There’s a new commercial for a medical supply company offering to help patients who need sterile catheters.  That in itself is unpleasant enough.

But it gets worse.

The “patient” — who may be a real patient or just an actress — talks about the inconvenience of having to boil used catheters so she can reuse them.

Too. Much. Information.

Granted, they could have been much less delicate.  But still, that’s an image I didn’t need this morning!

I wish people who were diagnosed with conditions that required such actions could register with their doctors to specifically get this information…so those of us who don’t have to “cath” ourselves don’t have to think about it.

“Roll your focus.”

In television, that’s what a director will tell a camera operator whose shot looks slightly unfocused.  (Of course, your typical television director will probably throw in a few other, more colorful words as a bonus, but that’s beside the point.)

Lately, I think focus is what has been missing.

Focus in my personal life, which I’m pretty much used to; focus in my spiritual life, which I’m not particularly used to; and in my professional life, which disturbs me greatly.

Some of you might stop me and say, “Oh, yes…this is nothing…this is absolutely normal at your age.  You’re catching that typical mid-life crisis thing or that on-the-verge-of-40 funk we’ve all heard about, even though 40 is supposed to be the new 20.

I can assure you that I don’t feel a year-and-a-half away from my 20th birthday.

Remember Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho?  There’s a great snippet of conversation between the rich homebuyer, Ted Cassidy, and Marion Crane, the restless secretary, right before she steals the money:

CASSIDY:  Are you unhappy?

MARION:  Not inordinately.

That’s a great line, because in saying almost nothing, it seems to say a great deal.  She’s neither satisfied nor miserable.  Just in between.  If it were a word, and wasn’t such an annoying non-word, I might even suggest meh.

Depression and anxiety can cause a lack of focus.  Other times, a lack of focus can cause anxiety and/or depression.  I’d like to be able to just roll my focus, but I’ve yet to find the damn focus ring.

I recently purchased a daily devotional called Solo.  It’s from the same people who put out The Message bible, which I like a lot.

It is based on a classic style of lectio divinia, which involves reading, thinking, praying and trying to prompt a real conversation with God rather than just scanning through pages hoping something will jump out at you.  I’ve never tried anything like that before — I only know what lectio divinia is because I read the introduction and got that explanation.

But it sounds like an interesting approach, so I’m trying to make more time to go through that and see what’s waiting.

If I come up with anything profound, I might write about it here.  Otherwise, I’ll just quietly go on and try to find a little sharper image of the world around me.

Maybe I’ll find that blasted focus ring sooner than I think.

A few weeks back, I spent several weeks in something of a funk.  That’s really nothing all that new if you know me personally.  But there was perhaps a higher undercurrent of general dissatisfaction than normal.

Part of it came from a brief episode of hypochondria.  It took two visits to the doctor, during which he assured me, at length, both times, that there was absolutely nothing to worry about.  Sure enough, now, the little problem I was so worried about being the start of some terrible condition is completely gone as if it never existed.  Guess it was a sinus-related thing after all.

Part of it came from work-related frustration.  There is always work-related frustration.  Anyone who works in local television has it.  Anyone who works in any form of media has it.  Hell, anyone who has a job of any kind has it.  The thing that was frustrating me most is a little pet peeve of mine that relates to malfunctioning things not being fixed fast enough.  But the problem is that I’m not always the most reasonable person:  if something goes awry, I want it fixed now.  Not tomorrow.  Not next week.  Not after I send an email.  Now.  Trouble is, there are fifty other people with their own short list of things they want fixed now.

There were some personal issues in the mix, too.  No need to talk about them here, because I couldn’t go into enough detail for them to make any real sense, anyway.

The result of all of these minor annoyances, and yes, I can admit that they’ve all been far too minor in the grand scheme of things, is that I have felt stressed out and burned out.  Generally disgusted.  Somewhat unmotivated.

I’ve written before about a teacher’s piece of advice that came completely out of the blue one day but has rang true many times in my life.  Sometimes, taking the advice is easy.  Lately, for me, it wasn’t.  I needed to be in control of these problems, I told myself.  Part of me actually didn’t want to let any of it go, because I liked being melancholy.   Those of you who have never suffered from any kind of depression won’t understand that, and I know it; you’ll just have to take my word for it that there are times when a depressed person feels more comfortable being depressed than content.

Two weeks ago, I was at church and I ran the lights for the service.  Afterwards, I approached my friend Archie, one of my pastors, and just asked him to add me to his prayer list for when he had time over the week.  Archie put his arm around me and said, “Let’s pray now.”  So we did.

