The Three-Thousand Dollar Grapefruit (part 3)

This is the part I've been most hesitant to write about: the actual procedure.

On June 14th, I just did what these guys did. I'm still amazed when I read that page, especially by the guy called Roger, who recommends using a vacuum pump.

That still kinda freaks me out. It'll definitely draw the fluid out more quickly than the "gravity drip" approach the other posters (and I) used. I just don't like it. Don't try it at home, kids (obligatory disclaimer).

Overall, it took about 2 hours. I sterilized everything, wore gloves, and barely noticed the needle (the cold pack was a lot colder this time). Taped it in place and waited.

Two hours, drip drip drip.

Two. Freaking. Liters.

Credit to the ultrasound tech (in Part 2)! Her estimate was on the nose.

I'd read enough to expect the reddish-amber serous fluid that a hydrocele fills up with. I wasn't expecting two liters of it. You go down the soft drinks aisle of any store and you're presented with bottles 4 inches in diameter and a foot long! It just doesn't seem possible.

It's not a permanent fix, though. A month later, I drew another pint.


No one seems to know what causes them. But I've got a theory, based on the last couple of months' medical crap I've gone through. Remember that the price tag on all of this came from getting shuffled to the Emergency Room for high blood pressure (280/150).

For the past ten years, I've been aware of my BP running high, typically in the 180/110 range. I've had some occasional swelling of both legs below the knees, had both knees messed up by fluid accumulating in them, and more recently my right elbow "went out" the same way for several days. It makes sense that excess fluid's got to go somewhere (assuming the excess blood pressure interferes with the kidneys' filtering function), so maybe that's what gave me the hydrocele.

My theory was given a boost when I went to the ER again on July 12. They set me up with IV fluids...and damned if I didn't end up with something bigger than a baseball. It grew pretty steadily on its own until it reached its "normal" humiliating size.

Maybe I'll set up an experiment--empty it out for the third time and see how my medication-enforced lower blood pressure affects things.

[Update (Aug. 25, 2012): the lower blood pressure didn't seem to slow things down. I only bothered draining the thing 4 times in total--once each in June, July, and September 2010 and in January 2011. Each time, it came back. Now I'm just waiting for the Medicaid doctor to get his stuff together so I can get a urology appointment to get this damn thing dealt with once and for all.]

The Three-Thousand Dollar Grapefruit (part 2)

Yup, I chickened out (read Part 1), unable to move that needle, unable to rid myself of the most humiliating thing my body could have done.

Nothing for it but to call a urologist, set up an appointment. The visit alone would cost $150.00. I was willing to pay it at that point--I just wanted the damn hydrocele GONE. I set up a May 20th appointment.

Montage: Wake up on the 20th, shower, breakfast, drive to the urology center, sign in, fill out 15 pages of name, address, phone numbers, medical history, allergies, sit and wait, my name is called, I give a urine sample and sit in the exam room.

Nurse comes in to check my blood pressure. Hand-held electronic all-in-one tester, pretty cool, but holy crap is the cuff supposed to be so tight that my hand goes numb?

Nurse looks confused. Tries it again. My fingers tingle and she looks confused again, goes to get a different machine. It does the same thing, my fingers tingle, she looks confused, and now she's gone looking for a regular cuff & bulb. I already know I've got high blood pressure, but she can't look confused now that three different tests show something like 290/150.

Holy crap.

The doctor comes in shortly, has me drop my pants, looks the grapefruit over, tells me there's about a liter of fluid there, asks why I waited so long, and tells me to get my ass to the ER to have the BP looked at. He calls for an ultrasound of the grapefruit while I'm there. I'm out the door.

Cost so far: $150.00.

Montage: Drive to ER, park, walk a lap around the Emergency department until I find the admissions desk...another blood pressure test, a thermometer...ushered to a small exam room, drop the pants, show off the grapefruit, why'd you let it get like that, no money, no insurance, left it alone because it wasn't a problem until now, follow me...another exam room...put on this backless robe and hop on the bed...it's quiet, so I whip out the current "Dresden Files" and read...family arrives, encumbering me with company...nurses arrive in a swarm, poking, prodding, and now I'm wired to an EKG machine, bleeding into sample vials, and talking to another doctor, answering all the standard questions with standard answers.

