Northwest Angle

My dad lives in the very way north of Minnesota, only a few miles from the Canadian Border crossing at Warroad. 

A short drive from there (as long as you have your passport), is the very northernmost part of the lower 48 states, the Angle Inlet aka the Northwest Angle. There was a cartographer's mistake like a million years ago when they were drawing the shape of the USA and so this tiny section, obviously originally intended to be "in Canada" instead was assigned "to Minnesota" and I'm glad too because it makes Minnesota look really cute at the top. But to get there you pretty much have to drive into Canada and then back into Minnesota - because ain't nobody got time to drive all the way there in a boat. 

Anyway, I had never been there. And on a 2017 trip to my parents' place, I fully planned to visit, (uninteresting detail to follow) but forgot my passport. So I made Zach FedEx it to me.

Crossing the border at Warroad is slightly confusing - there is a great big beautiful brand new giant building on the left hand side of the road and a big arrow and so I got confused and went in there, but sort of figured out as I was walking in the door that I was at the USA customs, and not the Canada customs and so in typical Kady style, I "HAHAHAHAHAHAAA THIS IS US CUSTOMS RIGHT? NOT CANADA? HAHAHAHAHAHAH OOPS can I use your bathroom?"

Then you drive up like you're going to Winnipeg, but take a hard right at a gas station that sells strange religious fiction novels and potato chips in flavors we don't have in the United States, for CANADIAN DOLLARS. 

And then you drive and drive and drive and drive until pretty soon it gets kind of scary because nobody's around and you're on a gravel road for about 30 miles but it takes a least an hour and then suddenly your car's antiquated map system indicates you're approaching the border again, this time back into Minnesota: 

And that's basically it - that's the "border". Just a blue sign saying: "WELCOME TO THE UNITED STATES, YOU ARE ENTERING ANGLE INLET, MINNESOTA."

From there it's an honor system thing. You're required by law to go to the "customs building", which  is basically just a videophone where you can either press "PUSH TO CALL [American flag]" or "PUSH TO CALL [Canadian flag]". 

I'm serious.

 

And then, you're in the Northwest Angle. It's a little town where a lot of people live (most of the license plates read North Dakota, interestingly enough.)

I drove around for a while and then found a little bar and had some Molson Canadian (obviously), chatted up the Native kid bartender, learned all about how he and his siblings attended Minnesota's only remaining one room schoolhouse, and about how, when the teacher mentioned in the article I just linked to retired for a time (or moved away I can't remember), they all had to ride a bus every day back and forth 75 miles to Warroad. 

Shiny black rocks along the shore

Minnesota's only remaining Public One-Room Schoolhouse

Mensa Moment

More evidence of my genius stupidity, in video format for your enjoyment:

The Evolution of an Appendectomy, Vol. 10

I am sure that all twelve of you will be happy to know that I haven't quite finished the story of my appendectomy in June. 

I had my surgery about noon on a Friday and was released that Sunday. Beata drove me home, stocked my kitchen with a weeks' worth of soups and easily digestible foods (I think I've already explained how I have the best friends ever) and I got about the business of healing up. The hospital gave me 30 Percoset pills with instructions to take two every four hours. Now if you've ever met a Hexum, you'll know that in addition to never going to the doctor, we also aren't very good at taking any sort of medications. My mom had the same bottle of Aspirin in the cupboard for my entire childhood and it's still there today. You don't want to run out because somebody selfishly used them! You save those for emergencies only. What if somebody really needs one someday? This is why I initially refused the morphine they offered me when we rocked up to the Urgent Care in Moston, Wisconsin. I figured they should save that stuff for somebody in worse shape.

So tough, and so afraid of running out, in the days after my release from the hospital I was only taking about one Percoset every six hours. If taken as directed they would only last three days for crying out loud! I had to make them last!

Anyway, Wednesday night, I woke up and couldn't breathe because of the pain in my abdomen when I expanded my lungs. I sat up in bed and breathed shallow, short breaths and tried to relax. But I couldn't relax because I was panicking about not being able to breathe. I took a Percoset. About 45 minutes of sitting up in bed, taking eight hundred million short quick shallow breaths, the pain subsided and I fell asleep. But I slept until 9 and so that was WAY too long to go without a pain pill. The following morning I was in so much pain even my toughness didn't get me through it. I called my sister Kasey crying and she told me she was coming to take me to Urgent Care. I was in no mood to go and sit in an Urgent Care, but Kasey convinced me that's what they were for. I thought maybe if I went they would give me more Percoset. How can they cut out your guts and then expect you to go home with only 30 pills??? I don't GET IT!!

