we carried out a ritual that became familiar during my years on the speaking circuit.
"William, while I'm away...." I began.
"I know -- I'm Daddy ex officio," replied my Firstborn with the same quiet confidence displayed by Mr. Spock as he assumed command in Captain Kirk's absence.
For the next several hours, Korrin and our children waited while I was poked, prodded, interrogated, scoped, and -- most unnervingly -- examined in the time-honored fashion of victims of alien abduction.
That last experience prompted me to make a wisecrack (pardon the expression) about the title of Led Zeppelin's last studio album.* That sortie didn't reduce the ER staff to puddles of mirthful admiration, nor did several others in the same vein ("Mr. Grigg, do you suffer from constipation?" "Actually, I rather enjoy it" -- drum kick). "Man, this is a tough room," I complained as the grim-faced staff tried to figure out why an overweight but otherwise healthy man was apparently bleeding to death from his retreating aperture.
It took just a few hours for the lab to report a positive result for C.Dif, which -- given some of the other possibilities -- actually left me relieved. I was admitted overnight for observation and treatment and put in a room subject to isolation protocols. I was also immediately put on an IV antibiotic following a second positive lab finding for C.Dif.
Within a day, the bleeding stopped, and I was permitted to eat actual food. A day and a half later I was discharged.
Two days after that, I was hospitalized again following a relapse that left me so weak and breathless I could barely stand -- even though I insisted on walking into the ambulance, rather than being carried on a stretcher.
Through a gathering hypoxia-induced fog, I tried once again to crack wise: "Please tell me we're not going to Bethesda Naval Hospital," I croaked to the competent and personable paramedics, who didn't understand the allusion and couldn't have cared less to have it explained to them.
During the next four days, I was given six units of blood. I was also given the privilege of consuming a gallon of something that tasted like a cocktail of liquid copper and film developing solution in preparation for the dreaded colonoscopy.
"If copper bullion were actually a broth made from metal cubes," I commented, "it would probably taste like this."
My nurse, who was polite enough to pretend that I was amusing, told me that I could have some ice if lukewarm electrolyte solution was difficult to choke down.
"No, thanks," I replied, "I prefer my electrolyte solution `neat.'"
The product in question, incidentally, is called "Go-lyte-ly," which struck me as both a really bad pun and a very inappropriate allusion to Breakfast at Tiffany's -- or to any meal at any location, for that matter, given the purpose of that purgative.
Following a night of torrential outpourings that brought to mind a passage from the Book of Jeremiah ("My bowels, my bowels!... I cannot hold my peace..." -- Jer. 4:19, KJV, sort of), I underwent the dreaded inspection, which -- as experiences of that kind go -- was relatively painless and brief.
The most difficult part of the experience, of course, was waiting for the results. After a couple of hours on tenterhooks, I was told that the examination had found nothing.
Just a few hours later I was told that I would have to undergo a barium X-ray. That procedure would be much less invasive. The "prep," however, involved the consumption of 1200 ml of a heavy concoction, the progress of which through my innards would be followed in search of unauthorized detours -- the slightest of which would divert my life onto a new and unwelcome path.
"This is a remarkable concoction," I commented to the X-ray tech as I swilled the irradiated milkshake, a viscous brew the color of rotting bathroom caulk that tasted a bit like a mixture of government-grade powdered milk and chalk dust with just a soupcon of metal filings and a dash of strawberry flavoring added as a contemptuous concession to human tastebuds.
For thirty-five minutes I was photographed by the X-ray tech. For another twenty minutes I was examined by a specialist in radiological medicine. And then I spent another two hours in anxiety waiting to learn what, if anything, had been found.
Eventually a nurse was dispatched to offer the news:
"The tests were all negative," she said. "They didn't find anything."
"Well, it's certainly not for a lack of looking," I replied in an homage to the cinematic Patron Saint of investigative journalists, Chevy Chase's Fletch.
It has been said that there is no stronger force in nature than necessity. Human beings, designed as we are to adapt and learn, can re-adjust their perceptions of necessity very quickly, and with those adjustments comes a reconfiguration of one's subjective perceptions of value.
To put this in practical terms: Given the fact that people can and do die from C.Dif, I now find myself pathetically grateful -- literally, to the point of offering prayers of thanksgiving -- for a normal BM, one that doesn't involve passing blood.
As someone who only recently managed to overcome a lifelong aversion to hypodermic needles, I found myself willing, and even eager, to undergo the poke-and-burn necessary to restore my blood volume when sudden symptomatic anemia left me bug-eyed, pallid, tremulous, and dying.
