Laughing At My Nightmare!

Benigna The Brave

Wed, 16 May 2012 22:17:02 -0400

There is never a dull moment in the Burcaw household, and this afternoon was a perfect example of that.

My friend Lily (lilygnilu.tumblr.com) and I hung out at my house today. We spent most of the afternoon working on nonprofit activities, but eventually the beautiful day persuaded us to go outside. As we made our way to the patio in my backyard, we heard a loud, rapid flapping noise coming from above.

My mom loves birds. Our backyard is filled with birdhouses, birdbaths, bird feeders, and lots of birds, but this flapping noise was louder and more annoying than the usual chorus of obnoxious bird noises that normally fill the backyard. We quickly located the source of the noise. Below one of the wooden birdhouses near the roof of our deck, in a tangled mess of ivy, was a puffball of feathers in complete spazz mode.

Lily cautiously approached. Even though the psychotic bird was a solid 3 feet above her head, she clearly feared that it was going to burst out of the ivy and peck her to pieces at any moment.

“Oh no! It’s stuck!” Lily yelled in horror, “What do we do?”

Upon closer inspection, she discovered the bird’s foot was caught in some plastic that was also caught on the ivy branch. It was decided that we obviously couldn’t just leave the bird hanging upside down where it would die a slow and lonely death. We had to rescue it.

It’s important to understand the conflict of this situation. Lily desperately wanted to save this bird’s life, but at the same time, touching the bird, or even getting too close was overwhelmingly scary. Her initial reaction was to climb onto the railing of our deck (which sits about 8 feet off the ground), but before she was able to stand all the way up, I convinced her to get down. If the bird would’ve spazzed while she was balancing on the railing, she definitely would’ve fallen to her death and this post would be way less fun to write.

I told her to grab a stepping stool, a box, and scissors from inside the house. While she was inside gathering supplies I realized it was probably good that we were the only two home. My brother would’ve handled this situation with a baseball bat, and it would not have been pretty.

Lily returned with the supplies and set up the stepping stool to better assess the situation. While she was carefully and fearfully surveying the damage, my cat jumped up on the railing and began trying to climb the wooden post up to the birdhouse. I hope she doesn’t get mad at me for saying this, but Lily basically lost self-control at this point. There was lots of shrieking and all I heard was “OHMYGODIDONTKNOWHOWTOHANDLETHISWHATDOIDOHELPMESHANEAHHHH!”

Somehow she was able to pull it together and found the strength to grab Oreo (my cat) and put her inside. Lily was on the verge of tears. I was sitting down below, laughing hysterically, but trying to be as sensitive as possible. It was funny, but I also didn’t want the bird to die.

After she had calmed down, Lily and I devised a plan to cut the branches around the bird so that it would fall into the shoebox that she would be holding below. Amazingly, the plan worked to perfection. It is worth noting (if it’s not obvious) that Lily carried out the plan completely on her own. She had to balance on the stepping stool, while cutting the branches with scissors in her one hand, and holding the shoebox for the bird to fall into in the other hand. It was rather spectacular.

Now the bird was in the shoebox, but still far from being rescued. It flopped around in the box, getting blood (not sure where the blood came from) and poop everywhere, its foot still firmly bound to the branch that Lily had cut loose.

For the next half-hour we tried to figure out how to free the bird from the plastic without Lily having to touch it. She called her mom seeking guidance, but the first thing her mom said was, “DO NOT bring that bird home.”

Lily was too emotionally, physically, and mentally spent to perform the necessary task on her own. So we called Pat, who was in the process of buying a suit for prom:

Lily: “Hey Pat, I’m with Shane and we have an emergency. We have a bird in a box and its leg is caught in plastic and it’s going to die.”
Pat: “That’s not an emergency.”
Lily: “Well it is to us. We need you to come to Shane’s as soon as possible. I know you are buying a suit, so don’t rush, but you have a life on your hands now, so the faster the better.”
Pat: “*laughs* Ok I will be there as fast as I can. It’s going to be at least a half hour though.”

The next half-hour was packed with emotion. We named our bird Benigna. We told her stories and asked her questions and talked about life and death. We wanted her to feel loved in case Pat didn’t make it on time or something went wrong in the plastic removal procedure. There were laughs. There were tears. Meanwhile, I secretly researched the best way to euthanize a bird on my phone, just in case.

Benigna was a fighter, though. She was alert and calm when Pat showed up to save the day. I immediately began to prepare Pat for surgery, filling him in on what had happened (trying not to laugh too hard) and explaining what had to be done.

Pat basically ignored the plan I had laid out for him, which involved him subduing Benigna, while Lily delicately cut away the plastic with the scissors. Instead, he grabbed the bird with his right hand, and started to gently loosen the plastic with his left. He was so graceful and compassionate that I wondered if he had done this many times before.

It might have taken him a total of two minutes to free Benigna, if you subtract the time where she jumped out of his hands and hid under a bush. We cheered as he removed the last of the plastic and Benigna fluttered over to my mom’s garden to recover (hopefully lol). Relief washed over us. Mission accomplished. Life saved.

