Glibertarians.com 2018 Archive

Category: Health Care

Liberty for Me, but Also for Thee

Philosophical consistency is an aspirational goal. It is not, no matter how much we may want to believe in our own purity, something any of us will ever truly achieve. Also, even if you drive a Prius your farts stink; you have to spring for a Tesla before they turn to perfume.

It is easy to see the inconsistencies in the belief systems of people with whom we disagree (because they are all stupid and rude); it is much harder to recognize those in our own noble, and wise beliefs. Almost all of us here are small ‘l‘ libertarians. I am a conservative leaning libertarian. We yokels sometimes make jokes about capital “L” Libertarians being all about pot, Mexicans and ass sex which is our deliberately offensive shorthand for our belief that The Libertarian Party, (sorry I know it doesn’t really deserve a capital letter but how else do we distinguish between libertarians and Bill Weld?) campaigns exclusively on sexual liberation (which has been pretty completely achieved, and no you did not get a speck of credit from the progs), drug legalization (yay crony pot!), and open borders, to the exclusion of freedom of association, gun rights, and limiting the massive growth of government, which we see as the more significant issues.

I set this all out as a starting point, because I am going to be examining one of my own prejudices and it helps to give some context about my belief structure. In other words I studied law and philosophy and am now completely incapable of getting directly to the point. Hell, just be glad I didn’t spend 5 pages defining every noun in this article.

Up to this point you are probably thinking: Pompous guy spouting above the fray platitudes, libertarian model II, Paulista edition, time to move to the comments, nothing interesting here. But I am not writing this to signal virtue; I am writing this, and struggling with it, because I have realized (not for the first time) that I have a conflict in my beliefs, and one that I think quite a few people here share.

It has to do with everyone’s favorite non-acronym acronym. That wonderful keyboard swipe that defines sexual politics, LGBTQ. I am not worried about the L, they take care of themselves just fine, the G, they aren’t even victims anymore, the B, doubled date chances and all, or even the Q (Hi Q thanks for the mammaries!), but I have a problem with the T. Ok, I don’t really understand the Q, I mean literally, I do not understand what queer means if it is something not covered by the L, B, or G. So back to that troublesome T.

I believe that there are three phenomena lumped into that T, and that due to deliberate conflating of these phenomena, a great deal of misery is being created. First, there are the physically intersex individuals. That tiny minority who are born with some ambiguity in their sexual characteristics. Second, there are those suffering from gender dysphoria. Also a small minority, but in this case with a psychological disconnect between their otherwise normal physiology and their self perception. Finally, there are those I think of as the snowflakes. Generally young people who I believe identify as transgender either in confusion about their sexual desires, a search for victimhood, or just to dramatize teen angst.

For the intersex folk out there I have nothing but compassion. My only wish for them is that they find whatever role and path to happiness they can. If that means surgery, hormone treatments, and selection of a gender, great; if it means some other path, also great. For those with actual gender dysphoria my thoughts are more complicated. I personally think that treating a psychological disconnect by changing the body is the wrong path, but it isn’t my place to decide what path someone else should take, so who cares what I think?

For the snowflakes, less sympathy, a lot less. As with many snowflake issues the answer is that growing up is hard, but worthwhile, and I suggest they give it a try. No, occasionally having a stereotypical feminine feeling does not a dysphoria make. You are not a lesbian woman trapped in a man’s body. You are just a straight dude, even if you get off on wearing women’s clothes. Equally, if you are ok with your body, but want to engage in sex with another dude that is called being gay, it does not require surgery, hormones, or switching restrooms. Just do what makes you happy, don’t harm other people and stop being so dramatic.

And now you are all thinking: Ok, what’s so contradictory about all this? These are pretty bland, basic viewpoints on this issue, and even the part where I diverge from the sjw narrative I admit is none of my business so why bother to spout off? Aren’t I just being an angsty snowflake myself with all my dramatic “philosophical contradiction” nonsense? BUT I AM SPECIAL DAMMIT!

Well, there is a more controversial part of all this.

What about the kids? Pretty much anyone who claims to be libertarian is going to eventually come around to the idea that adults can make their own choices about hormones and surgery. There may be some waffling about bathrooms, and we may think prisons, sports leagues and other sex segregated venues should go by biology, but it’s very hard to claim to be pro individual liberty and at the same time deny adults the right to make their own decisions about their bodies. Children are a different thing. (Why will no one ever think of them!)

Children do not have full autonomy. Obviously, you cannot let a toddler, or grade-schooler, or even a middle-schooler make all, or even most, of their day to day decisions. A diet of soda, candy, and ice cream is unhealthy. Spending all day playing Fortnite or hunting Pokemon is less productive than school (ok, maybe the kids are right on this one). Vaccinations are actually a good thing, even if shots sting. And, no, the dog does not want to be dressed as your caparisoned stallion and ridden to battle with the forces of evil over at Mikey’s house. So, we all accept that children can rightly be prevented from doing as they wish.

We accept the concept of parental authority, and the idea that children’s basic right to liberty is in abeyance until some degree of maturation has occurred. (Or at least until they get big enough to be useful as cannon fodder.) Very young kids have effectively no liberty, and as they get older they gradually get more autonomy until at some magic point they morph into adults and become free to go to hell in their own way, just like all of us.

I have voiced the opinion that encouraging, or even allowing, children to take puberty blockers, or cross sex hormone treatments, is blatant child abuse. Puberty blockers have permanent effects and the idea that prepubescent kids are developed enough to make permanent decisions, or even to decide that they are transgendered, as opposed to simply homosexual, or just unsure about their sexuality, is nonsense.

By definition, prepubescent kids are not sexually developed. It is the rankest prejudice to say, “Oh, I know little Johnny is gay, or straight, or transgendered,” when little Johnny hasn’t hit puberty. Manifestly all you can be basing that belief on are your stereotypes about how gay people, or straight people act. You see, prepubescents aren’t supposed to be engaged in sexual behavior (sorry OMWC), and sexual behavior is what actually defines you as gay, straight, bi or whatever the hell, and no, playing with dolls doesn’t mean little Johnny is gay, or a woman.

Now, child abuse is a tough subject for libertarians and conservatives. We can accept that children don’t have full autonomy, and default to the idea that therefore their autonomy devolves to the parents. Since that leaves the parents effectively owning the liberty right of the child, we are skeptical about government involvement, but what about abuse situations? If libertarian belief followed all the way left us with no way to stop parents from torturing, raping, or killing their kids, then libertarians would really be as evil as Vox says. Fortunately, libertarian philosophy doesn’t have to take us there.

I think what saves us is the concept of a fiduciary. Parents do own their children’s liberty rights, but they own them as fiduciaries. In other words, they hold the right for the benefit of the child, not the parent’s own benefit, and Mommy and Daddy have a corresponding obligation to act in little Johnny’s interest. So, no problem right? If using puberty blockers is a bad idea, poorly justified, by inadequate evidence, of, possibly nonsensical, gender confusion, with long term deleterious effects, then it is child abuse and should be illegal, just like any other permanent physical harm inflicted!

