I hike and do martial arts training regularly, and consider myself in reasonably good shape. However, on Monday I started an exercise program with a local Crossfit affiliate, Team Crossfit.

This was an intense workout, but I’ve done intense (worse) workouts in the past, with no ill effects other than soreness. We did jumping pull-ups (where you jump up to a “completed” pull up position, then lower yourself as slowly as you can. This did a fair bit to blow out my arms and upper back, as those muscles were not used to that kind of exertion. After about 20 minutes doing jumping pull-ups, they switched from the skills portion to the “timed workout” portion, and added wall-balls (I then threw a 14-pound medicine ball 10 feet up a wall) and staying in the plank position for a while.

(The routine was supposed to be 20 jumping pull-ups, 20 wall-balls, and 1 minute in the plank position — with the whole sequence repeated five times.)

My trainer saw that I was straining, and cut the routine in half for me. (Ten pull-ups, ten wall-balls, and 30 seconds in plank position.) I ended up stopping at the end of round 4.

I want to emphasize that this did NOT seem like a dangerously high amount of exercise to either me or the Crossfit trainer. I lay no responsibility for this on Team Crossfit. This is actually the second time I’ve taken Crossfit (I went for a month or two over the summer) and I had harder workouts then that left me more sore than this one, with no ill effects. Nevertheless, it’s obvious to me now that I should have started up this exercise regime more gradually. That’s mistake number 1.

Mistake number 2 was insufficient hydration. I drank what I thought was enough after my workout on Monday, and then stopped — after about 25 ounces of water. After that I just drank normally. On Tuesday, I didn’t work out, and I had a cup of coffee, and about five cups of tea — that’s it. In hindsight (hell, even at the time had I bothered to think about it) this was vastly insufficient hydration.

Mistake number 3 was taking Advil for my muscle pain. This would normally be a good thing, but I learned that Advil has an inhibiting effect on the kidneys — it closes down the tubes in the kidneys through which liquid flows. This is perfectly fine if you have a headache, but if the kidneys are trying to remove the poisonous effects of excess exercise at the same time you’re taking Advil, it compounds the problem.

The result of those three mistakes was at least one night in the hospital for me, as the doctors struggle to treat my Rhabdomyolysis.

My WHAT?

Tuesday night, after work, I urinated when I got home and saw that my urine was very dark in color, like a flat can of cola.

The materials that CrossFit gives out when you start includes a warning that, if your urine looks like Coca Cola, you should go immediately to the emergency room. I called @dakimjerry, hoping that he would talk me out of it, and he told me to go to the ER. Shit. I called Kate S., hoping the same, and she told me to go to the ER. Shit. I went to the Providence-Tarzana ER.

There they found blood in my urine (not actually blood, but myoglobin, a result of muscle cells dying and breaking up). Microscopic examination of my urine showed no blood cells, so it wasn’t blood, but muscles breaking down. They ran my levels of Creatine kinase (a muscle enzyme you would only see in the blood if muscles were breaking down) and they came back abnormally high. (The test didn’t specify the level.)

The ER doctor ended up giving me two liters of intravenous (IV) saline, and sending me home with instructions to see my own doctor.

Just when I got home at 2 AM, the ER Dr. called, and said he’d changed his mind and would like to see me at UCLA Medical Center ER the next morning. He’d run some tests, and if they showed my levels getting better, I’d be fine. Otherwise I’d be admitted to the hospital.

This seemed like a good plan, and I showed up at the ER the next morning.

There I was immediately plugged into another IV saline drip, and they got blood and urine for testing. The results of these tests were … interesting.

My kidney function was fine — A-OK — but my Creatine kinase level, which should be between 60 and 400, was at 136,000.

Holy fucking shit. Really?

A doctor told me that normally this level of Creatine would mean a transfer to intensive care, but because I seemed to be suffering no discomfort, pain, or ill-effects, they would simply put me under observation.

They admitted me to the hospital, and began pumping a liter of IV through me an hour. The idea is to wash the myoglobin and Creatine kinase out of my system before they can damage my kidneys.

As of about 8 PM, my Creatine kinase level was down to about 122,000 — still insanely high, but better — and I’m peeing like crazy (and collecting my pee so they can measure it).