The internet the nearby clinic was open at noon. After we got there the woman told me they actually didn't open until 5pm. The Urgent Care part was only evening hours. I asked if any of the Doctors had appointments available in the clinic. No, but I could drive up to Como, they open at one o'clock. We decided to get lunch and then go to Como. After a series of incredible mishaps, we didn't get lunch and started running out of time. I wanted to get to Como at 12:30 to be first in line (the lady recommended we do that). 

So we did.

And then my hair got stuck to the wall.

And then we waited after they took my blood for hours and hours for the results, which were normal of course, and basically the only result of the whole visit to Urgent Care was that the Doctor yelled at me for not taking my medication AS DIRECTED. I told him I didn't want to run out! He said, take it as directed and you won't need anymore after you run out. He told me to set an alarm for every four hours even when I slept, and wake up and take a pill. He said, if I wanted, I could buy a bottle of Tylenol and take one Percoset with one Tylenol. This would double the pain medication without doubling the narcotic which is what was making me feel so loopy. 

He also started looking through my records and saw that I had been prescribed Atavan. He goes, "it says here you have a fear of the unknown?" I go, "well, I guess we all do? But actually I got the prescription in 2009 because I was about to travel the world and I'm terrified of take-offs and landings on a plane. Maybe can you put fear of flying?" "Oh OK I'll update that" he said. And then he saw that I had been prescribed some medicine for the herpes on my nose. He said he was going to change that too because he didn't like how it said 'on the nose' and I didn't say this, but I kind of like how it said that because then it could set me apart from the other people who get herpes in other places. What I did say was, "Hey can you give me some more of that, I feel a little one coming on right now". And he said "Sure".

...on THE NOSE, people. THE NOSE

 

He sent that prescription to the Pharmacy at the clinic and after five hours, and a very crabby me because I accomplished NOTHING in this visit except to get this stupid herpes-nose pill which doesn't really work anyway, oh and learn that my white blood cell count was normal, so nothing weird was going on internally, oh and also he told me to take my Percoset more often and he gave me the tip about taking one with a Tylenol (which I liked because as a former poor kid I like to make things last by adding another thing to that thing. It's why I put rice in my chili and saltines in my mac & cheese).

We went to the Pharmacy at the clinic but they told me that the prescription was sent to the Walgreen's by my house. I was so crabby by this point, but I didn't want the whole freaking day to be a waste and I did need to get some Tylenol so I made Kasey drive me to the Walgreen's by my house. 

Kasey sat in the car while I went to the Pharmacy and asked for my prescription. After standing in line at the Pharmacy behind everyone and their crazy brother, here's a reenactment of my turn with the Pharmacist:

This guy had no idea about my appendectomy or my Percoset. All he knew was that I needed my Acyclovir. For my unspecified Herpes.

Mensa Moment

A couple of my goodest friends Matt & Laurissa happen to live across the street from me. I've watched their cats (Salvadore and Gala) when they go out of town for a few years now, and I think it was about two years ago that they installed a coded back door lock. So instead of giving me a key these days, they just have me use the code, which is 9976. Just kidding. 

Anyway, ever since this code thing started, I've had just a slight sense of inconvenience because it's really hard to get in their backyard. (...And I mean really the sense of inconvenience is only VERY slight because I totally watch their TV and do all my laundry and basically just clean out the litter, freshen water and food once a day and let the cats sleep in their bed with me and cuddle them and take pictures and put them on Instagram so Laurissa won't miss them so much when she's gone. Also, I should probably clarify that I only slept there when I was homeless.) 

Anyway, it's so hard to get in their backyard!

Allow me to demonstrate, and thank you to L for taking video. This is the first option: 

Re-enactment.

I have yet to get in that way. I'm too short and the latch is too nice and new and even if I could reach it, it doesn't come open for me. Fortunately there's another option nearer to their garage which has a much more broken-in latch. It's pretty rusted out and comes undone easily:

Re-enactment.

My problem is getting it locked again. It's very difficult to get the doors to marry up properly, and once I finally do, the latch is so broken and rusty that it doesn't always stay locked. Also it hurts my back and also I'm putting 150 pounds of pressure on it several times a year and I feel terrified that I'm breaking their fence!

Re-enactment.

Well. Last month, M & L went to Chicago for the weekend and asked me to check in on the cats. I almost asked them to leave me a key because I wasn't looking forward to the whole cat burglar (pun intended) fence operation at all. But I forgot. So, I popped the latch, used the code (8460. Just Kidding), made sure the cats were happy and paid attention to, and also I did my laundry. Then I once again almost broke the poor fence, but I got it locked again.

