Side Effects. They can be a real player hater. We Americans love our medications. Let me amend that; we love what they can do for us. Personally, I wish I could pitch all of mine right now. At the same time, I am ever grateful to science for medications that protect my transplanted kidney from my space-invaders-like immune system just looking to blast that foreign organ. (Change Space Invaders to Halo 3 if you’re under 30.)

Most of us benefit from the medications we take. For some, they are a complete necessity and practically a miracle. However, I long for that single “wonder drug” out there, just waiting to be discovered in tree sap on some uninhabited island. You know the one I’m talking about. It’s the one that would fix problem hearts, lungs, brains, kidneys and halitosis without a single, nasty side effect.

It appears that I’m suffering one such side effect right now (crazy swelling). That piqued my curiosity and put me on a search for strange side effects that other poor saps are enduring. It’s like these medications are sneaky little monsters. “Psst, hey buddy, come here. You need help with your moods? Sure I’ll help you! Oh, by the way, I just might give you abdominal pain and vomiting too. Is it a deal?”

Here are some of my favorite possible side effects so far:

• I always adore medications that have contradictory side effects, like the ones that say they could cause drowsiness AND insomnia. Awesome! Who doesn’t want to be exhausted, yet unable to sleep?
• There is always the old standby, “may cause anal leakage” I guess that’s better than “may completely block anus.”
• I noticed a medication that listed “foul-smelling feces” as a side effect. First off, I assume they are talking about a more than normal foul smell, or why else would they list it. If something is going to make poop smell worse than, well, poop, you’ve got a problem. It might as well say, “Co-workers will secretly start calling you ’stinky’ behind your back. It would be best if you never use the restroom at work or within 100 feet of family members at home. In fact, you should get an outhouse.”
• How about high blood pressure medication that lists “erectile dysfunction” as a potential side effect? If there is a guy out there who thinks this is a fair trade to have a little lower blood pressure, I’d like to meet him. Wait, no I wouldn’t.
• On the other hand, Viagra and some other drugs like it list potential side effects that include nasal congestion and heartburn. I’m pretty sure most guys WOULD take this trade off. Let’s call it 99% and be done with it. Unless, of course they have one of those dreaded 4-hour erections mentioned in the t.v. ads.
• One heavily prescribed medication states that it may cause “dark urine.” I’m thinking this would only be a big deal to the few people with weird fetishes out there. They may miss the golden hue they had before. Most of us, though, who do not show off our urine frequently, could live with this one. The same drug, however, also lists “yellow” skin. This might be more a problem. I’m no doctor, but it sounds like it takes the yellow right out of your pee and puts it in your skin. That’s doesn’t sound so good. Another drug lists potential, unwanted “changes in the amount of your urine.” What do you do if you’re in the middle of an important meeting. You’re boss isn’t going to believe you if you step out to use the bathroom and you’re gone for 35 minutes.

• “Unusual skin growths” is another not-so-pleasant sounding side effect. What are we talking here? A small mole-like thing on the back? That would be tolerable. Something that looks like a third ear hanging off the side of the face might not be so swell.
• Some drugs list behavioral side effects. “May cause hostility” I can hear that person’s friends talking about him. “Jim has really changed. He used to just have high cholesterol, now he’s a complete $%#&^%$“

Why can’t we have some fun side effects? I’d like to see:

• May cause your skin to smell like black cherry Kool-Aid.
• May give you the ability to see through the clothing of attractive members of the opposite sex.
• May make you crave only a healthy, balanced diet. “Wow, this artichoke tastes just like Doritos!”
• May add crazy muscle tone to your body. Be prepared to become a model.
• May add at least 50 points to your I.Q.
• May give you an innate ability to tame wild animals, including tigers, alligators and Tasmanian devils.
• May give you a slight skin tingle “warning” five minutes before a solicitor knocks on your door.

But, no, we’re stuck with anal leakage and vomiting. It’s just not right. You know what will happen next, don’t you? Someone will find the absolute treatment to cure all cancer. The problem? It “may” also cause arm and leg amputations, intolerable buzzing/screeching in your ear, head explosions, green gaseous skin emissions that are fatal to family members, and, as one last added bonus, constipation.

I guess we just have to face it. No matter how many prescriptions we take, we certainly aren’t meant to stay on this planet forever, and if trying to do so means living with a bunch of anal-leaking, massive peeing, foul-smelling, angry insomniacs with freaky skin growths and four-hour erections, then count me out.