I’ve had a harder time since that day getting back into that funk.  Which is both a really, really good thing, and a slightly bad thing.  I don’t want to be down about things in general at the moment, but as I said, there are times when that is my comfort zone.  In praying with Archie, I seemed to come away with some level of peace I wasn’t honestly expecting, and, perhaps, a slightly different perspective on how unimportant a lot of those frustrations had been.

So now, as part of me wants to just slip back into sulking mode, another part of me finds that very difficult to do.  I’ll admit that it’s a very odd way to come to the lesson, but I am reminded of an old saying:  “Be careful what you wish for!”

So I am trying my best to adopt a new attitude starting today.

I’ve been quite frustrated lately in a variety of directions. So I am making a concerted effort to just “get over it,” a trick that does not come easily to people who suffer from various anxiety disorders that make it something of a challenge to let go of things.

There has been a slight change — although I’ve not let it feel so slight much of the time — at the old workplace involving one of my responsibilities. It was one that I enjoyed, but one that was admittedly taking a little too much of my time. I feel silly saying this, but I think I actually experienced the five stages of grief when the task was reassigned. Maybe I didn’t hit all five; I don’t recall bargaining for anything other than to go on doing what I was doing without any change (which isn’t much of a negotiation, unless you’re George W. Bush). It’s entirely possible that I hit anger before denial. (And likely after as well.)

But I know that I have reached the final stage: acceptance. It’s okay. It’s less stress for me to have to deal with on a daily basis. That’s a good thing. (And no, I’m not just saying that to convince myself: I’m convinced already.)

I’ve also been dealing with other frustrations, including one of my biggest pet peeves: broken things that remain unfixed. Things change, I am often reminded. Old systems that are no longer efficient get replaced by newer systems that promise to be at least as efficient. Sometimes, newer technology isn’t so efficient because it means jumping through additional hoops to get the same things done.

I hate that. If it slows me down, it’s not better. It’s only slower.

But there comes a point at which the old systems become too expensive to fix. There are few things that get me more fired up than having the same problems continue because a problem everyone knows about just keeps right on going. Fix it! Now!

I’m trying to get over that, too.

Some things aren’t going to get fixed. They’ll be replaced. By things that aren’t as efficient in certain ways.  But by things that generally have a better chance of getting the task accomplished in the end.

And as much as I’d like to wallow in the aggravation, because we anxiety sufferers tend to find some perverse pleasure in wallowing in such things, I have to move forward. I have to learn to embrace something different. Even though it will certainly cause a new set of problems. (New things always do.) I have to accept the fact that some things won’t be able to be done as easily or quickly. So I will have to be the one to adapt. (Technology always makes us adapt to it rather than the other way around.)

My friend Archie, a pastor at my church, has recently started a blog, and his latest post is called “Here’s to new beginnings.” Archie and his wife, Rebekah, are moving to California later this year, and in that post, he talks about the thought of looking forward to making changes he wants to make and a move as an opportunity to make them:

“But then the thought hit me… If I’m not starting that stuff now, I’m probably not going do it out there; just because I’m in a new place doesn’t mean that I change on the inside. BUT on the other hand- why wait to start out there? God tells us in scripture that his mercies are new EVERY DAY. So here’s to a new beginning on life… today.”

Here, here.  I’m trying.

Today.

Just heard on Today: Katie Couric is returning to the Today show tomorrow, according to Matt Lauer. She’s coming back, apparently, for a single appearance and to make a “major announcement.”

Is she announcing that she’s giving up the anchor chair at the CBS Evening News? Probably not. It seems like CBS wouldn’t allow her to go announce such a thing on her former show at NBC.

Meredith Viera even joked, upon hearing the news, “Permanently?” Viera, of course, replaced Couric on Today when Couric left for CBS.

Is it some cheap marketing ploy designed to make people just curious enough to watch? Yep.

I’m curious enough, and I’m sure I’ll be disappointed by whatever the “major announcement” turns out to be.

UPDATE:  I found out what the “major announcement” is, and wouldn’t have spoiled the details until I realized that all of the networks were doing a fine job of spoiling it on their own.  And it’s not just Katie Couric appearing on Today.  NBC’s Brian Williams is going to appear on ABC’s Good Morning America.  And ABC’s Charlie Gibson is headed to CBS’s The Early Show.  In fact, all three anchors are appearing together on all three morning shows.

The reason?  To announce a new initiative to fight cancer.  More here.

See?  Not knowing was a lot more exciting.

So where have I been for the past few days?  Mostly in bed.  With two dogs snuggling up against me, aware that their master, the guy who feeds them, has been battling a nasty flu bug.