In between loads, on one particular trip up the basement stairs it dawned on me. There was a third option!

Re-enactment.

What makes the fact that there was a third option at all so upsetting and hilarious at the same time is that I totally knew about it! I have used it ONE MILLION TIMES over the years.

WHAT THE HECK?

I don't know. It was never in the context of watching the cats. It was only if I was walking over to a fire in their backyard and wanted to skip the walking-through-the-house part. Or if I was going between their house and the neighbors on the other side and didn't want to jump that chain-link fence in the meantime.

But for watching the cats? I just always went to the back. For TWO. YEARS.

"I don't want to belong to any club that will accept me as a member."

The Evolution of an Appendectomy, Volume 7

...And then they wheeled me in to surgery and all of the sudden I got very scared because SURGERY but it was too late and then I woke up. I remember feeling like I had just had a very vivid dream about work. And then I was glad I wasn't at work, and "oh yeah. surgery." So I was like "oh man you guys I was dreaming about work" but then I got back on my game, and as per usual I took it upon myself to brighten the days of the post-op staff with a little hilarity and, of course, as is so common with me, the oh-so-typical resultant accolades taking the form of laughter.

"WHERE IS MY SON!? I DEMAND TO SEE MY SON! WHERE. IS. MY. SON?!?!!" I screamed, in as dramatic a movie voice as I could muster.

Nobody laughed. You know I think now, after all this, that Doctors and Nurses and Anesthesiologists are more concerned about things like "white cell counts" and "oxygen levels" and "blood pressure" and "are you alive?" and "how do you feel?" than they are about having a good laugh. I guess that's why they studied the sciences and we all studied the arts. I heard my post-op nurse say to somebody walking by, "this one's a jokester", as if to explain why her patient was embarrassing her.

Oh man this guy next to me would NOT SHUT UP. He was talking about all kinds of stuff. And he was all like mad and being mean to the post-op people. It was so clear to me what he was talking about and it was SO ANNOYING. I couldn't WAIT to tell everybody all of the details of absolutely everything he was complaining about. Here's me later, telling that story (in my favorite Summer-Grimes-filmed-appendectomy-video that never fails to make me LOL):

The Evolution of an Appendectomy, Volume 6

...So maybe I did, and maybe I did not shove a Vicodin pill up my butt somewhere near the border of Wisconsin and Minnesota -- and maybe my butt did and maybe it did not basically grab that Vicodin pill out of my trembling hand and suck it up into oblivion. Maybe I was and maybe I wasn't fascinated by how well my body seemed to accept and in fact welcome it. I'll never tell. Because I'm a lady. Who reveals nothing.

What I will tell you is that Beata drove like a madwoman from Tiny Town Wisconsin to Minneapolis on a straight shot up the I-94 and we made it there in no time. I slept for most of it. My appendix did not burst, thanks goodness and when we peeled into the ER at Abbott Hospital they were primed and ready for us. All credit to the nice folks at the Tiny Town ER, who called ahead and let Abbott know all the details and that I was on my way.

I was admitted immediately into room 12, I believe, but how can one be sure of such minute details when one is under the influence of a Vicodin one may or may not have shoved up their butt?

Everybody at Abbott was great. They agreed with my decision to come back to Minneapolis and almost everybody I spoke with wondered why a relatively young Wisconsin surgeon "didn't do laparoscopic" "appies". The fact that they called it an "appy" made me feel at ease almost immediately. If you know me well you know I like abbreves and especially ones that end in a "y" sound. Also you don't give a pet name to a surgery you're not performing on a daily basis. At least I don't think you do. 

From here things moved pretty quickly and I think basically I just had to sign a bunch of stuff and then my sister Kasey and niece Miyo arrived and Summer's brother Justin and his wife Kassie got there and we all sat around joking while I tried not to think about what was going to happen to me.

One time my gown feel completely off when I tried to get up from my bed to go pee, and the door was open to the whole ER:

OOH, and I always love it when they ask me if I'm married! Rita, the Nurse Anesthesiologist seemed very surprised that nobody loves me and then when I asked her to "find me a good one" she confessed that there weren't that many single people around Abbott. Which is bull crap because Dr. Mumm was pretty adorable and I might have even told him so. I can't remember.

The Evolution of an Appendectomy, Volume 3

...The morphine took about an hour to fully take effect and then I was in much better spirits during my hospital stay. We were told that a CT scan would be the next step in determining whether the gallbladder was in fact causing the pain in my upper abdomen. Summer, Beata and I settled into the idea that our road trip plans were probably pretty much ruined, though we held out a glimmer of hope that maybe the CT scan would reveal nothing was wrong after all (typical whenever I have decided to finally go to a Doctor in my life) and that perhaps we could continue on, albeit delayed. 

