Monday, January 07, 2013
Um... where are the Mayans? Or, Happy New Year!
Well, it's a lovely, sunny Saturday in January here in suburbia, and as was much the case last year, I'm in the office. It's another psycho registration period, and finances aside, I actually need to be here, rather than just wanting to do my work in peace and quiet. How hard will I push myself this time I'm not sure.
I can liken it to my radical throat surgery from around 5 years ago. I had severe sleep apnea, which was exacerbated by my weight, though not the original cause. My uvula (the thing that hangs in the back of your throat) would swell at night, interfering with my breathing. This may have been caused by allergies, or by post nasal drip, or whatever. My tonsils were hypertrophied, i.e. way too freaking big. They didn't touch; a condition called "kissing tonsils," but it was close. This also made it hard to breathe while asleep, ergo apnea. My weight made it that much worse.
I tried the CPAP machine and hated it. I felt like I was drowning, and woke up in a panic. Eventually I stopped using it, and received a nasty call from the company paid to monitor said device's use. Needless to say, I didn't enjoy the invasion of privacy or the tone of the call, so I bit her head off and unplugged he device. There was only one option left (as far as I knew): surgery. Uvulopalatopharyngoplasty is the medical term, but the procedure in plain English is to remove the uvula, tonsils, adenoids (though not all the time) and trim the soft palate (roof of the mouth). Rarely they will also trim the tongue. I was dead set against this; I love my massive tongue. I had the surgery and hoped for the best.
Did it work? The short answer is yes, and it probably saved my life. All that being said, if I'd known how much pain I'd be in and for how long, I would never have done it. It literally felt like someone took a broken bottle, heated it to near melting, then melon-balled my throat. I was in agony for 24 hours, couldn't move, and even broke down and accepted morphine and codeine, which I had never done before. After 24 hours, though still in extreme pain, I recovered enough to drive myself home. Yes, I drove myself after surgery. Wounded? Severely! Stubborn as a mule nonetheless? Yep.
It took 4 weeks to fully recover, during which I really wasn't allowed to eat. In the beginning, clear liquids such as broth were allowed, as were apple juice and black coffee. Eventually, I could drink cloudy fluids such as milk and Ensure (and I drank a lot of the stuff). Soft food such as eggs were then reintroduced, and so on. The denser the food or drink, the more mucus is created, which was basically like gargling with acid until the cuts healed.
Again, and I cannot stress this enough, the action extended my life by perhaps 25 years. Men with this condition die in their sleep anywhere from 40 to 60, but I could expect to live until 80 at least, my weight not withstanding. So I'm happy I had it done. Interestingly, although my voice has returned to it's normal tone, pitch, etc., evidently I can no longer make certain "R" sounds highly important to French. As such, I'll never be able to properly speak it. C'est le vie? I guess so.
So how is this relevant to working extra hours during registration? Well, if I had known how much the surgery would hurt, and for how long, I may not have had it done. The same applies to working OT this time last year. I beat myself into powder, making myself insane and unfit for human company.
Whether I am willing to beat myself silly, some overtime is required, and welcome. the question is how far beyond that mandate I'm willing to go. As I type this on my lunch hour on Monday 01/07/2013, I've realized I won't really have a say. I spent all say Saturday and Sunday working on VA paperwork. I thought I'd be here for maybe 4 hours on Saturday, then the weekend was mine.
So, has working in financial aid caused brain damage? Because that was not what happened, and to believe I'd only work for such a short time was insane. I worked 7 hours Saturday then 9 hours on Sunday. Yikes. Add a whoops in there as well, as I would have worked much later on Saturday had I known the enormity of the task. If it sounds like I'm complaining, I'm not. I'm merely express my extreme shock, and how annoyed I am at myself. These times of the year, I always seem to leave to early on Saturday, only to screw myself on Sunday. Of course, I'm working late tonight in Peekskill and Ossining tomorrow. As I remark to my colleagues, Peeksill brings it. I should see 20 students tonight, but is fairly surface stuff compared to being here. Ossining is very hit or miss, but either location is around the corner from the Mancave, so I'm happy regardless.