The past month has been unusually freighted with unsought "learning experiences" for our family.
Just days before my illness, we were subjected to an anonymous, and malicious, "child endangerment" report that upended our affairs for several days.
The morning before my hospitalization I received a letter from the thuggish parasites at the IRS (who are easily as loathsome as, and even more potentially lethal than, C.Dif) informing me that they had decided I owe them more than a thousand dollars more than I had paid in 2007 for the privilege of living under a government that is destroying the economy and waging war against freedom and human decency.
Our home of the past four years is being foreclosed out from beneath us because our absentee landlord decided to walk away from the mortgage -- not only on that property, but on his own home as well. Since no legal action has been taken yet to seize the property, we could stay on it rent-free for up to six months or more. However....
There is a very good chance that some plumbing issues left un-fixed by that same former landlord created the environmental conditions that led to my recent sickness. I can't permit Korrin -- who, as I've mentioned before, is an invalid -- and our children to run the risk of similar exposure. So we're technically homeless at present, living as refugees in my parents' home in eastern Oregon while trying to find another dwelling in Payette County, Idaho.
A long-running freelance gig (arranged by a man of angelic generosity and supernal kindness) that has kept our family alive and solvent for nearly two years ended while I was in the hospital. This means that, for the first time since I was thrown to the wolves by former friends and professional associates in October 2006, I am now completely unemployed.
"Honey, the van is running funny and may be about to break down," Korrin told me during the phone call in which I reported that my tests were negative and I was coming home -- wherever "home" might be at the time.
"Oh, that's a relief," I replied. "For a moment I was afraid that we were running out of problems."
Indeed, this past month has had a flavor that reminded me of the five scariest words in the first chapter of the Book of Job: "While he was yet speaking...." That refrain refers to the multi-partner tag-team of messengers who reported the cascade of disasters that took place during a particularly crowded morning.
Job didn't wake up that day suspecting that he would be destitute and bereaved by noon. But after being pummeled in rapid-fire by losses that no human being should be able to bear, Job still knew that his Redeemer lived, and that He remained sovereign over the universe.
Apart from the genuine agony I feel as I watch Korrin suffer, and the anxiety I experienced wondering if I was going to be taken and leave her to raise our six children alone, what I've experienced is -- at most -- a bit like a trite sitcom based loosely on the sufferings of Job.
Our family has been fortified by countless prayers offered by our friends and family. My parents are, as they have always been, gently and quietly heroic. Several friends have distinguished themselves through their caring and generosity; I would make public and particular mention of several of them, but in doing so I might thoughtlessly slight others, given that so many have taken an interest in our welfare and given of themselves with an eagerness that has left me astonished and, sometimes, ashamed of myself.
I won't minimize the magnitude of the challenges our family faces. This much I know: My sense of necessity has been permanently re-defined. The experience of being left breathless, even though my lungs are filled with air, has fortified my sense of determination and re-focused my attention on the essentials.
Sure, we're still in a lot of trouble. But at least now, after several days when doing so was a challenge, I can truly breathe -- and while I breathe, I fight.
___
*For those of you who don't know -- and, really, why should you? -- the name of the last original Led Zeppelin LP was, for some reason, "In Through the Out Door."
50 comments:
Good lord! You've had your fair share of unwelcome visitors from within and without so I pray for you and your family.
Prayers going up for you and your family right now.
Yes, you were extremely lucky. Untreated C. Diff. can quickly turn into toxic megacolon, which is very bad juju.
For the benefit of your readers, as I'm sure you were told this ad nauseam, Clostridium difficile is becoming, like so many other pathogens, resistant to the conventional methods of treatment. The first line treatment is Metronidazole, or Flagyl, by IV, but the little bugger is fast becoming resistant to it. The second line treatment is oral vancomycin, which does not kill all the bacteria, but interrupts their reproduction and allows other bacteria to overgrow and suppress the C. Diff.
Personally, I recommend that anyone who is taking antibiotics get some Lactobacillus acidophilus capsules to take while on the medication.
"By much tribulation do we enter the Kingdom of Heaven." You evince the character and understanding of those who find the right door.
For great intestinal health drink a green smoothie every day for breakfast:
1 cup plain kefir
1 handful raw pineapple
2-3 handfuls raw spinach
2 free range raw eggs
1/3 tsp cinnamon powder
add honey to taste
Add ice if desired, or freeze pineapple
blend
Add banana, blueberries, strawberries, etc. to preference
Homemade kefir is best and super easy to make. I make mine with raw cow milk. Do a google search and you'll find lots of info.
Welcome back, Will. Glad to read of your improvement.