Had there been an audience, the three of us would have received a standing ovation.

Get Disowned digital downloads!

Wed, 16 May 2012 11:16:00 -0400

hopalongband:

The digital download is now available at www.hopalong.bandcamp.com! It comes with a digital version of the original LP insert. We hope you like it!

Hop Along

I’ve been listening to this album nonstop for like 2 days. Tibetan Pop Stars is definitely my favorite song. Listen to it at the link above!

Toilet Haiku Tuesday

Tue, 15 May 2012 20:29:27 -0400

toilethaikus:

The gem I just dropped

Would make any woman say,

“He went to Jared”

I posted some bathroom humor earlier tonight, COMPLETELY forgetting that I decided last week start a new weekly post called “Toilet Haiku Tuesday!”

From now on, every Tuesday I will reblog the haipoo that made me laugh the most from the previous week. Make sure you submit your best haipoos to toilethaikus.tumblr.com for a chance to have your poem featured!

Andrew walks out of the bathroom and goes,

Tue, 15 May 2012 18:49:11 -0400

“Mom, why can’t our bodies digest corn? It’s always in the poop!”

DEPRESSING!

Mon, 14 May 2012 20:05:37 -0400

Sarah, Heather and I spent the afternoon calling about 40 local businesses and restaurants today. We made these really nice wristband jars and accompanying signs for businesses to put by their cash registers. We called each place, asked to speak to the manager, and then explained that we’re a new nonprofit blah blah blah would you be interested in putting a jar of wristbands on your counter to support us.

I guess I overestimated humanity’s willingness to help out other people, because we got a crazy number of no’s. Like… 38 out of 40 businesses said they couldn’t for one reason or another. And their reasons were not “we’re not allowed” because we only called privately owned businesses. It was a super bummer.

However, we did get 2 enthusiastic yes’s, which is 2 more places than we had yesterday, so it wasn’t a total fail.

It would be easy to give up on selling our wristbands at businesses after today’s annoyingness, but that’s not how LAMN rolls. Tomorrow is another day and another opportunity. If it means I need to visit these businesses with my clothes off (to woo the managers with my chiseled abs and manly charm, obviously) so be it. I will do whatever it takes to make this organization a success.

On a much more positive note, our summer calendar is starting to fill up with fundraising events! We’re doing some festivals, some parties, and a 5k! Starters restaurant has also graciously volunteered to do a “Dine 2 Donate” fundraiser for the entire month of June!

Watch me play hockey! (choose the HD option)

Sun, 13 May 2012 19:01:11 -0400

Watch me play hockey! (choose the HD option)

It's a great day to be alive.

Sat, 12 May 2012 09:37:25 -0400

The parents are out of town this weekend!

Fri, 11 May 2012 21:33:20 -0400

My goals for the weekend are as follows (in order of importance):

1. Go wild.
2. Survive.

Photo

Fri, 11 May 2012 19:29:29 -0400

what are these bracelets you speak of ? o____O

Thu, 10 May 2012 22:39:56 -0400

There’s a link on the right! They support my nonprofit! Check it out!

I'm pretty much in love with you :) like no joke. You're my tumblr crush.

Thu, 10 May 2012 22:39:13 -0400

Wink face

Hi! How are you? :D

Thu, 10 May 2012 22:38:49 -0400

Not too bad! I’m almost out of the nose lube that I use to put my feeding tube in. How are you?

How much is a bracelet?(:

Thu, 10 May 2012 22:36:54 -0400

$5 :)

Photo

Thu, 10 May 2012 20:50:57 -0400

Photo

Thu, 10 May 2012 20:28:12 -0400

I started this blog almost a year ago...

Thu, 10 May 2012 19:40:18 -0400

and I just discovered I can change the color of my page. -____-

I made it purple. What do you guys think?!?

you need an archive button darling!

Thu, 10 May 2012 19:30:53 -0400

I have one darling! bottom right

An Ode To Darla

Wed, 09 May 2012 20:00:00 -0400

My insurance company will cover a new wheelchair every six years. I’m guessing they didn’t just pull that number out of thin air—although it wouldn’t surprise me—but I’m sure there was some research that found a wheelchair’s life expectancy to be about six years. Imagine if that was your job: find out how much damage this wheelchair can take before it falls to pieces. I want that job. But I digress…

I’ve been using the wheelchair I currently have since eighth grade, approximately 6-7 years. For the past few weeks, my parents, as well as my physical therapist, have been nudging me to start the process of getting a new one. Believe it or not, I really don’t like changing wheelchairs. I pretty much hate it. But when I tell people this, it usually takes them some time to understand where I’m coming from. I say the word “new” but they hear the word “better.” However, new is not always better when it comes to a seating arrangement that is such a crucial aspect of my everyday life.

I’m not a bratty 7-year-old though, I realize my chair is getting old and starting to break down more often, and I understand how extraordinarily fucked I’d be if my chair broke permanently before I had a new one. So this past Monday night, we met with someone from the wheelchair company to start the arduous process of getting me a new whip.