I had to drink something so that my insides would glow properly for the CT scan. I don't know if it was Barium or what, but the cup said Barium, and I was on morphine so I went with it:

This nice lady arrived with a wheelchair to deliver me for the CT scan. First class service all the way. Nothing less for this fancy lady: 

At some point however, I began to wonder if I really truly need to be in the hospital...I mean after the morphine takes effect, let me tell ya...and p.s. you know how I initially refused the morphine? Here's a tip I received via text from Summer's RN sister Holland: "Kady. Rule # 1: Never refuse Morphine."

In addition to the Barium or whatever it was they had me drink, they injected me with two very scary looking vials of cloudy liquid, which I was warned would feel immediately warm, and the warm feeling would congregate in my crotch and would feel like I was peeing myself. This turned out to be all 100% true. That is exactly what it felt like, warm and weird and then a burning in my crotch. And a feeling like I was peeing myself. Anyway, other than that it wasn't bad. I'm very claustrophobic and was terrified of the idea of a "CT scan", imagining an MRI tube-like-machine, but this thing was no bigs...more like a big donut than a tube, and never even came near my face.

They immediately uploaded the images to a radiologist in Madison and after two hours, it was determined that my gallbladder looked totally normal. But he or she (I like to imagine it was a she, because this was a BRILLIANT call) didn't like the look of my appendix and ordered up two additional views of my innerds. Back to the wheelchair and back to the first class fancy lady service and back to the CT donut machine. Apparently said appendix had moved up into the upper part of my abdomen (this is rare, but it happens enough that it's called something like "lateralizing" or at least that's what I think I remember them saying) and that's why I didn't feel any pain in my lower right quadrant -- where appendicitis typically presents itself. Dr. Birkenstocks did a couple of push tests and lifted my right leg and exactly where he was pushing and lifting I felt excruciating pain. The new CT views confirmed it. Acute appendicitis it was. Get this though: acute appendicitis caused by an appendicolith, aka fecolith, aka fecalith, which I and the Doctor took to calling a "shit stone", because that's exactly what it is. Look it up.

And then I told the girls, "I KNEW this was gonna be shit-related."

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Move Over Bette Midler, I've Seen Beaches One Million TIMES

Move over Bette Midler!

Literally. Move over. You're in my scene.

Still Got It

The other day I was on my way to meet some friends for happy hour after work. While driving down the freeway, I noticed a gigantic beautiful SUV and the only reason I noticed it at all was because it was the only car on the road that had recently been washed. If you live north of the Mason-Dixon line during January you'll know what I mean - but those of you that don't, most cars look like this:

Anyway, this SUV was clean as a whistle! I accidentally noticed that it's driver was pretty cute too. As I passed it, I yawned. I felt like he was staying right next to me, not letting me fully pass him on purpose and so I looked over. The attractive (bald, but bald-on-purpose-good-looking-Bic-razor-shaved-before-actually-going-bald-bald) business-y man was looking at me! He was trying to get my attention! The exchange went something like this (I tried my best to help you to determine which character I was playing by using some gender-stereotypical props. And a dinner plate for a steering wheel, obviously):

I got nervous and tried to speed up and get away from him a couple of times but he kept on pulling up next to me making the "let's get a drink" motion and "can I call you?" motion and I must say we played quite an adorable game of cat-and-mouse down the freeway but it sort of ended like this:

And then I finally took my exit. And let him and my future happiness and all those bald babies slip right through my fingers. I played it cool, real cool. Like I do.

Of course I was confused because nobody ever hits on me and especially not at 70mph. BUT I have to say I was more than a little flattered.

Probably One of the More Pathetic Stories in my Repertoire

I used to go to therapy. I thought it was great, you know, having somebody really listen to all of the most important issues in the whole world or at least your life and have that person go, "yah, you did the right thing" or "you are so smart and funny" or whatever. (They never really say that.)

So I found this lady and we met before work on several occasions and I would pour out my heart and she would put her hand on her chin and stare intently at me and for a moment I would feel like she was really, really listening and then...

...she'd nod off.

Here's my impression of her. And the first in a new series I like to call "video punchline".

This happened in every single session. I never said a word about it. Which means her therapy clearly didn't work because I was there to "gain confidence" and "speak up for myself".

Is that irony?

"I've never had a therapist ask me to lie down. I have... had a therapist fall asleep on me." ~Kady-isms