MLK Day

The Swiss have stubbornly refused to recognize Martin Luther King Day as a holiday, so I'll be working on Monday.

To all Minnesotans: I want you to think of me toiling away in my office on Monday as you're outside enjoying your traditional MLK Day picnics.

Uh-oh

A deferred dream has suddenly popped back into my head. At one point a couple of years ago, Tanner and I were thinking of driving the Alaska highway, which runs from Dawson Creek, British Columbia to Fairbanks, Alaska, in the summer of 2008. We put those plans on hold when gas prices skyrocketed and we moved to Switzerland. I can feel the bug starting to come back now that gas prices are back down to a reasonable level. From Salt Lake to Fairbanks to Anchorage back to Salt Lake is about 120 hours of driving time. That's quite a chunk of time. But man, what a trip it would be . . . .

Swiss fog isn't so bad

Current temperature in Zug: 32 above zero
Current temerature in Minneapolis: 20 below zero

Jet lag

A short post: Jet lag isn't fun. We got home five days ago. Stace and the kids are dealing with an eight-hour time adjustment, while I've got seven hours since I came from Minnesota. (They say that it takes one day to adjust for every hour you're off, although "they" also said that labor is the worst pain a person can experience, and if you've read the post about my back injury, you know that isn't true.) Anyway, Lindsey fell asleep on the school bus on the way home this afternoon. Tanner melted down while he was doing his homework. Stace went to bed at 9:00 tonight.

I feel fine.

Oh, my aching back!

Okay, here's the story and the current status of my back. One of my Faithful Readers has chastised me for failing to make my previous description of the accident sufficiently humorous, so I'll see what I can do to get us a few laughs out of the whole fiasco. It actually was laughably ridiculous.

So, the Tuesday morning before Christmas, there I am, standing in the shower at my parents' home, doing what one usually does in the shower, namely, showering. Everyone has their own preferred order of business in the shower. Mine is to wash my hair at the end of the shower. I was reaching up into the windowsill to get the shampoo, and suddenly I was falling. It happened so fast that I don't know why it happened. I think pretty much everyone reading this blog knows that I have MS, and my legs get a little flaky once in a while, but I haven't had issues with just randomly falling down without warning. I think my foot just slipped on the wet bottom of the tub.

So, because I was facing the window and I fell backward, I fell out of the tub onto the bathroom floor. It's funny how many thoughts can go through one's head in a split second in a situation like that. My first thought was, "Oh, shoot, I'm bringing the shower curtain down with me, and that's going to result in the shower curtain rod also falling down. How embarrassing." My second thought was, "Oh, shoot, I certainly can't grab the towel rack that's to my right, because that rack came out of the wall last year, and then my dad put it back in the wall, and then I carelessly pulled on the rack just a few hours after he did that and I pulled it out of the wall again, and Dad worked feverishly to firmly anchor it back in the wall (this is all still last year), and since I'm already bringing down the shower curtain and curtain rod as I'm falling right now, it would just be embarrassing for me to also bring down the towel rack again this year." After I got past those first two thoughts, but still before I had hit the ground, my third thought was, "This probably looks ridiculously silly." My fourth and final thought was, "Oh, shoot, this is going to hurt."

All of those thoughts, which took place in about a third of a second, turned out to be correct. The shower curtain and rod did fall down, I did manage to avoid grabbing the towel rack (which wouldn't have prevented my fall in any event), I did look ridiculous, and it did hurt. I smacked my lower back against the side of the tub as I was falling backwards out of the tub. To heighten the drama of the situation, I think I even yelled as I was falling, but no one heard me. They were all upstairs.

After I finally hit the floor, I just stayed there for a second, testing each of my limbs to make sure I hadn't paralyzed anything. (Of course, the shower is running the whole time, and now there's no shower curtain to keep the water in the shower, so water is going all over the bathroom floor.) I got up to put the curtain rod back up and to finish my shower, and that's when I found out that my injury was a little more serious than just a nice bruise. Any motion that involved the use of the muscles in the lower left side of my back caused intense, shooting pains to go through my lower back, sort of like someone had held several needles in a fire and then stabbed me in the back with them. However, I still hadn't finished my shower, and I wasn't wearing any clothes (obviously), so I hung up the curtain rod the best I could, finished washing my hair, and dried myself off the best I could. I'll be darned if I was going to go through all of that hassle and not even finish my shower.

At that point, the pain in my back was so bad that I was starting to go into shock, so I opened the door a crack and called for my lovely wife, Stace. I have no doubt that she immediately dropped whatever she was doing at the moment and rushed to my aid. She helped me get somewhat dressed and helped me to the bed, where I rested until I was past the danger point of fainting.