I'm wheeled to the Radiology department and the first woman to touch my junk since 1996 works her ultrasound machine, confirming that I've got a hydrocele, there's no cancer, and there's no communication between the hydrocele and my abdomen: no hernia. She found both testes, showed me that there was good blood flow in both, though the right one was being crowded by that freaking fluid reservoir dangling there. She even used the machine to estimate that I was toting about 2 liters of fluid therein.

TWO freaking liters?

Back to my exam room. I'm told that I need to produce another urine sample...or they're going to put in a catheter. I order everyone out and do it.

Montage: Doc shows up, writes a scrip for BP meds...a social worker for the billing department comes in, talks about the paperwork she's about to give me...the nurses return and unplug me from the EKG, pull the IV out of the back of my hand...clothes back on, gather my stuff, out the door.

The prescription was 4 bucks. I wish that were the most expensive item.

I got the bills a few days later:

Doctor: $314.00
Ultrasound tech: $133.00

ER:
Venipuncture...$52.00
ER visit "high severity"...936.00
UA automated w/micro...$72.00
Metabolic Panel total CA...$38.00
CBC w platelet auto diff...$85.00
Vascular study limited...$649.00
US exam scrotum...$461.00

$2,293.00

Twenty. Three Hundred. Bucks. Add in the doctor's and tech's fees, and it's $2740.00.

Heh. Where is the money going to come from? No insurance, no health plan, and I make at best $15k per year. I put in for the charity/financial help plan from the social worker, but I've yet to hear anything out of them, even after a few calls. I've already paid the two least expensive fees--the doc and tech.

I did a follow-up to the urologist a few weeks later. Another $150.00, so now we're looking at $3,000 in total costs from the medical folks...with nothing to show for it. The urologist wanted to do surgery, was all set to make the appointment, but I reminded him that there's no money there. He set me up with a finance counselor; she gave me a photocopy of a brochure, I did the Google hunt, and I quickly found that I don't qualify for Medicaid or Medicare. I went looking for medical insurance plans.

Heh.

The plan I could afford had a $10,000 deductible. The one I wanted had a $500 deductible, but would eat one paycheck a month.

Okay, screw that.

I dug around, looked at Blue Cross/Blue Shield, didn't even bother to fill out the qualifying survey. By that point, I just didn't care anymore. Tired of the crap. Time to go back to the do-it-myself approach!

The Three-Thousand Dollar Grapefruit (part 1)

Imagine, if you will, carrying a good-sized grapefruit around all day, all night. It's there when you sleep, when you wake, when you use the restroom.

Did I mention that it's in your scrotum? Think that through. Imagine for most of a year having no idea what the hell this thing is or what caused it, but pretty much overnight your pants don't fit.

Add to this a lack of medical insurance and no money at hand to pay for an ER trip.

That was me in July of 2009. I did a bit of Google searching, sorting the crappy fake-med "information" out from the real thing, and quickly eliminated cancer as a possible cause. It wasn't a hernia. It took several tries to get the right combination of words in a search, but once I figured out that it was fluid that had collected in there, the answer popped up quickly in a search: hydrocele testis. Yeah, I know I should have gone to a doctor, and like that, but that lack of money was a bigger worry than a painless thingie. I don't have any credit cards. Never have. I live entirely within my means, or I do without.

I took to wearing long shirts. Once it got cold enough, I wore a jacket. I tended to avoid public places when I could. All the while, I was wondering how I was going to get rid of the damn thing.

Sometime in April 2010, while hunting for urologists and trying to find out how much surgery was going to cost, I found sites like this one, where several guys described a do-it-yourself approach using a #20 gauge needle and some surgical tubing. Simple!

But I freaking hate needles.

