More bullshit from another asshole with a blog

Obamacares Not
23Aug09

Posted by wafwot

Dont Tread On MeThe 1,017 page America's Affordable Health Choices Act of 2009 (a.k.a H.R. 3200, a.k.a. Obamacare) has become the latest hot-button topic in America. The bill was introduced on July 14, 2009, and luckily that ignominious gang of geezers couldn’t shove their two reams of bullshit up our collective unlubed ass before their August recess. Yep, two weeks is all they gave themselves to pass the single biggest and most expensive piece of legislation ever in American history. Most of those elected asshats didn’t even read the goddamn bill because — get this — it’s too fucking big and they didn’t have time!

The Obama Health Care Plan is comprised of two parts. The first part Obamacare was buried in the American Recovery and Reinvestment Act of 2009 (a.k.a. ARRA, a.k.a. the $787,000 million Stimulus Bill) which has already been signed into law by President B. Hussein Obama in February. The second part of Obamacare (H.R. 3200) is currently being debated in Congress and town halls across America. I’m sure you’ve all heard liberals who support H.R. 3200 say that there won’t be any rationing of health care or “death panels.” Even the President himself said, “Great Britain has a system of socialized medicine. Nobody is talking about doing that.” They’re fucking liars. Every one of them. As far as I can tell, rationing of health care will be done through a Council, equivalent to the National Institute for Health and Clinical Excellence (NICE) of the British National Health Service. The name given to this panel is The Federal Coordinating Council For Comparative Effectiveness Research, or the “Council,” and has already been funded with $1,100 million (a big numbers way of saying $1.1 billion, with a ‘B’) from the Porkulus Bill. Here’s an official link introducing us to the grand gaggle of douchebags that make up the Death Panel, err, I mean the “Council.” It’s these motherfuckers that will use some super-secret government “formula of approval or rejection of treatment for patients based upon the cost per treatment divided by the number of years the patient will benefit from the treatment.” There’s far too much bullshit to cover here in my blog. I’d look like this typing pages and pages and pages and pages.

Is there any wonder why people are starting to oppose Obamacare in droves? When Americans started reading then opposing this polished turd, they started confronting the politicians at their town hall meetings, if they didn’t cowardly cancel their town hall meetings for fear of opposition. The Bill contains provisions that the sick, elderly, and disabled members of society could face the prospect of government bureaucrats determining whether they deserve health care. Of course, this brought old people out of Country Buffet and into the town halls. Suddenly, dissenters were being called all sorts of horrible things by the very people they elected! Stench trench of the House, Nancy Pelosi referred to honest, hard-working Americans who, in her eyes, are “drowning out opposing views” of Obamacare as “simply un-American,”astroturf,” and said they were bringing swastikas into town hall meetings. Hey Nancy, I think demonstrating against issues we don’t agree with to be very American, indeed! It’s our First Amendment right to freedom of speech, so shut the fuck up!

Even in my own home state, Democrat Representative Brian Baird said the opposing behaviors of town hall members “was reminiscent of the kinds of things that drove Timothy McVeigh to bomb the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City…” Holy fuckballs! Really? I personally oppose Barry‘s health care reform plans. Does that make me a mass-murdering truck bomber? I don’t think so. When did it become un-American to stand up and oppose something you feel is wrong? Why does the pro-health care reform camp feel the need to call you names just because you don’t agree with them?

Back in November, just after the messiah won the election, I wrote in my blog that “many feel we’ve turned a corner on racism in the country by electing Obama, [but] I have a sinking feeling that we’ve begun a new chapter that will only widen the rift.” Unfortunately, I was right. The liberal left Kool-Aid drinkers have taken to calling ANYONE — not just white Republicans — who dares oppose King Hussein, a “racist.” Somehow, calling Obamacare a socialist plan is code words for “racism.” Attending a Tea Party protest makes you a “functionally retarded adult,” a “teabagger,” and a “racist.” I got news for you, Jeanane Garofalo, you puss-infected regurgitated cum bubble, opposing Obama’s policies has nothing — absolutely NOTHING — to do with his skin color. I don’t give two juicy squirts of goat shit if he’s black, white, Latino, Asian, or fucking purple. I don’t like the idea of a government-run health plan, insurance reform, co-op, or whatever the hell they’re calling it this day. Laissez-faire, morbleu! Laissez-faire!!