That has been my belief and I have voiced it frequently. Here is the problem:

I support the right of crazy anti-vaxxers to refuse to get their kids shots. I also got furious, along with most of the people here about Charlie Gard. In other words I believe that medical decisions fall squarely within the parent’s role. So, despite thinking transgender treatments for children are as stupid as the Flat Earth Society bragging that they now have chapters around the globe, and as evil as a Broward County election supervisor, I have to support the parent’s right to make this decision.

So, that leaves me with three possibilities:

1. Medical decisions must be subject to some test and the parents only get to make the ‘right’ decisions.

The problem here is obvious. What test? Who decides? Doctors? Judges? Every single case of puberty blockers being given involved a doctor, as did the decision to kill Charlie, which was upheld by the British courts. So going this route doesn’t get me EITHER side of what I want. When an answer requires the right top men, it is not a libertarian idea

2. Puberty Blockers are up to the parents and child, hopefully in consultation with doctors across a decent spectrum of understanding of the consequences, and I can sit quietly disapproving but shut up about it.

3. My thought process sucks and you all will let me know why I am stupid in the comments.

Much as it pisses me off, I have to go with 2 here. The unexamined life may not be worth living; but examining it mostly leaves you feeling a bit dirty.

November 27, 2018
GlibFit 3.0 Week 2 Wrapup – Macros
Let’s say you’re on board with tracking your intake, and that you’ve established the habit of tracking your calories. Some of you are there, some of you are a few days into a new habit, some of you couldn’t give two shits. The next step is to dive deeper into the numbers and track your macros. I know a few of you already do this, but I want to extol the virtues of macro tracking. For the longest time in college, I tracked my calories on a daily basis. I’d hit my calorie goal most every day, but I wasn’t feeling the way I thought I should feel. I was constantly hungry, and I wasn’t seeing a ton of improvement in the gym. I had plateaued, and I couldn’t break through. It turns out that I was way heavy on carbs and too light on protein and fat, resulting in me losing traction for my fitness goals.

Carbs – These include everything from fiber to sugar to starches. Carbs are fuel for your body, and despite the media and the fad diets out there, carbs can be your friend. Different types of carbs have different effects and purposes. For lack of a better description, some carbs are more potent than others. Simple carbs are a quick hit of energy for your body. They’re easy to break down, and they’re quick to take effect. This is the traditional “sugar high”. Simple carbs include refined sugar (pastries, candy, etc.), simple sugars (fruits, vegetables, etc.). Complex carbs are more difficult for your body to process, but provide a steadier source of energy over a longer period of time. This is why distance runners carb load prior to their runs. Complex carbs include starches like found in grains, potatoes, etc. As you are fully aware, spiking from sugar high to crash all day long is miserable and ends in morbid obesity after a while. Most of your carb load should be in complex carbs.

However, it isn’t as simple as choosing complex carbs over simple carbs, you want to balance the amount of carbs you get with the other nutrition you receive, including fiber, minerals, and vitamins. One of the easiest ways to balance your carb load in comparison to other nutrition is to focus on using whole ingredients in your meals rather than processed ingredients. Next week, we’ll go into more detail.

Protein – Ahh, meat! Protein can also be found in legumes, some grains, some vegetables, eggs, tofu, and hemp (for those of you in CO). Protein is your foundation for successful fitness. Working out, whether cardio or strength training, involves tearing down your muscles and rebuilding them stronger. How does your body rebuild your muscles? By pulling protein from your food and incorporating it into your muscles! If you wear down over long periods of working out, a protein deficiency may be the culprit. If you struggle with inordinate soreness and fatigue after strength training, protein may help with recovery. Timing can play a role in recovery, and we’ll cover that in a few weeks when we talk about post-workout eating.

Fat – Ignoring the screams from all those who have been taken by the ’80s and ’90s fad diets, fat is a very good thing, and it’s very important to long term success of your fitness goals. If you want to be miserable, go on a low-fat diet. Fat helps you feel satiated at the end of a meal, and it helps stave off hunger throughout the day. However, one temptation with fad diets (including Keto) is to jack up the fat consumption to insane levels. Mrs. trshmnstr is skeptical about the health of going to insane in the opposite direction and eating tons of fat. As always, a balanced diet is the recommendation.

Overall, a good baseline ratio is 35% carbs (mostly in high-fiber whole foods), 35% protein, and 30% fat. We’ll talk next week about adjusting those ratios to account for body type, fitness goals, etc.

HIIT workout of the week

As always, Mrs. trshmnstr recommends trying this out 3 or 4 days this week. As always, don’t kill yourself and modify the exercise where you need to based on your fitness and abilities.

3 rounds of:
- 50 jumping jacks
- 10 pushups
- 20 squats
- 20 bicycle crunches
- 1 min rest
- 50 high knees
- 15 side plank crunches on your right side
- 20 squat jumps
- 15 side plank crunches on your left side
- 1 min rest
- 50 mountain climbers
- 15 lunges each side
- 20 plank spidermans total
- 15 situps
- 1 min rest
This is a 30 minute workout, so the goal is to do 2x for a full workout.

Recipe of the week

Trashy’s daily breakfast. Mrs. trshmnstr says this isn’t a healthy breakfast, and that I’m an idiot for posting this, but I’m gonna do it anyway!
- 1 piece of multigrain toast
- 2 fried eggs
- 1 sausage patty
- hot sauce
I used to struggle with mid-morning hunger and fatigue issues when I ate a granola bar or nothing for breakfast. This breakfast is a good mix of fat, protein, and whole food carbs with enough flavor to get going in the morning. I think the eggs are the most important part. I could probably sub out the toast or the sausage for a fruit if I wanted to be super healthy, but I’ve found that I can lose 2+ lbs per week with this breakfast if I’m good about my other meals. I’ve also found that it doesn’t take me an hour or two to get ramped up for work in the morning. I’m firing on all cylinders the minute I open my laptop.
September 26, 2018
Green Chilies, Life and Rolling Stone References

The world of green chilies is a vast one. Everyone knows about New Mexico green chilies and their highly marketed name plate Hatch. I love green chilies, and the chili that is its namesake, and grew up eating it. I often use Hatch chilies in a pinch, but have always preferred locally grown when available, which is always if one plans right and has them in the freezer. I was unaware of the chili rivalry between Colorado and New Mexico that I uncovered during the 15 minutes I spent researching this article.

Being a semi-loyal Glib reader and a thin crust pepperoni clad warrior in the food wars, I am not afraid of voicing an opinion when it comes to food, but always just knew western Colorado chilies were far superior to anything grown in New Mexico–or anywhere else for that matter–and never gave it a second thought. I never made a big deal about it because what is the point of harping on facts to people lacking all the information since they probably never had a chili grown here.

I also never even considered anything grown on the front range, such as in Pueblo, was worth anything because the front range, anything east of the mountains, is considered by western slope folk to be pretty much western Kansas, and Pueblo has only ever been famous for being the location of the CO loony bin back in the day. In short, the only good thing about the front range is the Broncos.

