OK, I finally reached a decision. I'm going to retire at the end of Dec. of this year. I always said I would retire when Hub did, but he retired in 2000, and I have slogged onward. But all our debt is paid; the kids are out of college; Hub's consulting has been a total windfall, and I am finding the physical and mental strength to get up and go to work each day a constant, debilitating struggle. I don't feel that I'm giving all I should at work, because frankly I'm finding it hard to care. I've worked at the medical center at this university for 25 years, and every "new" crisis is the same -- been there, done that. The administration is so very short sighted, dealing with each crisis today, and don't worry about the consequences, we'll deal with them tomorrow. In the safety field, this is a particularly dangerous attitude, your only hope in disaster control is prevention, and that means planning ahead, a totally alien scheme here.
I probably won't get any kind of 'goodby' party, so I'm going to get my own retirement gift -- a Newfoundland puppy. I'm already on a waiting list with a great breeder. I had my lovely Lotsa Trouble from 1986 until she died in 1998; it was the start of a truly bad time, as I lost my mom in 1999, my dad went in a nursing home right after that, and died in 2002, my favorite aunt in 2003, and my only sib, my sister, in 2004 (she was only 57). Hub lost his dad in 2001. I lost my job in 1999, again in 2002, and again in 2004. I tried suicide in 2001 and 2002, ending up unconscious in ICU both times. Thanks to a great husband and kids, and the help of my doctor, two therapists, and a great psychiatrist, I am on the road to better times now, touch wood. Looking back, I can only think that I am far more resilient than I thought I ever could be. I still have black black times, but I trust that they will get better without my having to do anything but endure, and they DO pass and they last for less time each time. SO! A new puppy...Newfs are the greatest dogs, mellow, loving, contented to just be where you are. The great pity is that, like all the giant breeds, they live such short lives (8 to 10 being the average). My Lotsa was a therapy dog, and loved to go to the rehab hospital, especially the kids in wheelchairs, where she could just lay her head in their laps and be stroked. We went in the local parades with the kennel club, where she loved to walk at the edge of the road so all the kids could pat her as she walked by. I know a new puppy won't be identical to her, but just the touch of their fur, watching their clumsy way of running, I can't wait.
Something to look forward to.
A random collection of posts about my life (sorta)
Friday, March 31, 2006
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
My barbeque party
The following is slide show (you don't need to click your mouse, just scroll down) that is not original with me. If you are the creator, let me know and I will gladly give credit where credit is due!
Monday, March 20, 2006
Back on the road again
As I guess a lot of you have found, last weekend Blogger was essentially unavailable. I wrote a post from home, but as I am now at work, I guess I'll just try to remember what I wrote.
I spent a fair amount of time this weekend ripping my CDs to mp3 files, to go on my new player. In the bad old days, I used to download tracks from Napster, but as far as I remember, I only did so for tracks for which I owned the CD anyway; I just didn't have the software (or maybe the know-how) to rip songs from an audio CD back then. This weekend I realized how very many CDs I have in which I only want to listen to one or two tracks. When we had a reel-to-reel tape recorder, I would copy LPs to it one or two tracks at a time, because however much I may like an artist, I really don't want to hear 90 minutes of them, uninterrupted. Eventually I would memorize the order of the tunes, I played them that way so often. The 'shuffle' feature of the mp3 players is great, you never know what will be next, and if you turn it off mid-song, it resumes at the start of that song, too. But it still doesn't change the fact that a CD, costing around $15 or more, is 90% crud and 10% listenable. Unfortunately, when ripping I pretty much had to listen to the whole CD to find what I wanted. Or at least the first minute of the tune, and that certainly slowed up the process. I calculate I will finish the task in 2008, but only if I stop buying CDs right now. Which isn't too likely. I also plan to make CDs with these selections, so I can play them in the car. The mp3 player, with its earbuds, is too much of a distraction when I'm driving, I can't hear traffic noises like sirens or horns. And if they get ripped off (in a convertible, access is only a fingernail file away), I can always burn another.