I’ve even had first-hand experience with this far left propaganda bullshit. A friend of mine on Facebook (who I’ll call “Liz”) pasted some anti-H.R. 3200 material from someone’s blog on her wall and pleaded that politicians read the bill before passing it. This lead to one of the people on her friends list to deride her for her opinions. I won’t use his real name; instead I’ll call him “Barney” (after a certain Massachusetts Representative, and the fact he really likes Fruity Pebbles, if you get my drift). “Barney” started by saying Liz “should turn off Fox News and read the entire document for [herself].” He said he was disappointed with her and remembered her being more independent.” What the hell?

I sarcastically fired back at this ass pirate in defense of “Liz,” saying she should stop watching FNC and start watching the socialist propaganda that the White House and NBC want us to believe. I made fun of the evil Glenn Beck and the un-American Fox News, and suggested that “Barney” read the bill himself. I told him to get off his elitist high-horse, stop looking down his nose at people with different points of view, and stop infringing upon “Liz’s” Constitutional right to watch and say whatever the hell she wants.

This is when the name calling started. “Barney’s” response was he had no problem with “Liz” expressing her opinion (which obviously he did), but didn’t want her “spewing the untruths that the racist-backwards-religious nutjob-rednecks of the country keep yealing,” [sic] then proceeded to say she didn’t seem too bright. Wow! Way to debate the issue, you ingrown sphincter hair! “Barney” continued by schooling me on my elitist comment, saying, “an elitist would want something only for themselves (healthcare for only a few), not everybody (universal and affordable coverage).” He obviously feels that the Goverment should just provide almost-free health care for all, and let our future generations pay the bill. Dickhead. “Barney” then insulted my intelligence level and told me to “go run a minority out of town before NASCAR comes on and leave the policies of the country to the adults.” Jesus, speaking of regurgitated cum bubbles. This guy’s a 55-gallon drum full of them! Suddenly I’m a racist for opposing Obamacare and defending “Liz’s” right to oppose the same? Unbelievable.

Again, I replied, being very cautious not to call him any names. However, I did call him a “typical member of the left cult, happily drinking [his] Obama fruit drink,” an indirect slam on his sexuality, which he was obviously too goddamn stupid (or drunk) to pick up on. I continued by telling him to watch and read news sources from both the liberal and conservative sides and form his own opinions based on truths, instead of insulting people. I proceeded to tell this puckering anus that his “paradigmatic views prove [him] to be the ignorant one,” then corrected his definition of “elitist” as belonging to a select or favored group. “Barney” tried to fight back, but couldn’t. Instead, he accused me of name-calling (which I didn’t), then said he’s never “seen a bigger group with more of a superiority complex than [Republicans].” Riiiight! It’s the Republicans that have the “we won get over it” attitude, trying to push two trillion (with a fucking ‘T’) dollars worth of government spending down America’s throat.

I replied by saying he doesn’t know me, and told his holiness that I’m an agnostic Independent that sided with the liberals for decades. His only response was he got whiplash from all my “spin,” I should say ‘Hi’ to Satan when I see him, I “strike [him] as the worst type of person than can exist,” and he has “more respect for child molesters than the likes of [me].” Right, I guess the pillow-biting dumb ass missed the irony of calling me the “worst type of person than can exist.” Whatever, you vaginal blood fart. You’re the one that respects child molesters, then call me the worst type of person? See “Barney,” that is spin. Pull the black cock out of your balloon knot and pay attention!

I could go on, but I don’t want to give “Barney the cocksucker” any more attention than I already have. And yes, I’m fully aware that I called “Barney” all kinds of disgusting names in the above paragraphs, but I wasn’t doing it during the debate like some childish grade schooler. I don’t care, and my disclaimer gives me the right to say whatever the fuck I want on my blog.

It is a sad period in our Country’s history that we cannot debate the issues without resorting to name-calling and labeling. The problem is people see the names or labels that get applied, and don’t judge for themselves based on truths. As Americans, we are not only given the right to freedom of speech, but we also have the right to question our government and the ideals of others. In fact it is our duty to question our government and voice our opposition, for if we don’t, we are nothing but sheep being lead to slaughter.

