I'm Bendin' Spoons.

So the score looks like this: Insurance 482, Emily 1.

They have finally allowed the MRI, Friends. I felt a little bit like Aladdin being granted a wish by the genie. But only if the genie were an evil corporation profiting on my pain and yelling, "dance, monkey girl, dance!" and if I were a little boy from the middle east that had a fondness for wearing hammer pants and vests without a shirt underneath.

Okay. So it's not the same, really.

I totally can't pull off just a vest. Oh, no. Just no.

But I can totally pull off a hat. And I think Aladdin wore a hat.

Anyway, they said yes. I threw out a grand number of expletives and thank yous and the MRI was done on Friday.

Here's how that went:

Technician: You can't move at all.
Me: Not at all?
T: Not unless you want me to do it over again.
M: And this whole process will take...?
T: An hour.
M: Excuse me?
T: ONE. HOUR... Unless you move.
M: Like, can I stretch the parts that aren't in the machine?
T: No, that would change the electric force field.
M:Ohmygod.


So he put some headphones on me and I went in the MRI machine, feet first up to the chest. I was like, "Easy peasy, it's like a tanning bed." He talked to me a couple of times and I nodded and got yelled at so I tried to speak without moving my lips and we got started.

Apparently I looked to him like a girl that liked to get her party on, because he put dance music in my ears the whole freaking time. I didn't want to be all lame and ask the voice in my ears for Simon & Garfunkel or maybe some Carol King, but can I just say? The mash-ups and beats did NOT help me go to my happy place.  I'm not anti-club music but holy crap.

So I practiced breathing techniques and counted the ceiling tiles and told myself that this time will just fly by. Like lightning.

It didn't.

I just sat there, listening to the club mix and the man in my ears as the paper began to rise underneath my legs and every hair follicle on my lower half went crazy. It is the most bizarre sensation. I also started having involuntary muscle twitches. At one point he yelled, "Stop moving!" and my response was a muffled, tight-lipped, "The entire definition of involuntary muscle spasms is that I HAVE NO CONTROL OVER THEM!" and I didn't. It was like, my entire leg, flopping in the force field. Toes bending completely. I started wondering if anyone had spontaneously combusted in the machine. Then I started to count tiles again, because shit, I scared myself. And I was deathly afraid that I would have to do this sitting completely still thing again. You know, if I didn't spontaneously burst into flames first.

When all the flying paper and rising follicles and twitching was done, he came in. It was the second time he had come in, the first time was half way through and he was yelling "Don't move, don't move!" and he had to adjust something before the second MRI. I couldn't even stretch. So that second time, I just sat there. He said I could move and I was all, "Are you sure?"

And I could not sit up. I was so weak from holding still that I could not even move and he had to help me up and I might have flashed him a teeny tiny bit. I couldn't walk, either. So I just sat there. When I left the room, I was SURE that everything metal was going to come flying towards me and I would die a horrible death by utensils and magnets.

I didn't.

When I staggered out to the waiting room, Jeremiah announced that AN HOUR AND A HALF had passed. I told him we had bigger problems because I was now super human. I was an MRI gone wrong.

Then I realized: Those assholes lied to me. They said it would be only an hour.

I think I shall use my powers for evil.

Well, Crap.

Did you miss me?

Picture me asking you this, standing shyly, head hanging down in an "Awe, shucks" kind of way.

Except no.

I am not standing. Because I have effed up my foot, Friends.

Shit's messed up.

Snuffy's Disease got way out of hand.

After getting a steroid injection that allowed me to walk like a normal person (as opposed to Thug Nasty), the damn thing wore off, I overdid it, and long story short, I have ruptured both my Achilles and Plantar Fascia. Ripped those things in half. Due to the tendons or whatever not being connected anymore, my left foot is completely flat and approximately half an inch longer than the right foot.

Shoe shopping is going to be a bitch in about five weeks. Also, when I saw the size difference in the bathtub, I started laughing. That might have been because I was temporarily hopped up on pain meds, or it might have actually been funny. At the moment, I am not laughing.

My insurance will not cover an MRI to see what needs to be done until after six weeks in the cast. I have to say, I'd much rather them suck it the hell up and cover the MRI. I am terrified of not knowing. Plus, for the next five weeks, I am only allowed fifteen minutes per hour of standing. That's it. I'm not great with math, but the hour it takes to get ready in the morning is effing me up. I try to sit on the counter while I do my hair, but showering and what not? Takes longer than fifteen.