That’s the news so far — I still feel fine — other than muscle soreness have felt fine throughout this whole thing — and am staying in a nice hospital with decent food and free wifi.

You Learn Who Your Friends Are:

I have to say I have been incredibly touched by the outpouring of support from friends and family and coworkers. I’ve been entirely clear-headed and rational about this the whole time I’ve been writing this, but now that I’m talking about the people who’ve reached out to me, I’m getting teary-eyed and emotional.

Kate brought my Mom (who can’t drive) down to the hospital, and came with far more water and juice and cliff bars and good chocolate than I need; Jon made me the best geek care-package ever, including a laptop and an iPhone charging cable; Tegan delivered it and stayed to talk and tell me funny (and sometimes slightly disturbing) medical stories.

People have been calling, texting, and emailing to wish me well; the outpouring of support from old friends and new has been far more than I expected; I’m incredibly lucky in far more than a medical sense.

My phone doesn’t work (I may be in a basement) but the regular phone by my bed is 310-267-9533 310-267-9423. Feel free to call or stop by.

Right now I’m just a machine for turning IV fluids into urine, but I’m a damn lucky urine-producing machine, and I’m honored to be friends and loved ones with all of you.

Update Thursday, December 17, 6:15 AM:
In the middle of the night I started having shortness of breath, and we figured it was because we had put so much liquid in my body so quickly it was entering my lungs. From 11 AM to midnight I was on 1 liter an hour; at midnight they switched me to 500 milliliters an hour. After my shortness of breath, we slowed the IV down to 0.2 liter an hour, and put me on oxygen and a oxygen sensor (on my finger at the moment) and I’m now feeling better and my oxygen level is back up in the high 90’s. (It dropped as low as the high 80’s.)

Update Thursday, December 17, 8:10 AM:

Saw my doctor (one of them) just now; my Creatine is down to 90,000, which is good, but they can’t run the IV through me as quickly as they’d like because of the fluid in my lungs. (Fluid is MUCH better since they slowed the IV, and I now have very minimal shortness of breath. Biggest problem is the damn O2 sensor on my finger keeps me from touch typing.

I asked if I’d be out today; his answer was that if it was today, it would be late in the evening. Sounds like a “no” to me. Crap.

Update Thursday, December 17, 9:10 AM:

Now I have a target — they’ll release me when my Creatine level is below 10,000. Also, my lungs are clear, and I’ve ditched the oxygen and the O2 sensor. Sweet! I can touch-type!

Update Thursday, December 17, 8:15 PM:

OK, we’ve got a correction, there was some confusion with what the earlier doctor told me. The original ER Dr. called to see how I was doing (I think he’s a genuinely nice guy, but I also think I’m an interesting case to him; most people with my CK levels present much worse.) and mentioned it was too bad my CK levels had gone back up. Say what?

I later confirmed what he told me with a nurse in the observation ward. At 1 AM this morning, I had a 90,000 CK level. (Again, under 400 is normal, and under 10,000 lets me go home.) However, about that time, I started getting fluid in my lungs, and we reduced me from 500 milliliters per hour to 200. That allowed my body to move the water out of my lungs, and made me breathe better. But it also allowed my CK levels to creep up. They were measured at 103,000 at 5 AM this morning.

I’ve been at 350 milliliters per hour of saline IV drip most of the day, and my 5:30 PM CK reading (I’m now getting blood drawn twice a day instead of every four hours) was 89,000.

I’m definitely not going home tonight. I’m kind of doubtful I’ll get home tomorrow, and this may mean we’re moving to something more aggressive than IV fluids. (This is me saying this; no doctor has said so.)

Good news is I’m moving to a private room, still in Observation, but I expect I’ll sleep better without people being moved into and out of beds right next to mine all night long. (Not that I’m eager to move, but I’m all packed up – all belongings in bags and etc. except this laptop.)

Update Thursday, December 17, 10:50 PM:

I’m in the new private room. This is excellent. (New phone is 310-267-9423.)