This summer I have been far less enthused about fresh produce season than previous years due to a case of the mehs which I get from time to time, but I recently stopped and grabbed a handful of chilies (Big Jims) from a stand and brought them home for roasting. The best way to buy chilies is to buy big and have the seller roast them for you, but they wanted $35 for a box and I was not willing to part with $35 at the moment and it is no problem roasting small quantities ones self.

I did these on the Weber on a small pile of coals and the method consists of drinking beer and turning them until they char a bit on all sides and then put them in a paper bag to steam.

The day I roasted those chilies if I looked only through my left eye, they looked like this:

You see, there are certain factors that may cause cataracts and I checked most of the boxes.

Aging: Check (sort of, I am only early fifties)

Over exposure to UV rays: Check

I started skiing in 1972 when I was seven and back then we used the finest sunglasses one could buy at the gas station. Preferably red white and blue layered plastic frames with reflective plastic lenses, and that is what we wore during sunny days on the slopes which was most weekends when I was a kid. I have spent most of my life working outdoors in very sunny locations, and I have also done a fair amount of welding in some of the world’s finest shitholes with the finest welding masks available in said shitholes. UV protection is not a known hazard in most shitholes and you will see welders arcing beads wearing nothing but plastic sunglasses.

Diabetes: Maybe a possible Check

There is a good chance I have spent much of my life pre-diabetic due to diet and lifestyle. I was diagnosed as such in my mid 30’s but never felt bad so what was the point of following up on that right?

Drinking too much: Ya, ok, maybe, sometimes, occasionally, a time or two.

Smoking: Check. Off and on for thirty years.

It seems I most likely did this to myself in one way or another. That is something I have to come to terms with as I age. I never thought I would live long enough to ponder life’s questions of self reflection on what I have done to myself. Whether it was career choices and the hazards that come with using one’s body as a tool, recreation choices where the body is just another piece of equipment to be abused, and what is most damaging of all, what is ingested for fun or to silence the inner voice rambling on about what horrible choices you made in your life.

To go with my green chilies I dug some Italian sausage out of the fridge that I had cooked earlier for pizza, as well as a pizza dough that was made, surprisingly, for the same purpose.

Being someone who has only had one surgery when I was five when my tonsils were removed, and having a serious phobia about anything touching my eyeballs to the point I struggle to put in eye drops and even fainted during a glaucoma test once when I was in my late teens, I arrived for my surgery pretty much freaked the fuck out. But by god I could do it, “don’t be a pussy,” I kept telling myself. My blood pressure was jacked when they first hooked me up to all the monitoring devices but I eventually settled down. The doctor and the anesthetist, who introduced himself as the guy who would make me feel good, dropped by to check on me and soon they wheeled me away to the operating room.

I peeled my green chilies and laid them on the pizza dough as best they would fit, leaving enough dough on the outside edge to later fold. I placed a sliced-lengthwise piece of sausage on each green chili and covered it with cheese. I then cut around each chili leaving enough dough to fold kind of like a pinched top taco, sideways calzone or big dumpling.

They don’t put you under for cataract surgery and only mildly sedate you because you have to listen to the doctor and move your eye when he needs. During the surgery I only really freaked once and had to be told to hold still. It felt like the doc was pushing my eyeball into my brain as he wrestled the cataract infused lens out of my head and I found that a bit unnerving.

I did my green chili calzone things on my gas grill on my fire brick platform until golden brown.

They could be stuffed with anything you want, and they were good. I found they were better the next day. I ate one that night in some marinara which overtook the green chili and I was not that impressed with my creation. The next day I muckled down the rest one at a time as I reheated them one by one and ate them poolside, and the green chili really came through. They were delicious.

As to my whole cataract ordeal, it took something like 30-45 minutes in the operating room and I was at the hospital for little more than two hours. It is truly amazing the day after and I see with clarity I have not seen with in 20 years. It can only be described as how you are amazed at the clarity and drastic focus things appear after eating a small handful of mushrooms. Not the, “holy shit that chick put her makeup on with a spatula” clarity but just vivid focus that seems drastic compared to what I have been living with for the past few years when the cataract really got bad.

As they wheeled me to recovery with a patch over my eye the anesthetist asked how I felt. I said, “Disappointed, I am not near as high as I hoped I would be”. He said, “Here, we don’t give you what you want, we give you what you need.” I caught the Stones reference, but was not sharp enough to come back with a wiseass retort, but sure plan to when they do my right eye some months down the road. I am going to tell him to hell with this what you need stuff, give me what Keith would have.

It wasn’t that long ago in medical history when the procedure done to me was not possible and I indeed feel lucky I am alive when it is. It sure is better than previous techniques like poking a stick in the eye.

A stick would work to roast a green chili over a fire though.

September 2, 2018
Credentialism and Bureaucracy: 2018 Edition

Long ago, in a galaxy far, far away. No, wait. Wrong story.

Let me start again.

In a former life, I was the owner of a hard-won and extensive set of healthcare credentials issued by the State of New York, and some other granting agencies and organizations. After I left NYS, I decided not to continue in that line of work and consequently did not transfer my credentials elsewhere to keep them active. This turns out to have been a huge miscalculation.

For reasons too mundane and numerous to list, I’ve now decided that perhaps I want to get back into a very narrow segment of the field. The very specific skills and knowledge needed are ones for which I was universally lauded, and were a tiny portion of my previous scope of practice.

Looking around at various job openings, I see that I am very well-qualified…except I don’t have the standalone piece of paper now needed for this.

OK. So, how can I obtain the piece of paper? Take a certification exam. Excellent. I kick ass on certification exams, and my skills and knowledge are more than compatible with the current standards. I can do the work and can pass the exam, I should be able to get the gig.

Nope. Can’t sit for the exam unless I have a different piece of paper from an “approved” program, attesting to my successful completion of a certain number of hours of training under the accredited program, the curriculum of which I could actually teach…and, in fact, used to teach in NYS.

But, OK. I get it. This isn’t too different from the first time around. I’ll find a program at a college and enroll.

Within a day of applying to the closest institution of higher education offering the required program this autumn, I was accepted. Awesome, no?

No.

I received a packet of information via email with the requirements that must be met before I can even register for the specific courses needed for the credentialing program.

WTF? I can’t register for the courses even though I was accepted?

No.

First, I must attend an orientation session for the program. Well, that seems OK.

There is only one offered this entire summer for a program beginning at the end of August. Still, I’m thinking, good thing I found out about it in time! I’ll sign up for it.

Nope. No reservations or sign-ups taken, even though there is limited seating. But if you don’t get a spot in the room, you are out of luck until…next summer!

[REDACTED EXPLETIVES]

OK, so I’ll add it to my calendar, make some arrangements that are disruptive to the entire household, and will make sure I am there a couple hours early.

In the meantime, let’s take another look at the list of requirements and see what else I can check off.

*double take*

They want…my ACT and SAT scores and high school transcripts? I graduated from high school in the early 1980s (and they know this), and I took those exams my junior year of high school. Why in the world would they want those?!

To prove “English proficiency” and “Algebra readiness.”