I took two-and-a-half days off from work, based on doctor’s advice, and feel guilty about every hour.  My boss and my parents remind me that the reason you have sick leave is to be able to take time off when you’re sick.  This amuses me, since it was my parents that instilled this ridiculous work ethic in me to start with.

As best as I can recall, this is the first time in nearly 10 years that I’ve actually called in sick.  I just don’t like being sick.  I think even when I had my surgery a couple of years ago, I used vacation time for that.  Maybe not, but at least then, no one could say I was playing hookey.

Of course, if they could have heard my voice, there would have been no doubt there, either.

I hope to be back up to full speed by the end of the week.

The death of a 15-year-old to bacterial meningitis is tragic enough. But what happened after his parents made the selfless gesture of agreeing to donate the teen’s organs to those in need of transplant recipients is even more of a tragedy.

When the parents of Alex Koehne learned that their son would not pull through from the illness, they agreed to give others the gift of life their son was likely not to have. Four patients received organs from the boy after his death: a 52-year-old man received his liver, a 36-year-old woman received his pancreas, and two others each received a kidney. But what should have been the gift of life turned into just the opposite for two of the four. The recipients of the liver and kidney died from a rare form of cancer, and the kidney recipients had the donated organs removed and are now undergoing cancer treatment.

The autopsy revealed that it was this cancer, not bacterial meningitis as originally thought, that caused Koehne’s death.

Sometimes life can be far more cruel than anyone can imagine.

…people who look like this guy really, really piss me off.

Mario Lopez was born in 1973, which means that on his birthday this year, he’ll actually be 35.

That also means that the infamous slowing metabolism that strikes in the thirties either hasn’t hit him, yet, or that he has some unimaginable obsession with working out.

He, like nearly every other celebrity these days, is about to release a new book on fitness.  The cynic in me suspects that the majority of people who buy this book are doing so just to drool over him in his shirtless glory.

I hope they enjoy themselves.

I, on the other hand, find myself particularly amused by the red balloon on the cover, which reads, “The Six-Week Plan for Sculpting Your BEST BODY EVER.”

You know, if I thought I could look like that in six weeks, I’d go to every book store in Charleston and buy every copy I could find.

A funny thing happened at the gym the other night. My trainer was a no-show.

And you thought that if anyone would be a no-show at a gym, it would have to be me!  (I’d have made the same bet, actually, so I don’t take any offense.)

I have expected that he was hiding somewhere just watching to see what I would do, and that if I tried to slip out, he’d corner me at the door. I noticed a while back that there are small two-way mirrors along the top of one wall, which leads me to believe that there are spaces up there where employees can monitor the goings-on at the gym. I doubt that they actually do; it’s just as likely that this building used to be a grocery store or department store and had security personnel who really did venture up there as part of the routine. But I don’t really think anyone is watching people workout.

In any case, I went ahead with my routine, sort of combining a workout he suggested last week with a few new exercises of my own. I focused on upper body, because my legs are still ridiculously sore from my last lower body workout. (Seriously: what the hell’s with all the pain? People actually like this??)

I haven’t tried calling the trainer, yet, to find out what happened. At least at this point, I think that should be his responsibility.

We shall see.

Despite my ridiculous repair bill for a failed car window, I did get some good news on Wednesday; actually, I received two pieces of good news from my doctor.

First, the sleep apnea: it turns out that anyone who has a score of 20 or higher is considered to have a “severe” case. My score is an 8, which means that it’s mild enough that my doctor is thinking that I should just continue with the diet and try to lose more weight before worrying about exploring an expensive CPAP machine (the device used to treat sleep apnea). With a price tag of about $1,000, I’m fine with putting that off indefinitely.

Then there was the diet: since my last visit, just two weeks ago, I’ve managed to lose 6 pounds. With progress like that, I may be able to rid myself of sleep apnea completely. And that’d be a good thing, too: I could use the rest.

And as a bonus, I’ll make mention of my blood pressure, which I would have expected to be high because today was a monster of a day. It turns out it was 120/73. I’ll take numbers like that any day.

I must apologize for the lack of posts lately. I’ve been trying to catch up on some sleep, which tends to be elusive during sweeps.

Just last week, I found myself in a sleep lab where I was tested for sleep apnea.  My doctor suspected that I may have it, and scheduled the appointment for me.  What I got was what is called a “split test,” wherein you sleep “normally” for half of the night and then spend the other half, assuming that apnea is detected, sleeping in a mask designed to keep your airway open by forcing a small stream of air through your nose.