Surgery's a 30-minute outpatient thing, 2 weeks of recovery...easily a couple thousand bucks for hospital time, doctor fee, anesthesiologist, and whatever else. Did I mention the money thing?

The do-it-yourself approach...under twenty bucks.

I read that forum a few times, and it seemed really straightforward, except for the damn needle. Seems crazy, sitting here re-reading the forum and my own post, here--my little 'inner dialogue' voice shouts, "Are you INSANE?! Go to a freaking hospital! Find a doctor! You're asking for an infection!"

Screw it, I thought. I'll do it myself.

Montage: It's May 15th. Hopping into car, driving, shopping, finding the supplies, drive home.

The next morning (May 16th), I had everything set: needle, tubing, 2-quart bottle, a cold-pack (anesthetic--you put an ice cube or whatever on the spot to be poked, get it numb, and you're done), rubbing alcohol.

I could describe the process in a montage...but there's no need.

Goddamn needles.

A #20 gauge, half-inch needle doesn't look like much until you're sitting there about to jab it into your body.

Goddamn needles.

I sat there, shining steel a millimeter away from The Grapefruit. I sat there long enough that the cold pack was a lukewarm pack and I could feel the goddamn needle.

I chickened out.

Out of gas...again?! (with Product Placement!)

This time it wasn't me. A few days back, as I was walking over to the car, I smelled gas. One quick look under it showed me a steady petroleum rain falling to the gravel and sand under the car.

Well, hell. If it had waited another 6 days, it would have happened on the June 3 anniversary of the leaky fuel tank. I threw a catch-pan under there and took the Tracker to work.

When I finally got a look at it, I found that last year's patch had peeled away from the repair site just enough to drain the tank again.

Here's the product placement part. The peeled patch was part of a "Fuel Tank Repair Kit" available at any auto parts store. I didn't use the whole kit--just the epoxy putty that came with it. It held for nearly a year, and that's pretty good, minus the quarter-tank of gas soaked into the ground. I'll just leave their name out of this.

I broke the stuff loose, and that's when I noticed that there was a ring of undamaged J-B Weld that had surrounded the patch. This stuff was still rock-hard, weathered to a lighter gray (or maybe it was their J-B Kwik formula), and not going anywhere.

This time (just a few hours ago), I worked a mess of J-B Weld over the spot where the crappy patch used to be, popped a rivet into the hole (damn tiny hole, maybe 2mm across) and tightened it down, then worked the epoxy up over the rivet head. I'll give this one a year and see what happens.

The Best Gas Station...

...is the one I passed a quarter mile back, up that hill.

There I sat, annoyed for not stopping, as the X-11's engine ticked and creaked.

As I was approaching the gas station, I was thinking about stopping there for a drink, not even thinking about the car's emptying belly. I decided to wait; there's another station up ahead.

I blazed along, going east on US-90, thrilling in the comfortable rumble of the exhaust note, enjoying the cool breeze that was just barely enough to hold the noontime heat and humidity at bay.

Hiccup.

Huh? Why's the car slowing down? The engine's still runn--er, no, it's not. I coasted into a shady spot on the shoulder, hoping to get it running just long enough to go back uphill...nope.

Yes, the pointy thing on the gas gauge was solidly on "E." I've been driving the car for a solid year, but I'm still not really used to the gas gauge. On her "little sister"--the '83 Citation I had to get rid of because of neighborhood douchebaggery--there was some leeway. The needle could go about one and a half widths of the needle below EMPTY before the tank was dry. On the X-11, when she says it's empty, you get gas or walk.

So I was walking.

Wallet, phone, keys. Shaking my head at my own foolishness, I set out westbound, Shank's Mare moving much more slowly than my empty car had been. Scorchingly bright sunlight blasted down. People with gas in their tanks zipped past. About halfway up the hill ahead of me, on the opposite side of the road, a red truck sat, a lone guy standing beside it. As I drew closer, a silver car slowed and deposited another guy on my side of the road, gas can in one hand. He joined his fellow and poured. When they noticed me, they hollered for me to hop in for the rest of the uphill trip.