Some would argue that it is a sin to do anything in excess. I don’t proclaim to know exactly where God stands on this particular issue, but it does seem clear to me that some things, while fine in moderation, become a very significant problem if overdone. All Most of us realize that eating this is a wonderful experience, while eating this could turn out very badly.

However, there are other excesses that seem to have been determined as “acceptable” by a certain percentage of our society. As much as I hate to be the party pooper, it’s time someone had the guts to write some guidelines in a blog that may be seen by as many as FIFTY, that’s right, FIFTY people. (I think that could be enough of a groundswell to literally change the world and bring some common sense to certain people.)

Everything in the following list should follow the rule: One is good, several are bad.

1. Wives. Recently, a polygamist ranch was in the news, and many children were removed from the group. Personally, I’m not sure what the sect members were thinking. I have found that having a good wife has been a great blessing in my life. She helps to keep me grounded and generally on track in my life. She has great ideas, beautiful eyes, and a sharp wit. That is all well and good. However, this does not mean a bunch of wives is even better. Huge mistake. First of all, I live in a home with no other males as it is. I have a female wife, a female daughter, and a female dog (insert your own biotch joke here). I can only imagine how little I would get to watch my beloved Cardinals if I had more than one wife wanting to watch reruns of Love Connection or discuss what Gwyneth named her baby. I also shake in my shoes when I think of what it would be like to have two (or, God forbid, three) arguments going on at once with more than one wife. One would scream, one would cry, and one would give the silent treatment (the worst!). Can’t we all just have one spouse at a time?

2. Video game systems for anyone over the age of 19. Spending hours getting arm cramps playing Space Invaders was bad enough when I was little. It worries me that so many adults (mostly guys) spend hours hunting down aliens or trying to evade the police after stealing a car. What’s scarier? One state of the art system is no longer enough. They need one for their sports games, one for their online war adventures, and one that comes with a better fake guitar. Will there be time for anyone to, oh, say, write a good novel or invent something to keep three wives happy at the same time? I worry about such things.

3. Parking/Speeding tickets. While having one of these shows that you’re not a sheep blindly following authority, having ten of these is a problem. This means you are either stupid, dangerous, a very slow learner, or all of the above. Just stop.

4. Cats. I admit it. I’m a cat person. A cat (notice no “s” on that word) can be a great and hilarious pet. However, the practice of having multiple cats, no matter how you try to defend it in a comment below, is bad…real bad. You’ll be thought of as just plain crazy, and I don’t want to hear how you figured out a good way to keep your house, landscaping, etc from stinking. Believe me, visitors can smell it. (Having exactly two cats is iffy. You might get away with this, but why take the chance?) Hey, I want all cats to have a good home as much as anyone else so let’s all get ONE, just ONE, all right?

5. Tattoos. I have none. I’m a wuss. However I acknowledge that a well-placed single tattoo CAN be attractive or tough-looking or whatever it is the person is striving for. However, when you’re talking multiple tattoos, you’re talking about giving off the wrong message to the rest of the world. No, you can’t justify it if you have “one” really big tattoo that covers like 10 square feet of your body.

6. Sports cars. Hey, if you’ve made a nice living for yourself, and you feel better about turning 50 when you have a shiny red sports car in the garage, more power to you. However, if you have one for each day of the week, get a life.

7. Baseballs/Footballs/Jerseys/other sports memorabilia displayed in your home. There is a direct correlation between the number of these items you have on the mantel and the awesomeness of your wife (or wives if you disregarded #1). The more of these “cool” items you have on display, the less likely it is you’ll get a really great wife. That woman out there you’re searching for is more likely to be impressed by a sense of humor and general kindness than a signed David Ortiz jersey hanging on your bedroom wall. (Exception: Brett Favre jerseys are considered “hot” by Wisconsin women.)

8. Playboy Magazines. If a girlfriend, parent, or coworker stumbles upon a single Playboy in your home or car, you’ve still got a shot at a plausible explanation. If they find a stash that would go for hundreds of dollars on ebay, you’ve got a problem. (This does not apply to Hustler…even one of those will kill your reputation.)

9. Squirt of perfume/cologne. One, I repeat one, let’s make this clear: One squirt of perfume or cologne can be very pleasant and sexy. Two, three, or fifteen squirts at a time makes you seem like a crazy old woman who really loves Avon or a creepy, desperate guy who hasn’t showered for a couple days.

10. Drunken college story. While one of these can be entertaining to friends and coworkers and makes you seem like a regular person, several of these stories just makes you seem a bit scary and unstable. They may still appear to be laughing at your tales, but if you listen closely, you’ll hear that it’s really frightened, pity laughter. You may have lots of these stories, but stick to just one publicly.

