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With all the cooking I have been doing, David and I have developed a fairly simple rating method which determines whether the dish will be recreated (and the frequency of the recreation) or promptly dumped.
This rating system is based on a scale of 1-10. A ten is obviously the goal, but sometimes there are sevens which mean “good but not great”, fives which mean “I could live without this”, and threes which mean “please don’t do this again” or “i’ll just eat cereal for dinner”. Normally David and I are within a few points of each others ratings of the dish. But every once and while I’m a 10 and he’s a three. And this bums me out, mostly because I hate cooking for one person. HATE IT. Old roommates can attest to that; I never cooked when I was single. Never.
At any rate this salad is a three to David, but will always be a ten in my heart.
I love tomatoes, mozzarella and basil, so caprese salads are some of my favorites. But this caprese salad blows the rest out of the water. The key in this recipe is to slow roast the tomatoes for two hours in a mixture of olive oil and balsamic vinegar. Here is a humble pic from the iphone. Mouth watering even now.
David was finally released from his felon filled hospital room and allowed to join the general population. I was super relived. We were told upon leaving that they would set up an appointment soon to remove the stint, blast the kidney stone and remove that gigantic beast of a stone. To be honest, I blocked this out. I didn’t want to come back. I just wanted to get out.
I dropped dear David off at home and picked up his pain meds. Friends and family stopped by all day to wish him well. David’s glorious family generously offered to temporarily take care of the three week old baby kittens David and I had foolishly decided to foster just days before the killer kidney stone.
I got David the above balloon and kept telling him to “bee better”. Hopped up on all of his meds, he found that to be humorous. Unfortunately I have no such excuse.
We blissfully lived through the next three weeks, although David says he was constantly peeing blood and fire, I was just please he looked normal and wasn’t doubled over in pain.
Apparently, the doctor explained, some people never come back in to have the stint removed. And ironically enough calcium builds up around the stint and becomes one gigantic kidney stone. I’m guessing that’s a bear to have removed. But we being responsible citizens went back to Truman for what we anticipated would be David’s final surgery, but alas the surgery gods were not smiling upon us (and by that I mean the head urologist at Truman totally mucked up my husbands surgery).
They called me in to talk to the esteemed head of urologist and when I went to see him, he literally smiled at me while beginning to walk away and said, “It went well. He’s fine.” And then in the category of things that make you think “how did this guy get a medical degree” he said, “couldn’t find it. must be gone.”
Ummm gone? Gone where? Did it grow legs and leave or what? What do you mean gone? And why are you still walking away from me doctor man? Where are you walking to? Can you take like 5 minutes and instead of just shrugging your shoulders can you explain what the medical phrase, “MUST BE GONE” means??? And for the love of doctors everywhere stop SHRUGGING.
And that is where my brain began melting out of my ears.
This was a total kindle impulse buy. Oh yeah, I have a Kindle. I received it as a gift and I absolutely love it. It’s one of those things I would never buy for myself, but it’s been one of the most amazing gifts I have ever received.
So I was hopping around some bestseller lists and I saw this book. This is where my bit of confusion started. I, almost exclusively, read fiction. I rarely pick up a book that is non-fiction. Apparently I was looking in the wrong places, because I ignorantly read through the whole book thinking it was fiction. Looking back there were some signs, like citations of scientific journals and photographs of the “characters”. I think more than anything this just goes to show I read some really weird fiction, because there is fiction that cites fake sources and has photos of the characters. I have read that fiction. After I finished the book and saw the giant appendix and citation pages, I slapped myself back into reality. I had read a non fiction book of the science genre. I stand in awe of myself even now.
The book is about an African American women who in the fifties contracts ovarian cancer. She has this cancer removed at John Hopkins and the cancer cells from her tumor were the first in history that were able to be cultivated and reproduce naturally in a lab environment. This was a monumental scientific breakthrough and before you knew it these cells were sent around the world and were being using in labs all over the globe. These cells actually made the polio vaccine possible, they have also aided the the research and development of medicine in hundreds of applications.