My students have been hilarious in all of this. I tell them that one of the other students (I co-teach) ran over my foot with a scooter. The boy laughs and says, "I didn't even look back! What, what!" Also, they are practicing their mathematical skills and regularly tell me how much time I have left any given hour.

Plus, the cast smells. I can wash it, but it has to air dry and I am not allowed to take it off unless I am in the shower or driving. So really, I can't wash it. I should have figured that out when the cleaning instructions had a laughing smiley face next to them. Bastards.

My specialist yesterday did an additional ultrasound and I told him that while he may just have flown back from a third world country doing missionary clinic work, the smell that would hit him when I took off the cast was death, pure death.
 

Lastly, I have to wear it to bed and this pains me because I wash my feet when I come in the house. I don't like dirty sheets. And now I basically have the world's filthiest and smelliest shoe thing on my new sheets. Brand freaking new. It's worse than when Mel threw up on the comforter.

Much, much worse.


I would like to add that my co-workers/friends/Jeremiah have been so awesome that it brings me to tears. Seriously, they are amazing. I was crying (out of "Ohmygosh, everyone is being so nice!" overwhelmedness) and my coworker said "Emily? Are you kidding? We LOVE you. This is what happens when you're a nice person. Other people want to help you when you're down." And then I cried even more.

It was a very Sally Fields moment. "You like me?! You really, really like me?!" And also, because deep down, I might be nice. Who knew?

Kelly Clarkson!

Yesterday after work I went to one of my specialists. He is the one that diagnosed me with Snuffy's Disease, even though he is not a podiatrist. I am pretty sure I am his dose of entertainment for the day (Unless it is an emergency flare visit, in which case there is endless crying and sweating. That might not be his favorite.).

Anyway, I have been doing okay with my disease. My main focus right now is the Snuffy's Disease and my three week long sinus infection (I went to the doctor on Saturday. It got pretty bad, Friends.). He asked about S.D. and I informed him that I was still having problems. He suggested the injection again, which I was hesitant about because I don't love the idea of masking the pain. He said that it would bring down the inflammation and allow me to use the foot again. It might even give the foot time to heal.

After a lot of nervous wiggling and clapping (Yes, clapping. I think I was trying to encourage myself.) I decided to go for it.

They wheeled the most ginormous machine into the room and at that point I realized that it was probably too late to turn back and that also this might be something that I regret. It was actually just the ultra-sound machine and he even pointed out my tendons and foot parts. So far, so good.

The next step was a quick cleaning because I had been in sandals all day and feet get filthy in Phoenix. I am so serious. First thing I do when I get home? I wash my feet. Anyway, then I made him promise that he would tell me when he was going to shoot me. He promised. It went like this:


E: Promise me?
Dr: I promise. Right now I am going to put some cold stuff on it.
E: Okay. Wow, yeah, that's chill-HOLY CRAP! HOLY CRAP! HOLY CRAP! The bastard shot me. There was a lot of clapping and weird mouth noises and even some swearing until he was done - which was about a minute. A minute of getting a shot in my freaking heel. Normally I would wiggle a lot, but they were holding down BOTH of my feet.
E: You are a sneaky liar!
Dr: What?
E: You PROMISED me!
Dr: Oh. Did I forget to mention that I was going to stick you? I thought I said it. Huh.
E: You are a sneaky, evil man.

I should still be mad at him, but he ever so gently attached a band-aid to my foot and helped me down from the table because walking at that point had become treacherous.

If you do not mind a lot of swearing - and I mean A LOT of swearing - this is what my visit was like. Except I do not need my chest waxed and I am not a man. The general overall flip out? Practically the same. Except some different swears.

Again - not an appropriate video for watching in a public place or around children. Don't pull this out in church, friends.

In fact, I will just provide the link:
I like your sweater. Does that come in a v-neck?

If you are interested, you can revisit another visit to Dr. Lying Sneaky Pants HERE.

p.s. Also I can't really walk today. I seriously need a walker. Or a cane. Because I am really limping. I look like I am trying to be a gangsta.
p.p.s. In school-related news, do you know how many paper towels it takes to clean up an entire carton of milk when it falls into a desk? I do. That was a great start to the morning. 

