I take that drug!

I was watching a spy show -- Chuck, all right. Yes, it is silly, but it makes me laugh.

Anyhow, Chuck and his brother-in-law doctor were with another guy who bad guys were hunting. The bad guys were closing in, so the guy took a pill, gave Chuck a note, then shot himself in the chest.

The bad guys appeared, saw the guy was dead and left.

Chuck looked at the note, which said, the pill was amiodarone; there's a med kit in the desk; please save me.

The doctor says, amiodarone can stop your heart. He then injects him with adrenaline, and the guy is OK. Except for the gunshot.

Now, I am not going to get chased by baddies, but it is good to know I have a pill to fool them. Best thing about my heart drug.

She's tough

To a person, everyone I tell about my ER visit, including my doctor's nurse, applauds me and says better safe than sorry. Then there's my doctor.

I was seeing her to follow up on the visit. Her advice Take an ibuprofen.

Dumbfounded

About two months ago, the batteries in my wheelchair  started going.

It was nothing major. Just every so often, they wouldn't charge properly. But knowing the way insurance works, I asked my wheelchair provider to get me new batteries.

About a month ago, they failed to charge for three nights in a row. I was a bit worried so I emailed again and asked for an ETA. About a week later I heard back -- they were awaiting authorization. I wasn't sure what that meant, but I just said OK because it was more or less OK. The battery level could not be trusted, but it stayed charged.

I couldn't sleep last night, and while tossing or maybe turning, I noticed the light on my wheelchair charger was not green or orange but blood red. I fiddled with it and got it back to a friendly color, but   in the morning it was red again. It also didn't appear to have charged at all.

I teleworked.

Mom called them, and the problem isn't them but my doctor. They faxed her a letter of medical necessity that she needed to sign and fax back THREE times. I love my doctor, but this is probably the 10th time I have debated leaving her to find a doc with a better office staff.

I offered to pay out of pocket but not a chirp from the provider.

I am home for a while, I suspect.  

You had to go there, A.J Jacobs

Of all the authors I have read, A.J. Jacobs strikes me as the one I am most likely too be friends with.

He writes like I wish I could. He makes jokes that I find hilarious. He seems like a good guy. Plus, I have a crush on his wife, which might cause some friendship friction.

I'd love to be friends with Sarah Vowell, but I suspect she is too quirky cool for me.

In an interview with Reynolds Price (another writer I'd like to be friends with, but his death limits this), Mom mentioned something from Annie Dillard about how we'd wear hard hats when praying if we knew what was going on. I love Anne Lamott; she is insightful, funny, honest, etc. Birsut I'll be honest, I'd want a hard hat if I was going to be her friend.

That is mostly it for nonfiction on writers I read regularly.

I'd love to befriends with Lloyd Alexander or J.R.R. Tolkien, but they're dead. And while Neil Gaiman and Michael Chabon are my heroes, I am not sure I know enough about them to want to be friends. (Who am I kidding? They would be awesome.)

Anyhow, it all works out because in his latest book, It's All Relative, A.J. -- it's cool to call him by his first name, we're pals -- tells how we are all related, so of course we'd be friends. Everyone loves his relatives, right? (Note to Julie Jacobs: I am probably not as closely related as you and A.J.)

The book, as usual, is quite funny and fun. He decides to throw a family reunion, and I believe the only requirement is you be a person. I think he decided against inviting animals but am not postitive.

One of his reasons for throwing it is to balance out his karma. Weighing against him, he says, is something that, if we weren't related, would cause me to unfriend him. Weighing against him, he says, is his use of wheelchair bathrooms.

NNNNNNOOOOOOOOO!

This has been a thorn in my side ever since I been to use wheelchairs.

Whether it is largos people who want extra space, people changing clothes or tall people who like the fit of the raised toilet, if you can walk without aids, do not use the accessible stall.

My relative  and I are going to have words.

She talks

I have been working with Fame to speak on command.

When there is a treat involved, she is perfect. When I use hand signals, she is pretty good.

But one is not always able to make hand signals, so I need to get her to speak with voice commands. She is pretty good there, too, but what if I am commanding her while upside down?

I fell this morning, or would have if not for my awesome kung-fu grip. Instead, I ended up doubled over with one hand grabbing my super-pole and another on my chair.

I was about to let myself gently to the floor, so I could use my watch to call for help. Then I realized my watch was still charging and out of play.

Looking underneath one arm, I asked Fame to speak and she did.

Granted, it was right before breakfast, so there was food involved. And she has realized that when she speaks, someone comes to help me, which means someone to  play with or try to.

But she spoke. My sister came. All good.