Now, I am a regularly published writer and professional editor with tear sheets, books, and lists of credits. I took higher math (unavoidable with a math professor dad!), but there is absolutely no math, and indeed, very little arithmetic, needed in this field. WTF?

You guessed it, my Glib friends! Turns out those are some kind of government mandate. Being a published writer in English language magazines is not considered “proof” of English language literacy. Why? Because that isn’t on the list from the government.

(Digression. High school guidance secretary, after several email exchanges: What was your name when you were here again?
Me: Same as it is now.
Secretary: Um…ok, I was…um, just checking. I’ll have to get back to you.
Me: *head desk*)

Ever dealt with the SAT and ACT folks trying to get nearly-40-year-old records? Gee, I have now. I don’t recommend it. Expensive. And takes weeks longer than I have to obtain the results.

Because, remember, I can’t register for the courses before I get this info. Oh, and, hey, there is only one section of this program being offered at a time I can take it. And, “don’t delay on sending in your requirements as courses tend to fill quickly.”

(I hear you wondering, “Why can’t she just use her college transcripts?” Because in the honors program I was in, we could design our own curriculum and neither English comp nor math had any place in what I was studying so aren’t on those transcripts.)

Well, this is silly. I’ll research in what other ways I can “prove” these things.

Turns out I can take placement tests. Seriously. Well, OK, if I have to, I can do that sooner than the other stuff will arrive.

Except. That costs money. And the tests can only be done supervised, on-site. During limited hours which are, again, household disruptive. With an appointment that is weeks out, really pushing my registration window.

Hmm. Before I spend any more cash, I better call the program chair and find out if there are even any openings in the course sections for which I need to register.

“We don’t really know.”

“Isn’t it shown right there in the computer roster?”

“Well, things change a lot over the summer, so we can’t really know right now. I would advise you to keep going through the process and then try to register.”

[MORE REDACTED EXPLETIVES]

Back to the damn list.

Proof of Residency. Check!
Proof of Citizenship. Two for two!

New student orientation. Crap. “NSO will teach you how to succeed in a college environment!” At least as a “non-traditional” student, I will be able to complete this as a series of webinars. With tests for each section and a final exam which must be passed with over 70% correct answers. Truth. Could I make that up?

Meeting in person with academic advisor in counseling center. Really? For a certificate program? Yes! Mandatory, because it additionally grants college credit. Daytime hours, limited for summer, no appointments.

Required tests and/or immunizations for healthcare programs, which must be done at the institution’s health center (yes, limited, daytime hours):

TB 2-Step (9-day process) $9 ea
OR T-Spot (1-2 Business day) $54 ea
Hepatitis A Titre $22 ea
Hepatitis B (series of 3) $46 ea
Hepatitis B Titre (quantitative antibody) $35
Hepatitis C Antibody $22
Measles (proof of two) $78
Measles Titre $35
Mumps (proof of two) $78
Mumps Titre $52
Rubella (proof of two) $78
Rubella Titre $17
Varicella Titre $46
Tdap $46
Flu Shot $35

Notice something about many of those? If the titre doesn’t provide a satisfactory result, the shots are needed. They are mostly series. Which must be spaced out by several weeks. Which takes me out of the registration window completely. (Did I ever have rubella? Doubtful. Can’t ask Mom, she rudely died a few years ago, not anticipating the inconvenience to me now.)

Physical Exam (price varies)
Eye Exam (price varies)

Drug Screening – 10 panel, $50. Must be paid first at college cashier’s office after standing in line (daytime only hours, “limited for summer” !, then paperwork and receipt delivered to program secretary’s office, who will then issue the paperwork (“within 3 or 4 business days, but not Fridays during the summer”) to take to an off-site, non-local provider, with…yes, you know it, limited daytime hours, walk-ins only, no appointments.

Sheesh. This is starting to add up. Oh, yeah, and I have to pay for all this stuff before knowing if I’ll get a spot in the program.

Back to the list.

Fingerprinting $28 – outside vendor, not local, limited daytime hours, walk-in, no appointments. *sigh*
Background check $45 (Did I remember to list every address I’ve ever had?)

Healthcare Provider CPR/AED – off-site through AHA. This one, at least, will be easy to meet as the classes are routinely scheduled for evenings and Saturdays at loads of local venues.

Oh, look! Here’s another little wrinkle. This program is only offered with an August starting date. All the above requirements have to be met within 12 months of beginning the program in August. If I go ahead and pay for everything, get all the documents and tests completed during July to increase the chances of being able to register before the program is filled, and ultimately there is no space in the program this autumn…I have to do it all again to try to get in next year, because July is not within 12 months of next August.

But, hey, that’s the end of the list!

There is a cheery little message at the bottom:

Notification will be sent to your email account when you have been granted permission to register for the program courses. If you have met all other program requirements, you will be able to register for any section that has availability, as long as the registration window is still open. Remember: enrolling in one course does not mean you will be able to enroll in the other courses required for the program. You may have to register for those courses during a later program year.

TL:DR – I’m beginning to see why there is a shortage of healthcare workers, yo.

July 24, 2018
Shaving, Simple Luxury, and Libertarianism

I’ve been on a bit of an article hiatus since my laptop died. I have a desktop (which I’m on right now), but I built it 8 years ago from the clearance section of NewEgg, and it sounds like it’s about to die. In the last 12 months, we’ve had 3 computers go, and this’ll be the 4th once it kicks the bucket…. fun times.

Anyway, I know that y’all are just dying for some Trashy insight, so I’m gonna try to make the concepts of this article come together. This is mostly a “look at the cool razors I have” post, but I’ll try to shoehorn libertarianism in there somehow. I love these stream of consciousness articles because it doesn’t involve any planning!

I started my post-pubescent life like most other men and women. I got a free version of the latest Gillette razor in the mail, and I ran that trial pack of blades until they weren’t even sharp enough to cut tissue paper.

This showed up in adolescent trashy’s mailbox

I heard the common refrain from everybody. “They’ll give you the handle for free, but they’ll gouge you on the blades.” Turns out they were right. Gillette had a virtual monopoly, with Schick in a distant second, so they could charge anything they wanted for their blades. Add in a small psychological ploy to rely on consumers’ sunk cost fallacy, and you’re set for life.

There were three problems that cropped up. First, I was a broke high school/college student, so I was running the blades until they started to rust. Second, the shaves were absolute shit. Third, the shaves were a chore. Slather on the disgusting canned foam, scrape 5 dull blades across your face, have razor burn for 2 days. My skin is a bit sensitive, so a poor shave meant a couple days of sore face. How did I cope? By growing a beard. Yes, in high school, I had mutton chops and a circle beard because I hated shaving.

This seems like a good time to go on a social/libertarian tangent. There’s something about products like this that irk me, and I’m not entirely sure why. You have people with 1000 different needs from their razors, and you offer the same blades and the same orientation with the same lotion bar at the top. It strikes me like the perfectly beautiful, but completely tasteless tomatoes you can get at the grocery store. Sometimes, giving up choice in favor of the lowest common denominator results in absolute shit product, and that’s what the modern cartridge razor has become. If your cartridge razor works well for you, count yourself lucky. The cool thing about the free market is that you don’t have to follow the fickle trends of the masses. You don’t get stuck with the Comrade 4 blade because Supreme Leader Bernie decides that nobody needs 32 kinds of razors. You’re free to experiment with different types of product, both from now and from the past.