My left arm is swelling up like Hellboy (maybe there’s something to this super-hero theory after all) so they switched the IV to my right arm. This is not excellent. I used to be a phlebotomist’s dream; now I’m apparently a nightmare. Took two RNs and 40 minutes to get an IV in. My whole body is swelling up with fluids. I’m the fucking Pillsbury doughboy. (OK. Not quite that bad, But they estimated this morning that they’ve given me 14 liters of IV fluid and I’ve urinated 7.) They figured that I’d put on about 10 pounds of water weight. (Leaving the “period” jokes to those more qualified.)

I’m going to CLOSE THE DOOR and go to sleep — what a wonderful concept. Goodnight, all.

Update Friday, December 18, 8:17 AM:

Just spoke with my doctors and got my CK results. CK is 68,118; plan is the same — flood me with IV fluids until it goes down. Doctor said I may be here a few more days.

Update Friday, December 18, 9:12 PM:

Lovely day in the Observation suite — got to walk outside twice (got my car from temporary parking and drove it to the hospital parking, and did not have a ticket!) and took a shower.

You would not believe, by the way, the looks you get while walking down a public street in a hospital gown. I think people thought I was an escaped mental patient — at least one person asked me if I was one, and lots of others stared.

Vanessa stopped by with snickerdoodles, Heather L. stopped by with a get-well card from everyone at work, and more Gatorade and candy than any sane man needs, and then Kate S. stopped by with my Mom to visit for a while. All of that was wonderful; a great way to spend a Friday evening (if your Friday evening had to be spent in a hospital). (And I gave Kate my house key; she’ll be coming back tomorrow with movies and clothes.)

All that’s the good news. The CK results from my 6 PM blood draw were 54,574. Yesterday I went down 20,000; today I went down 13,500. It’s good that I’m going down, but I’m frustrated that it went down less today than it did yesterday. We’ll see what tomorrow morning’s reading is. I was thinking I’d be out of here by Sunday or Monday; now I’m not so sure.

Update Saturday, December 19, 8:19 AM:

Great news! CK results from 4:42 AM this morning were 32,147. That’s a loss of 35,971 in the last 24 hours, and means that I’ll almost certainly be going home tomorrow.

Haven’t spoken with doctors yet; I’ll update when I do.

Update Saturday, December 19, 3:26 PM:

Went for a walk this morning; a one-hour walk around the UCLA campus. It was beautiful. I did get stared at a lot and asked if I needed help. What? You’ve never seen a man in sneakers and a hospital gown with an IV in his arm going for a brisk walk?

@dakimjerry came by and visited for a while; it was great hearing about his recent adventures on the road.

Kate S. is coming by later today after stopping of at my house; she’s going to bring CLOTHES. And SOCKS. And DVDs. And my TOOTHBRUSH. (I’ve been using a flimsy one from the hospital that bends; it’s bristles on the end of a drinking straw.)

Because I’m swelling up with liquids the doctors have given me a diuretic; my “output” was about 1.8 liters in an hour. Think about the size of a 2-liter soda bottle for a second…

No idea when I’m leaving. I’m getting closer to the magic 10,000 number, but the doctors say this won’t be linear — some days I’ll drop a lot, and some days I won’t. I handled my parents’ Medicare Part D drug plan selection over the Internet, and ordered some groceries to be delivered for them. (They can’t drive, or lately, use a computer.)

Update Saturday, December 19, 6:15 PM:

My CK level from 4:30 PM today was 27,221! Getting down there!

Update Sunday, December 20, 10:20 AM:

Just got back from a one-hour walk to the UCLA sculpture garden, and then a shower and fresh clothes. Heaven!

Even better, I spoke with a doctor, and my CK levels are down to 14,000! Wohoo! They’re taking me off the IV and testing to see whether it continues to come down by oral hydration. (They’re not, unfortunately, taking the IV out of my arm yet — they’re just not hooking it up to the bag.)

The doctor thinks it’s likely I’ll go home tomorrow!

Update Sunday, December 20, 5:22 PM:

My 4 PM blood test came back with a CK level of 11,096! I should be out of here tomorrow for sure! I’ll probably be under 10,000 by my 5 AM blood draw!

