Kimochi Warui

"Kimochi warui" is a Japanese phrase. The literal translation is "bad feeling". Kimochi means feeling, sensation or mood. Warui means bad or inferior. It is much more than that, though. It includes "creepy feeling", "feeling oogy inside", etc.

Kind of like Morgan Freeman dating his granddaughter.

Or the movie "Spanking the Monkey".

You know, anything that makes you say "eeewwwww".

But like a bad car accident, sometimes you just have to take a second look to make sure what you are seeing is really as bad as you think it is. And usually, it is.

After many years of lamenting cracked, dry heels no matter how much I pumiced and slathered on heel cream I discovered this nifty little gadget. In less than 15 minutes I had smooth, excellent heels. I have been enjoying them and the increased lifespan of pantyhose for the last few months.

For some reason I opened up the little gadget (you would have to eventually I suppose) and the heel shavings inside looked just like grated parmesan cheese. It was oddly fascinating in a way that made me want to vomit.

Rick opined that it looked like sauerkraut but the bits weren't long and stringy.

So I cleaned it all out and put it in the long plastic bag the newspaper came in and stuck it in the bathroom trash can.

Later I had to take another look. It looked like a little bird's nest made out of coconut. For just a moment I wanted to take it out and save it and make something with it. The possibilities were endless. I could add toenail clippings, hair from the shower...

But wait. No. That would put me in the company of people I would rather not be associated with.

You get the idea.

Take the garbage out!

So I did.

Must. Learn. To. Read. Directions. First.

Happy birthday to me. I am now 18,250 days old. (That is 438,000 hours or 26,280,000 minutes in case you were wondering.)

As a special birthday present to myself I scheduled my first screening colonoscopy. And then I promptly forgot about it. Yesterday I did not eat breakfast before going to work and was scavenging around for something to eat in the office when my very special assistant said, "Don't you have a colonoscopy tomorrow?"

Uh oh. I had completely forgotten to get all the clear liquids to drink and the Dulcolax tablets and the Miralax. The only Jello I had at work in the refrigerator was red. The only Crystal Light mix-ins anyone had were red.

But I have the best staff in the entire world so one of my nurses kindly went to the drugstore (on her day off, no less) to get me the "goods". So I gulped the pills and drank all the Miralax.

Oh my. From 5 PM on I experienced an intestinal tsunami of biblical proportions. I could not sneeze, or cough or even move too much for fear of the dreaded "outcome".

The supposedly smartest part* of the body was dazed and confused. Finally I found an absorbent adult garment (we get free samples from a nice company to give out to patients) so I could make the drive home without ruining my car seats and my dress.

It wasn't much better at home. I was afraid to go to sleep despite having four towels under me.

Then I looked at the (now empty) bottle of Miralax. It was the 550 gram size. The directions from the doctor's office specified the 243 gram size bottle.

So first thing the next morning in my parched and dehydrated state I had to go do a operation on a patient who was in pain and I did not want her to wait two more days. During her entire operation I willed my smartest organ not to fail me. I did the "bun tightening" exercises from aerobics class, except without the relaxation phase. Then I hauled my (sore) butt over to the surgery center for my fun.

All I can say is thank goodness for that lovely cocktail of Demerol and Versed. I remember nothing about the procedure except the nice buzz and all the gas I had that afternoon.

But I will now remember to read the instructions and check the label before undertaking any such procedure again. Funny, we are taught in medical school to read the label twice and be able to recall the instructions accurately.

It is true, though. The cobbler's children have bad shoes.

All I can say is thank you Lord for Calmoseptine ointment.

* The anus is said to be the smartest organ in the body due to its' ability to distinguish between solid, liquid and gas and know when it's okay to let each one out.

Ara? Nan da?

The other morning my date and I woke up in our typical brain-dead states.

As per usual, Mr. Perfect leapt out of bed, made me a cup of tea and came back to our bedroom with the newspaper, my tea and his coffee.

Then as per usual, he went into the bathroom to shave.

I opened one eye.

Then shut it again. I had remembered a particularly annoying patient who was coming to the office that day.

But in the short time it took to perform that avoidance maneuver, something caught my eye and registered in my brain.

There was something on the carpet. And that something looked like a small cat turd.

We have a rule in our house that whoever sees the errant (insert item here: turd, vomit, etc.) shall clean it up. So under the guise I had not yet opened my eyes I called for my date to bring me a section of the newspaper. Being the sweetheart he is, he obliged.

As he came into the room he exclaimed, "What's that?"

I said, "What?"

He pointed to the item on the rug. I opened my eyes and leaned over the side of the bed and opined that it looked like a cat turd.

We wondered who would have done such a thing as none of our boys has ever done that before. I blamed Josephine, the Boston terrier who loves nothing more than a stolen snack from the cat box. My date hotly denied that possibility, defending his best girl against my accusation.

I am slightly nearsighted so I cannot see details from afar.

My date is slightly farsighted so he cannot see details up close.

At our respective positions, neither one of us could identify the foreign object. There was silence. Then he got a piece of toilet paper and picked up the object. He held it out to me and said, "Look!"

I saw two beady little eyes, a pointed nose and well, not much else. It was the head of a mouse. I laughed and asked my date where he thought the rest of it was.

He has a favorite cat who is our great grey hunter. My date proudly gave credit for the kill to this cat, Cooper.

The mouse head was dispatched down the toilet and the morning went on as usual.

Stuck On You

This morning I was enjoying holding "Good Time Charlie" while he purred and snuggled against my neck.  Then I felt something small and sticky on his leg, near his butt.  Much to my dismay it was a tapeworm segment.  All of a sudden the reason for his farting was clear.  He is not "Cooper's baby" after all.  He is just another kitten with tapeworms.  Gross.

Or maybe not so gross.  Actually the scolex (the head of the tapeworm that sticks into the intestine, gross) is kind of interesting when magnified.

Interesting in a disgusting sort of way.

Tapeworms are spread when the host (in this case, Good Time Charlie is the good host) eats a flea that is carrying the intermediate form of the tapeworm.  When the flea reaches the warm and nourishing environment of the intestine the tapeworm develops, attaches its head to the intestine and starts to grow.  The nasty little segments that make up the body get shed and they crawl out of the butt at night or hitch a ride on an outgoing piece of poo.  Then they are discovered (or not, then you will think it is a grain of dried rice you found).

For your edification.

I am still very cute, though.  

You may hold me.