Oh, No He Didn't.

Have you missed me?

I have been super busy, plus my doctor called and told me that tests indicate that I am in fact sick. Again. Sonofabitch. So MORE antibiotics. At this point, everyone at the pharmacy knows me by name. The elderly, the pharmacists - we are all good friends.

Anyway, I do not have time to write because I am busy, but I wanted to let you know that I was called bitter (due to the fact that I am childless, of course) by a friend's husband.

So I gave you the end of the story. Wait until you hear the beginning. I was shaking, I was so pissed.

Happy Day, Friends!

Ding-a-Lings & More

First of all, the principal and assistant principal thought my email about the guillotine was hilarious. Not the point, but happy that I could do that for them. They forwarded the email to some guys that apparently know shit about ceiling noises and one of them came out and he could not figure it out so he sent his BFF out to look at it and he was like, "How long have you been hearing these noises?" I told him that I'd been hearing them since I moved in the room. He asked why I did not tell anyone. My response was "I thought it was just me."

Then I realized that made me sound a little crazy and I tried to cover for myself by laughing hysterically. Smooth, Emily.

Anyway, he told me that the loud noises were actually TOILET PIPES. Every time someone flushes, I know it. It is a little disgusting. Now every few seconds I am thinking about how someone is using the bathroom. He promised to see what he could do.

Speaking of falling into my mini-fridge (see how smoothly I transitioned there?), I think I know why I fell. Saturday I woke up with a horrible pain behind my right ear and ended up at Urgent Care. With an actual fever. The horrible doctor told me that I had fluid in both ears. I am thinking that ear fluid probably screws with the equilibrium, you know? So bad sinus infection. And ding-a-ling number one, because she really was an idiot.

Our next stop was the pharmacy, because she gave me a crap-ton of scripts. Let me tell you about my pharmacy. It is filled to the brim with elderly. There is an entire aisle dedicated to adult diapers. I am the youngest person to shop there by about thirty years. This will be important in the story. Sort of.

I stood there with my new prescriptions and my thermometer that I had to purchase in order to monitor my fever, and things then went downhill. The girl at the counter asked with a curled lip if I had a fever. No, honey. I always sweat like this when I am immobile.  Ding-a-ling number two, for making me feel bad about being sick.


I figured that while I was there, I would pick up a prescription that my Snuffy's Disease doctor had called in earlier in the week. One was to be mailed to me, one was to be picked up. Except that the one that was to be mailed he sent to the pharmacy, and the one that was supposed to be at the pharmacy was not there.

At my wit's end, I said of my doctor "He is SUCH a ding-a-ling!". The two hundred year old woman waiting in the endless line behind me steps up and starts rubbing my shoulder. "Honey?" She says to me, "They ALL are."

The end.

P.S. I had a "reaction" to the meds the doctor prescribed and spent the whole night wide awake filled with paranoia and a heart that I was sure was going to jump out of my chest. Like, I actually thought it was going to hop out. Jump across the floor. As my brother would say, I was nuttier than squirrel shit. The next morning I read the warnings on the scripts and they said if you were already a little crazy, you should not take these meds. And now I sit here wondering just how nutty I actually am.

P.P.S. I did not take those meds again, in case you were wondering. I decided to tough out the horrible pain without painkillers and the doctor phoned in a different antibiotic. I am feeling like myself (which according to the warnings, is only slightly sane) and waiting for the pain and sickies to go away. Send happy healthy thoughts my way, please.

Because No One Puts Baby in the Corner

Not to upstage Jeremiah or anything, but late on Friday night I was admitted to the emergency room. As I was not able to drive and Jeremiah is on strict orders not to drive, I am going to say that we flew to the ER. Or rode horseback. Which sounds more realistic?

My joints/muscles were flamed up and I was in excruciating pain. Nothing was helping. Not a bath, not gentle massage, not heat. Nothing. I couldn't lie down, couldn't sit. The only thing I could do was pace. And cry. And there was some screaming mixed with snot-filled sinuses, which I am sure was a treat.

So we went to the ER using our wings/horses. It is really close to our house, and suburbia is quite quiet at one thirty in the morning. So our horses encountered minimal traffic.

I was almost immediately given a bed, even though they were packed. This did not matter because I could not sit down and spent my time standing and pacing the room until they made me lie down to get an IV.

