My latest, favorite food from my mom is black ginger tea. Ironically, several years ago, I had discovered the black ginger tea at Santana Row’s Fantasia Coffee & Tea, but had been unable to get the flavors quite right when I tried to make it at home. (In retrospect, my primary mistake was trying to use ginger tea bags rather than fresh ginger.) I gave up on that little project a long time ago, but when I was home recently for the winter holidays, my mom made me delicious ginger tea almost everyday, especially since I was very sick when I first got home. Ginger, along with a host of other health benefits, is particularly helpful with easing nausea, one of my most frequent issues. (Hence, the frequent use of ginger ale to ease a queasy stomach– jump to 1:40 in this MythBusters clip of using ginger pills to combat motion sickness.) In addition to GI symptoms, because compounds found in ginger interact with serotonin 5-HT1A receptors, it may even help treat anxiety itself.

So, my mom showed me how to make her version of black ginger tea while I was home and as usual, there was no measuring of ingredients or exact cooking times, but somehow, it always came out tasting the same every single time and with a perfect blend of flavors. I usually cook like that too– without measuring out ingredients or setting timers– with relative success, if I’m to believe my friends who have wolfed down my food during the many “dinner parties” I’ve hosted (nothing fancy– really just my friends coming over to eat and hang out). However, for this tea, it took a little bit more precision to recreate what my mom seems to be able to do without even one procedural taste test. So, for those lesser beings like me, here’s a how to make an amazing cup of black ginger tea.

Ingredients:

• Fresh ginger, grated/crushed (see directions for specific details on how to prepare the ginger)
• Black tea (no need to get fancy– my mom had Red Rose Tea in stock and any generic black tea like that will suffice)
• Hot water (unlike green or white teas, black teas can take boiling water)
• Sugar, honey, agave or whatever your preferred sweetener, if desired
• Fresh lemon juice, if desired

Directions:

1. Put a tea strainer or infuser inside your tea cup. I use my Bodum YO-YO Mug and Tea Strainer. (Bodum makes a variety of similar items for brewing coffee and tea that will more than do the job, like this Assam Tea Press I use when I want to brew more than one cup. I know these items seem a bit expensive, but I’ve been using mine for more than 10 years and will probably continue to use them for many more.)
2. Cut a few of slices of fresh ginger (make sure to remove the skin first) and then crush it using a garlic press. My mom, who doesn’t really believe in garlic presses, but prefers to crush her garlic with a metal mallet-type object, uses a flat grater (it may actually have a section that is specifically for grating ginger) placed on top of the cup so that the grated ginger just falls into your infuser/strainer. Either way, this seems to be more effective in releasing the ginger juices and flavor rather than simply using sliced ginger.
3. Pour some hot water into your cup, just enough to cover the ginger and let it infuse the water with its flavor for about 2 minutes.
4. Leaving the ginger inside, add a tea bag or your loose tea into the infuser, add some more hot water, and let it brew for another 2 minutes, or a little less than the recommended brewing time. Different teas will suggest different brewing times and in general, you should follow them since leaving the tea bag or leaves in too long will make it bitter. In this case, the tea I am using suggests a brewing time of 3-5 minutes, but since I don’t want to overpower the ginger flavor, I let it steep for only 2 minutes, making a total of 4 minutes for the ginger.
5. If desired, add sugar, honey or whatever sweetener you prefer. Don’t use too much since you don’t want to overpower the other flavors (this is ginger tea, not sweet tea). I think my mom uses agave nectar since it’s next to impossible to find sugar, especially white sugar, in my parents’ house. To add some citrus flavor to the tea, you can also add a bit of fresh lemon juice or try one of these honey sticks with lemon I’ve seen stocked at Target and Cost Plus World Market, which is just a straw filled with lemon-infused honey that you can cut open on one end, stick in your tea cup, and stir.

And that’s it– enjoy!

Related posts:

1. Anybody can be well-groomed and wear nice black shoes

Many believe World War II not only helped, but was one of the biggest factors in the US pulling itself out of the Great Depression– some do not– and I’m sure it’s been joked many times over that another war– in addition to the one we just finished fighting like, 5 minutes ago (did you know military operations had websites?), and the one we’re still fighting in Afghanistan– would help us out of this Great Recession. Well, the thought of someone in government or similar sphere of power seriously considering that idea is a morbid thought, but perhaps this is an even more twisted one: although domestic growth created to support wartime efforts could help us get out of our current, particularly deep economic rut, the thought of waging war for economic benefit– essentially letting the blood of American soldiers be payment for a way out of our current economic state, one created by Wall Street’s high risk, shady deals with subprime mortgages and derivative markets– is too “distasteful”. So, instead, those in power look at alternatives and given the somewhat misguided, but constant ranting about how the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) and its regulations are “job killers”, a conspiracy is born to systematically lower EPA regulations to allow corporations to redirect resources they would normally have spent ensuring they were abiding by various environmental laws and regulations, knowing that it may cause adverse health effects on millions of communities around the country. They decide that considering it takes much longer for you to die from cancer than a soldier to die from a bullet or a bomb, and it is much harder to prove that the chemical waste improperly dumped near your home’s water source is the direct reason why you get a particular type of cancer at a particular point in your life– especially if litigation gets tied up in the court system and you die before its conclusion, should you decide to sue your health insurance company and/or the owner of the factory or plant that caused the pollution in the first place– that slow, causally ambigous death of a few million is not only a more preferable and conveniently politically advantageous, but morally justifiable route for economic growth compared to more American soldiers dying in another war (or ideally, just working harder to come up with better economic policies). Besides, the increased health problems may boost the healthcare industry and once we’re out of the rut, the EPA can create even more jobs by raising– or in some cases, re-raising– regulations, therefore creating a need for corporations to go back out and hire workers and obtain other resources to abide by them.

