Humor

Apr 1 2009

Fair Game

I came across something very interesting this morning while my nurse and I were cruising down the highway. We were headed for the New York Yankees Spring Training facility in Tampa, Florida to see my team play the Philadelphia Phillies when a giant van zoomed past us. It was a sheriff’s vehicle that had two blue handicapped symbols pasted on each of the back doors. Never before had I seen a wheelchair accessible paddywagon. I guess the Charlotte County Sheriff’s Department prides itself on being an equal-opportunity arrestor. We numerous wheelchair-using criminals can now be hauled off to jail after being taken into custody. It used to be that those of us in large, heavy wheelchairs were able to wreak illegal havoc without consequence simply because there was no accessible transportation to the big house. Apparently, that is no longer the case in Charlotte County. Their specially equipped vehicles have rendered us fair game. We can’t even run over little old ladies or shoplift by conveniently forgetting that we have grocery items on our laps as we casually roll out of the store. Justice will now be served to all folks in wheelchairs who commit even the slightest of crimes. No more free rides, just rides to prison in big vans driven by out-of-shape deputy sheriffs. The only possible way to avoid being caught by the cops in Charlotte County is by going on the lamb, but you won’t get too far traveling by wheelchair. So if you are in a wheelchair and wish to engage in any sort of criminal activity whatsoever, you would be wise to stay away from Charlotte County, Florida. The sheriff there means business!

By Scott F. Sands • Disability, Humor • 6

Jan 31 2009

The Magic Word

Those of you who follow me on Facebook or Twitter may recall that I have been experiencing a little urinary problem (I know, I am shameless). It all began a week ago when I took my customary midnight pee. I felt a sharp pain down there, followed by an intense burning sensation and a bloody dribble. Too much information, huh? Friends were jokingly wondering if I had been involved with a “lady of the evening”. Sorry, that’s just not my style. Anyhow, I notified my doctor who ordered a blood test, urinalysis and culture. He also started me on antibiotics to get the drop on what he suspected to be a urinary tract infection. Well, my lab results returned a high white blood cell count – which indicated an obvious infection going on somewhere in my system – but zero growth in the culture. I remained on antibiotics, however, but my symptoms continued over the next few days and I began to worry. Pain and bloody pee is definitely not good. First, I thought that maybe a tiny fragment from one the three large stones embedded in my left kidney had broken free and was tearing at the lining of my urethra. Then another possibility crossed my mind. A history of prostate cancer in the family coupled with the fact that miscellaneous health problems often arise when you’re past the age of forty led me to freak! I called the doctor and told him that things were not improving. It was then that he uttered the dreaded “U” word; he recommended that I consult my urologist. Now, I am not a great fan of urologists for one simple reason – they are notorious for running tests where they force garden hoses through pinholes. In fact, I am sure they derive great pleasure from it too! However, I gave in and set up appointment to see the guy anyway just to play it safe. A few short hours later during my customary afternoon pee, a miracle occurred – no pain, no blood and only mild burning. I was suddenly improving! Apparently, the dreaded “U” word has magical healing powers.

By Scott F. Sands • Humor, Medical • 3

Jan 17 2009

Happily Running Behind

Many readers of this blog have told me that I give them hope, inspiration and motivation. Well at one time or another, we all need someone to look to for hope, inspiration and motivation. My friend Tom Mecke from Texas has recently become that someone to me. Like me, Tom has Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy, but unlike me, he celebrated his 49th birthday today. If at 42, I am considered to be a rare specimen with this disease, then Tom is an even greater oddity. And on numerous occasions when I feel like my best days are behind me, that I am running on fumes, and fear that I might not wake up in the morning, I just think of Tom and I feel better. If he is still able to hold on despite DMD and get to 49 (and counting), then I may just have a shot at doing the same. I need guys like Tom to set the precedent for aging with DMD and give me a chance to look forward to staying around for a little while longer. Although the amount of life in someone with DMD can vary to a degree, it sure is nice to know that records are set every single day. Each year, each day, each second that we beat the odds is a true blessing and cause to celebrate.

Now a little story about breaking records…

About a year ago, I paid a visit to my dermatologist. I don’t remember why I needed to see him – maybe he had to pop a giant zit on my crippled, artificially ventilated ass or do something equally disgusting. Anyhow, Dr. Meisenheimer – nicknamed “Lucky” – is a quirky guy who still plays with yo-yos. He is a yo-yo historian and holds the Guinness World Record for the largest collection of yo-yos. Dr. Lucky came into the examination room and exclaimed with a triumphant fist in the air, “So you’re the world record holder!” I had a noticeably puzzled look on my face before he offered matter-of-factly, “You’re the oldest man alive with Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy.” I don’t know where he came up with this, but I guess that since growing old with DMD is quite uncommon, he simply made an assumption. Knowing that there are others with DMD who are older than I am, I began to laugh and responded, “Well, I’m don’t exactly hold the record, but I am definitely among those in the running!” With that, Dr. Lucky looked me square in the eye, smiled, raised his fist once again and replied, “Well, then it’s time to go for the record!” The dude was serious! However, Dr. Lucky failed to realize that in order for me to become the world record holder, all of the other men with DMD who are older than me would have to…ohhh, say…DIE! And that would be a bad thing.

Believe me, I am in no way interested in becoming the “World’s Oldest Living” anything. Besides, I don’t think that Tom is all too willing to give in and get out of my way. Now, the actual world record holder is out there somewhere and I have yet to locate him. He may even be reading this blog at this very moment while playing with his golden yo-yo. Anyway, I would like to wish him my most sincere best and assure him that I have absolutely no intention of going after his record. It belongs to him alone, and I don’t want it. I just hope that he will keep it indefinitely, and that I will always run behind. However, if some eccentric business tycoon ever gets it in his sick mind to offer me riches and a harem of hot chicks to become the oldest man alive with DMD, perhaps I will be forced to reconsider!

By Scott F. Sands • Humor, Life, Medical • 3

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