Henrietta died several years after her first cells began multiplying, neither her or her children ever knew that these cells were being used or that they were making labs and pharmaceutical companies a heathly profit. All the while Henrietta’s family was in the dark, impoverished, and without medical care.
This book weaves together the story of Henrietta, her children and the ethics of cell science and research. It also tells the stories of her family members and others who have been left in the dark about what their own bodies have done to further science and other’s pocket books.
And for those who fear the non-fiction science genre, I can only reiterate my own ignorance, and say that it read like a novel. It is a great piece of literature, one that is worthy of transcending the science category. Beautifully written, the author Rebecca spent years compassionately trying to tell this story. Chasing down paranoid family members, risking her own well being for the sake of finding out the truth and telling the family what they should have known all along.
I give this book two enthusiastic thumbs up, I’m quite glad I accidentally found it.
I should state that as this story is about a kidney stone and surgeries surround such stone, this might be a little too much info for some people. So umm, read at your own risk.
Pain relief is a sweet thing and God bless whoever developed such awesome narcotics. David was feeling so much better and so ridiculously up beat, he kept saying I was the “bestest”. And well who can disagree? He was carted off for a CAT scan, and I headed to the waiting room to see the party that had developed out there consisting of David’s brothers, friends, and some of my friends. I filled them in, laughed for a few minutes and relaxed. Those few minutes surrounded by people I knew was so amazing. I needed that.
I headed back to the room, and David was there smiling like a goof ball. The doctor came in saw us, and said, “hey you have kidney stone.” And, “hey, it’s huge.” And “hey, we don’t treat those here.” And “hey, how about you head downtown?”
So off to the other Truman we went, two of my friends helping by driving my nerve wrecked self and hopped up husband down to the hospital. We had to argue with the admissions lady for the 15 minutes, showed her the IV still in my husbands arm and repeating the room number they were holding for us like 7 times. We managed to leave that waiting room without be shot at or shot up. And I considered that success.
Surgery was scheduled for the next day, of course it was only surgery one of two (did I say two? I meant three). Here’s the thing about kidney stones, apparently they are so sophisticated and unique and special that most hospitals don’t own the equipment to remove them. They RENT IT. Ummm what doctor? I can’t hear you. Did you say you rent the equipment you are about to shove up my husband’s ureter? AWESOME. And it takes like three weeks to secure the rental. What? AWESOME.
So what is the stop gap measure to ensure my husband isn’t going to die from kidney infection while we wait for the RENTAL unit? Surgery? Stint? AWESOME.
BEGIN RANT. This is before the Obama healthcare plan and hospitals are RENTING equipment. And performing temporary surgeries on people while they wait for the right equipment. Post plan, I wondering if they’ll be hocking the equipment on side streets to the highest bidder. Maybe I’ll be able to perform my own kidney stone removals. END RANT
They wheeled him down to surgery and told me where the surgical waiting area was. I headed that way and entered a room filled with all sorts of incredibly ghetto personalities. And then they called my name and told me they were still prepping him and then the kiss of death, they handed me his wedding ring. And in front of all the strangers I sobbed. Looking back I can see myself and I want to say, get it together Kristen. But in the moment, I was just too freaked out to be logical. I marginally pulled it together and saw him off to surgery.
And then waited to hear when it was over. I headed up to his room to meet him. He was still looked pretty peppy when I saw him, although he was looking for his incision from the surgery, which just goes to show you, you should never explain a procedure to a man doped up on morphine without his significant other present. The method of surgery was a rude awakening which was discovered when peeing massive amounts of blood. AWESOME.
David then stayed at the hospital for another two days, for reasons that still remain shrouded in mystery (a mystery that was clearly itemized on our hospital bill – which is a whole separate post).
David, during his multiple night stay, was rooming with a very clearly evident drug seeker. Intense pain, but no diagnosis. He was constantly swearing, groaning, buzzing the nurses, swearing at them, calling them racists and liars, asking for letters for his parole officer. And the cherry on top, when the nurse asked him what was on his ankle, he said casually that it was his TRACKING DEVICE. That bit of info made me cry silently as I said goodbye to David each night, who in spite of intense pain, seemed to be enjoying his stay with his adjustable bed, heating blankets and calf massaging circulation units.