And then the next time there’s an economic slump, all over again… until they find “the next thing”…

I’m not saying this is what could happen under a President and/or Congress that rails just a little too much against the EPA or that anybody is even seriously considering it, or if anybody seriously believes anybody is seriously considering it, but if I thought of it, someone else must have…

About a month ago, I experienced very sore and easily fatigued legs as well as severe pain in my quads, hips and lower back, especially when trying to sit down or get back up (one of these lift chairs would have been amazingly helpful)– but the symptoms had gone away after a few days, so I attributed it to simply being tired/burnt out, stressed, and in need of some serious rest in the short term and some serious exercise and getting back into shape in the long term. Unfortunately, by the beginning of Christmas week– right after my office finally closed for the winter closure/break and I started a two-week vacation– my entire body was aching (on any of the commonly used pain scales, approximately 5/10 at best, 10/10 at worst), like it would the day after doing a hundred squat thrusts or lunges with weights in each hand (which of course I hadn’t done). I wasn’t able to do much for days (didn’t even sufficiently proofread my tweet!) and I simply sat or lay down with a heating pad, hoping that plus some rest would clear things up. But things only got worse: I could barely sit down or stand back up without being in excruciating pain (imagine how challenging going to the bathroom becomes at that point, especially for us women folk) and in addition to the pain, I started to experience not just simple fatigue, but actual muscle weakness. By Wednesday morning, I was having trouble getting out of bed (literally– not “I feel sad and don’t feel like getting out of bed,” but more like “I can’t get out of bed because I can’t actually move parts of my body and moving the parts I can causes intense pain) and getting dressed, the pain and weakness having spread by then to my arms and back. I had already contacted my primary care physician, trying to determine if this was more serious than just being tired, stressed and out of shape, and I was supposed to go in on Thursday afternoon to see her, but by late Wednesday night, partial paralysis had already set in.

Nature’s call woke me up at about 2 am on Wednesday (technically, Thursday) night; partial paralysis had set in and I found myself unable to get myself out of bed. I could barely move my arms and legs, much less push myself up and out of bed. I had left the heat set a little too high, so I not only had to go to the bathroom, but I was already starting to overheat. I couldn’t even move my legs enough to get out from under the covers, my legs becoming more entangled in the sheets with every pathetic kick, or move my arms enough to somehow pull the covers back. Panic started to set in as I struggled more and more, my now tangled legs adding to the feeling of being trapped, my normally featherweight duvet feeling like a weighted net holding me down, and each miserable movement only making it warmer and more agonizing in the trap that my bed had become. For those of you who know me relatively well, you know I’m no stranger to pain or nausea or illness in general: I have regularly suffered through days, weeks, maybe even months of constant headache/migraine pain, nausea and vomiting. I have woken up in the middle of an endoscopy to see the inside of my own stomach on the screen, had multiple bad drug interactions, from painful dystonic reactions to full-blown pancreatitis and liver inflammation, and found myself crawling to the kitchen because my back hurt so much. But I have never experienced such severe muscle weakness or paralysis of any kind and that feeling of such sudden helplessness is one of the scariest things I have ever experienced. I remembered a college classmate of mine who became paralyzed after contracting the Epstein-Barr virus– very athletic, he was a healthy high school student whose legs suddenly gave out from under him and hours later, they were paralyzed. I didn’t think it was nearly that bad, but I couldn’t help but remember his story.

I tried to calm down and assess the situation. I’ve been through enough neurological exams to do a few tests on my own and found that I could at least wiggle my fingers and toes, weakly twitch muscles over most of my body, and still feel things along my skin, so I knew I wasn’t completely paralyzed and just tried to focus on what to do. I struggled for nearly half an hour, trying to get out of bed enough to call 911 (and for some reason, the 911 operator kind of gave me a hard time because my cell phone number and location weren’t showing up correctly, but I digress…). Once the paramedics/ambulance were on their way, somehow, I managed to get some pants on (forget about any vanity– couldn’t lift my arms even to shoulder height, much less hold them up, so bed head ponytail and glasses had to do) and amazingly, once I was standing, I could actually walk, albeit awkwardly and stilted like a zombie (“traditional” zombie pace, not superfast like the crazed zombies of recent cinematic fame). I unlocked my apartment door (thank God for front door buzzers) and leaned against the wall, waiting for help. Once they got to my apartment, the paramedics wanted to sit me back down again to check me out while waiting for the actual ambulance, but I told them, “If I sit down, I won’t be able to get back up.” This wouldn’t normally be a big deal, but they hadn’t brought up a gurney/stretcher since it’s difficult (but not impossible) to fit one in my building’s elevator (not sure why I’ve never seen paramedics/EMTs out here use one of those stretchers that folds up more like a wheelchair, with the patient strapped in– the paramedics used that years ago with my father to navigate slightly narrow stairs at our old house). However, since I could still kind of walk, I just said “forget it, let’s just try walking” and we made our way down the hall to the elevator. Unfortunately, if you’re parked near the front door rather than the garage entrance, there are still two half flights of stairs before you’re on precious parking lot, car-level land. Gritting through the pain and holding on to one of the paramedics for support, I went down first the hard, indoor, linoleum covered stairs, then the even harder concrete stairs outside, feeling like I could go down head first at any second (and having done it as a child, going head first into concrete is not cool). Once they got me settled outside, they started checking me out while they wheeled out the gurney and one of the paramedics or EMTs asked why I was sweating so much. Another paramedic pointed out that I had said I had been pushing hard for the past half hour just to call 911 and unlock my door, not to mention just getting downstairs, which was good because I really was about to lose it from a combination of fear, panic, and pain.

Luckily, I live literally around the corner from the hospital, so getting there was quick, but I didn’t feel like folks were really taking me seriously until after the ER doctor saw me and then definitely once my blood tests came back, despite almost collapsing when they were moving me from the gurney to a wheelchair and all the help required me to get me into a hospital gown and onto the bed/stretcher in my room in the ER. It kind of felt like because I couldn’t name some recent injury or some underlying condition and because I was able to move a bit, they thought I was maybe not faking, but exaggerating things a bit. But when the ER doctor came in, she immediately asked if I knew how my potassium levels were, which of course I didn’t (it’s not like taking your temperature– checking your potassium level actually requires a blood test). My primary ER nurse was very nice, patiently holding my cup so I could drink some soda to help settle my stomach (I was nauseated, of course, as usual) and urging me not to push myself, to let her help me, even if it’s as boring as holding my cup so I could drink something (I was also pretty dehydrated by this point). Those of you who know me know that I like to be pretty independent, often to a fault, so you could imagine how hard even something as simple as that would be for me, but eventually, I was in so much pain and so exhausted that I just gave up and decided to lay there, stop worrying, and let the doctors and nurses do their thing.