Actually, speaking of rag tops, I rarely lock my car anyway. I would rather a thief took whatever they want inside, but leave the friggin' top intact. A new top, the last I checked, runs around $1500, and believe me, there's nothing inside worth that much. And if they steal the whole car, well, that's what insurance is for. Plus, of course, this is a small town (I think; there are those from truly little towns in WV who think Morgantown is 'the big city') and it's harder than you would think to get away with stuff. When we first moved here from San Francisco, I was caught by this when I would be telling a funny story about, say, the babysitter, and someone would ask, who is she? And I'd give her name and they would say, oh yeah, she goes to church with me, or, I went to school with her brother, or the like. Even in a town of 25,000, you can't count on anonymity at all; the guy in the Lexus you give the bird to will turn out to be the new youth pastor or whatever. It takes some getting used to. The place where I go every two weeks to get my nails done is a fount of information; between the two of them, they know the history of everyone in town, who is running around on who, who has a drinking problem, everything. I just listen, I seldom know any of these people (despite having lived here 25 years), but the wealth of gossip just leaves me breathless. There must be an underground telegraph somewhere. I wonder if everyone in town is aware of how transparent their lives are? This must be part of the appeal of living in a real big city.
Well I'm off to see the new psychiatrist (you have to be off, otherwise you wouldn't need a psychiatrist, right?) who will maybe have some magic pill that will make me cheerful, lose weight, be smarter, and sleep sounder. Riiiiight.
I spent a fair amount of time this weekend ripping my CDs to mp3 files, to go on my new player. In the bad old days, I used to download tracks from Napster, but as far as I remember, I only did so for tracks for which I owned the CD anyway; I just didn't have the software (or maybe the know-how) to rip songs from an audio CD back then. This weekend I realized how very many CDs I have in which I only want to listen to one or two tracks. When we had a reel-to-reel tape recorder, I would copy LPs to it one or two tracks at a time, because however much I may like an artist, I really don't want to hear 90 minutes of them, uninterrupted. Eventually I would memorize the order of the tunes, I played them that way so often. The 'shuffle' feature of the mp3 players is great, you never know what will be next, and if you turn it off mid-song, it resumes at the start of that song, too. But it still doesn't change the fact that a CD, costing around $15 or more, is 90% crud and 10% listenable. Unfortunately, when ripping I pretty much had to listen to the whole CD to find what I wanted. Or at least the first minute of the tune, and that certainly slowed up the process. I calculate I will finish the task in 2008, but only if I stop buying CDs right now. Which isn't too likely. I also plan to make CDs with these selections, so I can play them in the car. The mp3 player, with its earbuds, is too much of a distraction when I'm driving, I can't hear traffic noises like sirens or horns. And if they get ripped off (in a convertible, access is only a fingernail file away), I can always burn another.
Actually, speaking of rag tops, I rarely lock my car anyway. I would rather a thief took whatever they want inside, but leave the friggin' top intact. A new top, the last I checked, runs around $1500, and believe me, there's nothing inside worth that much. And if they steal the whole car, well, that's what insurance is for. Plus, of course, this is a small town (I think; there are those from truly little towns in WV who think Morgantown is 'the big city') and it's harder than you would think to get away with stuff. When we first moved here from San Francisco, I was caught by this when I would be telling a funny story about, say, the babysitter, and someone would ask, who is she? And I'd give her name and they would say, oh yeah, she goes to church with me, or, I went to school with her brother, or the like. Even in a town of 25,000, you can't count on anonymity at all; the guy in the Lexus you give the bird to will turn out to be the new youth pastor or whatever. It takes some getting used to. The place where I go every two weeks to get my nails done is a fount of information; between the two of them, they know the history of everyone in town, who is running around on who, who has a drinking problem, everything. I just listen, I seldom know any of these people (despite having lived here 25 years), but the wealth of gossip just leaves me breathless. There must be an underground telegraph somewhere. I wonder if everyone in town is aware of how transparent their lives are? This must be part of the appeal of living in a real big city.
Well I'm off to see the new psychiatrist (you have to be off, otherwise you wouldn't need a psychiatrist, right?) who will maybe have some magic pill that will make me cheerful, lose weight, be smarter, and sleep sounder. Riiiiight.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
Is there a doctor in the house?
Two weeks ago my family physician of 20+ years died of breast cancer. If anyone could beat it, I thought she would. I didn't like the doctor who bought her practice ( I ranted on about this a few posts back), and so I sent for a copy of my medical records to take to a new doctor I had heard good things about. By the way, if you ever do this, be sure to get your copied records sent to you and not directly to the new doctor. The reason for this isn't so you can read them (although of course you can, anytime) but because if they arrive before your first appt. with the dr., his staff will look in their files, not see one for you (yet), shove your copies in a drawer somewhere, and when you arrive for your first visit, no one will have any idea where your old records are--or even if they arrived. And you do want them there with you at your first visit, so your new doctor will have information about lab results, surgeries, medications, right at his fingertips. If you don't hand-carry them, you'll never be sure they arrive at all.
