Crooked Swollen Knuckle Sandwich

I've been in a lot of pain lately. It's been going on for a couple of years, but the worst of it has been in the last few months. I started a rather physical job in October and my joints have been killing me ever since. Some days I can't lift one of my arms above my shoulder. Other days, one of my hands will swell and I can't hold on to anything causing me to drop everything I touch at work. I've had some days when I've had to call in sick because I can't walk. Luckily, the job offers plenty of personal leave days.

Until this month, I had maintained my manhood and avoided any doctor. I would just pop some pain pills and try to power through it, but I was missing so many days of work, I was beginning to worry if I could realistically even keep my job. One day, while accompanying my wife to an appointment because I wanted to hear what her doctor said about a test result that had us a little concerned, he talked me into coming to see him the following week. So much for being a man.

At that appointment I told him about my concerns and he ordered a bunch of blood work and wanted me to keep a food diary until I returned to see him two weeks later.

Doctor-requested food diaries suck. Do you know how long it takes to eat a Family Size bag of M&M's when you have to weigh each one?

— Minor Character (@brettminor) May 14, 2016

When I returned for that appointment, he walked into the room looking at my food diary and asked, "Is this real?"

I replied, "Well, yeah. I tried to be completely honest and not deviate just because I was recording everything for you."

He shook his head and said, "You eat like a homeless teenager digging leftovers out of White Castle and Applebee's dumpsters. I don't know how your body is functioning. I mean, according to this, for six days in a row your breakfast was Mt Dew!"

"Yeah. It takes too long to make coffee."

With raised eyebrows, he said, "Two days ago for supper you had a rack of ribs on bread"

 "I took the bones out."

He pointed at the paper, "There are no vegetables on here. For two whole weeks! Not a single vegetable"

I retorted, "Not true. I had vegetables last night. Spinach, sweet potatoes and tomatoes."

He glanced back at the paper and shook his head, "Veggie Straws are NOT vegetables." He then pulled out his own paper and sympathetically said, "Okay, let's try this. You really need to eat more fruits and vegetables, so let's make a list of which ones you like. What vegetables do you like?"

I got excited, "I know this one. Macaroni and cheese!"

He looked at my wife and pleaded, "Can you make sure there's fruits and vegetables in the house and that he eats them?" She agreed.

He said, "Good. Let's move on to your test results."

For the next half hour we went over what was found in my x-rays and my blood work and there was plenty found, but the best part had to do with the results of a particular test. When he pulled this up on his computer, his eyes got wide and he said to his assistant, "Have you ever seen that number that high?" His assistant, whose eyes were even wider just shook his head.

I pretty sure >300 is more than 3

You only need to score over a three to test positive for rheumatoid arthritis and I scored over three hundred. In fact, we don't even know what my actual score is because the charts only go to three hundred. I can actually say that my numbers were literally 'off the charts'.

After taking a few minutes to look at the results of several other tests, which all confirmed the same thing, he turned to me and gently said, "I hate to tell you this, but you have rheumatoid arthritis."

I smiled and said, "Okay."

He seemed a little taken back that I was taking it so well, but I pretty much already knew this. It had never been confirmed by a doctor before that day, but I knew. So, his grave declaration didn't get the response he was expecting.

Because my numbers were so high and he was able to locate several nodules in my hands and did see some degenerative damage in the X-rays of my feet, he put me on some pretty powerful drugs immediately to try to get it under control before we start the actual treatment. I don't know what that treatment will be yet, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. If it works, I won't have to cross it in a wheelchair.

I have another appointment in two weeks. For that one, we will go over my food diary again to see if I took his advice and I will be asking what the implications are of having that incredibly high number that seemed to startle him so much. Cross your fingers. I would do it myself, but they just don't move that way any more.

My test results came back and, as I suspected, I have arthritis. If it gets too bad, I'll just start tweeting with my nose.

— Minor Character (@brettminor) May 6, 2016

Sexiest People Alive

This month, ESQUIRE magazine declared Mila Kunis to be the "Sexiest Woman Alive."

While I have to agree that Mila is a very attractive woman, I don't know how this is determined since I don't remember voting or even being asked my opinion on the matter. Of course, they may have considered me biased since I have a rather strong predilection toward a certain redhead.

On the flip side, earlier this week, PEOPLE magazine claimed that Channing Tatum is the "Sexiest Man Alive."

Once again, my opinion was not sought out in this matter, and I have to admit that I just don't see it. Also, I was not asked for a face shot so the people who decided this could compare all the people alive to make this determination.

While I will admit that 'sexy' is a relative term that will be applied to different people for a variety of reasons, the fact remains that there are a lot of incredibly attractive people who are outside of Hollywood. However, they will not get the recognition they deserve simply because they have not been in a movie covered in layers of make up and filmed at the most beneficial angles after spending hours with their personal trainers.