In the real world– not the CSI, Law & Order, ER world– labs take a while, but after 1-2 hours (who’s counting at this point?), my tests came back and sure enough my potassium level had plummeted to a dangerously low level– normal potassium levels are between 3.5 and 5.0 mEq/L, mild hypokalemia is considered 2.5-3 mEq/L, severe is less than 2 mEq/L. My potassium level was 1.9 mEq/L, at which point flaccid paralysis (muscle weakness, paralysis, loss in muscle tone) and hyporeflexia (reduced or absent reflexes) can present. Rhabdomyolysis can also occur, skeletal muscle damage releasing harmful proteins into the bloodstream, and even respiratory depression (muscle is muscle after all and it takes some muscle to keep breathing) as well as cardiac problems, such as irregular heartbeat (prompting the fastest EKG ever). I had all of those symptoms, except for respiratory or cardiac problems thankfully (although they did have me hooked up to some type of cardiac monitor the whole time I was in the hospital– if your hospital gown doesn’t have the little pocket for it, you literally carry this thing around with you all the time like an albatross around your neck).

Ultimately, I was eventually moved into an actual bed to make me more comfortable while waiting to be admitted and moved to a regular room, this time with enough manpower to move me more easily (albeit painfully), doing the ol’ 1-2-3 lift from stretcher to bed. I was eventually put in the Progressive Care Unit (one notch below ICU and filled with patients who have had heart attacks, strokes, etc.) and they pumped me full of IV potassium which, in itself, is rather painful to administer (fyi, potassium chloride is one of the drugs used in lethal injection cocktails) and is usually mixed with lidocaine not only in the IV bag, but in the IV site as well to numb the pain (and with my small veins, they had to turn down the flow rate too). Low potassium levels really screw with almost everything– I experienced my first auditory hallucinations that first night. The lidocaine injection set off this horrible, loud ringing in my ears and even though I knew it wasn’t real, that it was a hallucination, it was new to me and scary. It was a full day before I could fully move my arms and legs again and not until Friday could I actually get up, walk around, go to the bathroom by myself, etc. After physical therapy, occupational therapy (i.e., showing I can put pants on, use the bathroom, stand at the sink without help, etc.) and several visits to the can (never knew how rewarding it would be to be able to go to the bathroom by myself again), I was exhausted by mid-afternoon and hurting all over, but at least I could walk again, feed myself, hold my phone to my ear, text message briefly– you know, the important things.

So, what caused all this? About six months ago, one of my doctors put me on a diuretic/water pill (hydrochlorothiazide) to help control my blood pressure and in turn, better prevent migraines, which worked (good), but that particular water pill has the unfortunate “occasional” side effect of hypokalemia (bad). This, in combination with a possible underlying genetic condition called hypokalemic periodic paralysis, made my body continuously lose potassium, eventually dipping to this dangerously low level. As I said at the beginning of this post, after looking through tweets/status updates, emails, and text messages, etc., I realized that for at least several weeks, maybe even a few months before being hospitalized, I was having more pain than usual– aside from headaches/migraines, I was having more than normal back pain, some soreness and weakness in my legs, and a return of moderate to severe numbness and tingling in my wrists and hands (which I wrote off as symptoms of repetitive stress/carpal tunnel). I realized that I had been having hypokalemia symptoms for months, but in addition to simply attributing them to just being tired, stressed and in need of getting some rest and back into shape, I have been going through continuous bouts of pain and related issues for a few years now and no one has been able to pinpoint and fix the exact cause or really even theorize a new cause other than the usual: being tired, stressed and in need of both rest and exercise. I think I felt like if I had brought things up a month or two ago, I was going to be told the same thing, so I saved myself the effort, discouragement and co-pay. Unfortunately, this time, there really was something “new” wrong and both doctors and nurses told me repeatedly how lucky I was, that considering how low my potassium level was that it could have been much, much worse. Well, message received and I am certainly thankful that only after a little over a day, I was able to move and walk again and that I didn’t sustain any lasting muscle damage, especially to my heart. I’m thankful to everyone, from the paramedics and EMTs to the doctors and nurses who took care of me to my friend who left Christmas Day with his family to pick me up and take me home.

I continued to experience pretty bad pain and soreness from the hypokalemia and rhabdomyolysis– muscle doesn’t repair overnight– but once I was taken off of IV potassium and able to sustain a normal potassium level through diet alone, I was able to go home on Christmas Day. I’m still recovering– mostly dealing with receding muscle pain, trying to build back up muscle strength, resting and sleeping lots as I’m still easily exhausted, and finally, making sure that I get my potassium through a glass of orange juice or a banana every day.

I cut my hair pretty short for the first time in a decade at the beginning of July this year. I’m sick of it already, but I did get a nice thank you card from the folks at Locks of Love after donating. And here’s a picture of the thank you note AND the donation itself to prove it.

Related posts:

1. Vonnegut on Love, Men and Women
2. And that’s another reason why I love the Kids in the Hall…
3. I love technology, but even I am surprised by my dorkiness

Related posts:

1. University of Phoenix Commencement Speech
2. Is it racist?

So, stay tuned.

Related posts:

1. Back to life, Back to reality
2. Take-back
3. Status: Sindy is back from Spain and not looking forward to returning to regular life.

However, the tendonitis suddenly became very severe a few months ago and is now accompanied by numbness and tingling that are certainly more annoying than the pain. The irony is that these “sudden” RSI symptoms started and worsened when I had actually reduced my work hours (only 40 hours per week!)– like most departments at Stanford do for significant cost savings, my office closes for a few weeks at the end of the year and aside from taking the long break (and even managing to avoid doing work despite being on-call), I even left for the break a week early. Since then, I’ve been out of the office more than usual due to illness (it’s largely a crapshoot everyday how I’ll be feeling) and a slightly ridiculous number of doctor and physical therapy appointments. I’m pretty sure I’m being punished for a life of playing piano and typing.

As of now, almost all of my test results are normal and one thing we’re pretty sure about is that it’s NOT lupus. So, for the most part, we’ve managed to rule out a number of things and otherwise, we’re back to the drawing board and I just need to suck it up while we figure things out. At the end of the day, I having basically decided that if I was a superhero, my powers would be tolerance of prescription drugs and the ability to stay relatively high-functioning despite constant pain.

In any case, I’m slowly starting to improve and get back to a somewhat normal life, including maintaining my offline social life and my online presence. Look forward to more frequent posting soon.

