My Advice to the Advice Columnist: A Smile Is Just A Frown Turned Upside Down, My Friend

I don’t want to pick on anyone. I have no animus towards Amy Dickinson who writes the Ask Amy advice column that appears in the Chicago Tribune, the (much older) sister of ChicagoNow, the home of this blog. But one letter in Wednesday’s column, and particularly Amy’s response, left me scratching my head and wondering if I was missing something.

An advice seeker wrote in, asking how to respond when random men “ordered” her to smile at random times of the day. The writer stated this was only said by men, and only to women, and how the heck did those men know what kind of a day she was having? The “command” made her feel like the men were insinuating she wasn’t up to snuff and she needed to do better.

I expected Amy’s response to be along the lines of “Really? Do you find it THAT upsetting? I’m sure whoever says that just says it to everyone. It may be annoying, but don’t take it personally and get over it.” That is certainly how I would have answered if I was writing the advice column.

But Amy’s response took a different tack. She told us that when someone casually tells her to smile, she seethes (italics mine.) She finds it a “casual assertion of privilege,” even though she doesn’t believe the requester has put much forethought into the request for her to smile. Is she going to smile? Hell no. It was a pretty strong, emotional, response.

I admit I would never ask a stranger to smile. I have just enough social anxiety disorder to feel uncomfortable when I meet someone new–I’m sure not going to tell them to put on a happy face. But I am surprised to discover that it is such an obnoxious offense! Is it really a male asserting dominance thing? I just don’t see it.

Someday, and I pray it is soon, I’ll become “woke.” In the meantime, I will just remind myself, and no one else, to smile, smile smile.

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Quantum Microbiology–Things Get Interesting When They Get Small

Everything is getting smaller. Google has announced that it has created a quantum computer, the Holy Grail of techies. While the computer itself is a massive energy suck, the computational power is lodged in subatomic particles. I don’t understand the science, but I know those subatomic particles must be pretty, pretty, pretty small.

In the lab, we are shrinking things down too. Acting on the theory that nothing stays the same, here at UroPartners Laboratory we are embarking on a fantastic journey into the miniature world of DNA analysis. We will be adopting a technique known as polymerase chain reaction (PCR) to help us solve the riddle of chronic urinary tract infections.

Why are we doing this? Urinary tract infections (UTIs) cause irritating symptoms and can lead to very significant complications such as sepsis (bloodstream infection,) with lots of Emergency Room visits and hospitalizations. Serious, painful, and costly. We have traditionally made the diagnosis of UTI by bacterial culture; taking a urine sample, spreading it out on a Petri dish covered with agar, sticking the plate in an incubator, and checking the next morning to see if anything has grown. Then comes the process of identifying the growth (disease-causing bacteria? yeast? contamination?) and checking what antibiotics can stop the growth.

It can be a two to three-day process, and it is not perfect. Some bugs don’t want to grow on our little Petri dishes or they may take too long to show up. We do our best, but we know there are many patients who are left without an answer and suffer long-term disease or unsettling complications.

So we are turning to PCR. Our lab will soon be able to examine a urine specimen and in a few hours identify the DNA signatures of the various bugs present. We will also identify the genes that cause the bugs to be resistant to various antibiotics. Better information in a shorter time. A definite win-win.

Like all new technology, PCR for microbiology isn’t cheap. But studies have shown the overall cost to the healthcare system is lowered by eliminating all those ER visits and hospital admissions. And we don’t plan to use the test in all cases, just the problematic ones.

We have to do some construction to create a “clean space” where the DNA in each specimen can be kept isolated from other specimens, so it will be a few months before we get started. But it’s always exciting to start something new. And a hoot for this old dog to learn a few new tricks.

The opinions above are those of the author and not of UroPartners LLC.

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Why October 24th Is My Special Personal Memory

Don’t certain dates stand out in your mind? Of course, there are personal dates like your wedding day or the birth of a child that you will never forget. But I am referring to those dates that are outside of your own life but have an impact on you none the less.

For the Greatest Generation, there were VE and VJ Days. For my boomer bunch, we all know where we were the day when JFK was shot and or when Neil Armstrong sauntered on the moon. For many Chicagoans, the embedded memory is the moment in 2005 the White Sox won the World Series–or maybe you remember the 2016 Cubs championship night. Or the soon to follow 2016 Election coverage.

