Shoot, Why not??

I had a sick day and finally updated the blog pages.  See my "What About Me?" section for a brief synopsis of the last... five years or so.

This is what happens when you can't leave your couch for a whole day.

I don't really have a cobra tattoo.  I just know a guy who's great at using GIMP.

But he does :)

So maybe I was wrong about that whole "Lucky" Thing

This picture was taken less than 24 hours after my last post.  Seriously.

After my last tap on the "Publish" button - which ended with a sappy comment about lucky breaks and cool rescue stories - I left work and commenced my usual evening routine:  Rush home, feed the dogs, exchange some love and hugs with them, grab a protein bar, and head to the gym to meet my workout partner.

On the treadmill, I noticed some swelling in my right thumb (the one with the tiny red dot a la hawk).  Lifting weights, I noticed some more. By the time we got into the hot tub (this is an essential part of my week), my right thumb was three times the size of the left one.  And it was throbbing.  So I decided it would be a good idea to go to the doctor in the morning.  However, when I got home from the gym, I had a tiny 2" long red stripe, as wide as a piece of yarn, that went from the first knuckle of my thumb to my wrist.  So, knowing this means bad juju, at 10:30 pm I went to the emergency room.  And I was right.  Within hours of checking in, the stripe was an inch wide and went from my thumb (or bratwurst, whatever) all the way to my armpit.  I was being pumped full of intravenous antibiotics and I had a fever of 103.5. It was not a good night.

I was diagnosed with invasive cellulitis, most likely caused by a Strep infection. These infections are very common in puncture wounds on the hands and feet and are most often caused by pricks from rusty nails and garden-variety rose-thorns and other brambles.  Had I not headed to the ER when I did, the infection could have spread to my heart and lungs, and I easily could have expired.  As in, to become compost.  Whoa.

After sitting on that knowledge for three days while inundated with IV antibiotics and prodded by about 37 doctors (most of whom came to see me - and giggle at me - because of my ridiculous story), my fever had broken and my thumb had returned to about twice its normal size. Finally, (I think because I whined so much about being stir-crazy and missing my friends' Super Bowl party) I was prescribed two weeks' worth of oral antibiotics and sent on my way.

I should add that I was lucky enough to have a slew of friends and family come and keep me company (and give me books and movies and crosswords and stuffed animals and candy and balloons) during my tenure in the hospital, so it wasn't actually all that miserable... my workout partner even stayed with me overnight when my fever was at its worst!  With all that attention, I felt very special, and very loved.

Nevertheless... the moral of the story was given to me by the doctor who first saw me in the ER:  "Never forget that no good deed goes unpunished."

Indeed.

This is what happens.

This morning, I stopped by the adoption center to drop off one of my foster puppies to be neutered.  On my way out I encountered a well-dressed woman who was knocking on the door with one hand and holding a reusable grocery tote in the other.  The bag was wrapped tightly around what appeared to be a small hawk.  I opened the door and she asked me to please take the bird from her; I tried to explain that I am just a volunteer and could only direct her to the in-house vet or to Carolina Wildlife Rehab, but she ignored me and said, "I have to go to work in ten minutes! I can't take him anywhere!"

The hawk looked like this:

I glanced out at her car and noticed she had a hospital parking sticker. I was tempted to say "Look ma'am, I work at the hospital too... I don't work here.  This isn't my job and I have to go soon too." But I had half an hour, so instead I said (without thinking, as usual), "Well, I suppose I can take it to the vet for you if that's what needs to happen." She thrust the animal into my arms, scurried off to her vehicle and drove away.

I somehow managed to hold this dangerous, beautiful, majestic creature all the way to the vet - keep in mind that my car has a manual transmission.  I'm not sure how I managed this.  I walked in and said good morning to my friend, who is the receptionist there, and she directed me into an exam room and shut the door, at which point the hawk shook free of the towel I had thrown over its head, stepped onto my arm and perched there.

Knowing I was alone in the room, I raised my arm into the classic falconer stance.  I felt pretty cool for a split second... and then I realized that I looked like a complete idiot.  I lowered my arm slowly onto the exam table and the hawk walked down my arm and sat down on my hand. As if it were a tiny nest.

Great.


The vet walked into the room and immediately began to scream.  "Jesus Christ! Jesus Christ! It's going to DESTROY YOUR ARM!!!! JESUS CHRIST!"

Until this point, my interaction with the injured animal had been entirely peaceful, even gentle, but in response to the squawks of the flustered veterinarian, it squeezed my thumb a little (with its very sharp talons) and made a small puncture.  It didn't hurt, but after the vet pried the hawk's talons from my captive digit, she urged me to wash out the wound as thoroughly as possible, as these kinds of injuries tend to become infected.  She also told me that for future reference, when dealing with a hawk, to do one of two things:

1) Put it in a box so it doesn't DESTROY YOUR (INSERT BODY PART HERE), RIP OUT YOUR EYES or KILL YOU. (I am actually sure all of these things are entirely possible, but it's much easier to make light of her warnings than it is to admit to my own stupidity in handling the hawk so blithely.)

2) If you don't have a box, grab it by its beak and both legs so that it cannot hurt you. She demonstrated the latter advice, which I thought was pretty brave.  I had no intention of touching any of the hawk's sharp parts and was doing my best to avoid them.

The vet said that she would call wildlife rehab and take care of the rest, and she sent me on my red-faced, shameful way.

A few hours later I received a text message from the manager at the adoption center saying that I did a good job (which made me feel slightly better) and that the hawk had recovered, and was ready to be released into the wild.