Related posts:

1. Pain

When you have an LP (as you may also have heard it called, especially on something like House), there’s a 10-15% chance that you’ll get a severe headache with nausea, but that can usually be avoided by making sure you stay lying flat on your back for a few hours after the procedure and keeping your fluids up. A persistent headache can mean that a proper clot didn’t form at the puncture site and there’s a CSF (cerebrospinal fluid) leak– a microscopic leak, not one that comes oozing out your back, so the headache is the only real tip off that you have one.

Amazingly, after staying strictly in the supine position after the procedure at the doctor’s office and then at home (except for the brief trip to the car in a wheelchair and all and then up the elevator home), I avoided getting a severe headache and hopefully, a CSF leak. Imagine my luck, considering I otherwise have a headache everyday, often all day.

Anyway, thanks to Marina and Charles for taking me to the doctor and taking care of me all day yesterday. For the less squeamish, check out this video of an actual LP.

However, the most interesting thing I learned about was the site myfreeimplants.com. Cosmetic surgery financing at its finest, the site basically pairs up women who want to get breast implants with men who are willing to “donate” money to their cause.

Only in America. You’ve got to love a free market.

Anyway, I’m looking forward to next week’s episode My Big Breasts and Me.

Related posts:

1. Breasts
2. All the small things
3. Amusing Google search

After reading about hiccups in Wikipedia, I probably know more than I should ever know about hiccups, but here are a few interesting tidbits:

• In 1988, Francis Fesmire of the University of Tennessee College of Medicine published his research on “Termination of intractable hiccups with digital rectal massage.” In 2006, he was one of the recipients of the Ig Nobel for medicine for his research. Aside from being “research that makes people laugh and then think,” as the Ig Nobel folks say, the additional interesting thing about this is that there’s an episode of House where a patient who claims to be suffering from hiccups, after being told they will go away on their own, requests a specific treatment/cure that he read about, one that some guy one a prize for. Later, House throws the patient’s file on the counter, telling the nurse to make a note about “drug-seeking behavior.” Dr. Cuddy asks, “Morphine?” House answers, “No, anal-digital stimulation.”
• As recounted by my friend during our hiccups discussion, Charles Osborne, after slaughtering or weighing a hog (I’ve found conflicting reports on what he was actually doing, but it definitely involved a hog), suffered from hiccups continuously for 68 years, from 1922 to 1990. (He obviously holds the Guinness World Record for “Longest Attack of Hiccups.”) Contrary to what we thought earlier– that he had hiccups all the way until his death– his hiccups actually mysteriously disappeared on their own in 1990, a year before he passed away. Nevertheless, he still managed to live to the ripe old age of 97, marrying at least more than once and fathering several children.

Check out this interview of a girl who had hiccups for five weeks (the video shows her after about three weeks in):

I assume they found me by stumbling on my 2005 blog posts on the topic (part 1 and the very brief part 2), but I’m not quite sure of the path they took to find the posts since, unlike some Google searches, I don’t show up as one of the top results for “double eyelid surgery” or “Asian blepharoplasty.”

In any case, while Montel is one of the more respectable daytime talk shows, it sounds like I would basically be going on the show to tell this woman that I think what she’s already done to herself is wrong. And to be honest, while I am against this desire among some Asian people to try to, as the folks at Montel say, “erase their race” and look more westernized, this desire to deny one’s own heritage, and (for the most part) purely elective plastic surgery in general, at the end of the day, like most things, I don’t feel so strongly about it that I expect other people to replace their own judgement and choices with mine. While I may not make the same choices, your body is yours and, as long as you’re not hurting anyone else, you are free to do with it as you wish. If you think double eyelid surgery or breast implants or liposuction will make you happy and you really want to do it, you should do it.

So, given all that, one of the things I’m really against is staged conflict (I have enough problems without having to create drama) and that is exactly what most daytime talk shows and going on Montel would be. Sorry America, I won’t be launching my talk show career just yet.

Related posts:

1. The case of the double eyelid
2. The case of the double eyelid, part 2
3. Geek Girls, Part 2

Thanks to everyone who wished me a happy birthday on Friday, including my co-workers who called me during my usual work-at-home-Friday to sing “Happy Birthday.” I turned 28 on the 28th!

Unfortunately, I spent Friday evening, into the wee hours, at the ER and then most of the afternoon and into the late evening on Saturday again at the ER. No, it wasn’t a “drinking related emergency” or any such fun– I had been suffering through five days of an excruciating headache and eventually ended up in the ER. The photo here shows the TWO IVs I ended up having put in on Saturday after they failed THREE times to get an IV in, finally got one in (the one in my hand) and then realized they needed to put a larger needle in higher for the contrast scan.

In any case, a total of fourteen hours later, I’m sick of the ER, but finally pain free and everything looks okay. (If you’re going to the ER and you have the chance, bring a book– you’re going to be waiting.) Thanks to the ER staff who, although they couldn’t get my scans to happen faster (who am I to trump a trauma?), were very nice and took care of me well.

Related posts:

1. Status: Sindy is back from Spain and not looking forward to returning to regular life.
2. The world catches on to the life of programmers

phreequeshow

Fascinating and, in many ways, inspiring. (You try to dress yourself, eat or any number of things without any arms or legs.)

Related posts:

1. Another amusing waste of time using the Internet

I spent most of today at the 6th Annual San Jose City College Street Rod & Classic Car Show and among other things, met this cute little Bull Terrier. Interestingly, the dog didn’t respond to calling her name (I think it was “Whetta”) because she’s deaf– factoid for the day: as many as 18% of Bull Terrier puppies are born with less than perfect hearing. Apparently, congenital deafness can appear in any breed, but is particularly prevalent in those with white pigmentation and there is a fair amount of information known about the genetics behind deafness in dogs. Deaf dogs and, in turn, their owners, live difficult lives– they require excessive care, are difficult to train, and because of the disability, are prone to problems such as being easily startled (and as a result biting) or dying from unfortunate accidents (cars, etc.). Some say to euthanise deaf puppies immediately, others say that such dogs can grow up to live happy, healthy lives, and still others say that they can be raised to live happy, healthy lives, but should not be allowed to breed.