I spent the next couple of weeks mostly on the couch with a heating pad. I've never felt pain like that before. They say that labor is the worst pain a person can experience, but this was worse. Trust me. I could find positions where it didn't hurt at all, but if I tried to do silly things like tie my shoes, or get into bed, or get in or out of the car, someone would start stabbing those hot needles into my back again.

To make a long story short ("Too late!" screams the anguished listener), I saw a couple of doctors in Utah. They both assured me that my symptoms indicated a heckuva bruise rather than a herniated disc, so they gave me some addictive narcotics and told me to give it some time. It wasn't getting better by the time I flew to Minnesota a couple of weeks later, so I saw my doctor there. He gave me some more addictive narcotics but also had me get an MRI just to be sure. To my surprise, the MRI did show a slightly herniated disc. (It also showed degenerative disc disease, for which I can thank my mom's side of the family. Those Rogers genes are programmed to start destroying one's back starting at about age 15.)

To make a really long story short (uh, well, never mind), my back finally started to improve on its own. Now that I'm in Switzerland, I may go to physical therapy to strengthen the muscles and to make sure that disc doesn't start acting up again. It still hurts sometimes, but I can sleep now without waking up to change positions. I'm not sure how much of ski season I'll be able to salvage. We'll see. I don't want to push anything yet.

Like other illnesses or injuries, this one has given me an appreciation for simple things like being able to get into a car without screaming and being able to roll over in bed without taking ten minutes to figure out the best way to do it without invoking the needle-stabbers.

Hmmm. I don't know what the topic of my next post will be, but whatever it is, it'll be much shorter than the last two.

Flyin' high

We're back in Switzerland. I have things to say about the trip, including an update on the status of my back, but today, Northwest Airlines has inspired me to include a description of what it's like to fly World Business Class. That's right, on our way back, Northwest Airlines gave me a free upgrade to business class as a way of thanking me for spending so much of my company's money on flying Northwest last year. This will be a rather long and self-indulgent post, much like your average State of the Union address, so if you don't want to suffer a through a lengthy description of my blissful experience, you should stop reading now.

World Business Class, which is used for overseas flights, is light-years above domestic first class. It all starts when you go to check in for your flight. You get to bypass the long check-in line and go to a special, much shorter line. If you're checking bags, they're marked with a special "priority" tag so that your bags come off the plane ahead of everyone else's. In addition, limits on the number of bags and the weight of the bags are higher than for the commoners. You're also exempt from those bothersome fees for checking bags.

Once you've breezed through that painless experience, you then go to the security line, but you don't have to wait in line with the rest of the flying public. No, you get to go to a special line for privileged people. (There are good arguments to be made that going through airport security should be an egalitarian experience and that all should suffer equally, and on most days, I have sympathy for those arguments; however, when it comes right down to it, I'm more than happy to skip that part of the flying experience and take advantage of my special status. I will say, though, that even the privileged ones have to take their shoes off to go through security, a requirement that I find most unpleasant.) So, you jump right up to the head of the line and zip through security in a matter of seconds.

After you've made it through security, you wouldn't expect to go wait with everyone else at the overcrowded gate, would you? No way. You get to go wait in a special lounge for privileged people. In that lounge, you have nice, comfortable chairs, or you can go sit at an individual workstation if you need to spend some quality time with your laptop. There's wireless access if you need it. There are free food and drinks (including free booze, which, of course, doesn't do me a bit of good, darn it). Even the restrooms are nicer than your average airport restroom.

When it comes time to board your plane, a pleasant voice in the lounge announces that it's time for you to get yourself to the gate. Of course, you're allowed to get on before everyone else if you're there when boarding begins. There's really no hurry, though, because even if you find a long line of people waiting to board, you get to skip directly to the head of the line and get on the plane whenever you want. (I've only exercised that option a couple of times in cases of dire need, because it just seems so in-your-face to go to the "elite" line and cut right in front of someone who's been standing there waiting for fifteen minutes. This proves that I haven't yet completely been seduced by the dark side of the Force, although I think I'm getting close.)

Once you get on the plane, you're seated in the special World Business Class section, and here's where the fun really begins. There's an incredible amount of legroom. The website seatguru.com, which is a vital resource for someone who flies as much as I now do, tells me that the rows on an Airbus 330, which is the plane I usually fly, are 60 inches apart versus 31 to 33 inches in coach. There are two seats, then an aisle, then two seats, then an aisle, then two seats, a 2-2-2 configuration. In coach the configuration is 2-4-2. You have all the legroom you need unless you're over seven feet tall. Waiting for you on your seat are a blanket, a pillow, and a set of headphones. Shortly after you sit down, an attendant comes up to you, calls you "Mr. Wood" (assuming you're male and your last name is Wood), takes your coat, asks you what you'd like for your pre-flight drink, hands you your dinner menu, and hands you what I'll call a "long flight survival kit," which contains: a comb, a toothbrush, toothpaste, ear plugs, an eye shade, lip balm, a pen, and socks that you can put over your own socks so that when you take your shoes off and walk around you don't have to dirty your own socks.