Back when razor makers were artisans

Speaking of the past, those guys really knew how to shave back then. It was a small luxury to get to shave, and it’s something that I have found immensely enjoyable, both from a “gotta do it, so might as well enjoy it” standpoint and from a “hobby that connects me to the past” standpoint. I shave with a 1957 Gillette Super Speed.

It cost me roughly $15 on ebay, and my razor blades cost a few pennies each and last me 5 or 6 shaves before they dull. Both men and women used to shave with safety razors like this.

Let’s dive into the hobby aspect of this stuff, and some of the nuances will start to come out. You’ll quickly understand why a single blade type at a single preset angle isn’t preferred.

At a macro level, we’re talking about wet shaving. Just as a quick disclaimer in case some woman happens to stumble across this site (because we know there are no female liberatarians) and wonders what the hell is going on… I’m talking about shaving one’s face, but my understanding is that it translates fine to doing legs, too. Wet shaving means that there is water involved. You don’t just slather canned goop on your face and start scraping. You don’t fire up some gizmo and hope it gets close enough that you look like you actually shaved today. Wet shaving is about preparing your face to get a close shave with comfortable results. In broad generalities, there are three phases to a wet shave: skin preparation, shaving, and skin protection. You prepare your skin to be lubricated enough to allow a razor and a blade to glide across your face without catching on the skin. You also prepare your stubble to be as erect as possible so that you lop it all off when you pass the blade through each hair.

As an aside, one reason why irritation is so common with cartridge blades is because the multiple blades act to pull the hair up out of the follicle and trim it below the skin line, resulting in irritation and a higher chance of ingrown hairs. It’s a very “close” shave, but it’s really too close.

You will find that most traditional forms of shaving involve a single blade, thus reducing the likelihood of such . . . uncomfortable . . . consequences. There are four types of shaving. Cartridge blade razor (including disposables), electric trimmer, safety razor, and straight razor. The bolded ones are the ones closest associated with wet shaving. Yes, you can wet shave with a cartridge razor, but you’re only getting partial benefits in that situation.

Some of the guys who make custom straight razors do some great work!

I’m sure we’ve got some straight razor folks here in Glibertopia, but I’m not really experienced with them. Besides the barber cleaning up the back of my neck with one, and the rare barbershop shave (which is shit once you figure out how to properly wield a safety or straight razor), I’ve never really even seen one in person.

However, the principles between safety razors and straight razors are much the same. The muscle memory is different and the stakes are higher with straights, but the process involves lubing up your face, holding the blade at a certain angle, and dragging it across your whiskers.

I’m big on connections to the past. Things may be “better” in the present, but often the consumerist impulses of today result in bland mass-produced products. There’s nothing beautiful about the latest Fusion razor. It’s an uninspired amalgamation of neon plastic and chromed plastic. However, I’ve seen some straight razors and safety razors that are works of art! Craftsmen made the shaving tools of old. Assembly lines stamp out today’s shaving tools.

There’s something about using a 60 year old work of art to do a mundane hygiene task that makes it less humdrum. When you add in the other components of a wet shave, it adds a small luxury to your morning. Back in the day, men didn’t mind taking a minute and enjoying their morning routine.

Pre-Shave

Before starting your shave, it’s important to prepare. Preparation is as important as execution in wet shaving, because your razor doesn’t have training wheels anymore. You can push pretty damn hard with a cartridge razor and not be worse for the wear. Safety razors reduce the chance of slicing your face open in comparison to a straight razor, but both types of blade are very unforgiving to mistakes.

There are two types of pre-shave preparation. 1) Skin preparation, and 2) Mapping your beard.

Skin Preparation

It is important to do two things to your skin prior to shaving. You need to lubricate your skin so that the razor glides along and doesn’t get stuck. You also need to get your hair follicles to stand up as much as possible to get a close shave. There’s a simple way to do both… hop in a warm shower. Many people shave in the shower to get the maximum benefit of the warm water. I’ve never found it particularly attractive an idea, but you do you. If you didn’t just hop out of the shower, a warm, wet washcloth to the face will do the trick. If your skin tends to be dry, or if you’re a beginner prone to making mistakes, you can use a pre-shave oil or a pre-shave cream to supplement the warm water. It also adds a pleasant aroma to the beginning of your shave. Like I said, small luxuries.

In the pic, I have one of each. There’s a Truefitt and Hill pre-shave oil with a citrus scent. Next to it is a Proraso pre-shave cream with a menthol finish. I don’t really use them very much any more. Occasionally I’ll use the oil because it is the closest to real-deal citrus as I’ve ever found in a citrus scent.

Anyway, you take a sparing amount and rub it into your skin, and all of a sudden you’ve got a slippery face.

Mapping your beard

Unlike a cartridge shave, where the blades are equal opportunity offenders, single blades are quite sensitive to the grain of your beard. If you go with the grain, it’s the least uncomfortable and it’s the least close shave. If you go against the grain, it’s the most uncomfortable and the closest shave. Usually people will do 2 or 3 passes in order to get a close and comfortable shave. For example, they may do a with the grain pass, a cross-grain pass, and an against the grain pass. If you properly do three passes like that, your face will feel like a baby’s ass.

The thing is that the grain doesn’t just go in one direction. Just like your hair on your head, your beard has whorls and direction changes and all sorts of unique challenges. For example, my left cheek grain goes down, but my right cheek goes backward. Knowing which way the whiskers go helps you avoid accidentally going against the grain in some areas on the first pass.

Lathering Up

You can see in the above picture the two brushes that look like huge weird makeup brushes. I’m not sharing the bathroom with Mrs. trshmnstr, so they’re not hers. Those are my shave brushes. They’re made from badger hair. Yes, they literally pluck hairs from badgers to make these brushes. You can also get boar hair brushes or synthetic brushes (think paintbrush bristles). I’ve never used either of those, but I like my badger brushes. The one on the right is a normal badger hair brush. It has enough resistance to stand up to vigorously rubbing your face, but the hairs aren’t irritating. The one on the left with the frosted tips is a silvertip badger brush. These are premium brushes due to the nature of the silver tipped hairs. The hairs stand up enough to be able to make a good shaving lather, but they’re quite soft at the tips, making for the perfect balance.

The purpose of a brush is simple, you load it up with shaving cream and you apply the shaving cream to your face. I should be more precise. You can use shaving cream (roughly the consistency of toothpaste) or shaving soap (a hockey puck shaped bar of specially formulated soap). This is where wet shaving completely leaves normal shaving behind.

You can see in this next photo a few shaving soaps. On the left is TSE Texas Leather Tallow Shaving Soap (yes, tallow as in animal fat… the best shave soaps are made with tallow), which literally smells like my cowboy boots. In the middle is Proraso Green, which has the same menthol hit like the pre-shave cream. On the right is Gentleman John Sandalwood Soap, which is my current go-to for everyday shaving. The left two soaps are a little bit creamier and aren’t really in puck form, so I use them directly from their containers. The Gentleman John didn’t come with a container, so it’s in my shave bowl.