Update Sunday, December 20, 7:14 PM:

Just spoke with my night nurse; he said all the nurses are really excited about my case — they’ve never seen a rhabdomyolysis case with numbers this high. Normally there’s serious kidney damage at around 50,000 — my kidneys are fine, and my highest level measured was 136,000. Still crossing my fingers I’ll go home tomorrow.

Update Monday, December 21, 10:30 AM:

I was just told that my CK level from this morning was 6000. I’ll be released as soon as the attending physician sees me and signs off on it, and I’ll need to drink a liter of water a day.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

The success of our company depends on my performance. If I do my job poorly, our company could go broke, and all our employees could be out of work. (Lest you think I sound grandiose, there’s a number of other people at our company who can make the same statements. I’m not unique; our company depends on the efforts of a number of very talented people.)

Our products improve the quality of life for thousands of seniors across the country, and there’s other groups of people I can’t talk about yet who may also start being helped by my company. If I do my job well, their lives get better, and if I don’t, their lives don’t improve as much.

Now, this is not life-or-death. I’m not a doctor or a  pilot, and nobody’s going to die if I mess up. But quality of life is important — in the best case, our products could give a grandmother a few more months or years of recognizing her grandchildren. In the worst case, our work brings a smile and a slight lift to a senior’s day.

So those are the stakes, and I have a challenging job I care deeply about. Where’s the problem?

My crisis of confidence is that I’ve realized recently that I’m just not smart enough, and I know there’s nothing I can do to get smarter. I reached the limits of what I could do with BASH programming — so I taught myself Python, and began using that instead. Almost everything that I do involves editing text of one kind or another, on multiple platforms. After working with Vim and TextMate, I’ve settled on Emacs, and I’m working hard to master it. It’s available on every platform I use, and becoming an expert will reward the effort I put in. I spend my free time reading technical or management books, trying to improve my skills. I can make myself both more efficient and more effective. But I can’t make myself smarter.

The answer to all this is to simply to do the best that I can, accept that I’m doing the best that I can, and move on. Usually I tell myself that it’s enough to make our procedures and our product a little better every day. And usually that helps. Not tonight.

If I were to suddenly have a 100-fold decrease in my job performance, could that torpedo the company? Yes. (Again, there’s other people at work who could say the same thing.) What effect could a 100-fold increase have, both for the company and the users of our products?  Hard to imagine, but it would be significant. But I don’t see how a 100 times increase is possible for me — I’m already busting my ass to get to where I am.

I’m not beating myself up because someone else attacking the same problem could do it 10% better than I could. Someone else (I don’t know who, but let’s imagine) might do it ten-thousand times better. There’s no fixed endpoint, no race I have to finish. Part of this job is defining the endpoint, and a flash of inspiration could put it somewhere many orders of magnitude better than anything I can do.

I want to improve by orders of magnitude, and the best I can come up with is tacking on a few percentage points of improvement here and there.

Now realistically, I may not be the best, but I’m the best Dakim has, at least for my position. And Dakim would have a hard time replacing me if I left. But if there were some real rockstar to take my place (and people significantly better than me do exist), that rockstar could make my contributions look puny, and could take our product much farther than I’ve been able to.

Where does that leave me? It leaves me going to work in the morning, continuing to bust my ass and do the best I can.  And hopefully, able to forgive myself for my best being what it is.

I did share my own story — the story that kept me up Sunday night. I told parts of it to other people on Monday, and I wrote the whole thing down tonight — bright light slays demons, and I don’t want this in my dreams anymore.

You can read it here: http://www.sudosu.net/essays/no-more-guns/ .

We’re now going to be able to focus on growth and moving forward; this will remove a huge number of the roadblocks that have been holding us back.  It’s big news.

(Unfortunately for my friends, it probably doesn’t mean I’ll be spending less time at work — we’re leaping into action like a sprinter leaving the blocks.)

My house flooded on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. I’ve already cleaned up twice; there’s mud on my floor right now, on Monday morning. In addition, we’re late on a big project at the office. I worked 11 hours on Saturday and 9 hours on Sunday.

And we didn’t accomplish the thing that we spent all weekend working to accomplish.