Yes, all those days are important to me, but October 24th also has a place in my permanent memory. October 24, 1971, to be precise. Why? It was my senior year in high school. I was at a regional event for United Synagogue Youth, the youth group that I had been insanely active with throughout my high school years. I was reconnecting with the young woman who would become my senior year sweetheart and prom date. And a bunch of us had gathered around a transistor radio (Japanese, I presume) listening to a mediocre Bears team play the Detroit Lions at the old Tiger Stadium.

There was just about a minute left on the clock when a Detroit player, 28-year-old wide receiver Chuck Hughes, dropped to the turf. The stadium and broadcasters fell silent. Hughes never moved, he was never resuscitated. This trained athlete, the father of a 23-month-old son, is the only player in the history of the National Football League to die during a game.

I have never looked at October 24th the same way. The collision of fun and romance with the stark reality of mortality and tragedy made a mark on me that I never fail to reflect on as this day rolls around. No one was assassinated, no one made a memorable quote or won the Presidency, but my memory will always be there. That October 24th girlfriend has long vanished from my life, but the death of Chuck Hughes is something I will never forget.

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Another Rainy Day in New York City

Tourists in New York City brought our Art Institute of Chicago Masterpiece "Paris Street; Rainy Day" — Tourists in New York City brought our Art Institute of Chicago Masterpiece “Paris Street; Rainy Day” to mind.

It may have been raining, but it couldn’t stop our good times.

Barb and I spent Saturday and Sunday on our annual New York City Theater Trip. A quickly booked replacement for our canceled Yellowstone National Park adventure, we swapped Old Faithful for Times Square, and wildlife sightings for wonderful people watching.

Ever since Laury lived in Manhattan, we have made LaGuardia our NYC airport of choice. Friends warned us that it was no longer the thing to do as the airport was a mess due to construction, but apart from needing to take a shuttle bus to the cab stand, we didn’t come across any major obstacles. In fact, our plane docked in the new area of Terminal B, which was quite nice, with wide corridors and plenty of food options. I hope the future O’Hare renovation yields similar results.

We stayed at the Parker, a hotel just south of Central Park that we have made our New York home for several visits. Its age and general grunginess are beginning to wear me down, but we like the location and keep going back. The Registration staff swears that by our next visit renovated rooms will be available. We will see.

Speaking of seeing, we crammed in as much Broadway as we could, watching Oklahoma! Saturday night, and Hadestown at a Sunday matinee. Oklahoma! is, of course, an American musical classic, but the current production is quite controversial with a much less orchestral sound and less joy, more darkness. I liked it, many have not.

Hadestown, a musical mash-up of the Orpheus-Eurydice and Hades-Persephone Greek myths, is one of the current Broadway fan favorites. Thundering applause followed every musical number. Barb loved it, I was left a little cold.

Both shows featured Tony Award winners; Ali Stroker as Best Featured Actress in Oklahoma! and André De Shields as Best Featured Actor in Hadestown. It is always a privilege to watch great professionals at work.

As per our normal Manhattan routine, walking was our preferred method of transportation, although we did take the subway for a ride downtown Sunday morning, meeting some east coast friends for a delicious brunch and exploration of the SoHo area. Our friends were kind enough to drive us back to Broadway for our afternoon matinee as rain droned down and umbrellas popped up.

Did I mention shopping? Isn’t that what New York weekends are for? Some of this, some of that, and a lead on a new piece of Israeli art for our foyer. I must say, Barb has honed her negotiating skills, even if only for a sidewalk scarf and not for the somewhat more expensive artwork. In any case, she can out-bargain me with ease.

A fun, quick trip. And we plan to go back soon. Hugh Jackman in The Music Man anyone?

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Oops!… I Did It Again. Another Bad Health Choice?

The CNN headline reads “a surprising consequence to losing weight later in life.” And guess what? The consequences aren’t good ones.

So here I go again, finding out my latest health care choice might not be the best one for me overall. As I have related, my creeping weight gain and rising blood sugar led me to transform my eating habits at the beginning of the summer. I have been “rewarded” with a loss of about 15% of my body weight. My energy is good, my new trim-cut tapered slacks fit great, and I have reached a pretty solid weight plateau. At my visit to the internist last week, she congratulated me on my great blood sugar, healthy lipids, and especially my newly-normal BMI. Her parting words were “see you next year, keep up the good work.”

So I was dismayed to read the CNN report of a study stating that weight loss later in life (I am later in life, right?) is linked to increased risk for premature death, particularly from heart disease. I feel like I have jumped from the frying pan (bacon, anyone?) to the autopsy table-and not for professional reasons!