They hung out, gave me the gas can, and I bought each a Coke. Back down the hill. I assured them the car would start up (second mistake!), but didn't pour enough in the carburetor to keep the engine running long enough to get fuel out of the tank. They were gone by the time I realized it wasn't going to work.

That shady spot had moved about a car-length east of me, so I had plenty of light to see by.

I poked around under the hood. No gas at the carb...maybe those same fuel hoses that went out in June of last year had failed again? No fumes. I realized I was about to hike back up the hill again--had to have more gas and maybe someone with jumper cables, since I'd run down the battery trying to get fuel moving. Third mistake! The shady spot moved another car length while I poked.

Wallet, phone, keys, gas can. Shaking my head again at my own foolishness (and sending rivulets of sweat down from my hairline and into my eyes), I set out westbound, Shank's Mare moving even more slowly than before. As I neared the place where the red truck guys had picked me up, a different guy in a different red truck stopped and offered a ride. Awesome! Up the hill a second time.

He hung out, I filled the damn can again. I should have bought the guy a Coke, but I was in a hurry this time. Back down the hill. He brought a portable battery jump-box with him and this time, I did things right--primed the carb, got it running, then dumped the rest in the tank. I thanked my rescuer and we went our separate ways--he in his old red truck, me with my comfortably rumbling exhaust note (is she laughing at me?) and the breeze cooling and drying my sweaty hair and arms.

Back in the saddle again!

Song of the Day: Creed Shreds!

This is unarguably Creed at their best.

It took someone making a spoof of them to really make the band sound good (remember the old joke: "Creed is what Pearl Jam would sound like if THEY sucked.")



Yerrrrrgh! EEeeeeeeowwwwwwrrrrgh--uh. This one deserves to be on the radio.

Kit Review: "Back to the Future" DeLorean (Aoshima)

Rating: 5/5
Scale: 1:24
Purchased: April, 1994
Assembled: April, 1994

I bought this kit hoping that it would include the option of NOT building the "Back to the Future" version of the car. All I wanted was a straight-stock DeLorean. No such luck. Still, Aoshima's kit is impressive.

I'm not familiar with Aoshima as a company, but if their other kits are as well-done as this one, I won't mind throwing them some money. The BTTF Delorean has excellent detail for the most part, something I associate with more familiar Japanese companies like Tamaya.

The car can be built with the original fission reactor (as first seen), the hooked pole, or the "Mr. Fusion" setup. There's a slide lever under the completed model for moving the wheels up and down for rolling or flying modes.

The interior's good, with many of the time machine gadgets rendered as decals, but some scratchbuilding for added detail wouldn't hurt. There's even a tiny wind-up-style alarm clock. I don't like the molded-in cables running across the dash; they're very hard to paint properly.

The outside is beautiful, though again there are molded-in cables running from back to front along the sides. Painting them is even more of a hassle than those of the interior, given the need to paint the body with a "metalizer" paint to get the proper stainless steel finish. Once that's on there, doing spray-can touch-ups is a bitch.

Around back in the time machine parts, most of the pipes and hoses are molded separately and are reasonably scale-like. Good detail on the bits & pieces. Underneath, though, there's a lack of belly detail, the wheels don't align well in "drive" mode, and the mechanism that rotates the tires down into "flight" mode is clunky.

I was impatient when I built mine. I did well on the stainless steel painting and buffing, but I'm embarrassed by the brush strokes and uneven paint on the nose and tail caps (gray on the actual car) and satin-black body details. I recently took the thing completely apart with an eye toward rebuilding with much better paint and detail. All I have to do now is put it back together.

Pros: It's a DeLorean!; faithfully detailed, for the most part; several options--"original" or "Mr. Fusion" reactor, cable hook.

Cons: Gray body finish has to be painted to look like stainless steel; cables and parts molded as part of the body; no "stock car only" option; clunky "flight mode" mechanism; poor belly detail.