There are two primary ways of lathering up, face lathering and bowl lathering. They’re both perfectly legitimate, but they yield different types of lather. The face lather tends to be more of a wet, slick lather, whereas the bowl lather tends to be fluffier and drier. Depending on your preference for lather, you can choose the appropriate technique.

Face Lathering

Face lathering is my go-to. It’s easier when you don’t have a ton of space, because you don’t need additional bowls and you don’t make a foamy mess all over the counter. Face lathering is two steps: loading the brush and lathering. First, to prep for the shave, you need to add a few drops of water to the soap to “bloom” the soap (meaning that the soap absorbs some of the water and the top layer softens up. Also, I like to leave the brush in warm water while I shower. If that’s not an option, just run some hot water over the bristles, because the brush will absorb some water. Then, give the brush a single shake (you want to get rid of some water, but not all), and start swirling the bristles over the soap puck. The soap will begin to foam, but you’re only loading the bristles with the soap, so you don’t want to go too long.

Once the brush is loaded, you proceed to swirl the brush on your cheeks until a foamy lather builds. Once the lather builds, you can paint it on other parts of your face until you have built up a nice slick, cushiony lather on all the places you’ll be shaving.

Bowl Lathering

Bowl lathering is very similar, but instead of taking the loaded brush to your face, you put it into a bowl and start swirling. Because of the fact that the bowl doesn’t have any moisture in it (as compared to your lubricated face), the lather tends to dry out, which makes it fluffier. Once you have a good lather built, you can just paint it on your face with the brush.

Want an added touch of luxury? Pour some hot water into a shave scuttle and heat up your lather while you make it!

Shaving

I’ve written an entire article’s worth of info, but we haven’t even cut a single whisker yet. In reality, once you get a hang of things, the pre-shave portion takes 2-3 minutes at most. Now it’s time to choose a razor and blades (for the safety razors). As mentioned above, my experience is with safety razors, so that’s what I’ll talk about.

Razors come in all different shapes and sizes, but there are three most important attributes: weight, balance, and aggressiveness. The key to shaving with a single blade razor is to avoid pressing. The blade should glide over your face, and even the slightest pressure can make for a bad shave. As such, the right weight razor keeps you from having to exert pressure to get the razor to cut. Too light, and your blade will skip right off your face. Too heavy, and you have very little control and feel as you cut. Balance also influences the control and feel. A well balanced razor can be held by two fingers and you can almost feel every whisker yield to the blade. Aggressiveness is about matching your style and skin sensitivity to how much the razor tries to take off on each pass. Some folks like really aggressive razors. Some (like me) like less aggressive razors. It’s all about getting a close cut without causing razor burn. Certain safety razors have adjustable aggressiveness. You twist a selector, and the blade bends to a different angle, reducing or increasing aggressiveness.

The blades themselves are also seen as aggressive or not. Feather blades have a reputation for aggressiveness, but I happen to like them in my Gillette Super Speed because it mellows their aggressiveness. Others are less aggressive. Most likely these differences are due to minute differences in the manufacturing tolerances, despite the fact that the blade’s form factor has been standardized for 80 years.

One of the great things about shaving with a safety razor is that besides the initial investment in the razor (about $10 for each of mine on ebay), the blades are super cheap. I’ve gotten deals under 10 cents per blade, and each blade usually lasts 5 or 6 shaves, if not more. However, like any other hobby, you can get lost in all of the options and spend hundreds of dollars on shave equipment. There are some rare vintage razors that go for over $100.

Shaving is very much an exercise in muscle memory. It’s quite similar to knife sharpening in that you need to find a proper angle, hold it at that angle, and make smooth strokes. You know it’s right when you can hear the blade cutting the whiskers. It’s a soothing sound. Unlike what you’ve likely learned shaving with a cartridge razor, it’s not about pushing down and dragging across half of your face. That will end with blood everywhere. With a safety or straight razor, it’s about smooth short strokes with almost no pressure. You only exert enough pressure to keep the blade from skipping when it hits the next whisker. I’ve found that when in doubt, you’re using too much pressure. The goal is to “reduce” the hair rather than “eliminate” the hair. This is why you do two or three passes. The first pass takes the stubble down lower, the second even lower, and the third down to the skin.

Also, this is a literal razor blade. Razor blades cut you if you drag them sideways along your skin. Your short smooth strokes should be directly perpendicular to the blade’s edge. Turning corners is an advanced move for when you stop cutting yourself.

After a bit of practice, you start to be able to feel when a blade is getting dull. Before then, replace your blade on a regular basis. Usually 5 or 6 shaves is about as much as you can get out of a blade. If you have an old house, there may even be a blade depository in your bathroom. It dumps all the used blades into your wall for the contractor to find when you decide to remodel the bathroom.

Finishing Up

After you shave and wipe off the excess lather, you’re not quite done yet. Your face is in an “open” state due to the warm water, the lather, and the razor. One refreshing way to close up your pores is to splash your face with cool water. If you have a couple tiny nicks that are thinking about bleeding, sometimes this step will convince them not to bleed.

Once you’ve rinsed your face with cool water, it’s time to apply after-product. This is purely optional, but I find that my face thanks me. I have extremely dry skin, so this is the perfect time to add some moisture and avoid redness, cracked skin, etc. In come two categories of after-shave. In front is Clubman Pinaud, which is a traditional Home Alone aftershave. It’s alcohol based, and it’ll let you know if you nicked yourself. To me, this is the smell of a barbershop, and it lingers with you for the rest of the day.

Behind the Clubman is some Tea Tree leave-in conditioner. I forget who recommended it to me, but this stuff is the absolute best at moisturizing my face. I just rub it in like lotion, and my dry skin issues go away within a couple hours. It doesn’t linger like Clubman, but you can still smell it a couple hours later.

Also, while you’re cleaning up, rinse out your brush and get as much water out as you can. I hang mine alongside my razor to air dry the rest of the way. I also leave the soap container open to air dry.

But what if you got a boo boo? Bleeding is a part of learning to shave, and it sucks. Rather than sticking toilet paper to your face or bleeding everywhere, get yourself a styptic pencil or an alum block. They both contain chemicals that help your blood clot up and stop the bleeding. They aren’t magic, so don’t start rubbing your jugular while you’re bleeding out, but they’ve stopped cuts where the blood was dripping down my chin before.

I’ve never found out the right way to clean the styptic pencil. I usually rinse it off under the faucet, but the pencil doesn’t play well with water.

All of this to say, nobody needs 32 different kinds of razors. In Progtopia, we’re all gonna be stuck with shitty off-brand disposables and silly-string for shaving cream.

June 19, 2018
A Tale of Two Systems

I’ve had both of my hips replaced with titanium implants. My friends and I joke about being a cyborg and being part-Terminator. Laughter is indeed medicine. I had my right leg done in the States with private insurance and the left done in Korea, which has universal health care. This is my tale.