At this point, they told me that I would be getting morphine, something for nausea, and valium. And then I started to cry, because I HATE drugs of any kind and they scare me. Plus, the nurse could not find any veins (typical) and ended up using the inside of my arm, half way up. Very painful, Friends. So I was snot crying about the pain, stress, sleeplessness, and the fear of the morphine.

Then after, I felt a little better. Still in pain, but not crying because my back was touching the bed. Also not pain free enough to be considered okay, so I got my second dose of morphine. At this point, I cared a little less. Also at this point, conversations became a bit more interesting.

Me: Ooh, Roseanne is on! I love this show!
J: Okay...
Me: I love John Goodman.
J: Quizzical look in my direction
Me: He's bringing sexy back, Jeremiah.
J: Really? Should I gain a hundred pounds?
Me: Well, no. But you would look GOOD in that flannel shirt. And with some curly hair. At this point in the conversation, I may have growled a little. This is an argument we have had for years. I think Jeremiah should bring back the cowboy look. I don't know if it's because he grew up on a farm or what, but I think he could rock the boots, hat, and plaid/flannel shirt. I never win this argument. 
Nurse: How are we doing in here?
J: Oh, I think the morphine is kicking in.

And also this, about an hour into the stay:
J: Shit. This chair is really uncomfortable.
Me: Oh, really?
J: Yeah.
Me: Yeah? You let me know when you sleep in one of those chairs for THREE WHOLE DAYS while watching someone you love in the aftermath of a craniotomy, then we will talk.


I am home now and feeling better, but not too psyched about the fact that I have had such a serious episode, because my doctor has helped me manage it so well, it worries me that something like this managed to sneak through the meds.


Diseases suck.

So how was your weekend?

p.s. My nurse looked like Jane Lynch and was almost as funny. That could be the morphine talking, but I really do think she was funny.

p.p.s. I have added a picture of my bruise so you can feel my pain.

This is where they shot the morphine into me. Or, as we now know it, the truth serum. After Roseanne ended, Three's Company came on and I announced to Jeremiah that young John Ritter was hot.

Jeremiah, Part 2: Why You Should ALWAYS Listen to Your Girlfriend

I am going to preface this story by saying that I know that sometimes I may take things lightly and joke, but believe me, I have not taken this lightly at all. Humor and writing are my coping mechanisms. As a friend pointed out in the midst of my breakdown in the neuro waiting room (while I was blasting all the people who were laughing, playing games, and eating because they weren't having breakdowns), we all handle our stress/grief/nerves in different ways.

Jeremiah's whole story starts back in 2007. That's when I first noticed that his eye was protruding a bit.

Oops, actually it starts back when Jeremiah was four or so and blinded by a wiffle ball that his brother threw. Not as in, he lost some sight, but as in, only shadows in the left eye.

So back to 2007 - I noticed that the right eye was bulging. As we had only been dating for about a year, I approached this as gently as possible. He didn't seem concerned. While in Michigan, an acquaintance noticed it and mentioned it to Jeremiah's mom. Still he was not concerned. After much nagging and about a year, in 2008ish he went to a regular physician and an eye doctor. Both told him he was fine. No tests, nothing. And apparently two shitty-ass doctors trump the girlfriend with no medical degree.

In the past year or so, I noticed that it seemed to be getting worse. I convinced him to see my eye doctors (who are fantastic, by the way) and they immediately were concerned (as any GOOD doctor should be). They sent him to another doctor. This doctor ordered MRIs and CAT scans, but when all was said and done, was not comfortable diagnosing or working on it. So on to another doctor - an ENT who worked in the orbital lobe. This guy said it was bone, but also that because it was heading towards Jeremiah's frontal lobe, HE was not comfortable working on it.

The tumor. You can see that it has almost completely blocked the optic nerves.

So we got sent to a fancy brain surgeon. He is supposedly so good that people come from all over the country to have him work on them and also doctors from all over come to observe. This guy seemed confident that he could do it. Surgery was scheduled.

Meanwhile, there were a few concerns. One - if they did not operate, the tumor (which was in his good eye socket) could completely cut off the optic nerve, making Jeremiah blind in both eyes.
Two - if they DID operate, they could accidentally do something to the optic nerves, and he could be completely blind.

So you can imagine, there was a lot of stress and concerns. Jeremiah made me practice walking him around with his eyes closed.