I challenge my readers to pull their eyes away from the Hollywood spotlight for a moment to take a look at what the 'real' people of this country have been up to this week.

Never mind. I retract my original statement.

How Do You Say 'Healthy' in Canadian?

Every now and then, I get excited about getting in shape. Well...let me rephrase that. Every now and then I get disgusted about being out of shape. This, in turn, gives me (a little) motivation, to want to do something to fix it. Trial and error have proven to me that the following methods do not work.

• Taking smaller bites to reduce the number of calories consumed.
• Pre-planning your meals does not mean get larger portions to avoid having seconds
• Eating every 2 hours to reduce the amount eaten - yeah, right!
• Formulating an exercise plan - apparently, finishing the plan does not count as exercise
• The same for reading a diet book - it doesn't burn many calories

I recognize the value in exercise and eating right. I have nothing against these things. It is just not part of my routine and I have never had success in changing this. The only time I remember getting into really good shape was when I was in Tae Kwon Do with my son.

The instructor talked me into taking the lessons with him. On Mondays and Wednesdays, I went to a childrens' martial arts class with Christian. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, he accompanied me to the adult class. It was something we did together and kept each other motivated. Plus, it was fun and I got to see the results of what I learned each week. The purpose of this was not to get into shape, but it is what happened.

A few years ago, I took some of my tax return money and bought a gym membership. I pre-paid for the entire year. I think I went four times. That breaks down to $75 per visit. Not really worth it.

I have decided that what I need is a person to go to the gym with me. Someone that I have a standing appointment with that I have to keep. Whether that is every morning or just 3 times a week, that would be enough to make me go. Plus, having that person there screaming, "COME ON, YOU PANSY! GIVE ME 10 MORE!" might be the extra incentive needed to not stop when I start to get tired.

Click picture for more info

Ken Degner at ken-inatractor was just writing about the goal he has of losing 10 pounds before the end of June to fit into his suit for a graduation ceremony. He has jumped in on the Pish Posh Get Fit! Challenge.

I stated the challenge I have when it comes to motivation without a workout buddy and he offered to be that person. This is a bit different than what I had in mind since he lives in Alberta, Canada, but told him that this could work.

Even if he is not right beside me telling me that I need to push harder or swinging by the house to pick me up to go to the gym, just having someone to keep me accountable gives me extra boost to get it done. In fact, it has already started. Knowing that I have someone to answer to started the process of finding a gym today.

So, here's the deal. I will post what is happening on here as well. Not for every post, but I will keep my readers updated. Encouraging words or even insults about me being fat should both push me to work harder. I now weigh 223. Ten pounds off, as Ken suggested, would bring me to 213. I know this because I am studying to be a math teacher, so trust me. However, I am going to try for those extra 3 pounds as well. I believe that is very realistic. That give me a full 2 months to lose 13 pounds. That was more math. I haven't yet done the conversions from Canadian pounds to American pounds, so my numbers may be a little off.

Cheer me on or call me mean names. In fact, whoever comes up with the most creative or brutally cruel name to call me, I will send the doughnut I chose not to eat that day because you hurt my feelings. Let the games begin.

That Which Doesn't Kill You...Makes You Realize How Old You Are

Last night was horrible and I got less than two hours sleep.  My right shoulder has been bothering me for the last few days and after being ignored, it decided to try to kill me.  I slept for about thirty minutes and then awoke feeling an intense pain when I tried to roll over.  I couldn’t adjust my blankets, move my pillows, or even sit up without almost crying.  I tried to just find a comfortable position and ignore it, but nothing seemed to work.

Every now and then it flares up, but it goes away within a couple of weeks.  Several years ago, it got pretty bad and I mentioned it to my chiropractor.  After an examination, he told me I had tendonitis.  He even showed me where the swelling was.  It hurt to the touch and that was just what he did to fix it, he touched it, a lot.  I laid back on the table as he dug his fingers deep into my flesh.  It was one of the worst pains I have ever felt.  I honestly did not know he was only using his fingers.  I thought he had some kind of sharp tool.  I knew he had not actually cut into me, but it felt like it.  It was horrible torture and I left feeling much worse than when I had gotten there, but it got better within a few days.  Whatever he did fixed it, but I do not care to ever go through that again.

As I was laying on the floor thinking about how I need this pain to stop without having to face any type of ancient Chinese torture, I reflected on why my shoulder was hurting in the first place.  It started on Sunday night.

Sunday afternoon, I was at home working on my biblical research paper proposal when my phone rang.  Jayson Ferguson called to ask what I was doing.  I told him I had to finish my proposal, so I was unavailable.  He suggested whenever I finished we should all go to the state park in Shelbyville.  I only had about an hour’s worth of work left so I agreed.  Two hours later, Kirsten and I were in Shelbyville with the Ferguson’s.