I leave you with this bit of wisdom from an old quotation: “I believe celibacy should be practiced in moderation.”

I had hoped to be posting a “resolution” by now. Sorry for the delay: 1. I’ve been in a waiting game to see if medication changes would help or even solve the swelling situation. 2. Unfortunately, there is no resolution to post because it’s not better.

Some of the swollen skin is turning more reddish colors than the azaleas that are blooming around here. The local doctor today stated: “This is the most unusual thing I’ve seen. We can’t let it go on like this.” He suggested I head to Nashville and Vanderbilt University to see a specialist. I whole-heartedly agreed. I won’t know for a day or so when that will be. I’m starting to think I need a tour bus. Then again, I don’t think ghastly swollen guys traveling around to see doctors would draw groupies like rock bands do.

In the meantime, Doc took a skin biopsy today, and the results will hopefully come Monday. That may at least give a hint as to what might be going on, and was an interesting little process. It was sort of like when lawn care guys aerate your yard by taking little plugs out of the yard/soil, except this time, it was a small circle of flesh being removed from my leg! It really didn’t hurt much and was quick, but the sucker sure took its sweet time before it stopped bleeding! There is still some hope that it could simply be some sort of weird medication reaction, but he mentioned the possibility of a few scarier things today. No need to speculate or go into those at this point.

On a positive note, he again spent a great deal of time with me and seemed optimistic about the people at Vanderbilt. He said they’ve pretty much seen every odd sort of ailment there is and very well could identify the problem. For those of you out West or East, Vanderbilt is kind of the “Harvard of the Midwest.” Also, he was adamant that he would send all the required documentation to the insurance company that runs my short-term disability policy (they had gotten a bit pickier, shall we say, about extending my benefit a while longer, but his documentation should solve that little stressor.)

Anyway, I wish I had some funny, upbeat, silly things to write regarding this situation. Basically, it’s getting really old, and I’m sure it is for anyone who reads this as well, but I thought it was time to post an update. I truly appreciate your thoughts, prayers, chants, candlelight vigils, voodoo rituals, tarot card readings, potato chips that look like presidents’ heads, and any magical jumping beans that might be able to predict the future. Hmm, I may have jumped the shark there. One thing’s for sure; about half my body has.

Update: WC is a pharmacist who left a comment today on part 1 and ironically beat me to the punch before I could get an update on here! Hopefully you hit the nail on the head as to the possible cause of my swelling. After seeing several nephrologists, it was my internal medicine doctor who (over the weekend) decided that it’s “probably” a reaction to one of the anti-rejection meds I am taking. This came after many, many other things had been ruled out. I told my nephrology office what he thought, and they agreed to take me off Rapamune and put me on something else. (They’ve been in frequent contact with me and have been willing to try things.) So, I hope this is it! I should know in about 10 days or so if it’s working, they said. The medicine switch just happened today. I want to be clear that I’m not trying to scare anyone on that drug. My nephrologist says it’s working well for many patients, and it was great for me for about 4 years. There are some very good reasons to be on that if you’ve had a transplant, as opposed to being on some of the other drugs. Plus, I don’t KNOW yet if that’s the problem. Even if it is, everyone is different, and for some reason, I developed a reaction to it.
I’m very, very, very hopeful that this has finally been figured out. It actually seems possible this time that I may be able to post a final “resolution” blog about this in a week or two.

Many of you have probably heard the big news story from the past couple of days, that a significant number of high school girls are sending nude pictures of themselves, via cell phone, to high school boys (who are no doubt sharing the photos with an even more significant number of friends).

My Public Response:

This is an outrage. As a good citizen and parent, I want this to be stopped immediately. It is immoral, and something must be done!

My Private Response:

Where the hell were picture phones when I was in high school?! The most my hormone-injected self could hope for was a cute girl in a skirt on a really windy day. Wait, let me think deeper here. For every cute cheerleader/homecoming court member, there is a not-so-cute algebra club member (I know, I know, there COULD be a cute girl in an algebra club. Heck, my beautiful wife was on some academic debate thing-a-ma-jig. I would have killed for a photo “call” from her back then. I mean, except that she is quite a few years younger than I am, so forget I said that.) I probably wouldn’t have gotten many of the Buffy’s, Keri’s, and Beth’s of my school. I would have gotten the Helga’s and Gertrude’s. Can’t you just picture boys comparing phone pics the way my generation compared baseball cards?

Boy 1: “Dude, I got an Amy and a Christie today!”