My point in all of this: congenital deafness and how to handle these puppies raise interesting ethical questions, especially considering the fact that the problem may be of our own creation– the possible result of breeding habits over a hundred years (originally by cross breeding the now extinct Old English Bulldog and Old English Terrier breeds). On one hand, dogs are dogs– not people– but on the other hand, many pets become like parts of families, loved even more than some of our actual family members. Did you know that when you pet a dog, not only does the dog’s blood pressure drop, but so does yours, relieving stress almost immediately? So, what is our responsibility to these creatures?

For more: Another photo of the Bull Terrier

I picked this up at the only place I’ve seen it sold (the friendly local gas station down the street) because I heard it’s finally being pulled off the shelf and being redistributed under a new name. Apparently, the FDA considered the energy drink illegal because a) it is being marketed as a “legal alternative” to the illegal street drug (as you can see if you can make out the tag line on the can in the photo) and b) the company claims that it treats or cures disease. When I last checked the website (a few weeks ago, before they pulled the product from the shelves), there were actually a few disclaimers related to both of the above statements– that the drink doesn’t contain any illegal substances, isn’t really an alternative to any illegal substances (and who cares if it really is– is that really illegal?), and doesn’t treat or cure disease, the last point most energy drink marketing materials point out for themselves.

In any case, being a good sport, Redux, the company behind the energy drink, is rebranding the drink with the new name “Censored.” Ha!

If anyone remembers, Cocaine got some attention a while back from a spot on The Daily Show because of the name controversy (if anybody knows where I can get a clip of the spot, please let me know). In the end, it seemed like the worst thing about the drink wasn’t the name or the marketing message, but the taste itself. And after having tried it today, I can say it does taste pretty bad– it tastes like some combination of overly sweet energy drink and cough syrup and goes down with a frightening burning sensation that is probably similar to the way real cocaine burns away your sinus cavities. Yum.

Of course, all this ridiculous hype fails to mention how the original Coca-Cola formula contained stimulants from coca leaves because the original recipe was a cocawine, a mixture of wine and cocaine. How’s that for ya?

Read: Banned ‘Cocaine’ energy drink re-emerges as ‘Censored’

Related posts:

1. Go Girl

Today’s energy delivery system. The name and packaging a little cheesy? Yes, but both sugar free and a portion of the proceeds are donated to breast cancer research. Go girl indeed.

Go to: the Go Girl Sugar Free Energy Drink website.
Read: an old post about breasts and the special relationship women have with theirs.

Related posts:

1. Queer and fag hag eye for the straight girl
2. All the small things
3. Breasts

http://tell-someone.com/

Of course, it most certainly has to do with the first HPV vaccines becoming recommended for young girls, also from Merck. Do you realize what this is? It’s the first vaccine to prevent cancer!

Related posts:

1. HPV

Fact: HPV stands for Human papillomavirus, a member of a group of viruses that can cause changes in cells leading to abnormal cell growth. More than 100 strains have been identified; about 30 can be transmitted sexually. Of those transmitted sexually, some can cause visible genital warts and others can cause cervical cancer.

Fact: HPV is the most sexually transmitted infection among sexually active young people. Approximately 20 million people are infected with HPV and about 6.2 million Americans get a new genital HPV infection each year. At least 50 percent of sexually active men and women acquire a genital HPV infection at some point in their lives. For women, that percentage rises to 80 percent by age 50.

Fact: approximately 10 of the 30 types of genital HPV types can lead to the development of cervical cancer. Cervical HPV infection becomes undetectable for most women (90 percent) within two years, but persistent infection with these high-risk types of HPV is the main risk factor for cervical cancer. Cervical cancer is the only cancer where 100 percent of cases are caused by a virus.

Fact: most people with HPV do not know they are infected. Aside from those strains that cause genital warts, HPV infections usually cause no visible symptoms. The virus lives in the skin or mucous membranes and it is usually spread through genital contact. Because there are no symptoms and most people do not know they are infected, most people do not know they are spreading the virus, especially since HPV infection can occur in both male and female genital areas whether or not they are protected by a latex condom.

Fact: for women, annual Pap tests are the key to early detection and treatment. Pap tests and, if necessary, colposcopy are used to detect and treat pre-cancerous and cancerous cells, preventing them from developing into life-threatening cervical cancer. Most women who develop invasive cervical cancer have not had regular cervical screening.

Fact: for men, aside from strains that cause genital warts, for the most part, HPV does not pose the same types of health risks that it poses for women. HPV has been linked to penile and anal cancers in men, but these are extremely rare, especially in men with healthy immune systems. However, men should be aware of HPV because of their role in transmitting the virus to their female sexual partners and the greater health risk it does pose to those partners.

That’s right– because at the end of the day, whatever the difference in health risks, men and women, among other combinations, come together to be sexual partners and any type of partnership, however fleeting, involves shared responsibility. Realistically, I don’t expect everyone to get tested constantly and, if found to test positive for HPV at some point, eliminate all genital contact until your body gets rid of it on its own (since eliminating all genital contact is the only way to prevent the spread of the virus and there is no “cure” for HPV infection). However, to all the men out there, even if it won’t make your dick fall off, please at least be aware of HPV. Certainly, you should be aware of HPV since some strains cause genital warts. For the other strains, especially those connected to cervical cancer, you’re lucky in that you’re just as responsible for transmitting it, but you won’t get sick from it– the least you can do is if your girlfriend or your wife ever comes home from the gynecologist and tells you that she’s tested positive for HPV, you’ll know what she’s talking about and what might be ahead.

For more info:

• HPV – STD Information from CDC
• Wikipedia entry on HPV

Related posts:

1. 4 things that make a good manicurist
2. Well delivered apology = good customer service
3. When good computers go bad

Apparently, there are many more Web sites and email forwards devoted to this topic. Among the large number of rumors surrounding canola oil is that Canola was genetically engineered in Canada and the FDA in the US was paid off to release Canola oil as “safe.” The theory is that it takes over 10 years for symptoms to develop, but Canola oil is responsible for a host of serious medical problems, including blindness, heart disease, and lung cancer. They say Canola oil is a trans fatty acid (“trans fat”), a “bad” fat that has been linked to diseases like artherosclerosis and heart disease. Some also claim that Canola oil is used to make mustard gas.

Right.