If it looks like it won’t rain for a while, I may mop my floor tonight and clean up the mud for the third time.

(Oh, and my up-hill neighbor built a sandbag dike that sent a WALL of water down past (and into) my house, knocking down a fence, covering my brick patio and a small grass lawn with a layer of mud, and killing the fish in the fishpond.)

I got my landlord (he lives next door) and we went out to investigate. There was a big pool caused by debris against one side of the house, apparently that was seeping down next to the boulder and somehow into the house. When we cleared the debries and caused the pool to drain, the water stopped pouring through the THREE INCH HOLE in my wall. (Pictures to follow.)

Now, about that boulder. There’s a BIG rock, and apparently the hippies who built my house couldn’t move or blast it, so they just built the house around it. The boulder sticks into my house and is just plastered over. (There’s actually steps in it leading up to a little reading nook.) And as far as I can tell, the boulder is the only thing holding the house up. (I asked my landlord if the house was built on a slab foundation. His response? “Are you fucking kidding? It’s sticks on dirt. A couple of cinderblocks. And believe it or not, the place is legal. It’s old enough that it’s registered as a real residence!”)

He brought over a bunch of towels, and we swept up most of the mud on the bottom floor — thus far, my second floor has been blissfully immune to water problems. (Other than a few leaks, which just sprang up.)

Oh, one more thing. When I put my ear down near the boulder, I hear the sound of rushing water. And against the hillside wall of my house. Rushing water.

If I’ve struck some kind of underground stream, can I open a bottling plant? Want to drink Topanga Water?

http://biowiki.sudosu.net

(I’m keeping the shitty first draft to myself, at least for now.)

I have time (can’t see flames; they haven’t crested any hills around me) so I’m packing up essentials and heading to my parent’s house. With cats, which should go over wonderfully with the parents.

I’m turning off the computers now, and taking some of them with me. I may be blogging about this later tonight; I may not. If you have my phone number, feel free to call; especially if you’re worried. If you don’t have my phone number, feel free to direct-twitter me (http://twitter.com/schof) and it will be texted to my phone.

I strongly suspect that the flames will not reach my part of Topanga. Still, I’ve said all along that if I got the call for voluntary evacuation, I would go. I’m going.

Update 9:42 PM: Safely set up at my parents’ house. Several SEVERELY pissed-off cats hiding under my old single bed. All the essentials loaded in my car, and the house fire-proofed as much as possible. (Not very.)

I lost the first 10 or 15 pounds very quickly, in a month, without really trying. I had a variety of medical problems, and it’s amazing how quickly not being able to keep anything down (and other assorted digestive issues I will avoid mentioning) can make you lose weight. (Good doctors and being careful with myself mean that I’m fine now — no issues as long as I take care of myself.)

Once I actually saw that weight loss, though, I decided to keep going. Once my appetite came back, I actually started eating healthy portion sizes, and avoiding the really bad stuff. (Turns out those Hagen-Daz one-pint ice-cream tubs are NOT supposed to be single-serving. Who knew?)

One year ago, I weighed in at 255 lbs. (I’m 5′11″.) This morning, I weighed in at 212 lbs. I think I should probably be around 185, and I know I can (and will) get there.

Last night at my group therapy session, I had a shocking realization. (I’ve often thought that instead of its current title, my poetry “book” should be called “My Shitty Epiphany.”)

I’m very much in touch with all the pain I’ve experienced as a result of that rape (I prefer not to call it a “molestation.”) — but I discovered that I’m not at all in touch with the good things I let myself miss because of this.

Last week’s session felt like I made some real progress, and I noticed two changes as a result — first, I was really testy with almost everyone around me, and second, I felt much closer, felt much more warmth and affection, for my girlfriend, K.

The crankiness does not surprise me — when you start dealing with buried anger as I am, a little may leak out when you stir things up. But the wave of love and affection? Have I been burying those feelings along with the anger all these years? My sense of loss is almost palpable here — what other things have I allowed myself to miss, or not allowed myself to enjoy because of all this buried anger, fear, guilt, and grief?

Therapy has been something I did to avoid pain — now it may become something that opens the door to joy. That’s a very different thing.