It is in difficult times that we reveal our true selves. We either pass or fail in such times. You have passed which I am sure would not surprise those that know you.
Now that your health has returned, you will be able to right the ship. It is good to know this.
Will,
Your sense of humor should be an inspiration to all. May God richly bless you, my friend.
well! i caught a harsh flu, and i also got hit up for a meager sum by the department of revenue in my state. my problems now seem trivial in comparison.
My family and I will pray for you. I'm a long time reader and first time poster here. I just assumed that you had monetized this blog and were doing really well with your writing.
I'm sorry to hear of all the troubles you've had recently and your run in with CPS has been a wake up call to me to prepare for that with my family.
God bless you and your family. Thanks for having the courage to write this blog and stand up for what is right.
Good to know that you were just down, not out. :)
God bless. Praying for you and your family.
Mr. Grigg,
First, it is a relief to have you back. Reading you were on an IV, and hearing nothing thereafter, I feared the worst.
It's strange how afflictions tend to come in batches. I have had the same this year - unemployment for 8 months now, eviction, bankruptcy. Yet I thank God for my life, my food, and my health, and for new friends. I pray for no more burdens to bear, and for the opening of new and brighter horizons wherever I end up being pushed to.
I pray and hope the same for you.
My best advice: Have faith like Job. Thank the Lord for all your blessings, and never fail to remind yourself of them constantly: Your wife, your children, your parents, your food, your shelter, your health, your life. All of these are blessings from the Lord, which are not ours, but are only on loan to us. From time to time we are reminded of how fragile they are - you have been reminded forcefully recently how easily you could lose them and how easily they could lose you.
Thank the Lord without ceasing for all that you still have, and for all the joy and wealth - material and spiritual - that he has stored up in His limitless treasury to bestow upon you.
May He turn his face towards you and shower His blessings upon you with an infinite and open hand.
Sincerely,
Lemuel Gulliver.
God bless you and your family. Why not throw up a Paypal link? Might not bring in much, but it's a start.
Thanks, Anon @3:42, I was hoping somebody would ask that. So, Will, can we help? I don't have any online accounts, so checks?
cAN YOU READ THIS?
I.m the kringle guy.
I'll send you some money to help you out if you reply to the old address of mine at xxxxx@tds.net with a way to get it to you by surface mail. Even if it only a couple hundred it might be some straw.
262-XXX-XXXX, I'll be at that number on Saturday and part of Monday. After that I am gone for a while and cannot offer any immediate help. I left the XXXXX fill-ins in prior communications by e-mail.
Let me help you in return for your help for many of us.
My friends, thanks so much for your prayers, kind words, and generous offers to help. They mean more to me than I can adequately describe.
We're still receiving our mail at our old address --
1318 3rd Avenue South, Payette, Idaho, 83661.
I've looked into opening a PayPal account but several people I really respect (viz. Radley Balko, "Strakon" at The Last Ditch) have described some really severe, and apparently politically motivated, problems they've experienced. So I'm trying to find a suitable alternative.
Once again, thanks so much for your concern and generosity. Things are looking better now that I'm back with my family and -- at least so far -- recovering very well from last week's adventures.
Your perseverance in such times of adversity is an inspiration to all who read you faithfully.
If I had a deity I'd offer a prayer, but I can offer is my heartfelt best wishes. May you have a speedy recovery.
Sic Semper Tyrannis
Will,
We are so relieved and happy that you're finally 'on the mend' and back at your keyboard! Hopefully, your doctor recommended over-the-counter probiotics after taking all those antibiotics in order to help restore your intestinal flora and help speed your full recovery.
Your account of these recent travails is a testimony to your faith, your perseverance, your journalistic skills, and your great sense of humor!
We will be praying that these recent trials will soon be resolved, and that your family will be blessed beyond measure.
I'm glad to know that they have the bug ID'ed and you are looking forward to a speedy recovery.
Now about that whole blood. Whole blood is like taking receiving an organ, which in fact it is seen that way by many doctors. My brother and I just had a talk about this very subject when talking about a family member who had received whole blood. My brother is a doctor and this area is his line of work.
Being said, make darn sure you get your blood checked in six months and than again after a year.
Doctors and the medical world isn't all that hot to talk about blood being seen on the same level as an organ but its a darn close second. Not trying to get you going Will but just giving you the heads up on just how serious all of this you have gone through really is, more than you may know.