The truth is that Canola was originally bred in Canada, but it is simply the cultivar of the rapeseed plant, which belongs to the same familiy of plants as mustard and cabbage. Because of high levels of the organic compounds that produce a mustard flavor, Canola oil was not considered palatable. Additionally, while it was intially linked to heart disease in laboratory rats, it was later discovered that the animals showed the same symptoms when fed similar amounts of other fats. That is, the rats got sick because they were fed a lot of fat, not because Canola oil itself is some type of poison. In the end, Canola was able to be bred to reduce the mustard flavor and the concentration of erucic acid (a fatty acid that is thought to be connected to heart disease), making Canola oil palatable. Moreover, Canola oil does NOT contain any trans fats and is in fact a “healthy” oil, containing unsaturated fatty acids (the “good” fats) that our bodies need, but cannot produce on their own.

So, Canola oil is our friend and those that perpetuate such a horrible and ridiculous urban legend are most certainly our foes.

Related posts:

1. World AIDS Day

Related posts:

1. The case of the double eyelid
2. Books, Part 2

In my weeks of illness and lack of sleep lately, I’ve noticed that my eyes have been doing some weird things– specifically, one or sometimes both of them will develop a “double eyelid.” It’s not really consistent and it will stay sometimes for a few hours or a few days and it will switch between eyes, but it’s definitely weird.

If you don’t know what I’m talking about, I’m talking about the reduced prominence of the Epicanthal fold, the fold of skin that covers the inner corner of the eye, as well as development of an eyelid crease, both of which make Asian people (among others) have “slanted” eyes (although the palpebral slant– the angle of the eye itself– is yet another separate factor or trait). I’ve had this on and off thing as far as I can remember, but it’s never stayed around as long as it has lately. I’ve kind of grown to expect it considering my dad actually only has the fold in one eye and it’s always been like that. Strange, no?

When I was younger, I, like many Asian women and probably men too, wished that I had a double eyelid to make my eyes bigger– that is, look more “American.” You know, basically more “white.” I remember my first little boyfriend in eigth grade (who was as white as they came) pointed out once how he was fascinated by my almond shaped eyes. Can you imagine? You just moved to a new school and you’re one of the handful of Asian students in the whole school and this is what your first boyfriend says to you? And for the longest time, half jokingly, half serious , everytime my brother and I would pose for a picture, we would say, “open your eyes as wide you can!” to avoid looking chinky in photographs. If you ever take a look at our family photographs, you’ll see we’ve taken a lot of photos with our sunglasses on.

It’s a huge complex that Asian people have. And that’s why so many Asian people, mostly women, have gotten Asian blepharoplasty– plastic surgery to create the crease in the eyelid. Isn’t that horrible? How desperately we’re trying to look more “American?” I suppose its the same as someone getting a nose job or liposuction to fit into some idealized American standard of beauty. But unnecessary plastic surgery (as in anything other than reconstructive surgery) has always made me a little uneasy and certainly so when it’s part of some weird cultural and racial inferiority complex. People will pay something between $3000 and $5000 dollars for the surgery and frankly, a bad one will make you look like a fish. Do they think everyone won’t notice when it’s done? With liposuction, it’s plausible that you actually lost the weight.

And somewhere in the time that blepharoplasty became increasingly popular is when I finally accepted, even among some Asian teens I knew that were way too young to be getting any type of plastic surgery, that this is the way my eyes look and this is the way I look. I’m Korean, I’m Asian, and nothing I will do will change that, so why obsess? And of course, years later now when I least expect it, I’ve started to develop some phantom double eyelid that passes unexpected in and out of my life. Well, at least I saved myself a few thousand dollars and maybe putting on eye makeup will get a lot easier.

But no. Or rather, sort of. When I asked the pharmacist why there was a new formula, it was basically because it’s harder for people to make methamphetamine (“meth”) from it. If you haven’t noticed in some drugstores now, if you want to buy a nasal decongestant, you are either limited to a certain number at a time and/or you have to ask for it from behind the counter because meth addicts have been either buying up or stealing pseudoephedrine products to make meth. I knew that this was possible, but it’s interesting to see that homemade meth has become so popular (check out this Boing Boing post about crystal meth manufacturing being demonstrated at a high school) and it’s become such a problem nowadays that these types of actions have been taken. It’s not exactly news, but meth has seriously become today’s drug of choice.

For more info on meth, take a look at the Wikipedia page on Meth.

Related posts:

1. LIVESTRONG Fashion

The religious community is always at the forefront of these battles against euthanasia, but shouldn’t they be the least afraid of death? That after having lived a good life, after having exhausted what medical technology has to offer, after having hoped for a miracle, when it’s clear that it’s the end, shouldn’t those in the religious community be the most ready to face death, to move on to the next life, the better life? I know that I have been experiencing somewhat of a crisis of faith since high school, but I still believe in God, a God that is kind and merciful and wants to do good things and make the right choices when we can. And I always find it hard to believe that if God has given us so much human ingenuity, talent, intellect and even opportunity to do some of the great things medicine can do to save lives, why wouldn’t he give us the power to ease suffering and facilitate death when necessary?

To be honest, for me, if I’m in a persistent vegitative state for an extremely long period of time, especially if the only thing I can feel is pain, please just let me go because I can’t imagine wanting to be kept alive on a respirator or with a feeding tube for 15, 20 years, silently waiting for the next infection, the next stroke, for my bones to deteriorate, my muscles to atrophy. Let’s say Terry Schiavo really did have basic thoughts and emotions– what would they be? Was she glad that they went all the way to Congress with the fight to keep her alive? Or was she pained by constantly having her sickly image shown broadcast, non-stop, all over television and the Internet? Or was she pained by having to watch her parents struggle and mourn her condition day in and day out? Was she wishing her parents would let her go in peace and if not an afterlife, at least relief from this life?

There are a lot of people who want to give definitive answers to these questions, but to be honest, I don’t really know either. I know what I would want to happen if it were me and I’ll take the necessary steps to make sure my wishes will be known and followed. What other people choose to do is their choice and each unto him and although the law is clear, I don’t know any better than the next person whether Michael Schiavo or the Schindlers were in the right. My only issue with everything is how we have made such a circus out of the suffering of this poor woman. That Congress convenes to vote over the fate of one women who has been in a persistent vegetative state for 15 years while more and more American lives are being lost overseas is unbelievable to me. And even in her death, she is granted little peace or dignity as the feud continues over her cremation, her autopsy, and her funeral.

