F**kin’ Problems

21 May

-“I love bad bitches, that’s my fuckin’ problem. And yeah I like to fuck, that’s my fuckin’ problem.” – 2Chainz via A$AP Rocky “Fuckin’ Problems”

You see, I have this problem. No, it’s nothing scandalous. No, it’s nothing like bad bitches or sex addiction.

It’s Spotify.

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What’s This Diabetes?

9 May

In my last (amazing) post, I mentioned that I have diabetes. You’re welcome. Now you know everything about me.

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I Went to the Doctor Today

2 May

You can see the title.

I went to the doctor today.

shawscene

The perilous thing about today’s doctor visit was that I don’t have health insurance.

No, this will not be a political rant. I know you were dying for another one of those.

I walk up to the receptionist and say, “Hello.”

“Hello, do you have an appointment?”

“Sure do, lady. 10:30… am with Doctor [name redacted]. I’m here.”

“Great. Just sign in.”

I do so. “Umm… real quick before we get too far. I do have a change in my insurance information…”

“Ok…”

“…Yeah, I don’t have any.”

“Oh no!” (Like it’s the end of the world) “So you’ll be paying out of pocket today, then?”

“Bill me, please.”

“Well we usually don’t allow patients without health insurance to leave without paying…”

I stare at her.

“How long have you been a patient with us, Mr. Reed?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve been coming long enough to have had two doctors leave the practice and two blood samples taken out of my bicep. I guess  I’ve been coming here for a while.”

She stares at me, incredulously. “Ok, we’ll send you the bill, but you’re probably going to need to pay it kinda fast.”

“Yeah, I got it.”

“Ok… have a seat. They’ll be with you in a minute.”

“Great!”

On the TV in the waiting room was a story about a shooting at the Bush airport. As details trickled in, I fell asleep.

I dreamed an entire dream. There was a large giraffe eating off the branches of a tree. I climbed a ladder and joined in. I’d never had acacia before, but my bowels felt instantly better. The giraffe then turned into Tony the Tiger and said in the voice of Darth Vader (the actor, not James Earl Jones), “They’re better than average!”

That was it.

I was then awakenededed by the nurse.

So, here’s a little preface for the next two hours of this little blog post. As I have no insurance, I felt the need to ration my insulin reserves (oh yeah, I’m diabetic… who needs pertinent details?); therefore, my blood sugar spikes in the middle of the night so that when I wake up, my blood sugar is extremely high.

Anyway, that was the case this morning, and the doctors and nurses freaked out. “Aaaahhhhhh, omg, like we totally need to check DKA (diabetic ketoacidosis), you’re probably spilling so many ketones into your blood, you’re probably developing acid in your system. You could die! You could die!”

I fell asleep again while they tried to determine whether or not they needed to call an ambulance.

This time I was Facebook. I was aware of every Facebook chat going on in the world, I could read every language, and for some reason, my page was the most popular. Here’s an excerpt from one of the conversations:

“hey”

“sup”

“wanna grab a brewski”

“ya”

“k im at ur front door”

“thats weird”

“nah”

“ya”

“oh”

Enthralling.

The doctors came back into my little corner of the office and started pumping me full of insulin and water. This was also the second time the doctor told me that because I most likely have DKA, I really need to consider going on an insulin drip at a legit hospital. It wouldn’t be the last.

It’s hard for me to relay how ridiculous all this was. This “high blood sugar” thing is something that has been happening to me just about every day for the past 15 years. In fact, it will be 16 years on May 7. I’ve never been to the hospital because of diabetes. I’ve never even really felt sick because of it. It just is what it is. I live my life, and it’s a decent one.

They sent me to the other side of the clinic to get “emergency” blood work done, have a urinalysis, and, in general, feel like I’d just shit in their shoes. The nurse that took my blood wasn’t the regular nurse back there. She was filling in from one of the LabCorp offices.

“So what’s going on with you? Everyone seems to be in a tizzy.”

“Yeah, my blood sugar is high.”

“So why don’t you just do insulin?”

“That’s what I said. They’re really worried. I’m just glad they don’t live with me, if this is how they’re going to act.”

“I hear that!”

I went back to my room and waited. They came in and checked my blood sugar again. It went down a little.

“Ok, it went down a little, but we’re going to need to keep you here so we can keep checking to make sure it goes down.”

“Whatever.” By this point, I had general disdain for myself for even going to the appointment. Not only had I been there for an hour and a half at this point, but they were keeping me there longer. Oh, and my parents are going to hate the bill.

I fell asleep again, water cup in hand.

This time I dreamt that I was MySpace. The only people left were Tom and Justin Timberlake.

They woke me again to check my blood sugar.

“It’s below 300. That’s great. But, you know… how are you feeling? Any vomiting, nausea? Does you stomach hurt?”

“I’m fine.”

“Ok, ya know, if you start to feel anything weird, you need to let us know. DKA can lead to death. It’s serious.”

“I do feel a little weird, but it’s mostly because I feel like I should start paying rent here.”

Another incredulous stare.

“Well, you can leave, but remember that you need to check your blood sugar every two hours and do insulin accordingly. Ok?”

“Gotcha.”

“Ok, well here are some samples and we’ll have you out of here in about 45 minutes.”

“45 minutes?”

“Yes, we need to eat lunch.”

“Right… I’m going to smoke a cigarette.”

As I left the room, I heard, “…those will kill you.”

Passionate Passion and Stuff

27 Apr

I asked friends and family to write about their passions, what really gets them going. You’ve already seen one — my brother, Jim, wrote about his passion for baseball and theology.

But, I suppose it would be a good idea to write about what I am passionate about.

So what am I passionate about?

In college, I once had a meeting with one of my professors to discuss my poetry. At the time, I was very new to poetry. You see, when I first started to college, I went into the fiction game. I wanted to write the next Great American Novel. I still do, to a certain extent, but I was just starting to write poetry. I have rhythm, a natural metronome coursing through my blood, my mind, and my soul.

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Guest Post: For the Love of the Game

22 Apr

This is Passion Week here at WhoseJoshReed.com. I’m honored to have my brother and best friend, Jim Reed, as a guest poster this week. He’s author of ThisJimReed.com and also does movie reviews over at MostlyAccurate.com. Thanks, Jim. Read on and enjoy!

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Fences Makes Good Neighbors

22 Apr

On a chance encounter, I ran across Alexey from Inside My Glitching Mind; rather, he ran across my blog and liked my post about personality tests.

From that, I perused his blog and found his request for fence picture submissions. It just so happened my father and I were reconstructing our family gate at the side of the house. Naturally, I had to take a picture and send it over to Alexey.

He was kind enough to publish my photo, and accompanying blurb, so here it is… check out my “fence post” at Inside my Glitching Mind.

fence

Your Cramp, My Style

18 Apr

I once jumped off a small cliff into a lake.

Before the jump, I was noticeably nervous. I was shaking. My knees weak, arms were heavy… my friend’s mom’s spaghetti…

You get it.

There were loose rocks near the edge of the cliff, and what was underneath the water directly below the cliff was in question. I took all these things into account when discerning my approach to the jump. How fast should I approach the jump? How far out should I aim? Should I do a flip? Should I try an actual dive (after all, I’d seen cliff divers do it on TV. If they can do it, why not me? If my friend could do it — and he had — why couldn’t I?)

We were at a friend’s lake house for Spring Break, so there were cute girls around. There were manly teenagers around. I couldn’t embarrass myself. That would just be the end of my high school run for “Coolest Weirdo in the Land”. I couldn’t have that. Continue reading

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