Archive for the ‘cure’ Category
Today is December 1, 2011 and according to the Mayans, the mustache has ended. This is good news.
Mustaches and my face do not get along. In fact, the only thing that looks worse on my face is a fist (or whatever dirty joke you just came up with). I actually wrote a musical about the experience of growing a mustache for charity and how torn I was about the process. On one lip, I was thrilled to raise money and awareness for Movember and the fight against prostate and testicular cancers — our Dad2.0 team raised over $19,000, and the good people at Philips Norelco are matching $15,000 of that thanks to a series of shaving videos that many of us have made. I would also like to add that Baby Showers for Guys is donating $500 to the team (which includes many of the DadCentric guys!) in the name of their contest winner (which appears to be me!). That’s roughly $35,000 to cancer research just by not shaving. If only all good causes were this lazy, we could find cures for everything!
But the bottom lip is, I look like a real creep with a mustache. Even more than usual.
My wife hated it. It put her on edge and made her meaner than normal. She just assumed I had nothing nice to say.
My kids hated it. They said that it was sharp and itchy. They had no idea.
Society hated it. I couldn’t walk across the school parking lot without people throwing cabbage and pitchforks at me. In other news, my cabbage and pitchfork resale business is doing great.
You’ll catch part of the aforementioned abandoned musical in the clip below. The line was, “I look like I live in my mother’s basement, but that will soon change with this product placement.” And then the Philips Norelco SensoTouch 3D (Model 1250XCC), the Jet Clean system, and the Vacuum Stubble and Beard Trimmer would all get up and dance. It just wasn’t in the budget.
Here is the shaving video I made for Philips Norelco:
I will never shave the second mustache. That one isn’t creepy at all.
And now, a rare photo of me without facial hair:
I must admit, I swore off electric razors a long time ago, but the Norelco worked like a champ. It’s nice to work with products you can believe in. I’m looking at you, my phone service provider.
In case you are concerned that my freshly-shorn lip may catch cold this winter, don’t worry, I’m growing a dogstache. It’s really quite warm:
Thank you to all that participated, donated and restrained themselves from calling the authorities during the Movember campaign. Here’s to hitting cancer where it taint, once and for all.
Disclosure: The Philips Norelco products mentioned in this post were provided for free in exchange for the shaving video embedded above. I would like to thank Philips Norelco for the shaving system and their generous contribution to our Movember team.
Today is also Movember 1st (pronounced like it looks). It is the first day of a campaign created to raise awareness for prostate and testicular cancer. It is a day to start clean-shaven (hi, Google!).
Team DadCentric is poised to raise both awareness and money for the cause. I was asked to shave and submit a photo. So I did.
I shaved, for the first time in a long time, and sent in the picture. Here is the reply that I received. It struck me as a bit puzzling.:
We know all the Brett Favres are doing it, but you’re supposed to send us a picture of your face. If this is your face then our deepest apologies.
The Person at the Place That You Pretended to Send the Picture
I was shocked. Shocked.
Also, pretty itchy.
Then I read the official rules and realized that the “mo” in Movember is for mustache, and that I’m to grow one this month in order to raise said awareness, donations and, knowing the the way that I look with a mustache, a few eyebrows.
I’m going to look like a real jackass. And it’s for a good cause.
Support Team DadCentric as we go forward, upper lip first, into this brave, new world.
Kevin of Always Home and Uncool has asked me to post this as part of his effort to raise awareness in the blogosphere of juvenile myositis, a rare autoimmune disease his daughter was diagnosed with on this day seven years ago. The day also happens to be his wife’s birthday.
Thanks for sharing, Kevin.
Our pediatrician admitted it early on.
The rash on our 2-year-old daughter’s cheeks, joints and legs was something he’d never seen before.
The next doctor wouldn’t admit to not knowing.
He rattled off the names of several skins conditions — none of them seemingly worth his time or bedside manner — then quickly prescribed antibiotics and showed us the door.
The third doctor admitted she didn’t know much.
The biopsy of the chunk of skin she had removed from our daughter’s knee showed signs of an “allergic reaction” even though we had ruled out every allergy source — obvious and otherwise — that we could.
The fourth doctor had barely closed the door behind her when, looking at the limp blond cherub in my lap, she admitted she had seen this before. At least one too many times before.
She brought in a gaggle of med students. She pointed out each of the physical symptoms in our daughter:
The rash across her face and temples resembling the silhouette of a butterfly.
The purple-brown spots and smears, called heliotrope, on her eyelids.
The reddish alligator-like skin, known as Gottron papules, covering the knuckles of her hands.
The onset of crippling muscle weakness in her legs and upper body.
She then had an assistant bring in a handful of pages photocopied from an old medical textbook. She handed them to my wife, whose birthday it happened to be that day.
This was her gift — a diagnosis for her little girl.
That was seven years ago — Oct. 2, 2002 — the day our daughter was found to have juvenile dermatomyositis, one of a family of rare autoimmune diseases that can have debilitating and even fatal consequences when not treated quickly and effectively.
Our daughter’s first year with the disease consisted of surgical procedures, intravenous infusions, staph infections, pulmonary treatments and worry. Her muscles were too weak for her to walk or swallow solid food for several months. When not in the hospital, she sat on our living room couch, propped up by pillows so she wouldn’t tip over, as medicine or nourishment dripped from a bag into her body.
Our daughter, Thing 1, Megan, now age 9, remembers little of that today when she dances or sings or plays soccer. All that remain with her are scars, six to be exact, and the array of pills she takes twice a day to help keep the disease at bay.
What would have happened if it took us more than two months and four doctors before we lucked into someone who could piece all the symptoms together? I don’t know.
I do know that the fourth doctor, the one who brought in others to see our daughter’s condition so they could easily recognize it if they ever had the misfortune to be presented with it again, was a step toward making sure other parents also never have to find out.
That, too, is my purpose today.
It is also my birthday gift to my wife, My Love, Rhonda, for all you have done these past seven years to make others aware of juvenile myositis diseases and help find a cure for them once and for all.
To read more about children and families affected by juvenile myositis diseases, visit Cure JM Foundation at www.curejm.org.