Notice how steep this is

While the adults talked and enjoyed each other’s company, our kids were running up and rolling down this insanely steep hill in the park.  The Lake Shelbyville spillway is located there and we were at the bottom.  The road wraps around to the top and there is a huge hill in between.  This is one of those hills where you have to lean way back in order to walk down and it is steep enough your feet will slip out from under you without good footing. 

We were enjoying watching them roll down the hill and making fun of them because they were doing it wrong.  As they rolled they would slowly turn and end up sideways on the hill so they weren’t rolling down anymore.  They would then have to readjust and start again.  I told them to cross their ankles so their legs would not cause them to turn.  Alex, Kirsten’s boyfriend, challenged me to show them.  At 39 years old, I do not feel the need nor any desire to roll myself down a hill at breakneck speeds.  Despite my reasonable protests, those obnoxious teenagers started to make fun of me.

Now, I do not succumb to peer pressure and was not about to get covered in grass and be itching for the rest of the evening, but I did have a point to prove.  I challenged Alex to a race down the hill on foot.  I tried to make it clear to him that this 17 year old boy was about to get beaten by a 39 year old man.  He would be shamed for thinking his youth was so wonderful.

I chose the steepest part of the hill to run down to display how fearless I was.  After looking at the hill for a moment, we took off.  I immediately took the lead.  Although I knew how steep the angle was before we started, I totally underestimated how quickly I would achieve an unstoppable speed.  It quickly grew very scary, but I was winning and intended to keep it that way.  As I felt the muscles in my legs start to knot, I suddenly started thinking about my grandmother.

When I was in junior high, we had a large plastic barrel my brothers and I loved to play with.  It was the size of a 55-gallon drum, but it was thick plastic.  Our favorite thing to do with it was take it to the top of the hill in our back yard, crawl inside it and roll down.  It was wonderful fun and we would be so dizzy when we got out we could hardly see or walk.  One day, my grandmother came home and saw us enjoying the fun of the barrel.  After watching for a while, she said she wanted to try it.  As much as I wanted to see that, it scared me a little.  What if we broke her?  However, my dad was there as well and didn’t seem to have a problem with it, so we helped her into the barrel.

Grandma was not as small or limber as us and had to get down on her knees, lean forward, sit back on her feet and then slowly shuffle into the barrel.  She didn’t even fit all the way inside and her head stuck out the end, but she said she was ready so we pushed her down the hill.  I will never forget seeing her hair bobbing up and down and she rolled to the bottom.  Once she came to a stop, we had to help her out of the barrel the same way we helped her in.  She was very dizzy and stumbled around for a while.  She said it was fun, but did not opt for another turn.  It is one of my favorite memories of her.

My mind snapped back to reality as I approached the halfway point of the hill.  This section straightens out for about fifteen feet before dropping off again.  I was grateful for this section, because I had reached a speed where I did not know if I could stop and was going to use this opportunity to slow down a little before taking on the next section.  Unfortunately, my muscles had already grown accustomed to stepping down to maintain balance and the first step onto the flat ground jarred my knee.  As much as that really hurt, my momentum was way too much to slow down and I went airborne off the next drop off.

For perspective on the size of this hill, notice the small spots that are actually Taylor and Kirsten.

With a new wince of pain and an impacting of my spine, I was amazed that I had landed on my feet.  As much as I wanted to win, my new goal was to just stay upright so I wouldn’t break anything.  However, it didn’t look like that was going to happen.  My velocity had dramatically increased to a radically uncontrollable level.  As the trembling in my calves reached a level where I swear I could hear the vibrations, I actually reached the bottom of the hill.  It took about forty feet to come to a stop and when I looked back I saw that I had at least a seventy-five foot lead.  This old man had beaten a teenager and was not going to let him forget it.  However, since my lungs were still on fire, I couldn’t talk to rub it in his face.

Since this was the close of the day, I crawled to the car and celebrated in my mind.  I got into the driver’s seat and discovered I could barely lift my arms.  I sat there puzzled as to why my arms would be hurting.  My legs were obvious, but my arms did not make sense.  As I recalled the death race down the hill, I remembered how fast I was going and how tense I was.  I was moving at such a rate, I had my fists clenched and my arm muscles were very tense.  They were moving so fast back and forth while being tensed, I think I pulled something.  Later they felt better, but were sore like I had experienced a strong workout.  However, by bedtime my shoulder had started to throb.

While my arms have gotten less and less sore as the days went on, my shoulder has intensified.  The pain is tolerable if I just let it rest by my side, but it must be supported.  Letting it hang seems to be a problem.  It is also not happy to move forward or backwards, and strongly protests at the mere thought of  being lifted.