And while the Pope was not kept alive for over a decade through medical devices, certainly we could have done more to give him some dignity in his last days? As local news broadcasts gave regular updates on the Pope’s health, just skimming the surface of being called “Pope Watch,” I kept wondering why we seem to revel in his suffering. I’m not saying we enjoyed his suffering, that we wanted his suffering, but what is wrong with us that we peer in with such a twisted, morbid curiosity, like watching a car accident on the side of the road? Despite all of the Catholic Church’s problems, no one can deny the great works the Pope and the Church have been able to do. They go places no one wants to go and they do work that no one else wants to do. So, why couldn’t we give him some respect during his last days, to die in more peace and more dignity than we did? What did we think we would accomplish by watching his every failing breath? The greatest tribute we could have given the Pope would have been to follow his humanitarian example and devote even a portion of our days to helping the suffering of others. We fixate on the suffering of the famous, whether celebrity or religious or political leader, but we fail to acknowledge the suffering of the millions around the world who we can help if only we were to look at them with the same interest. Perhaps the greatest lesson we can learn from having watched Terry Schiavo and the Pope’s last days broadcast on television, day in and day out, is that while they may not have been able to be helped during their last days, maybe there are others we could help and the greatest tribute to the sanctity of human life is to value our own days here as an opportunity to make the most of them by devoting them to promoting life and the quality of life for those in need.

Now, every asshole I’ve told that I got sick after donating blood has been saying, “Well, what did you expect?!” They throw up their arms and look at me like I’m crazy to have expected to give blood and not feel like shit for the past three days. Those who don’t donate blood regularly, they try to attribute a direct causal relationship. Well, I’ve been giving blood regularly for the past five or six years and this is the first time anything remotely bad has happened. And before I donated, the medical assistant noted that my temperature was a little high (but still within the acceptable range for donating) and my pulse was a little high. These are traditionally signs of some infection or dehydration, but since I felt fine, we went ahead with the donation. Unfortunately, for the past three days, my pulse has been racing, my blood pressure has been high, my head has been throbbing, and I’ve barely been able to keep anything down (I am a new fan of Pedialyte freezer pops). So, obviously, I was already sick when I walked into the blood center and donating exacerbated any preexisting condition, but it certainly didn’t cause the last three days of hell I’ve been going through.

In the end, I ended up getting more blood drawn to get some bloodwork done (I’ve got the needle marks in both arms to prove it) and although not conclusive, it looks like I was legitimately sick in some way. (And appropriately, they pulled the blood I donated in the end.) I’ve been on medication for the past three days and was basically sleeping on and off all day yesterday because of the medication and attempt to sleep off the sheer pain and nausea. I’m finally feeling better now, although I’m taking it slowly. I’m behind in so many ways and I feel like I’ve lost the past three days in a blurry, drug-filled haze. To be sure though, this doesn’t discourage me from donating blood in the future– and I hope it doesn’t discourage anyone else– because I know how important donating blood can be, especially for a universal donor like myself. I’ll just make sure that if I’ve got even the smallest sign of not being 100%, I’ll wait to donate another day.

Related posts:

1. Save a life. Give blood.

As scary as a root canal sounds, it’s actually not that bad. Maybe it was because we caught this very early on (the x-ray didn’t even show anything wrong really), but the whole thing was over in like 20 minutes. I went in, the endodontist tapped around my tooth again and then before I knew it, he was breaking out the novacaine. You think he would have eased me into it, but 20 minutes (and $1200) later, I was off on my way home. I’ll admit that when I was younger, I didn’t really take care of my teeth and have had my fair share of cavities and subsequent fillings, so I still have this associated nervousness with dental procedures. But with all the cool things they have now– including the little cotton swab to apply topical anesthetic so you don’t even feel the needle go in– it’s all become a lot less painful. Modern medicine! (Granted that whole side of my mouth is sore now and it hurts to bite down on that side, but still.)

Weirdly enough though, I had to bring my x-ray along with my referral to the endodontist’s office. Between the dentist appointment and endodontist appointment, I stopped into work and we spent a few minutes peering at the x-ray with the help of my high-powered desk lamp, trying to make sense of it. And as part of my photo archiving project, I had this strange desire to scan it in and preserve it for all time. What is it about pictures of our insides that fascinate us so much?

Related posts:

1. Bridging the Digital Divide: right intentions, wrong solution

In the mid-nineties, it was the red AIDS ribbon. A few years ago, it was the pink pony from Polo (for breast cancer care and prevention). I guess right now, the fashion accessory for the fight against life-threatening diseases is the LIVESTRONG bracelet. If there’s one thing celebrities are really good at, it’s certainly starting a fashion trend and this one at least helps a good cause.

Related posts:

1. Live Strong
2. Queer and fag hag eye for the straight girl

Related posts:

1. AIDS Walk SF 2004: Change the Course of the Epidemic
2. Superheroes and AIDS

Get your LIVESTRONG wristband and other products here. (Or in participating stores: Macy’s, Nordstrom, Foot Locker, Finish Line, Dick’s Sporting Goods, and all Nike Town stores.)

My mom and my aunt are both breast cancer survivors!

Related posts:

1. AIDS Walk SF 2004: Change the Course of the Epidemic

Every time I donate blood, I think about how far we’ve come in terms of all different kinds of technology, but we still rely on the general goodwill of people to provide life-saving blood. Amazing! And in this day and age, I’m sure finding healthy donors is only getting harder. Consider how many people get nervous around needles or simply don’t want to give up their time and energy in the first place. And then current regulations keep a lot of people from donating even if they want to– like if you’ve ever even seen Africa on a map or heard of a man having sex with another man, you’re SOL. Frankly, I think many of those regulations are a little over the top, but even with those restrictions, we still manage to provide life-saving blood products to over four million Americans each year. Amazing!

And as far as I can tell, there’s no all-encompassing organization that manages the nation’s blood supply. Yes, the blood supply is certainly highly regulated at various levels, but there’s no end-all be-all national blood center. Just community blood centers that are networked together through a few large national blood suppliers. We rely on the work of good people all around the country. And the US blood supply is one of the safest in the world. Incredible!

Save a life. Give blood. Find a blood center near you: America’s Blood Centers.