AWESOME.
As I have a newly acquired, but very rabid interest in cooking, I have been slowly building up my kitchen essentials. And when I gaze on people’s wedding registries I often wish I could add these items to their lists.
Hello lovelies. You can find these at Target. Love them, David and I probably use this knife everyday. It has a great shape and a nicely weighted feel in your hand. Perfectly affordable chopping knife.
Everyone needs a micro grater. Everyone. We use this for garlic, Parmesan, lemon and lime zest.
CHIP CLIPS can save your marriage. I love these.
Unlike the chip clips, food processors are not essential kitchen items (in fact they weigh a ton and can seriously clutter up your counters), but if you love experimenting in the kitchen I would say it’s great to have around. I use mine for homemade mayo, sauces, pesto and soups. Ours also has a small bowl which is great for smaller portions.
Heavy sauté pan with lid. I have the Cuisinart brand, both sizes; 3.5 quarts and 5.5 quarts and I use them constantly. Dishwasher safe, really heavy duty and they hold a ton of food.
And finally, a more recent acquisition; a salt cellar. I hate having to get the kosher salt out of my pantry every single time I need to season something (hello, first world problem). I also don’t want to unscrew the cap on my salt shaker when I need a pinch. I need easy access, PEOPLE. And so I bought a cellar, sits on my counter and I now season liberally.
All of the items I have listed are moderately priced and of good quality, obviously there are better and more expensive options, but these are just a few of my affordable favs.
Of course I am lusting after this expensive non stick sauté pan which is oven safe and can be used with METAL UTENSILS. GAME CHANGER; your cooking will no longer release toxic gases and kill small birds or children. Dreamy.
Orange Juice. That’s the first symptom of a kidney stone at least for the wife of male sufferer. Well, that’s how it happened for me. The hubs stayed home from work a little achy and all he wanted was some OJ. And when David wants juice, what he really wants is a case of juice, not even real juice, but that nectar stuff, which is only 10% juice. (my mother never let us have any juice with less than 80% real juice, she would tell us this as we rode home in the car with the windows rolled up as she chained smoke and nearly suffocated us with her menthol lights, needless to say the paradox was lost on us). So I was off to the store to buy massive amounts of 100% juice, much to David’s disappointment. 
Yep, that’s my cart full of juice. You can never have too much juice in my household. Unfortunately all the juice in the world wasn’t going to help, as we would find out, in fact it probably made the problem worse or perhaps set off the next 24 hour chain of events.
The next morning David bolted out of bed and was clearly in a lot of pain. So much pain he could not talk, walk, or do anything but lay in the fetal position on the bathroom floor. (David after reviewing this post, would like to mention that he also vomited, a lot). After a few hours, and no relief or change, I bundled David hunched over and wearing crocs into the car and off to a hospital. Knowing he had no insurance left really only one option open in my panicking mind; Truman Hospital (not hospital hill) but the other one, significantly closer to our home.
Poor David was near comatose at this point, in such intense pain, not responding to questions or to the pokes and prodding of the guy getting his vitals. The other patients waiting would periodically stare at dear David and try to politely ascertain what exactly was wrong with him. I would pretend to be deaf, because all I could do was sit there clutching my iphone, texting family and friends, and silently crying.
Finally we were ushered back to a curtained area and assigned a nurse with an awful sense of humor. He would repeatedly say, “oops” as he stabbed David with things. Not very comforting. David had to pee into a cup, and at that point I knew it was something serious, his pee had a reddish tone. As the nurse left for the umpteenth time, David began crying in despair, he was at the end of what he could take and I broke down and sobbed. The powerlessness of this moment was so overwhelming. I was sitting there un-showered, mismatching, lacking a bra and white as a ghost and all I could think, is there is nothing I can do to make this better or tolerable or even survivable.
Lo and behold in the darkest hour, the magical morphine came into the room and within 5 minutes of injection David began smiling and and looked up loving at me and said, “yum.”
Yum, indeed.
David in "yum" state