I was a few months away from being 25 when I first noticed a problem. I had been in the States visiting family and back flew to Korea to start my new contract. Literally the day that I arrived I started to feel a tinge of pain when I put weight on it. I assumed it was the stress of travel and schlepping all of my luggage around.

I used to run 3-5 miles a day and naturally assumed it was related to that. Everyone who runs is used to little tweaks and pains. My limp increased and I just dealt with it. People kept telling me to go to the hospital. I figured it would go away and rebuffed their advice. After six months of existential pain with every step, I figured it was time to see the doc.

It only took a simple X-Ray. The doc sat me down and showed me the film. My femoral head had a noticeable dark spot on it. He told me that I needed to have my hip replaced. With cool composure I asked about the details. Turns out that the blood vessels in my femur had closed off and the bone wasn’t getting oxygen. Necrosis, he said. The bone had literally died. The pain I felt was my body weight slowly crushing the bone into itself.

He says the left hip has the same problem but it’s not as advanced.

Outlook: not bright

Most people assume that I had been hit by a car when I tell them about my hips. I tell them the docs told me it was idiopathic. This may be true, but I think I have an idea. But that theory’s for me.

Cut and dry, it simply had to be replaced. It wouldn’t ever go away, and eventually would catastrophically shatter.

I got into a cab and tried to digest this. I called into work to get the day off. It also so happened that that was the day my parents were arriving to visit me. I fought off my emotions in the taxi. As soon I shut more apartment door I bawled my eyes out. I’ve never cried so hard. I collected myself and then collected my parents outside. It was pouring with rain, which felt fitting.

We went to Seoul with my ex that weekend. I walked with them for miles that day, unable to hide my limp that I hadn’t told them about. They wanted to see a palace. I bowed out saying that I was tired and had already seen it. Truth was the idea of walking over gravel for a few hours was too exhausting to think about. We later got pizza. While I was in the bathroom my parents asked the ex what was wrong. To her credit she didn’t say, per my wishes.

I flew back to the States to get the surgery done about a month later. I had three hour-plus one-on-one visits with the doc. He explained everything that was going to happen and what to expect. Being a young patient, he took a special interest in me. “This doesn’t happen to people as young as you,” he said. Not words you want to hear.

I had to go to group meetings to get prepared for the operation and what I need to do afterwards and what I won’t be able to do. After the surgery I wasn’t supposed to bend my hip past 90 degrees. It might dislocate, they said. I was easily 30 years younger than everyone else present.

Time for surgery. I was the first of the day and arrived early. I was given Valium and the nurses were very sweet. I was put under and don’t remember anything for the first 24 hours or so. I awoke in a spacious, private room. My bed was a lot of fun. I was pumped up with pain killers and felt incredibly stiff but no pain to speak of. I had a menu and could call at any time of day and get whatever food that I wanted. Having good food and calories were very important and comforting. This turned out to be very different than Korea.

Perhaps I should explain the surgery. First they had to sever three thigh/ass muscles. Then they dislocate your hip. Then they saw about 6 inches of it off. They shove the implant down through the bone marrow and pop the new head into one’s pelvis. Then they screw it in place through the bone.

Again, I don’t remember the first 24 hours. But I stayed at the hospital for three days and two nights. I don’t remember it being too unpleasant, other than how unpleasant being stuck in a hospital bed inherently is.

I was released home and was given a boatload of pain pills. I was encouraged to get out and about as soon as possible. The abject swelling and stiffness is hard to explain. But I dutifully would go out and walk 100 feet and back to the house. When going on stairs, the rule is: Good Leg up first; Bad Leg down first. Also—always use the cane on the opposite leg. Movies get that wrong so frequently. I notice it constantly now, just like I’ve always noticed when someone is left-handed.

I took my recovery very seriously. Eventually I got down to the end of the street. Then I went a block further. Soon enough I got to the nearby forest and tested myself walking over uneven trails. There was a real sense of accomplishment.

After a month the pain was still there but certainly manageable. The stretches I had to do were a terrifying new flavor of pain. It’s hard to explain. Your entire body is saying that this movement is absolutely unacceptable. It was a cold, desperate pain. It felt like something was going to rip. That tends to dampen your enthusiasm to your new regime. I probably didn’t do them enough. It’s still very difficult to get my right leg over my left knee into Newspaper-Reading stance.

I would say after six months my walking life was pretty much back to normal. No more running, though. No more jumping. They don’t know how long these will last on me because I’m not the average patient. But because I was young and fit they were encouraging. But they had no real answer. That I will almost definitely have to have another operation—one that I’m told is much, much worse– in x years is something that I try not to think about. It brings about feelings that I prefer to push out, given I have no control over them, I get sad when I make the mistake of dwelling on it.

I flew back to Korea. My life went about pretty normally for six months or so. My ex would help me with my grueling stretches. And then, in 2014, I started to feel the same pain in my left leg.
That was a fun day.

I decided to do the second surgery in Korea. My retired mother flew out to be with me. The surgeon spoke English but I only talked to him for maybe a minute at time. If I spent 5 minutes total talking to him I would be shocked. But I did have a Guardian Angel as a nurse.

And her name was….well I forget, sadly. She had studied in San Francisco and was my English aide throughout. She was the only competent person in the building. Every room had soap dispensers. She was literally the only one who used them. The only one. I’ll get back to that.

I paid extra for a private room, because I couldn’t handle that shit. Everyone else was in rooms with 6-8 patients. Cloth curtains, noxious smells and Korean food that even the locals didn’t eat. I was prepped for the op and I was wheeled down to the theater.

I got gassed and I went under.

I woke up sometime later, groggy and unfocused. They started to wheel me out. The anesthetic wore off shockingly fast. As soon as I was wheeled out into the expansive main floor of the hospital, all of the pain hit my acutely aware brain.

Torn muscles. Dislocated hip. Sawn off bone. Titanium thrust into my femur. Screwed back in.

I am screaming in the hospital. I’m talking taking-a-Minie-ball-to-the-leg-at-Antietam screaming. I couldn’t control it. Couldn’t hear myself. Couldn’t think. I was wheeled in front of patients, women, children….and my mother.

My mother had to hear her youngest scream like that. I’ve never talked to her about that moment and I never will. I can never forgive them for that. Never. Ever.

We got into the elevator. Again, my mother present. The echoes of pain must’ve been haunting in that steel box. I’m glad I don’t really remember it. We got to my room. Instead of picking me up by the sheet I’m on, they grabbed me limb-by-limb and flop me into the bed.

Then, and only then, did they inject me with more anesthetic. Let that incompetence sink it. Infuriates me to this day. Again, never, ever can I forgive.

That sadly, was only the beginning of my troubles. I had tons of drainage tubes attached to the bed. All in all I spent 10 days tied to that fucking bed. Shackled. They had people come a few times a day to turn me over and hit my back to prevent bedsores, which I eventually did develop, but thankfully they didn’t become a problem. Hilariously, those back-slappers were the only people that wore gloves, even when dealing with my stapled wounds and drainage tubes. I’ll come back to that, as well.