There are many reasons that I am so against changing wheelchairs. I’ve come to understand that many of the reasons are difficult to comprehend for the average able-bodied person, and that is the biggest problem; the able-bodied people who assist in the wheelchair selection and customization process have trouble understanding the intricacies of how I sit.

For instance, last time I got a new wheelchair, a big point of contention was the fact that I lean so far to the right and put almost all my body weight on my right rib cage. It’s a completely acceptable thing for the therapists and wheelchair representatives to be concerned about. However, and this is a big however, I physically can’t hold my head up or move my arms if my body is adjusted even several inches to the left. When I explained this to them back when I was 13, they essentially ignored me and played the “We’re specialists so we know better than you” card. It was extremely frustrating, as they lifted me from one chair to the next, while I knew just by looking at each chair that it wasn’t going to work.

They always said things like, “Well maybe if we reclined the chair your body would naturally rest on the backrest rather than your side. Or maybe we should look into a head strap that will hold your head in place since you can’t hold it up when you’re in the proper position.”

I responded, “But I would literally have to be almost fully reclined all the time, and I can’t drive that way, so that wouldn’t work. Also, I definitely do not want a head strap.”

Then came their line that filled me with so much anger that my eyes used to tear up, “Well Shane, we might just have to compromise on this one.”

It felt like they were ignoring everything I said, and to be told that I was going to have to wear a head strap from then on, with no say in the decision, was more belittling than you can imagine.

Similar arguments took place for many aspects of my wheelchair, not just the side support, so you can begin to see how I’ve grown to hate the process so much. The fact is, the specialists were usually wrong. They’ve been telling me since I was four that I’m going to get skin breakdown from leaning on my right elbow all day, and that we should look into a bunch of different methods to take pressure off my elbow, methods that would render my right arm unusable. Every six years I fight them off and somehow convince them that my elbow will be fine. Almost 20 years of leaning on my right elbow have gone by, and guess what, not once have I had any breakdown of the skin.

My wheelchair and all of my quirky positions work for me. I’d prefer not to change that.

With all that being said, this past Monday night went very smoothly. Maybe it’s because I’m over 18 now, maybe I was better able to explain my circumstances this time around, but the wheelchair specialist and my physical therapist both seemed to understand that I want to keep as much the same as possible. We’re ordering the newer model of the same chair, and we’re basically just going to re-create the seating position I currently use. It was a giant relief.

Now for the fun part! With a new wheelchair on the way (a process that will take 4-5 months… stupid insurance) I feel like the proper thing to do is take some time to honor the valiant life of my soon-to-be old wheelchair. We’ve been through a lot together… some fun, some shit, but all worth remembering. So I’ve decided to write a letter to my wheelchair to let her know how I really feel.

Dear Darla,

The time has come to say goodbye. But before you go, let’s reminisce about all the memories we’ve shared.

There were the countless feet that we have run over together. Most of the time it was an accident, but sometimes we did it on purpose and disguised it as an accident. Other times we ran over feet because people asked us to, not in a fetishy kind of way, more of a, “Run over my foot I want to see if it hur… OH GOD GET OFF GET OFF!”

There was the time we stayed outside in the summer downpour against all reasonable logic, and you broke down for three fucking days. I had to sit in a very old, very uncomfortable, manual wheelchair while you were being repaired. Andrew parked me in the corner and told me I was in timeout probably 100 times during those three days. Without instant Netflix, I probably would have died.

There was the time we were in the car together, not strapped in because we like to live on the edge, and when mom had to slam on the brakes, you rocketed towards the front of the van, since I had also forgotten to turn you off, breaking my big toe as we collided with the drivers seat. It was a learning experience though, we still don’t strap you in, but I at least remember to turn you off.

There was the time you threw me out of the safety of your seat when I ran over a soccer ball with you. The broken femur I suffered put me out of commission for a month. I still kind of hate you for that, but forgiveness is a process.

There were all the times we were an awesome street hockey goalie. Your 450 lbs of steel and brute force, combined with my cat-like reflexes and determination to win made quite an impressive team.

There was the time our road froze over and we had drift races until my entire body was frozen solid.

There were all the times when I used you as an excuse to get out of class early throughout high school. I think teachers are programmed to just say yes whenever someone in a wheelchair asks to do anything. “Mrs. Smith, can I be excused from class now to beat the crowd?”

“Shane, there are 20 minutes left in class.”

“Yeah but my wheelchair…”

“OH OH I’m sorry, yes, go right ahead. Do whatever you have to do. Here are the answers to tomorrow’s test.”

There was the time I missed the birth of my first-born son because I forgot to charge you the night before.

There was the time I burned holes in your controller interface because I wasn’t paying attention while playing with fire.

We have traveled hundreds of miles together. We went through puberty together. We made friends together. We experienced life together. I can never thank you enough for all that you’ve done for me. You will never be replaced. You will never be forgotten.

Unless, of course, my new chair is a lot cooler.

New story tonight at 8pm EST

Wed, 09 May 2012 17:38:15 -0400

Sarah and I after a long days work.

Wed, 09 May 2012 15:53:21 -0400

Sarah and I after a long days work.