Let’s hope that the Democrats pull their collective heads out of the ass, and that a government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

Fear the doctor, not the disease!
11Jul09

Posted by wafwot

PhlebotomyJesus fucking Christ! When will this medical joy ride end? It’s truly amazing to me that a simple blood test for cholesterol can lead to months of doctor visits, there doesn’t seem to be an end in sight.

We surveyed three so-called doctors and asked, “How many needles have you jammed into Jim’s arms in the month of June?” The top answer is on the board. Survey said15! Yes, fifteen fucking needles! Holy Mother of Chris Chambers, my arms look like I’ve been speedballing! Over the past month, I’ve been stuck for allergy blood tests, intravenous contrast, an arterial blood gas test, phlebotomies, and numerous CBCs. It’s a good goddamn thing I don’t have trypanophobia, huh? Seriously, look at the size of a 16-gauge needle compared to a US penny. It’s fucking huge! Funny thing, though, the nurses that stick me with that railroad spike of a needle are professionals. They leave a small scab and slight bruising that disappears within a week. The lab techs, however, are amateurs! They stick me with a tiny 22-gauge needle to draw blood for a CBC, yet blow my vein out frequently leaving a giant hematoma. Look at this cell phone photo! Jesus, I look like a domestic violence victim!

Last time I told you that I had an abdominal ultrasound to check the size of my liver and spleen. Luckily I didn’t have hepatosplenomegaly, but we were no closer to finding the cause of the polycythemia vera my hematologist believes I may have. So, I was referred to a pulmonologist who put me through several uncomfortable tests.

The first was an Echocardiogram. Just like the abdominal ultrasound of my liver and spleen, the cardiac sonographer slathered me with conductive goo and jammed the transducer into my ribs and chest. I like it rough, baby! After the first pass, he injected me with two milliliters of a microbubble contrast called Definity. Did you know it only takes about four seconds for blood to completely circulate your body? I didn’t. Anyway, I guess the frequency of the sound waves bursts the microbubbles after a while, so he pushed another 2 mL to finish the job. Of course, it wasn’t until a few weeks later that I read Definity can kill. Awesome! Can you imagine being killed by bubbles which are smaller than red blood cells? We are such frail, gentle snowflakes. According to the pulmonologist, my heart is okay. Finally! Now I can have bacon on my Ultimate Cheeseburger!

Next on the “Let’s See How Much We Can Bilk From His Insurance” list of procedures was a couple of Pulmonary Function Tests; spirometric tests and a body plethysmograph. The spirometric tests measure a bunch of shit my lungs should be doing; like how much I blow, how fast I blow, how much I suck, and other headache inducing functions. For the plethysmograph, I was locked in a sealed glass booth that reminded me of the Grab-O-Lux that killed Kenny, and tried to suck air through a mouthpiece. Here’s a shitty cell phone picture of the booth. The purpose of this was to measure the volume within my lungs using Boyle's Law to determine if I have any disease or airway restrictions in my lungs. What did these tests prove? I have asthma! DUH!

Then I had an appointment for a polysomnogram, a fancy word for “sleeping in a strange bed with wires on my head as some creepy voyeuristic weirdo watches me with infrared cameras.” Here’s a frightening photo of me wired up for my session of peeping tomfoolery. The sleep study was ordered to determine if sleep apnea might be causing any breathing issues. I don’t think I have sleep apnea, but what the fuck do I know? I feel like I get restorative sleep at night, I don’t have daytime sleepiness, and Tina says I don’t stop breathing at night (she ought to know, she has insomnia and watches/listens to me sleep). I thought for sure I would never be able to sleep with all that gadgetry soldered to my cranuim. But four hours sleep the night before coupled with no caffeine for two days put me out like a… draining battery. Result of the sleep study? Doc says I have a slight touch of sleep apnea. Yeah, right.