Try contacting Dave Champion at champion@nontaxpayer.org about your tax issues. His website is http://www.nontaxpayer.org/
We need every spokesman well for the fight this winter, so get it out of your system my friend. This criminal government has bills introduced to take over the internet, healthy local foods, guns, ammunition; the list goes on. We're in for a fight, and if they win, I'm going to have to leave the country before I'm not allowed.
In contrast to Will's run of Biblical tribulations, I had some good fortune this week. A fellow knocked on the door and proposed to buy my old car parked in the driveway, which didn't even have a 'for sale' sign on it. He stopped by last night to give me a deposit.
After reading Will's essay, I realized that this windfall was intended for him. A check for a hundred dollars is in the mail.
'Ask and ye shall receive,' brother. The Man who said that wasn't lying.
May the Lord bless you and your family Mr. Grigg.
Holy crow! I like the new site design, by the way. I usually read via RSS, so I hadn't noticed it until now.
Oh, and my older sister and older brother both live in Meridian. I doubt you'll want to hang out with them either. :)
the check is in the mail chief
I'm sorry about your illness, hope you are well soon.
This may fit into a future post for you;
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hIKPKjl0-pg
So sorry Will. Wish we lived closer. I would love to pay Korrin and the little munchkins a visit. It's been way too long since we have just sat and chatted while the kiddos played. I miss her. Will you tell her hello for me. Praying you will feel better fast.
Will, you have to be the most jovial sick person I've encountered. I will certainly keep you and your family in my prayers.
Will:
Forgive the humor, but you used the term "Barium", so at this point I have to introduce into the record a few "red neck" medical terms:
Bacteria - back door to the cafeteria
Barium - bury him
Cauterize - made eye contact with her
Dilate - live long
Enema - not a friend
G.I. series - world series of military baseball
Impotent - distinguished, well known
Outpatient - a person who has fainted
Post operative - a letter carrier
Recovery room - the place where you get new upholstery on your couch
Rectum - d**n near killed him
And last but not least:
Asphalt - (I can't bring myself to enter the definition)
Merriam-Webster and Random House both list "outbreak," "period," "session," or "spell" as a meaning of "bout," and specifically cite "bout of illness" as a valid example of this usage.
I hope things get better. And if not that our Father in Heaven gives you the strength to deal with it.
Yup, not going good in my area. I'm 52 years old and out of work. Unemployed computer programmer. Hey at least I'm getting two days work this coming week. Yeah, doing roofing. In Texas heat. The things us Americans don't do. After that? Who knows. Sigh. Least it keeps me in shape. heh.
The Job walk, he made it look easy, we can only hope to come out of it as good as he did, eh? I've found this info to be very helpful, perhaps you will too if you didn't know about it already? I think she is a Doctor: Take care of your, "swimming pool" PH levels etc... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uJJA9sWT6Qg I found this on the blog of Mr.Commonsense.
Will,
I totally understand what you are going through. I had c-diff for over a year. I had a groshong catheter placed in me to get daily vanco treatments that did not work. I eventually fought off the nasty "crap" by purchasing a supplement from Europe that is often used there, but not approved by the FDA (you wanna talk drug cartels, that's one for you!) After 30 days, I was cured. It has been several years and I can't remember the name of it. I will try and do some digging in my brain.
God bless you and your wife. You have been through a lot.
Best of luck,
El Chupacabras
Will,
I tried to listen to the radio show yesterday and found someone else talking instead of you.
I did a little more research today and find that it is scheduled for 7:00PM central time.
Looking forward to hearing it.
Will, hang in there man. Good to see your humor intact.
Ya know ya gotta ramble on, through the good times, bad times.
When the levee breaks, we'll see how many more times we will get trampled under foot, or get sick again, but we'll just stay in the light, that's the way to give them no quarter.
Finally, for your life, in those dancing days, after the battle of evermore, we'll reach the houses of the holy, and on that celebration day, ascend the stairway to heaven (too obvious?)
Sorry, your Zeppelin reference got to me...
I am praying for you, and will add you to our prayer list.
Having had dysentery for a month straight once, and a couple of "incidents" since then, I have a good idea of the misery you went through, and are continuing to go through.
In all, we wouldn't be just a mite stubborn, would we? :-)
Please remember Romans 8:28. I will pray that the LORD's will be done, kindly requesting that it be His will that you recover fully, and that you and all yours are well taken care of.
May the LORD God bless and keep you and all yours.
Prayers for you from Guatemala, where you can buy Cyrpofloxin over the counter and it fixes just about anything...
Mark
Freelance Writer & Father of 10
Antigua, Guatemala
Best wishes to you, Will! Sounds like a horrible little bug.