My mother was a saint. A Subway just opened up in Daejeon and it was really busy. I wanted actual food and she would wait in line for an hour to bring some comfort to her youngest. I liked getting her out of there. I didn’t like being so helpless and needing everything done for me. My friends wanted to visit and I told them no. I would visit them when I got out. I didn’t want to be seen like that.

My humanity was spiraling.

One thing made me happy. I would trudge along until 6pm. That was always the goal. Deal with the shit and you can make it to six. That’s when the Korean baseball games would come on. I don’t care about the teams here—I’d flip through channels 44-48 trying to find the best game. Whatever game was the most interesting, I would watch. For those 4 hours I knew I could kind of escape myself. And at 10:00 or 10:30 when the games ended, I had to deal with reality again. Cold, painful, lonely nights.

I didn’t take a shit for 6 days. They started to get nervous and would give me laxatives every meal. Still, nothing. Sometimes I would think that I had a shipment to deliver and I’d get the bedpan. My mother would leave and I would painfully struggle to pick myself up enough to get it under me. Usually I had Top Gear on to distract me from the desperation. I had two days of false alarms. When I finally did take a shit it was hands-down the foulest thing my body has ever produced. Had the consistency of daub. The Mississippi Indians could’ve built a duplex with that load.

I had to give that vitriolically foul deposit to my mother to deal with. Again, a Saint.

A week after the op came Sunday, Bloody Sunday.

Everyday I was wheeled out into the lobby to get my bandages dressed. But on this Day of the Lord, the doctors were off. Interns and graduate students only. They were going to remove my drainage tube. I was on my side, lying away from the two kids taking it out. I felt a pinch. They had just got back from their smoke break. Reeking of Marlboro, they fiddled around this inch-long incision in my lower ass. They were not wearing gloves.

Then, all of a sudden, a lovely surprise. It turns out that that pinch I felt had nicked an artery. So there I am, lying on a hospital bed, in relative public, with blood spurting out of my ass with every heartbeat.

I actually had some fun with this one. It didn’t hurt and I wasn’t really concerned. They called the doc and were frantically asking what to do. They applied pressure. Again. Their bare hands smoke-infused. Pressure was applied for about 5 minutes. They pulled away and breathed a sigh.

To my great pleasure, the spurting returned!

I was legitimately laughing at this point in time. This felt like a bit of my revenge. I wasn’t in pain and I was gleefully inconveniencing others for a change. Their white coats were splattered with blood. Felt like justice. More pressure was applied. Eventually the bleeding stopped. I’m glad my mom wasn’t there for that one. She wouldn’t have approved of my Grinch-like grin.

After ten days of being locked to the bed (I was still attached when they wheeled me out to get new bandages), they finally let me out and into a wheelchair. To be able to read in the sun was a revelation. I got some upper body exercise speed-wheeling myself around the hospital. And I hatched a plan. I got a hold of some crutches. “Don’t walk” they said. Well, this wasn’t my first rodeo and I knew what I could handle. At night I would get down to the main entrance and crutch-walk my way out. This was a great time to pull the Foreigner Card. No one ever said anything to me.

I went across the street to the 7-11, bought smokes and booze. Smoked a celebratory cig worthy of The Great Escape and went back in. I got loaded in my room and had fun for the first time in a very long while. I repeated this every night for the next four days. The satisfaction I got by taking back my agency was worth everything. Also, I had been dramatically weaned off the pain killers by this point in time. I felt like I was keeping up the tradition of getting drunk before/after battlefront surgery. Shit works, yo.

After a total of two weeks I was allowed to leave that infernal place.

My surgery in America came on insurance and cost $80,000. With our fantastic insurance (granted my mom was a teacher with a very strong union), our family was charged $674. I was in the hospital for 3 days and was pampered and taken care of. I was given dignity. I was given the tools I needed to recuperate on my own afterwards.

In Korea the surgery cost me $6000. No idea what it actually cost to do. I was chained to a bed, humiliated, traumatized, was treated by monstrously inept staff (save, of course, for my Guardian Angel), and was given no pain killers to help with my recovery once I left the hospital. It was absolutely the worst fourteen days of my life.

Now, to compare the two systems in terms of policy. The actual price tag in the States would legitimately be out-of-reach for the vast majority of people. Insurance mitigated that, however. I actually benefited from Obamacare by still being on my parents’ insurance. That’s why I did it there to begin with. My mom still doesn’t understand how I can be opposed to a program that actively helped me. Because it’s my mother, and she’s a Saint, I don’t follow up with an answer.

In Korea, $6000 is attainable for most people, even if they have to take out a loan. The quality was absolutely atrocious, and it was very easy to see how they cut on the amenities in order to focus costs on actual medicine. That’s probably a good idea with their budget, but I learned that a lot of healing and getting better is being comfortable. Having good food, being in a clean place, not being in pain, having helpful nurses and staff, fundamentally helps you recover. It relieves your stress, the stress of your family, and the stress you feel from forcing your family to feel that stress to begin with.

I’m not going to make a policy argument of the pitfalls and perks of these two systems. The purpose of this piece isn’t really for myself to get into the politics of everything. My point was to show what the same serious operation is like in one system versus another. They both have their pros and cons and I benefited from both of them in my own way. I’ll be plain and say that the best solution would be to have an actual market, which we all know doesn’t exist when it comes to health care. If you can afford the filet mignon and lobster, go for it if that’s what you’re in the mood for. If a buck McDouble is going to sate you, then that should be available for you as well. You should always have the option to choose.

***** For what it’s worth, the second surgery was in 2014 and I felt back to relative-normal six months later. I have been walking pain-free ever since, after having dealt with existential pain every step for over three years. I sometimes catch myself getting bitter about the things I can no longer do and what I’m facing in the future. But then I try to focus on how lovely it is not to deal with that pain anymore, and how modern technology saved me from an affliction that certainly would’ve left me direly crippled or dead a hundred years ago.

Here’s to hoping further innovation and a bit of luck can help me keep walking for decades to come. Please, Washington, don’t get in the way.

May 14, 2018
Afternoon Links

Friends! It has been so long. Brett is in a post-apocalyptic wasteland and his second through fourth string replacements are working (yes, Rufus, some of us work). So you get some slap-dash, last-minute links from me:

Florida legislature! “Florida House declares pornography as a health risk: Republican Rep. Ross Spano says there is research that finds a connection between pornography use and mental and physical illnesses.” Republicans are apparently aiming to be the party of science now. Good for them.

Now here’s some science. “Drinking Alcohol Helps Better Than Exercise If You Want To Live Past 90 Years Old” Guess what, we at Glibertarians don’t care if this is good science or not. 건배!!

Rejoice! He’s in a far better place than this. “Billy Graham, preacher to millions, adviser to U.S. presidents, dies at 99”

Time to sit your boss down and have The Talk. “Phishing schemes net hackers millions of dollars from Fortune 500: IBM has uncovered sophisticated campaigns which are successfully targeting Fortune 500 companies.”

February 21, 2018