Day of surgery arrives.

I found Maddie in my overnight bag. She was not allowed to come with us.

Jeremiah's vitals and everything were perfect. They wheeled him away to surgery. About four hours later, he was done. The doctors came to speak with me and told me that he was resting, in a lot of pain, and that the surgery had gone very well. In the future, they might have to go back in if it grows back, but that hopefully they would be able to go in through the nose this time, as it is smaller and more manageable.

In ICU, Jeremiah had to spend only one night. He was allergic to the first pain killer that they gave him, but once they switched it, he rested comfortably. They wanted to send him home the next day (I flipped out. Who goes home one day after a craniotomy?) but agreed to keep him another night, but this time in a regular room on the neuro floor, with a regular door (not a glass wall with people staring in) and a lot less restrictions. His vitals this entire time were perfect - better than mine, for sure, and a lot of that is due to the biking. I never in my life have been so happy to have washed all his stretchy bike pants - if that's what it takes to keep his vitals excellent, I will wash those stretchy pants the rest of my life.

He did excellent the second night, and by noon the following day, we were on our way home.

Since we have been home he has been slowly getting his strength back. He is moving around, listening to music, we have been taking short walks, etc.

That's it for Part 2. But let this be a lesson to you all - The girlfriend is ALWAYS right.

There's Something Different About You...

A friend/coworker came up to me while I was ushering my students to the bathrooms or special or whatever. She looked a bit different, but I could not put my finger on it.

I was all, "Buffy, are you okay?" (Not that her real name is Buffy, but wouldn't that be cool to have a friend named Buffy?)

She started laughing. But only on half her face. The right side remained stoic.

"Are you drunk?" I whispered, even though my students were well out of ear shot. And even though if Buffy was drinking at 9:45 in the morning, I might have to stage an intervention.

Nope. Not drunk. But she's still smiling. It's like I'm conversing with The Joker.

"Did you have a stroke? Can you raise your right arm? Say a coherent sentence for me." I demanded.

No. She did not stroke out. Still laughing. Sort of. Business on the right side, party on the left.

"Botox?" I asked intrigued.

No. But now that I know she's not in danger of a stroke, a victim of bad Botox, or in need of intervention,  I'm laughing hysterically and tears are welling up in my eyes and I'm starting to wheeze. Damn the asthma to hell.

My students are looking back at me like I am crazy. Only because they can't see Miss Buffy's face. Because if they could, surely she would be the one getting quizzical stares.

Apparently Buffy's dentist is fond of the numbing injections before doing work. She was brave enough to come in to work afterwards. I don't think I would have been that brave.

She even sent me a picture of herself that I keep on my phone, so when I am sad or need a smile, I can look at it and laugh.

I am a horrible friend, aren't I?

Six more days of school!

Plantar Snuffleupagus

After I got home from the specialist earlier this week:

J: How was the doctor today?
Me: He's fine.
J: Ugh. How was YOUR visit with the doctor today?
Me:Um, well, the reason I went to the doctor, for my debilitating life- shortening disease, was promising, but then he took off my sandals and diagnosed me with plantar something. Plantar Snuffleupagus, that's it.
J:Really.
Me: Yeah.
J: So you have a problem in your left heel that's named after Big Bird's imaginary friend?
Me: Yes, and what do you mean "imaginary"?
J:No one could see Snuffleupagus, you know that, right?
Me: What the hell. I could see Snuffleupagus. He was NOT imaginary.
J: No one besides Big Bird could see him on Sesame Street.
Me: You are full of shit.
J: What's it really called?
Me: I freaking TOLD you. Plantar Snuffleupagus.
J: I'm done.
Me: That's fine. I'm done, too. I don't associate with big old LIARS.


Okay. So I looked it up. I actually have plantar fasciitis. The pain is outrageous. Sometimes I go to stand up and I tip over because I can't step down on the left foot at all. You can laugh at me, it's okay, that's what Jeremiah does. Or you can bark at me, if you'd like. That's what the dogs do when I start to tip over. I always knew that my left side would give out first. Stupid left side.  I was quite proud of myself for living with Snuffy's Disease for so long, considering people get injections to help with the pain. My doctor asked why I hadn't gone to a doctor to fix it and I told him that I simply did not know what doctor I should go to. Plus, I don't like my podiatrist (who refused to do things my way) or my general physician (who does not listen to me when I tell her I am sick). So he said I could come to him as needed. Mostly I think that I make him laugh.