Dave - Erstwhile Urban Wanderer
I'm wondering if largish doses of high quality pre and probiotics would force out the C Dif, as in: there's not room for two substances to occupy the same space.
Good Luck Grigg!
You are an example for me, here across the ocean in Portugal.
Keep on breathing and fighting!
Best wishes
Pedro
With regards to your UPDATE of Thursday, August 27, 2009, I suggest you do some research at http://www.doctoryourself.com/
ATTENTION WILL, YOU NEED SUPER PROBIOTICS.]
Find a local source source of raw milk from grass fed cows, mix in some kefir grains or powder and make kefir. This will heal you and keep you from getting sick again. You may have gotten sick in the first place from lack of beneficial intestinal flora.
I pray for your complete recovery Mr. Grigg. You are a light in a world of darkness and I read almost all of your essays although I have never left a comment before.
I am wondering about your wife and what she has been diagnosed with. You said somewhere that there is no cure for it. Over the past 4 plus years of my life I have had a most remarkable experience. It started with the diagnosis of breast cancer and went on from there. It's a long story so I won't go into it much but what I finally found to help myself is light years beyond conventional medicine and it WORKS. After the cancer for which I had a lumpectomy but no chemo or radiation "therapy" I was diagnosed with Hepatitis C. For 3 years I thought I had Hepatitis C and attempted to treat myself accordingly having given up on doctors. I was eventually led to a totally different method of diagnosis and it turned out that what I had had all along was the Epstein Barr Virus along with a small amount of Hepatitis C. I began doing what the wonderful people I had encountered suggested and I am now free of both viruses and everything else in my body is getting better: atherosclerosis is gone, heavy metals gone, parasites gone, etc., etc., etc. I have been wondering if what I have been doing would help your wife because I firmly believe that there is almost ALWAYS a cure for what ails you. If you provide your body with the proper supplements along with other things, your body knows how to heal itself. Your body doesn't want to be sick...it wants to be well.
And because I suffered so much for 3 plus years I like to pass along what I have discovered. I would love to see your wife healthy.
Is anyone local to Will? Anyone know how he's doing? Thanks!
"Is anyone local to Will? Anyone know how he's doing? Thanks!"
I just listened to his radio show that was live at 7:00PM central.
He sounded pretty good and made some comments about his health and welfare at the first of the show.
The show is archived here.
http://libertynewsradio.com/shows/plr/2009/
Mr. Grigg,
For you from Ireland, an old blessing, which is sent with a sincere prayer that the Lord may hear this wish........
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
May the blessing of light be on you – light without, and light within.
And may the sun shine always upon your face, so that no shadow falls at your feet, but only the guiding light going ahead before you, as you journey along your way.
And may the light shine out of the eyes of you, like a candle set in the windows of a house, bidding the wanderer to come in out of the storm.
May the blessing of the rains be on you – the gentle rains, that make all the little blossoms to spring up, and shed their sweetness on the air.
And may the blessing of the great rains be on you, the great rains that beat upon your soul and wash it fair and clean, and leave there many a shining pool where the blue of heaven shines, and sometimes a star.
May the blessing of the winds be on you – may they blow always at your back, and guide your ship to many a lovely port filled with riches for you to bring away, gold and ivory and untold riches of the soul.
May the road rise to meet your feet, and guide you always along the ways of holiness and peace, until it brings you near unto heaven itself.
May the grass too be soft beneath your feet, and may it rest gently beneath you, as you stretch out grateful upon it at the end of each and every day.
And may the grass rest gently over you, when at the end you stretch out beneath it in your final repose. May the grass rest so gently over you, that your soul may be up and away from under it quickly, and up and away, and on its way to God.
And now, may the Lord bless you, and bless you kindly.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Thanks, T2T. I forgot about the time change. (It WAS changed, right? I checked at 6:00 tonight and someone else was on…)
Will,
I don't know how they're going to cure you. I assume with more strong antibiotics? In order to stay healthy, you'll need probiotics, beneficial intestinal flora that have been destroyed because of those antibiotics. Eat healthy, get a kefir starter and put it in some raw milk, or raw coconut water. 80% of your immune system is in your digestive tract.
Will,
I don't know how they're going to cure you. I assume with more strong antibiotics? In order to stay healthy, you'll need probiotics, beneficial intestinal flora that have been destroyed because of those antibiotics. Eat healthy, get a kefir starter and put it in some raw milk, or raw coconut water. 80% of your immune system is in your digestive tract.
R U Dead?
Drink plenty of beer. It may not help, but it makes you feel better.
Shots of aged whiskey - kills the little buggers fast.
praying for a full recovery! Get better!
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