Things proceed pretty normally as you wait for the plane to take off and for the first 30 or so minutes of your flight, but another round of fun soon begins. You've already made your choice between veal, chicken, and salmon (or something like that), and you now start receiving your five-course meal. You first receive a hot towel so you can wash your hands and refresh yourself. You then receive a cup of nuts and some other small appetizer. You're asked a couple of times if you'd like more of that. Then you receive your choice of bread. After you've eaten more bread than you should, you receive your choice of salad. By this time, if you've failed to exercise sufficient self-restraint, you're already full, but there's more to come. You've still got to deal with an entree. (The food is good, but let's face it, there's only so much you can do to make food taste good when it's all crammed into an airplane. No complaints here, though.) When your entree is cleared off and your stomach is protruding into the seat that is 60 inches in front of you, they then bring dessert. The other day, it was a choice between cheese, fruit, and ice cream. My choice, of course, was "all of the above," and that's fine with them. You can even have more of "all of the above" if you're so inclined, but come on, you've got to draw a line somewhere. After dinner is all cleared away, you receive a bottle of water to carry you through the next few hours.

Then it's time to work, sleep, or watch movies. (Stop snickering. I actually do work on those flights sometimes. It's my best chance to catch up on e-mail.) If you need to work, you've got an electrical outlet so your laptop doesn't run out of juice. You also have a movable reading lamp that you can position wherever you need it. If you want to watch movies, you've got an individual screen that folds out, and you've got your choice of about 25 different movies to watch. (The movie part is actually the same in coach on those A330s, which is what saved us when we flew with the kids.) Sleeping is a good option. Granted, it's not like being at home in bed, but it's as good as it can be when you're crammed into a room with 298 other people seven miles above the ground. The seats go back to an angle of 176 degrees, which is pretty darned close to being flat. There's an option for an automatic lumbar massage for your back. This part is where the eye shade and ear plugs come in handy, because there are still some lights and airplane beeps and people moving around and whatnot. I'm not a great sleeper, but I usually manage to doze for a couple of hours, which is good enough for me. During this time, there are snacks available in the galley, like cookies, apples, and that sort of thing.

After you've worked, slept, or watched movies for four or five hours, there's more food, at which point I almost always think to myself, "But I'm still full from dinner!" Nevertheless, I feel that it's important for me to maximize the value of the ticket to the company, so I dutifully eat whatever they put in front of me. As the plane starts to descend, the attendant brings your coat back to you and wishes you a good stay. After the plane lands, there's one last bonus, and I'll admit that this one is just galling to those who sit in coach: the flight attendants zealously hold the coach passengers on the plane until the business class passengers have had a chance to disembark. I'm compassionate enough not to look directly at the coach passengers while chanting "neener neener"; no, I just look straight ahead and try to pretend they aren't there. I figure it's the least I can do to try to preserve their self-worth.

And then, after you get out of the jetway into the terminal, you're just like everyone else, and you're fighting your way through crowded hallways, luggage carousels, and parking ramps, and no one gives a darn about how much your ticket cost. But it was fun while it lasted.

At least I didn't crack any vertebrae--sheesh

Well, graceful soul that I am, I managed to fall in the shower the first day we were here. (Sounds very over-40 of me, doesn't it?) I smacked my lower back hard against the edge of the tub. After three days of occasional stabbing, sharp pains, sort of like having fiery needles rammed into my lower back, I decided to have it checked out. The x-rays showed no cracks, and my symptoms don't seem to indicate a herniated disc, so the verdict for now is that it's just one hummer of a bruise. The doctor also gave me a prescription for Lortab, a narcotic, so my plan is to become addicted to painkillers while we're here. I can now tell you that even two Lortab aren't enough to make you numb when someone is stabbing you in the back with hot needles, but they're helping. They seem to be slowing my thought processing a little bit, so this may be a short entry.

Life could be worse. At the hospital, in the bed next to me, there was an 88-year-old man. Everything had been just fine when his wife had checked on him at 5 this morning, but when she woke later at about 8:00, she found him on the floor, shivering, with scrapes on his knees. He was already suffering from gout and an infection, and he was in the early stages of dementia.

I can handle my back.