Anyway, I did read through them, and I realized anew how special my old doctor really was. For example:
(Redhead) presents today. We haven't seen her here in this office for almost two months now. She had been, evidently, doing fairly well up until that time. She says, over the last month, she has slowly been getting more depressed. I did talk to her husband, who does not think that she has been getting progressively more depressed, since she's had several good days in the last month, but she feels much more depressed. She's been doing more sleepwalking. She does feel intermittently suicidal, although she's not been ()...She agreed not to hurt herself in any way....I am worried about her. She has been extremely depressed in the past. Today, she has a flat effect. Her exam was benign, other than the flat effect. I have seen her much more depressed than she is today, but I am still worried about her.
And then she went on to say she was calling my psych. Dr. to discuss anti-depressant regimen, and that she also talked to my therapist (all of which I had previously signed releases for her to do).
In contrast, here's what the doctor's notes read from the one who bought her practice:
ROS: denies unexpected weight change, fatigue, change in appetite, fevers, night sweats, rashes, easy bruising, changes in skin lesions, headaches, heartburn, nausea, vomiting, abdominal pain, diarrhea, constipation, urinary problems, sexual dysfunction, myalgias, arthralgias, syncope,memory loss, or depressed mood.
Subjective: A four month follow-up. She discontinued () due to persistent cough and never started () due to fear of side effects. Claims her sugars are well-controlled at home. No new complaints.
Married, employed, denies tobacco or alcohol use.
Can you see the difference? Even though the first one was a time when I felt bad, and the second was when I was doing better.
Anyway, I saw the new doctor Monday, and I already like him a good bit. He went over my history and my family history, checked that I knew what each med is for, promised to read the old notes before he dictated his note, did a quick but complete exam, patted me on the back and told me that if I started to feel "down" to call him sooner rather than later, so we could "work it out" before I became desperate, and remarked on how sad it was that Dr. S. had died; that he knew my psych dr. and would willingly work with him "to keep us all on the same page". I am encouraged.
In other news, techie maven that I am, I managed to change the ringtone on my cell phone to one I downloaded. It now plays the Pink Panther Theme, which hopefully I'll recognize when it rings, and not sit there, puzzled, wondering what that strange sound coming from my purse is all about.
Anyway, I did read through them, and I realized anew how special my old doctor really was. For example:
(Redhead) presents today. We haven't seen her here in this office for almost two months now. She had been, evidently, doing fairly well up until that time. She says, over the last month, she has slowly been getting more depressed. I did talk to her husband, who does not think that she has been getting progressively more depressed, since she's had several good days in the last month, but she feels much more depressed. She's been doing more sleepwalking. She does feel intermittently suicidal, although she's not been ()...She agreed not to hurt herself in any way....I am worried about her. She has been extremely depressed in the past. Today, she has a flat effect. Her exam was benign, other than the flat effect. I have seen her much more depressed than she is today, but I am still worried about her.
And then she went on to say she was calling my psych. Dr. to discuss anti-depressant regimen, and that she also talked to my therapist (all of which I had previously signed releases for her to do).
In contrast, here's what the doctor's notes read from the one who bought her practice:
ROS: denies unexpected weight change, fatigue, change in appetite, fevers, night sweats, rashes, easy bruising, changes in skin lesions, headaches, heartburn, nausea, vomiting, abdominal pain, diarrhea, constipation, urinary problems, sexual dysfunction, myalgias, arthralgias, syncope,memory loss, or depressed mood.
Subjective: A four month follow-up. She discontinued () due to persistent cough and never started () due to fear of side effects. Claims her sugars are well-controlled at home. No new complaints.
Married, employed, denies tobacco or alcohol use.
Can you see the difference? Even though the first one was a time when I felt bad, and the second was when I was doing better.
Anyway, I saw the new doctor Monday, and I already like him a good bit. He went over my history and my family history, checked that I knew what each med is for, promised to read the old notes before he dictated his note, did a quick but complete exam, patted me on the back and told me that if I started to feel "down" to call him sooner rather than later, so we could "work it out" before I became desperate, and remarked on how sad it was that Dr. S. had died; that he knew my psych dr. and would willingly work with him "to keep us all on the same page". I am encouraged.
In other news, techie maven that I am, I managed to change the ringtone on my cell phone to one I downloaded. It now plays the Pink Panther Theme, which hopefully I'll recognize when it rings, and not sit there, puzzled, wondering what that strange sound coming from my purse is all about.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Slip-slidin' away
Yeah, I know it's been weeks since I posted. I'm sorry. I had one week of intensive therapy, and at the end of each day of that, all I wanted to do was curl up in bed with my blankie and rock myself to sleep. So I did. And since then I have had the stomach crud, and am only back at work today, thinking it was a bad idea to return at all. Tonight I have tickets to see Michael Flattley's Lord of the Dance, hope I can hold it together for the evening.