Now there are a few caveats to consider about the CNN article. The study CNN reports on does not seem to have been published in a prestigious journal such as The New England Journal of Medicine or the Annals of Internal Medicine. In fact, the CNN article doesn’t say where the study was published, and I can’t find it online. Confusingly, the study’s author is a professor in China, but the data used was from the US. And the study doesn’t differentiate intentional from unintentional weight loss. The pounds I dropped were very much intentional, and good intentions are important, right?

I still think I am doing the right thing trading away breakfast Pop-Tarts for sprouted English Muffins, cutting portions below Titanic size, and limiting myself to one trip to the buffet table. More fresh fish can’t be a bad thing, either.

So I’ll stick to the way I’m eating, and not worry about this new study. Based on past experience I just know a new study next week will say weight loss is the cat’s meow and I can say that I was right all along!

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A Million Reasons to be Married to a Therapist

It woke me up from my sleep. Something wasn’t right with my left leg. The pain was of an intensity that I don’t believe I had ever felt before. Sure, I have suffered from muscle cramps before and they can be pretty painful. Twist the wrong way and some muscle group or another goes into spasm–a big hard lump in the calf or a knot in the arch of the foot. Painful, yes, but some firm pressure on the knot and extension of the affected muscle group usually bring relief in a minute or two.

The situation at 12:30 this morning was something else entirely. The pain moved through my leg in waves, and I realized that my left ankle was locked in full flexion, my toes pointing to my knees. The muscles pulling the ankle into the flexed position just would not relax. I tried rolling from left to right, hoping a change in position would break the spasm, but that didn’t help.

I thought if I got out of bed I could “walk it off,” but I couldn’t get that left foot down on the ground to support my weight. My first step was my last as I barely caught the dresser to keep from falling on my butt.

“What’s wrong,” Barb, awake now too, asked.

I told her of my agony. She tried to get me to relax, tried bending my ankle into a more neutral position. It wasn’t moving. Slowly she moved her hand up my leg, feeling the extreme tenseness of the whole group of muscles that control ankle flexion–the gastrocnemius and soleus among others. Then she began to massage, beginning at the ankle and then with steady pressure moving up to the mid-calf, where the pain was now centered.

Slowly, slowly, slowly, the pain eased and I began to regain function of my ankle. My cries of pain turned into mere whimpers. Within a few minutes, I was able to fall back asleep and woke this morning without any residual pain.

I’m not sure what set off those nasty muscles. I had a bit of “something” over the weekend, perhaps a reaction to a flu vaccine shot, perhaps something more contagious. Maybe it was a response to my personal marathon. Any of those could have set me up for that cramp. Or maybe it was none of them.

But as I drifted back to sleep last night I remembered to tell Barb that “there are a million good reasons that I married an occupational therapist.” And I meant it!

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photo credit: Medical Heritage Library, Inc. This image is taken from Page 463 of Rest and pain : a course of lectures on the influence of mechanical and physiological rest in the treatment of accidents and surgical diseases, and the diagnostic value of pain via photopin (license)

I Finished My Marathon, Doing it My Way

Are you looking forward to the Chicago Marathon on Sunday? I know it is a long way to run and it is going to be cold and windy. I know that I will not be there.

I admire the people who can do it–friends who have run so many marathons their hips are crumbling, Oprah Winfrey dragging her Radio Flyer Wagon loaded with adipose tissue, the former lab employee who looked like a Sumo wrestler but ran like a gazelle. I admire my daughter and her friend who managed a half-marathon and then swore off running forever. But I don’t have the time, dedication, or willpower to accomplish a 26.2 Sunday morning slog.

Instead, I decided on my own, more reasonable (to me) marathon. 26.2 miles, spread over 7 days of running. Doable, enjoyable, and not likely to put me in the ER with chest pain. So I laced up my New Balance 880’s (two pairs, one at home and one at the fitness center) lined up my SeaBlue and UroPartners running shirts, and got to work.

I didn’t force myself to run for 7 straight days, my knees would complain too much about that, and I didn’t want to commit myself to run on Yom Kippur. I set a goal to complete my multi-day marathon in 10 days or less. In the past two weeks, there have been all types of running days. Some have been blazing hot and humid, some with a light chill and even lighter rain in the air, and a few that were absolutely perfect. I have jogged through all of them. 3.8 miles one day, 3.4 on another, 5.3 on a glorious Sunday morning, cobbling together a course through subdivisions and industrial parks. I didn’t run quite enough to get a runner’s high, but I also never had to force myself to break through “the wall.”