Then she asked me if I knew where the animal had been found; hawks live in "bird communities" and should always be released in their home territory, regardless of whether they are juveniles or adults.  Unfortunately, I didn't know... the lady had not given me her name or where she found the bird.  She had only told me that it had "just happened a moment ago."  In light of this (minimal) information, the hawk was released in a residential area adjacent to the adoption center.  I hope it finds its way back to its real, non-hand nest.

I am sad and disappointed in myself that I didn't handle this situation more intelligently.  I didn't take the woman's contact information or get the bird's original location.  I didn't bother to look for a box.  I didn't know how to handle the hawk, I didn't have any help, and I didn't know what I was doing.  I just held the bird in a towel until it escaped and took up residence on my arm... at which point I just stood very, very still.  I've always taken the stance that when dealing with any foreign animal, wild or otherwise, the best you can often do is to try to scare it as little as possible.  So I strive to emanate waves of quiet and calm.  I have to say... it's usually pretty effective.

Sometimes our efforts to do the right thing are not well-informed, and we put ourselves (and/or others) into danger.  But with animal rescue (and with life in general), that's just how it goes sometimes.  Sometimes our hearts take over and we narrowly avoid destruction.  And sometimes we get maimed.

I was lucky. I have a tiny red dot on my thumb.  But with that experience behind me, if I'm ever presented with another bird of prey, bobcat, lynx, or other highly dangerous creature... I'll make sure to find a box.

Yesterday I died a little bit inside

True story.

Yesterday, I was tutoring English grammar using the newest edition of the Prentice Hall Grammar Workbook.  In the "identify subjects/objects of sentences" section, I found the following sentence:

"For many people, twittering is a useful source of important information."

The implications of this are astounding.

1) How puerile has our culture become that Twitter is now a part of our educational system?  Is this the publisher's way of attempting to reach out and relate to the younger generation?  If so, I do not support these efforts, but find them insulting and counterproductive.  I think that Twitter is evidence of how everyone is being pushed towards increasing immaturity in two ways:

A) If you can't say it in 160 characters, you can't post it here.  God forbid you have more complex thoughts than that.  This interface places almost Orwellian limitations on interpersonal communication, and I find it disgusting.

B) Twitter is mostly a place for celebrity gossip and "trends" created by whatever "important" person decides to impose his or her opinion on a particular topic.

This isn't to say that Twitter is completely useless.  If I used Twitter, I would have posted the following Tweet:

"true story: was tutoring n found sentence in Prentice Hall Grammar Workbook: 'For many people, twittering is a useful source of important information.' 4 real."

It is also quite useful for posting links to interesting articles and trivia... but "a useful source of important information?"  Please give me an example. Anyone.

Putting Facebook in a textbook would be bad enough... but Facebook has at least been around for more than five years and is now a legitimate part of adult networking.

2) Isn't it called "tweeting?"

FAIL

A Typical Day

Since I'm working in a chemistry/imaging lab and tutoring high school kids for extra money, I decided to teach myself some more chemistry between clients at Forsyth Tech. I started today. I began reading in Chapter 1 of the same textbook I used when I took Chem I at Forsyth Tech back in 2002, and I'm shocked at how much of it I have either forgotten... or more likely, never bothered to learn in the first place.

I never thought I would need that knowledge. People never place enough value or focus on their coursework when someone else is paying for it, especially when they think they know that they're headed in a different direction and it will not be ultimately relevant. I was wrong. Wrong wrong wrong.

Oh well. Live and learn... in this case, the law of relative proportions. Or the chemical properties of carbon. Something like that.

I've been listening to a lot of talk radio (politically moderate, but with a strong aversion to crackpot theories) on my way to, from, and between my two workplaces.

It's nice to hear an exchange of intelligent/practical thoughts because I spend 95% of every morning and 25-50% of every afternoon in total solitude, and even including interaction with others, I spend a full 88% of my day dealing with 1) a smörgåsbord of acronyms that stand for radioactive chemicals that are in no way relevant to my life and 2) people's gross inability to understand how to convert percentages into decimals and fractions and vice versa.

88%. That's 88 out of 100. 88/100. 88, hundredths. 0.88. It frustrates me to no end that I can't make this clear... and I don't know what I'm doing wrong! Maybe I should start drawing pie charts that look like pizzas. People always respond to food, right?

AND NO THAT IS NOT PI

A PUPPY! A PUPPY!

 He isn't mine. Don't worry.  He's a foster for the Forsyth Humane Society.  His name is Carson!

 This is my favorite picture EVER

 PUPPIES CAN FLY

I hate Business 40.

Background:  I have two jobs.  I work at a medical school in the morning and at a community college in the afternoon.

I had an extremely frustrating experience trying to get from one job to the other today:

1) I was starving and had a killer craving for Subway.  I was also determined not to give in to any of the fast food grease-athons that litter every highway.  Apparently there is no Subway between the hospital and the Kernersville campus of Forsyth Tech, so I drove all the way to Greensboro to find myself a sandwich. I ended up at Sheetz - there are no Subways anywhere!  This seems impossible.  But I had an hour... so why not?  I got my grilled chicken sub and happily trotted back towards Kernersville.

2) The Colfax exit, which I use to access the Kernersville campus, is only accessible from east-bound Business 40, and I was headed west.  Solution: take the next exit up and turn around.  Easy, right? WRONG.  The on-ramp from 66 and the off-ramp for Colfax are parallel to each other.  Like this:

I did not have enough grumbly sounds or random syllables to convey exactly how frustrating I found this phenomenon.  So of course I had to continue all the way to Sandy Ridge Road (pretty much back in Greensboro), turn around again, go back ANOTHER exit towards Winston-Salem, turn around again, and then proceed to the Colfax exit.  Like this:

This whole process took about 25 minutes. I am surprised I did not end up with vertigo... kind of like riding the Gravitron at the fair.

All while I ate my sandwich. Which was delicious.