After a follow-up with the pulmonologist, I was scheduled for a chest CT. This wasn’t going to be fun. A chest CT is equivalent to 58 chest X-rays. Holy shitballs! I was sure I was going to have gills, or a third nipple by the time I got home. Anyway, I had to drive to Everett for the CT scan. My paperwork said to show up 15 minutes early and expect the procedure to last an hour. My scheduled appointment time came and went, I had already stood in a hallway 15 minutes waiting to check-in while some casino indian fuckstain frustrated the admissions woman, who was obviously new. Finally, “Chief Sits With Hemorrhoids” was done, and I was able to check in. I wasn’t seated for a minute, before they called my name, and instantly my sphincter slammed shut like the blast doors at NORAD. They led me into a room where the CT scanner was and told me to lay down on “couch,” face down. Uh, excuse me? The couch? It was a skinny little table. I was somewhat surprised they didn’t make me empty my pockets, take off my shoes, or rub my belly and pat my head before laying down on the “couch.” They quickly told me to listen to the breathing queues, and began the scan, like they were late to a lunch date. What the hell? The couch lifted my fat ass up and positioned me in front of the opening. Then the couch moved me into the opening, then somewhat quickly moved me in and out, like I was a huge dildo being thrust into a giant radioactive minge. When the actual scan was taking place, the couch moved me in a few inches at a time, pausing to take a series of image slices as the X-ray tubes rotated around me. After two scans, they had me turn over face up on the couch and proceeded to irradiate me again. Bring on the freak tail! After the scan, they bum rushed me out the door and I was walking to my truck. Jesus! Did I step in shit and reek to high hell? The scan took less time than I spent waiting for Chief Takes Too Long. On the way home, I stopped and picked up a liter of Sprite, because I had a phlebotomy in Coupeville in just a couple hours. Here’s a cool picture of the unit of blood they drained from me.

That’s all I got for now. Sorry it took so long for an update, but y’all can eat me if I seem to be taking too long. Take it easy my gentle snowflakes, and hopefully I’ll have something more to post about before the end of July.

Afternoon Fun
09May09

Posted by wafwot

LipstickIt wasn’t like any other day. I worked from home Thursday — starting around 7 in the morning until a little before noon — because my afternoon would be consumed by an affair with another woman… maybe two if I was lucky. The anticipation of the day made it difficult to concentrate, but I did my best to finish as much work as I could.

Finally, it was time. I hopped in the shower and spent a little more time than usual getting ready. No quick armpits, asshole, crotch, and teeth shower for this date. Once I was dressed, I gathered my keys, wallet, and cell phone, and jumped in my truck. I was to meet her at 1:15pm, and there was no way I was going to be late. It was 8 miles to town, and afternoon traffic on the two-lane highway that led to her office was heavier than I thought it should be for a cloudy afternoon on central Whidbey Island. I found a parking space on the far side of the small lot. I was hoping that the the grouping of trees and bushes nearby would hide me from the road so no one would recognize my truck. When I entered the building, the receptionist told me she was expecting me, and she’d be right out. I took a seat and started paging through a magazine that had a picture of a hot blonde woman on the cover.

After a twenty minute wait, I finally saw her. She wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous, and maybe she had ten or twenty pounds too many. But who am I judge? I needed this, and I sensed she was more than willing to oblige. She called me by name and motioned for me to follow her. She led me through a set of double doors and down a hallway to her office. She stopped at the doorway and I walked past her. She closed the door quietly, dimmed the lights down real low, and told me to sit on the table. It was fairly dark in her office, and I wondered what was going to happen next. It was all so exciting yet somewhat unsettling. She told me take off my shirt, and I eagerly obeyed. The office had a slight chill, and I could feel the air conditioning on my bare shoulders. I watched as she walked into a brightly lit room off her office. She was only gone for a minute. When she returned I could only see her silhouette in the doorway, but she appeared to be carrying a cord, or maybe a whip. Her sandy blonde hair glowed like a halo around her head. She stepped next to the table I was sitting on, and told me to lie back. Again, I obeyed her wishes. As I tried in vain to prop my head up on my balled-up shirt, she applied lube to my stomach. The lube was not quite cold, but warmed up as she started to spread it around. All I could think was, “Don’t fart. “Don’t fart. No boners. No farts.

Okay, both hands on your keyboard, you perverts! If you haven’t figured out I was at a doctor’s office, you don’t know me very well. Actually, I was at the hospital. The “affair” was actually a sonographer doing an ultrasound on my abdomen, and her “office” was the exam room. If you recall, I had my doctor draw blood for a cholesterol test in late March. That test showed my cholesterol level was fantastic, but showed my red blood cell count was elevated. Another CBC in early April showed the same thing, so my regular doctor referred me to a hematologist at Whidbey General Hospital in Coupeville.