Boy 2: “Oh gross, I only got a Martha.“

Further proof that we are the strangest “animal” on the planet.

(and we thought THIS was hot back in the day)

Never has finding out parts of your body are functioning normally been so depressing. The latest labs are back, and, you guessed it, they are normal. Normal thyroid. Normal blood markers that could have otherwise pointed to vasculitis. Normal kidney. Normal liver. Normal heart. Normal lungs, blah, blah, blah.

If nothing else, I’m finding out that I’m very healthy. Oh yeah, except for this freakish swelling that is keeping me from being able to live normally.

Okay, enough with the whining. I’m not sure what’s next. I’m starting to hear my late mom’s voice in my head. “Phooey on the doctors. If it was me, I’d just ignore the swelling and go back to doing what I want to do.” She would have, too. I’m thinking I’m getting nearer and nearer that point. Of course, I’ll need some different-sized shoes, pants, etc. I need to surf the net. Maybe there is a hip store called Swellwear. I’m hoping they have stuff that will make you look cool, even when you have one leg and foot that is 3 times the size of the other and an abdomen that is puffed up like milk-soaked Corn Pops. Maybe if I can’t get back to work soon, I can design this type of clothing for a living. The motto for my website will be: Go to Swell. Paris Hilton might be interested in funding it.

I’m sure my wife is starting to get concerned about my inability to return to work. This is not the type of free-loading I had in mind when I married a soon-to-be a CPA. I pictured a lot of tennis rather than cool-water bath soaks and support hose on my leg. And who wants to stay home all day if you might not be able to afford cable, internet, and salsa-flavored Sun Chips? (It’s not really quite to that point yet…for those of you who might worry.) Maybe this not working thing is not all it’s cracked up to be.

In all seriousness, though, I have been blessed with some extra time with my two-year-old (who just tried to physically remove me from the computer because she would appreciate some “chocolate in the milk” she is holding). It is nice not to have to stress about getting her to daycare and then myself to work on time. I’ve been able to read books to her, wonder in the mystery that is the kids’ tv show called Yo Gabba Gabba, and play hide and seek. My only complaint about this? It’s very difficult to find a hiding place that will conceal my damn foot.

Yo Gabba Gabba. (My abdomen looks similar to the pink character’s.)

The doctor I’m working with currently seems confident he can find the cause of the swelling/irritation.  After a long meeting with him today, he had blood drawn and is checking primarily for vasculitis or thyroid issues.  He thinks he’ll have results on Thursday and will call me.  Nothing else new to report.  Thanks for all the kind words.  Hopefully I’ll have something to write on Thursday about it!

If you want to know anything about what my family is like, I don’t think you will be disappointed if you go here. My nephew’s story of having to use the bathroom in the woods is priceless, as is the cartoon drawing by another nephew. (Adult nephews, not kids). Warning: Don’t click on the link if you despise reading about poop. I’m sure no one who visits my blog falls into that category, but just in case…

Wednesday brought another road trip to Louisville. This time, it was to have a CT scan with contrast/dye. The previous scans were done without the contrast in an effort to avoid the dye that can be harmful to kidney patients. However, the transplant surgeon felt there was a good chance that the cause of my swelling had not yet been found because no contrast had been used.

So, I spent a 10-hour day in a hospital bed, hooked to an IV, which provided pre-dye and post-dye protection for my kidney. Despite some confusion at the hospital, the scan was completed. I received results today. The good news is, the dye seems to have done nothing bad to my kidney. The crappy, frustrating news is, this test still did NOT reveal any possible cause for the swelling.

At this point, the doctors are consulting and working on other possible causes while I hobble around like an ogre. Someone is supposed to call me Monday to tell me what to do next, which could be to see a urologist. All the “obvious” potential causes have been ruled out. I mentioned “Filariasis” to my transplant nurse during a lengthy phone conversation this afternoon. This is a weird condition I found while searching online that can cause swelling. It occurs when a human gets worms in their lymph nodes. I don’t feel like I have worms, but, hey, who knows what this is? Anyway, the nurse did not seem to think this was very likely. Her response to me: “Matt, get off the internet…now.” I did…except to write this short blog, of course. She is probably right. Upon further inspection, those worms are generally only a problem in tropical countries I’ve never visited. I guess the worms around here are not attracted to lymph nodes.

There are two types of people in a marriage. Those who heed food expiration dates and those who disregard them.