And at the end of the 7th day of running, I rested. I had my marathon and a little more…27.3 miles to be precise. A small accomplishment, but I stayed safe and finished each run checking off the smiley face emoji on my Run Keeper running app.

I wish good luck to the thousands who will run the big race on Sunday. You’ve trained hard and you will run hard. As for me, I’ve got my miles and met my goal. I might even give myself a little participation trophy as I pack away my running shoes until next year.

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Monty Python and the Whistleblower. Say No more!

A third whistleblower has been found! His account of the infamous phone call is somewhat different than previous accounts!

Presidents Trump and Zelensky on the phone:
Trump: Can you investigate Biden? Know what I mean? Know what I mean? No quid pro quo. No quid pro quo. Know what I mean? Say no more…know what I mean?
Zelensky: I beg your pardon?
Trump: Your country, does it er, does it investigate – eh? eh? eh? Know what I mean, know what I mean? No quid pro quo. Say no more.
Zelensky: Well, it sometimes investigates, yes.
Trump: I bet it does. I bet it does. I bet it does. Know what I mean? No quid pro quo.
Zelensky: I’m sorry, I don’t quite follow you.
Trump: Follow me. Follow me. I like that. That’s good. A nod’s as good as a wink to a blind bat, eh?
Zelensky: Are you trying to sell something?
Trump: Selling, selling. Military aid. Very good. Very good. Oh, wicked. Wicked. You’re wicked. Eh? Military aid. Know what I mean. Know what I mean? No quid pro quo. Know what I mean? No quid pro quo. No quid pro quo. Say…no…more. Military…aid.
Zelensky: But…
Trump: Your investigators… are they, eh… are they good Eh?
Zelensky: They are good, yes!
Trump: I bet they are, I bet they are!
Zelensky: They investigate corruption as a matter of fact.
Trump: Who doesn’t, eh? Know what I mean. Likes spying, likes spying. Knew they would. Knew they would. Likes spying, eh? They’ve been around, eh? Been around?
Zelensky: They are good. Trained in Kiev.
Trump: Oh…oh. Say no more, say no more. Say no more – Kiev, say no more. Kiev, eh? Know what I mean, know what I mean. Say no more.
Zelensky: (about to speak; can’t think of anything to say)
Trump: Your investigators interested in er… military aid, eh? Know what I mean? Military aid, ‘he asked knowingly’.
Zelensky: Military aid?
Trump: Yes. No quid pro quo. Missiles, missiles. Grin grin, wink wink, say no more?
Zelensky: Missiles?
Trump: Could be, could be missiles. Could be yes – tanks. Know what I mean. Tanks and missiles. Know what I mean, No quid pro quo.
Zelensky: Look, are you insinuating something?
Trump: Oh…no…no… Yes.
Zelensky: Well?
Trump: Well. I mean. Er, I mean. You’re a man of the world, aren’t you…I mean, er, you’ve er… you’ve been there haven’t you…I mean you’ve been around…eh?
Zelensky: What do you mean?
Trump: Well I mean like you’ve er…you’ve done it…I mean like, you know…you’ve…er…you’ve tried to tell the truth.
Zelensky: Yes.
Trump: What’s it like?

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Foodie Follies. A Rhyme to Display What Is Healthy Today

The world is such a funny place
When figuring out your diet.
You want to be in a healthy space
If it’s “good for you” you try it.

Health news breaks nearly every day
The scientists get behind it.
And then tomorrow comes our way
Saying yesterday’s theory? Don’t buy it!

For years we heard about red meat
Were told hamburgers were all killers
The evidence was all so neat
Deadly hot dogs at Portiller’s.

But now a giant study says
In haste that was decided.
Past evidence was all in grays
No proof has been provided.

So once again we eat our steaks
Though perhaps not all the time
When you sup at Joe’s or Jake’s
It’s best to order Prime.

And what is on the “hit list” now
Causing me much distress?
To tea bags now I must say ciao
That’s hard, I must confess.

Those Twinings and those Lipton articles
That fill me with such delight
Seem to contain micro-plastic particles,
Worry is keeping me up all night!

But I think I have a new solution
To healthify my treat.
A future step in tea evolution
Should be tea bags made of meat!

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photo credit: tedeytan 2019.09.28 RibEye Steak, Washington, DC USA 271 07015 via photopin (license)