My first visit with the hematologist was Tuesday. She’s a nice FOB asian lady, but has determined that I have polycythemia vera. I’m not so sure PV is the correct diagnosis… yet. To find the cause, she ordered even more blood tests on Tuesday, and an ultrasound and phlebotomy for Thursday.

I walked over to the Lab where a dykey-looking woman sat me down to tap another vein in my arm. I noticed the lanyard that held her hospital credentials had the Pittsburgh Stealers logo on it and listed their Super Bowl “wins.” I jokingly looked out the door over my shoulder and asked, “can I get a Seahawks fan to draw my blood, please?” She laughed, but I don’t think she thought my joke was funny. She stuck that needle in my vein, and she wasn’t too gentle about it. When she had the SIX Vacutainer tubes of my blood that the doctor ordered, the needle was extracted with a great deal of pain. It felt like she had rubber band around my arm, pulled it as far as she could, and let it go! The was so much pain that I instinctively jerked my arm away from her. I told her that really hurt, and she gave me some excuse of a self-retracting needle that leaves the vein “at warp speed.” Her words, “warp speed.” The next day, the crook of my left arm was all black and blue. Warp speed my ass, you goddamn Steeler-loving Trekkie cunt.

I left the hospital right after that, but had to return in two days for the ultrasound and phlebotomy. I was told to fast for the ultrasound, but they scheduled the phlebotomy first. When the phlebotomist asked how much I had to drink that day, she was shocked that I had nothing. I told her I was under orders to not eat or drink for 10 hours before my appointment. She called the imaging department to see if they could squeeze me in earlier than my appointment, and they could. So off I went to my “date” with the sonographer. The ultrasound was needed to check the size of my liver and spleen to determine if I have hepatosplenomegaly. Say that quickly five times!

When I returned to the clinic — with an umbilicus of conductive gel — the nurses started throwing all kinds of fluids at me. They gave me a tuna sandwich, a bag of potato chips, and had me wash it all down with four 7-ounce cups of water, two 10-ounce bottles of apple juice, and one 8-ounce can of lemon-lime soda. For those with weak math skills, I drank 56 ounces of fluids — eight ounces away from a half gallon — in about 15 minutes. Satisfied that all those fluids made my veins plump, the phlebotomist went to work.

She used a blood pressure cuff as a tourniquet and found a good vein in my left arm. She snapped some kind of alcohol swab that reminded me of a glow stick. She bent the swab breaking a small vial of fluid which seeped through the swab as she rubbed it all around the injection site. It’s supposed to sterilize and anesthetize. After that, she sprayed the site with a liquid that was very cold. This was also to deaden the the area so the gigantic needle doesn’t hurt as much going in. All the prep to lessen the pain was bullshit. A 16 gauge needle hurts no matter what you do. It’s a 1.65 millimeter steel spike being jammed into a vein, people! Call me a pussy, but it hurts! I’m okay with small needles, but ones that quite literally resemble 2d nails are a sonofabitch!

The hard part was done. The lumber fastener was securely in my median cubital vein and taped to my arm. However, my hemagravy wasn’t cooperating and the flow stopped almost as soon as it started. The nurse gently moved the needle around a little, trying to get the blood to flow again, but it was a no-go. So, it was time to start over. The nurse got a new bag and needle, and proceeded to stab me in the cephalic vein in my right arm. Yep, matching holes, one in each arm. After about 15 minutes the bag, which holds a unit of blood, was full. A unit of blood is about 450 milliliters. If you’ve ever had a Rockstar or Monster energy drink, imagine the can filled with blood. Drink up, queer!

The nurses made me sit for about 20 minutes before I could leave. They wanted to make sure I didn’t face plant in the parking lot and sue their asses off. I finally left the clinic and drove home. Having a unit of whole blood drained out of you really zaps your energy. Not that I’m energetic in the first place, but sitting here early Saturday morning and typing this blog entry is about all I can muster.

So, I get to find out what all the blood tests and the ultrasound say on May 19, when I go back for a follow-up appointment. Guaranteed they’ll take more blood. I’m hoping they don’t want to take it out in units! I have more holes in my arm than a heroin addict, and I’m more than a little tired of needles.

Wafwot’s Note: As usual, I either didn’t have the time (or energy) to finish this entry when I started it on May 9… so it got published on May 31. I’ll try harder next time. I see a pulmonologist in Everett on June 1, 2009… so I should have some shit to say about that. Stay tuned.