Desired or not, I'll be killing myself once again. The question then becomes how to manage this rather than attempt to master these circumstances. I can't beat myself up like last year; I just don't have the strength. Duty calls, so my next post will delineate what I'm trying to do to limit the damage.
I can liken it to my radical throat surgery from around 5 years ago. I had severe sleep apnea, which was exacerbated by my weight, though not the original cause. My uvula (the thing that hangs in the back of your throat) would swell at night, interfering with my breathing. This may have been caused by allergies, or by post nasal drip, or whatever. My tonsils were hypertrophied, i.e. way too freaking big. They didn't touch; a condition called "kissing tonsils," but it was close. This also made it hard to breathe while asleep, ergo apnea. My weight made it that much worse.
I tried the CPAP machine and hated it. I felt like I was drowning, and woke up in a panic. Eventually I stopped using it, and received a nasty call from the company paid to monitor said device's use. Needless to say, I didn't enjoy the invasion of privacy or the tone of the call, so I bit her head off and unplugged he device. There was only one option left (as far as I knew): surgery. Uvulopalatopharyngoplasty is the medical term, but the procedure in plain English is to remove the uvula, tonsils, adenoids (though not all the time) and trim the soft palate (roof of the mouth). Rarely they will also trim the tongue. I was dead set against this; I love my massive tongue. I had the surgery and hoped for the best.
Did it work? The short answer is yes, and it probably saved my life. All that being said, if I'd known how much pain I'd be in and for how long, I would never have done it. It literally felt like someone took a broken bottle, heated it to near melting, then melon-balled my throat. I was in agony for 24 hours, couldn't move, and even broke down and accepted morphine and codeine, which I had never done before. After 24 hours, though still in extreme pain, I recovered enough to drive myself home. Yes, I drove myself after surgery. Wounded? Severely! Stubborn as a mule nonetheless? Yep.
It took 4 weeks to fully recover, during which I really wasn't allowed to eat. In the beginning, clear liquids such as broth were allowed, as were apple juice and black coffee. Eventually, I could drink cloudy fluids such as milk and Ensure (and I drank a lot of the stuff). Soft food such as eggs were then reintroduced, and so on. The denser the food or drink, the more mucus is created, which was basically like gargling with acid until the cuts healed.
Again, and I cannot stress this enough, the action extended my life by perhaps 25 years. Men with this condition die in their sleep anywhere from 40 to 60, but I could expect to live until 80 at least, my weight not withstanding. So I'm happy I had it done. Interestingly, although my voice has returned to it's normal tone, pitch, etc., evidently I can no longer make certain "R" sounds highly important to French. As such, I'll never be able to properly speak it. C'est le vie? I guess so.
So how is this relevant to working extra hours during registration? Well, if I had known how much the surgery would hurt, and for how long, I may not have had it done. The same applies to working OT this time last year. I beat myself into powder, making myself insane and unfit for human company.
Whether I am willing to beat myself silly, some overtime is required, and welcome. the question is how far beyond that mandate I'm willing to go. As I type this on my lunch hour on Monday 01/07/2013, I've realized I won't really have a say. I spent all say Saturday and Sunday working on VA paperwork. I thought I'd be here for maybe 4 hours on Saturday, then the weekend was mine.
So, has working in financial aid caused brain damage? Because that was not what happened, and to believe I'd only work for such a short time was insane. I worked 7 hours Saturday then 9 hours on Sunday. Yikes. Add a whoops in there as well, as I would have worked much later on Saturday had I known the enormity of the task. If it sounds like I'm complaining, I'm not. I'm merely express my extreme shock, and how annoyed I am at myself. These times of the year, I always seem to leave to early on Saturday, only to screw myself on Sunday. Of course, I'm working late tonight in Peekskill and Ossining tomorrow. As I remark to my colleagues, Peeksill brings it. I should see 20 students tonight, but is fairly surface stuff compared to being here. Ossining is very hit or miss, but either location is around the corner from the Mancave, so I'm happy regardless.
Desired or not, I'll be killing myself once again. The question then becomes how to manage this rather than attempt to master these circumstances. I can't beat myself up like last year; I just don't have the strength. Duty calls, so my next post will delineate what I'm trying to do to limit the damage.