One of the laws of the universe is that an expiration heeder (EH) always marries an expiration disregarder (ED…not to be confused with erectile dysfunction). EH’s and ED’s tend to argue about these dates. EH’s find themselves secretly throwing away food (and stuffing it way down in the bottom of the trash can so that their ED partner will not see it) in an effort to save their family from the pain and suffering of botulism. ED’s make a fuss about wasted food and money and talk about how expiration dates are not real and the food is still good.

My name is Matt, and I’m an EH. My wife is Allison, and she’s most definitely an ED. We have spirited discussions about our food perceptions and the potential lack of safety of various foods that have occupied our fridge for some length of time. Who is right?

There are variables that muddy the picture. Some of the time, food is clearly marked as having an expiration date. EH’s love this. It is clear and concise and tells you the exact moment an egg becomes fraught with danger. ED’s do not like this, as they wish not to be told by anyone when a food has reached the disgusting point. ED’s much prefer their food to say either, “Best before” or “Sell by” dates. This gives them the leeway they crave. ED’s believe that eggs, for example, are still good weeks after the “Best before” date. Apparently they are satisfied eating a egg that is “not at its best” but is still probably not going to kill you. EH’s wish that manufacturers would just grow some cojones and put a definitive date on the things. If you give an ED an food inch, they’ll take a mile.

Here’s when things really get fun. Sometimes, an egg carton with have only a date with no words. This, of course, is interpreted by EH’s as a strict “Expires by” date while ED’s believe this to clearly be a “Sell by” date. In these situations, separate vacations may be needed to help cool things off.

Well, I was faced with an interesting spin on this whole food thing last weekend when we were dog-sitting for our neighbors, who had gone out of town. On Saturday morning, my toddler made it clear to me that she would eat an egg for breakfast, and ONLY an egg. This was a small problem. We were out of eggs. After trying to tempt her with a variety of edibles that we actually had in the house, such as cereal, hash browns, waffles, pancakes, etc, she reiterated that she would not even consider eating anything other than an oval thing that comes out of a chicken.

The easy solution hit me! Our neighbors were gone, and we have a key to their house in case of emergency, such as needing an egg! Surely they had them. I wouldn’t have to make a quick trip to the store in my sweatpants (many of you know what happened the last time I tried that.)

I made my way over there, whistling a happy egg and toddler tune. In no time, I’d have a yummy scrambled egg whipped up, and no more would I have to listen to the early-morning screams of “I DON’T WANT A WAFFLE!! IT’S YUCKY!!!”

I entered their abandoned abode and went directly to the fridge. I opened it, and *GASP* I was immediately faced with a dilemma. They had two egg cartons. There were four eggs remaining in the first carton, and they had an expiration date (that’s right EXPIRATION, not BEST BEFORE, at least in my opinion) of a few days prior. Since I am an upstanding EH who cares about preventing food poisoning in my only child, I could not take one of those eggs. The problem, however, is that the second carton, with a beautiful expiration date well into the future, was full. If I took one from that carton while a few eggs remained in the top carton, it would be obvious at some point to my neighbors that one had been used, which could lead to a case of mistaken identity and a huge fight.

I know my neighbors well, and I am certain that one of them is an EH while the other is an ED. Once one of them realized that an egg had been used from the bottom carton, either the ED would be angry with the EH for not using one of the older, “still-good” eggs, OR the EH would be angry with the ED for being a hypocrite and taking one of the EH’s new eggs after endlessly preaching that expiration dates were for fools.

I like my neighbors, and I could not be the cause of marital discontent. I stood there, with the fridge door open (I can picture my parents in heaven admonishing me for letting all the cold air out.) What was I to do? I closed the fridge and decided I was going to have to mull this situation over for a bit. While thinking, I did what anyone would do. I walked about the house eating some of their potato chips, found some old love letters my neighbors had written to each other (they were buried at the bottom of one of their closets), plopped down on their couch, put my feet up on their coffee table, and started reading. At some point during an “I miss you so much” letter, the solution finally came to me! I would just take the whole, full egg carton home, go the grocery later that day, and give them a whole new egg carton before they ever got home. That way, my toddler would get her much-needed and completely safe egg. We would have all the eggs we might need that day. My neighbors would have an even newer dozen of eggs to go along with their decrepit, expired partial carton, and they could work out what to do with the 4 rotten eggs themselves!

Satisfied with my decision, I stuffed a few of the love letters in my pocket, brushed the chip crumbs off my shirt, grabbed the unspoiled dozen eggs, and headed home. They’ll never even know how I saved them from an argument. Man, I’m the best neighbor ever.

p.s. My kid didn’t want the egg once I had made it.