When you are tested for sleep apnea, you show up at a lab at about 9:30pm, fill out paperwork, and get checked in.  You then must sit quietly and still while a nurse attaches what seems like about thirty-thousand sensors to you.  I looked like the guy on the right, (only not so relaxed) with sensors taped across my forehead, my face, my neck and my chest, bands across my chest and stomach, a sensor taped to my index finger, and two wires going down to my lower legs.  The latter sensors, I was told, test for Restless Leg Syndrome.

There are also four sensors that are placed across the top of your skull.  This is accomplished with the use of obnoxiously-large drops of gooey glue placed right in your hair.  This measures your brain waves during sleep.  While I have not yet seen the actual printout, I am pleased to report that there was legitimate brain activity detected during the test.  (I know this might come as a surprise to some of you out there, but I digress.)

You are instructed to sleep on your back.  That was problem number one.  (No, no…that was problem number two; sleeping with electrodes all over me as if I were about to be electrocuted for some unnamed crime was problem number one.)  I don’t sleep on my back, and I told the nurse this.  It didn’t seem to matter:  sleep apnea seems to be worse when a sufferer sleeps on his back, and they’re all about seeing the worst-case scenario.  Much like fans of The Jerry Springer Show.

I lay there for what seemed like two hours staring at blackness.  I remember just dozing off, slightly turned to one side — yes, I was desperate — and hearing the intercom pop on and the nurse instructing me to sleep on my back, please.  Damn.

After I finally managed to get to sleep, I was awakened again:  time for the mask.  I then had to sleep with this gadget over my head.  Wearing it wasn’t a problem, but talking with it gave me the sense that I was about to drown.  Naturally, the nurse asked me lots of questions after she put the mask on my head.

But that was okay.  I was going to wake up feeling refreshed, because I will have been sleeping with an unobstructed airway that didn’t require my brain to “wake” me every few seconds so that I’d move and get the airway unblocked.

Only it didn’t happen that way.  I woke up as tired as I ever was.  And believe me, that’s pretty tired.  Maybe it’s just insomnia after all.  None of the other sleep-related conditions seem to really apply, at least not from a scan of the list of symptoms.

I’ll find out later this week whether I have a severe-enough case that they would want me to purchase one of those ridiculous machines.  (The nurse spoiled the surprise, though, and told me the next morning that it seemed really mild.  So there!)

In the meantime, I’m not worrying about it.  It’s certainly not worth losing sleep over.

Sorry…couldn’t resist.

The South is known for good, down-home cooking. If it involves grease, those of us who live here are all over it. If it involves a more healthy cooking method, then we have to have a little more coaxing to give it a try. You probably wouldn’t be surprised that there are Southern states that rank at the top in obesity.

In Mississippi, a lawmaker wants to do something about that and his plan is causing lots of eyebrow raising.

Rep. W.T. Mayhall, Jr. (R) has proposed House Bill 282:

“An act to prohibit certain food establishments from serving food to any person who is obese, based on criteria prescribed by the State Department of Health; to direct the Department to prepare written materials that describe and explain the criteria for determining whether a person is obese and to provide those materials to the food establishments; to direct the department to monitor the food establishments for compliance with the provisions of this act; and for related purposes.”

It’s one thing for government to attempt bans on smoking in public places (which I favor) or on using dangerous trans-fats (which I have mixed feelings about). It’s quite another for government to attempt to ban the serving of food to people based on whether they are obese. In fact, there are many problems with this plan:

• All people who are obese are not necessarily so solely because of food. Some people who are borderline obese can be pushed over the scale by medication, for example. Also, a lack of exercise is also sometimes at least as much to blame as inadequate portion size.
• The solution to being obese isn’t to stop eating. Your body still needs fuel. You should certainly eat less, but if you stop eating completely, your body begins burning lean muscle tissue and fat. It’s the lean muscle tissue that you do have that helps burn the fat that you shouldn’t have.
• It has the potential to be a psychological nightmare for people who are obese and already have to fight low self-esteem. The last thing they need is to be pulled aside during an evening out with friends and be shown the door and embarrassed.
• It’s distinctly punitive. The policy wouldn’t take into account anyone who is actually making progress towards losing weight: for example, a patron who is on a weight loss and exercise plan, and who has already lost 100 pounds, but still falls just inside of the “obese” range, would be treated just the same as someone who refuses to exercise or eat responsibly. Doesn’t seem quite fair, does it?
• How do you actually measure this? One’s Body Mass Index (BMI) is a comparison of height to weight. So this means that you’d literally have to measure every person who walks in the door: you’d have to weight them and determine their height, then calculate the index. Can you imagine waiting in a line for that?
• The BMI isn’t absolute. One year ago, when I weighed 290, my blood sugar level was in the “Pre-Diabetic” range and my cholesterol was at 239, thirty-nine points into the “red zone.” But after losing 50 pounds, my blood sugar level was well into the normal range as was my cholesterol. The lipid markers all showed good readings, even though I was still technically “obese.” BMI also doesn’t take into account whether a person is carrying a lot of muscle weight or is “big-boned.” It is only a flat ratio of height to weight, and no fitness expert I’ve ever spoken with considers it the defining method of figuring one’s healthy weight.