However, as a man, it is my responsibility to deal with it until it either heals or falls off.  What else am I supposed to do?  With my 40th birthday a few months away, I am not giving any doctor an opportunity to put on his latex gloves.  My preacher once sunk a hatchet in his shin bone while on a mission trip.  In true male fashion, he pulled it out, wrapped the wound in duct tape and kept working.  I have never seen him in shorts, but as far as I know he still has both legs.  Therefore, I will ride it out.  What's the worst that could happen?


As with most experiences, I have learned something from all of this:  It takes significantly longer to type with one hand.

Everything is Bigger in Texas (and Your Thirties)

Christmas is over and all that wonderfully fattening food that everyone stuffs down their throats for six weeks has been hidden away and now it is time to get that weight back off.  People are more than aware of the extra weight that gets put on during the holidays and only a very few are disciplined enough to not succumb to the crazed, borderline diabetes-flirting tendencies that go hand in hand with celebrating the birth of the Savior of the world.  I have overheard scores of conversations at work about the weight that now has to be worked off.  This is definitely the busiest time of year for the entire weight-loss industry.  There is no shortage of ways you can lose weight and there are plenty of supposedly “fun” ways to do it.  Past and current video examples include: Sweatin’ to the Oldies, Hip-Hop Cardio, Stripper Aerobics, Belly Dance Fitness, Cardio Salsa, Official Dirty Dancing Workout and many others.

Myself, like many others, have gained a few (dozen?) pounds over these festive holidays.  However, I may have started a bit earlier.  I noticed a few months ago how tight my jeans were starting to get.  I just haven’t taken any action yet.  However, that changed last night when Facebook informed me I had been tagged in a photo.

Waltonville High School Prom - 1988

This photo was taken in May of 1988 before the four of us went to the Waltonville Prom.  The couple on the right is Jeff Caudle and Stephanie (Allison) Maines.  Jeff was my best friend and dated Stephanie for a couple of years in high school.  Susan Wagner is the girl in pink who agreed to accompany me to the prom.  I still don’t know why she agreed, but was happy she did.  The dork on the left is me, still in shock that a pretty girl would agree to be seen with me.  Jennifer Ann Kabat is not in this picture.  There is no reason to expect that she would be, but she wanted to be mentioned in my next blog.

I have Stephanie to thank for this photo.  Apparently, it was uploaded about 18 months ago, but I never saw it until she tagged me in it last night prompting Facebook to inform me of its presence.  After the fleeting moment of nostalgia these old pictures often create, I began to be increasingly aware of my present physical state.  The Brett in that picture was so thin and his hair was so big.  I really don’t miss the big hair, but I do miss the smaller waistline.

When I graduated high school I weighed 155 pounds.  Ten years later, I was very proud of the fact that I still weighed the same.  However, I had no reason to be proud.  I had not really accomplished anything.  I was just lucky to have good genes and a high metabolism.  I had always been thin.  I ate anything and everything that came in front of me.  My mother tells the story of me eating a dead grasshopper out of a windowsill as a small child.  That may be disgusting but it just shows that I have always loved to eat.  My great-grandmother used to marvel at how much of her homemade gravy I could eat.  After every Sunday meal, once we ran out of food, I would just spoon the gravy over bread and keep eating until it was gone.  Needless to say, I have never had healthy eating habits, but it didn’t seem to matter since it had no effect on me.  But one day, it changed.

About the time I turned 30 I was buying some new jeans.  I didn’t buy jeans very often because I always had to go out of town to find my size.  I had very long legs and a small waist size.  That combination is not usually found in Wal-Mart.  Because different brands of jeans have different cuts, it is necessary to try on all pairs before buying.  In the dressing room I was quite frustrated to find that I could not button any of the jeans in my size. The store clerk had the nerve to suggest that maybe I should try a different size.  Why would I do that?  Who wants to wear clothes that aren’t in their size?   I do not know how long this new expansion had been going on, but that was the first time I noticed it.  My weight has fluctuated up and down a bit since then, but I have never gotten back down to that size again.

My past experiences with intentional weight control have been fairly painless.  A few small adjustments to my diet and a little extra physical activity causes the pounds to just fall off.  However, I have to intentionally pursue this.  I lose the weight, but then stop paying attention and find myself back to gasping for breath every time I climb the stairs to my apartment.  Generally, by the time I notice I need to diet I am bigger than I was the last time I needed to.

So, I am at that point again and need to do something.  Unfortunately, it is the middle of winter and too cold to venture outside for extended periods of time without losing body parts, although, that would take off pounds rather quickly.  Whether I wait until spring or tackle this now remains to be seen, but I will get to it.  Lately, I have been too distracted by these new patches of hair I didn’t used to have.