I thought about it for about five minutes, including the time I took browsing through the pile of catalogues that are in every box of checks. And I’m going to stick with the same ones. Aside from it just being easier for me and the bank since I’m just ordering more of the same, eight percent of the proceeds also go to The Susan H. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation. In America, a woman dies of breast cancer every twelve minutes. And how many more suffer through surgery, treatment, and therapy and even then, even once you have been deemed free and clear, fear that it might return?

There’s lots more to do, but maybe this little thing with my checks can provide a little bit of help. Of course, this depends on how much they’re actually going to charge me for the checks. With the way banks are charging now, it might be just cheaper to buy checks from somewhere else and just send the Foundation one of them.

Related posts:

1. Two things
2. Things that scare me: #4032
3. Things I learned at MacWorld

AIDS Walk SF helps raise money to support the San Francisco AIDS Foundation and many other San Francisco Bay Area AIDS service organizations. Founded in 1982 and one of the oldest AIDS service organizations in the country, SFAF works not just to educate, but to provide comprehensive services for those living with HIV/AIDS and to aggressively pursue public policy that will address the growing epidemic at both the federal and state levels. Last year, AIDS Walk SF raised over three million dollars to support SFAF and 36 other organizations.

With new drug cocktail treatments, AIDS may feel like it has become a “manageable” disease, but in 2003, the rate of HIV infection in the United States actually went up and of an estimated 900,000 people living with HIV in the US, one-third of them do not even know they are infected. And yet, we grow complacent.

And when we look at the picture worldwide, the picture is even bleaker. Ninety-five percent of people who are infected with HIV live in developing companies where antiretroviral therapy is not as accessible. Approximately half of the people who become infected with HIV are infected before they turn 25 and will die before they turn 35. By the end of 2001, AIDS had left behind a cumulative total of 14 million orphans. And yet, we grow complacent.

Last year, my friends and co-workers helped me raise over $600 in donations. Please join me again this year to help change the course of the epidemic. Walk. Donate. Spread the word. After over twenty years since the first cases of the disease among gay men in California and New York, so many of us have been affected by the disease in one way or another. How many of us know at least one person who is living with HIV/AIDS? How many of us have lost a loved one to this epidemic? Who do you walk for?

To participate:

• Register to walk
• Donate – Sponsor me!
• Make a general donation to AIDS Walk SF

If you’re a Stanford community member (faculty, staff, students, and alumni):

• Join the Stanford team
• Visit aidswalk.stanford.edu
• Make a Stanford team donation

And in some ways, breasts really are silly. In this modern day of baby formula and bottles and plastic nipples, breasts are, for the most part, non-essential and most of the time, non-functional. If anything, society places an unwarranted value on breast size and beauty, encouraging both men and women to judge women (and the men they are associated with) by them and women to place their own self-esteem in them. They are, at the end of the day, purely cosmetic and yet, a woman’s breasts hold an incredible place in her definition of who she is and how she carries herself, whether consciously or subconsciously. And perhaps this is why the threat of breast cancer haunts us. While there are countless life-threatening diseases that affect both men and women, including breast cancer, the effect of breast cancer on women is such a peculiar phenomenon because of the special relationship women have with their own breasts. In America, a woman dies of breast cancer every twelve minutes– a tragedy that we must work and fight against because everyday, more and more women experience the shock of finding that first lump or the anxiety of having a biopsy or the pain of hearing an unfortunate diagnosis. Everyday, how many women are faced with the loss of one or both of their breasts?

Men have no real counterpart through which they may understand this phenomenon– this phenomenon of a cosmetic loss that can be so life-changing. Yes, men can and do contract breast cancer as well, but even after a mastectomy, the change is not nearly as pronounced as for women and a man’s breasts do not hold nearly as dear a place for a man as they do for women. And so, once again, we are reminded that men and women are equal, but still different.

Outside of the threat to our actual lives, when we are faced with breast cancer and the prospect of losing one or both breasts, we are faced with a greater loss than just to our physical appearance. Even if a woman was to opt for reconstructive surgery after a mastectomy and thus, not be faced with a significant change in physical appearance, the loss of one or both breasts is a deeply personal and psychologically traumatizing experience. It is the loss of a part of ourselves that has shaped how others have looked at us and how we have looked at ourselves and how we have defined ourselves, even if it is just to say that my body looks like this and this is how my body moves and this is how I move in my body and when you look at me, you see this. Suddenly, we are different and it doesn’t not affect us in the same way that losing a functional part of us would– if we were to lose a limb or a sense– but it does affect us deeply and truly.

Holiday Giving 2003

If this is successful (hopefully), I’ll pick a new “cause” (I hate calling it that) every year.

Of course, some, including me, say that now I have an unhealthy obsession with taking care of my nails.

Well, I owe everything to my manicurist– here are 4 essential things that make a good manicurist:

1. Hygiene & cleanliness. All implements should be clean and constantly sanitized. Same goes for the manicurist. If she sneezes, coughs, etc., she should be washing her hands or using hand sanitizer. There are a million places on your hands and feet where germs can enter, especially when removing skin and cuticle material. This is especially important for diabetics.
2. Attention to detail. There’s a reason why they have those magnifying lamps. It may seem obsessive, but it drives me crazy if there is the slighest imperfection in the nailbed or shape of the nail (crooked, uneven, etc.). It becomes especially problematic after putting on polish and letting it dry– those imperfections will be even more noticeable.
3. Health conscious. Well, at least when it comes to your skin and nails. Your manicurist should be looking out for you and making sure that not only do your nails look good, but that they also stay healthy. She should be making sure your cuticles aren’t drying out and that ingrown nails are taken care of. If your nail splits, she should be helping it stay clean and dry so it can heal– otherwise, fungus or infection can develop. If you have artificial nails, you should make sure your manicurist isn’t filing the nailbed too much. She will have to file it a little bit when putting on your full set and then each time she does a fill so that the artificial nail product has a slightly rough surface to bond to, but otherwise, your manicurist should be trying to keep your nailbed in tact. Your nailbed shouldn’t be flat and it shouldn’t hurt when filed. And your manicurist should be applying cuticle oil (and encouraging you too as well) to keep your cuticles moisturized without softening the nail.
4. Confidante. Your manicure/pedicure time should be the opportunity to relax, whether that means you just close your eyes and let your manicurist do all the work or you talk about all the good and bad things going on in your life.

Current nail color: OPI‘s Route Beer Float.

Related posts:

1. Two things
2. Things that scare me: #4032