Most BMI indexes suggest that I should weigh less than 180. Sure. Nothing would thrill me more. But I think I have an equal chance of sprouting horns. On the other hand, I have an uncle who just turned 75, who has been significantly overweight for decades. At his most recent doctor’s visit, his doc marveled at his cardiac condition, and said he has the heart of a thirty-year-old. While that may certainly be the exception and not the rule, it does happen.

There are lots of ways to encourage people to do the right thing when it comes to food. Unfortunately, this isn’t one of them. Not by a long shot.

No, I’m not talking about alcohol.  I’m talking about that popular drink among the more fitness-inclined among us: Gatorade.

I had my weigh-in yesterday, during which I complained, lamented, whined, etc., that I was stuck within a five-pound range since the holiday gain, and that it seemed that nothing I did could get me past this most annoying hump.

I pointed out that I had started working with a personal trainer, that I was cutting back on everything, trying to slim down every meal, watching calories of everything I ate, working even more greens into the diet — folks, I am so sick of spinach right now I can’t even tell you! — and making sure I’m keeping the water drinking high.  I added that I even bought up a bunch of Gatorade and was making sure I was drinking plenty of fluids to keep the “juices flowing,” if you know what I mean.

That’s when my weight loss counselor raised his eyebrows.  “That’s probably your problem,” he said.  “How much Gatorade are you drinking?”

I told him that I had bought several of the 64-oz. jugs that they have in various flavors.  I was trying to drink at least one 64-oz. jug a day, sometimes I was drinking one and a half or two a day.

Not good, he says.  Gatorade, it turns out, is loaded with calories.  Loaded.

I was shocked.  Isn’t Gatorade what people are supposed to drink when they’re on a diet and trying to slim down at the gym?  Isn’t it this marvelous drink that takes water and adds those critical minerals or whatever it is that replenishes what you lose when you work up a sweat?  Maybe, but that 64-oz. jug of Gatorade also has enough sugar — yes, sugar! — to bring the calorie count up to 480!  And on days when I was having a jug and a half, that was 720 calories.

When you’re trying to stick to 1200 to 1500 calories a day, and Gatorade is taking up more than half of your daily allowance, it’s no wonder that the scale just sits there laughing at you morning after morning.

I admitted that I never bothered to look at the calories in Gatorade, because I thought it was artificial sweetener.  Why would they load a “fitness” drink with sugar?  It never would have occurred to me that there were all those calories screwing up my diet plan.

Am I the only one who didn’t realize this?

I’m a wuss.

There. I said it.

I remember a few years ago watching an episode of The Biggest Loser. (Don’t ask me why I was watching it, I just was. Back off.) Anyway, early in the competition, during a particularly intense segment of the workout, one of the fat guys got sick and barfed from working out too hard.

I laughed.

I’m not laughing any more. I hired a personal trainer for a 12-week program. I meet with him once a week and then go to the gym on my own and follow some general guidelines he sets for me at least three other nights a week.

I had my latest session with him, and I can honestly say that for the first time, I almost got sick to my stomach from exercise. I’ve always suspected that exercise can kill you, and now I have the beginnings of definitive proof. I had to excuse myself at one point and go to the men’s room.

Fortunately, I did not have insult added to injury by passing any scantily-clad muscle men changing in the locker room as I limped along, feeling feeble. Okay, not feeble: feeling like I was on death’s door. I caught my reflection in the mirror as I headed to the great porcelain bowl (just in case), and I was ashen. So I now know what I’d look like in a black and white movie. It’s no more of a pretty sight than the color version, unfortunately.

I did not part ways with my last meal, I am happy to say, but this was accomplished by sitting very still for several minutes, during which the memory of me laughing at that fat guy who “couldn’t take the pounding” kept playing over and over. Damn photographic memory.

What happened, I think, is that I simply allowed myself to get overheated. Too intense exercise too quickly, with no water. It didn’t help matters that I was trying to look macho as I struggled to do reps with 20 and 30-pound weights (!!!) and had a heavy towel draped around the back of my neck…that particular body part felt like it was about 150° as I lay dying stood fighting the “impulse.”

For those few minutes, being fat and weak honestly didn’t seem so bad.