Regarding Snuffy being invisible? I looked it up. And Jeremiah? When I was a kid, he was real. Big Bird outed him from imaginary to real in 1985. When you were a kid, you know, seven years before me, he was imaginary. So there, you old bastard.  I win.

p.s. Sorry for the vaultlessness today. As you have just read, I am currently suffering and in great pain due to my plantar snuffleupagus. Plus, I wanted to gloat a bit about being a winner. Again.

p.p.s. My chiropractor has also helped. I guess helped is the right word. He basically "massaged" the pain yesterday. Massaged is only the right word if it means "incredible pain that feels like a thousand knives stabbing me repeatedly on the bottom of the foot making me scream in public and wiggle so much that a boob nearly falls out of my bra."

p.p.p.s. You should ask how much sympathy I got from Jeremiah when I got home. I know you won't ask, so I will just tell you. As I pathetically heroically moaned from the couch, I got zero sympathy. When he sat down next to me to ask why I was mad at him, I could not even get away from him, which gave him an unfair advantage in the argument. So I covered him with a blanket.

Doctor's Visit #2

Shortly after visiting my regular doctor, I went to the specialist. I go every few months and I am pretty sure it is the highlight of his day. The following conversations DID occur.

Dr. - So your joints are feeling a little -
E - Holy Crap! I swat at the doctor who is squeezing the life out of my body, joint by joint.
Dr. - Okay, so that hurt?
E- Yes. Lots. And that nurse? She tried to take my blood pressure.
Dr. - How did that go?
E - Just LOOK at my arm! I raise my shirt to show him the bright red spot & bumps that are now on my arm, covering the skin just as the cuff had minutes before, due to the babe with the blood pressure cuff. Probably it is important for you to know that simple things like blood pressure readings, my eight pound dog stepping on me, shaking someone's hand? Those all hurt. A lot. They actually leave marks on my body. I have an extreme over-sensitivity to touch.
Dr. - So we'll try the blood pressure with a different nurse after I finish in here, okay?
E - 'kay.
Dr. - How is the pain?
E - M'eh.

fast forward to the sleep part of the conversation -

Dr. - So how are you sleeping?
E - Not so well.
Dr. - Why not?
E - Well, a variety of reasons. Sometimes I think of all the sh...stuff that I need to do the next day. Sometimes it is because my boyfriend snores in clicks. I honestly think he is speaking another language and I feel a bit left out. I am keeping track, though, and soon I think I will crack those clicks and we will be able to communicate like regular people.
Dr. - Silence
E - Sometimes it is because I have night terrors or just regular nightmares. People keep killing me. Like the other night? Someone beat me to death on the side of the road with a lead pipe and I did not realize until after I walked around and drove and stuff that I was actually dead. Is this normal?
Dr. - Silence
E - Sometimes I have night terrors, where I get out of bed and try to point out things to Jeremiah, who is clicking away in his sleep, probably answering me but I do not know what he is saying...yet.
Dr. - Silence
E - You know, it is so weird. Jeremiah wakes up refreshed and he gets to do all this fun sh...stuff in his dreams. He plays the drums. He downhill skis. He basically gets to go on vacation every time he sleeps. I am not sure where he goes, because I have not yet cracked the clicks, but it sounds like loads of fun.
Dr. - After a moment of silence. Well, it is not normal to have so many problems with sleep. Let's try some (prescription that I don't feel like sharing with you, friends). It should help with the pain and also relax you enough to sleep.

After convincing me that it was non-habit forming and that it was for the best, I agreed. I have only needed to use the meds once or twice in the past month, and have taken something similar in the past, so all is good.

Arriving home after appointment:
E - Sitting in car, singing loudly to a Glee Sountrack
J - Peeks out and looks at girlfriend sitting in car, singing loudly. Um, are you okay?
E - Yes. The doctor gave me new medicine. So I can sleep better.
J - That's good. Are you going to get out of the car?
E - Thinking about it. I guess. Slowly I get out of car, sad to leave the happy music.
J - Emily?
E - Yes?
J - Are you on the meds now?


I convinced him that I was not and we had a lovely evening. Probably listening to our neighbor's adult son listening to his stereo.