So I spent some time catching up on the blogs I read, and as I did so, I composed a list of Things I Will Never Blog About.
1. TV. Not that there aren't interesting things to say about television, I'm sure there must be, because so many people write about it. But the truth? I don't watch TV. I have mainly, over the years, practiced serial monogamy television. I mean, I watch one show til it goes off the air, and then pick another until it is canceled, and so on. My list reads : X files, Buffy, Angel, CSI, and that's pretty much it. I've never seen: Friends, Seinfeld, Idol, Desperate Whoever, Sopranos, or a whole lot of other shows.
2. Academy Awards/ SAG awards/ Grammy awards/ Tony awards. I never see current movies, they have to be on Showtime or something, so I'm completely ignorant of the various movie nominees. I've never seen any of the stars on the red carpet, so I couldn't care less about their dresses, I listen to music on the radio and not on MTV or CMT, so I never recognize the singers either. As a chronicler of American culture, I'm a non-starter.
3. Politics. Well, not much, anyway. I think Bush is an idiot, but that isn't a unique viewpoint, some 55% of Americans agree, what can I add? I can only hope the Democrats will run somebody that actually might have a chance, and not throw the elections with a dumb nomination like Hillary. I personally think she's one smart cookie and would probably make a good president, but her chance of getting elected in this country are entirely ZIP.
4. Crafts. Not knitting, not crocheting, not tole painting, not basket weaving. If I were good enough to be contributing something worthwhile to a craft, I'd probably be too busy to bother to write it down, anyway. As it happens, I'm a dabbler in crafts--one quilt, one pair of pillowcases, one wreath, one pair of mittens, and so on. The quilt was the worst, it took me 4+ years to finish, and the only reason I got it done at all is because I was unemployed for 6 months, and I spent 40 hours a week on it until I got it done. Never again.
5. Music. As a kid, I took lessons on the accordion, do they even exist any longer? Then, like every one else in the 60s and 70s, I learned guitar. I still have two guitars, but no finger calluses (if they ever make artificial ones I might take another stab at it). I sang in the church choir and in high school choir, and I CAN carry a tune in a bucket. As long as I don't have to carry it too far. Or hit too many high notes. I can read music, and I have perfect pitch, a skill I have never found the slightest use for. Singers that sing off-key set my teeth on edge.
6. Technical tips for the computer-savvy. Eons ago I wrote programs in (remember them?) Fortran? Cobol? Assembler? GWBasic? But computer programmers have gone the way of stenographers, I think, and the systems analysts and engineering types talk a language of their own. I will admit to a whimsical view of Windows, for many years my desk sported a sign that said "I don't do Windows". I mean, how can you take an operating system seriously that has you click on "start" to turn the computer OFF?
7. Bad sad things -- abuse, violence. I can't let my mind even go in those directions without doing a meltdown myself, and I bet there are plenty of people who can't read about them either.
So what's left? Well, pretty much just random thoughts -- small ones. And no, "Micro" thoughts doesn't mean I write about Bill Gates, either.
So I spent some time catching up on the blogs I read, and as I did so, I composed a list of Things I Will Never Blog About.
1. TV. Not that there aren't interesting things to say about television, I'm sure there must be, because so many people write about it. But the truth? I don't watch TV. I have mainly, over the years, practiced serial monogamy television. I mean, I watch one show til it goes off the air, and then pick another until it is canceled, and so on. My list reads : X files, Buffy, Angel, CSI, and that's pretty much it. I've never seen: Friends, Seinfeld, Idol, Desperate Whoever, Sopranos, or a whole lot of other shows.
2. Academy Awards/ SAG awards/ Grammy awards/ Tony awards. I never see current movies, they have to be on Showtime or something, so I'm completely ignorant of the various movie nominees. I've never seen any of the stars on the red carpet, so I couldn't care less about their dresses, I listen to music on the radio and not on MTV or CMT, so I never recognize the singers either. As a chronicler of American culture, I'm a non-starter.
3. Politics. Well, not much, anyway. I think Bush is an idiot, but that isn't a unique viewpoint, some 55% of Americans agree, what can I add? I can only hope the Democrats will run somebody that actually might have a chance, and not throw the elections with a dumb nomination like Hillary. I personally think she's one smart cookie and would probably make a good president, but her chance of getting elected in this country are entirely ZIP.
4. Crafts. Not knitting, not crocheting, not tole painting, not basket weaving. If I were good enough to be contributing something worthwhile to a craft, I'd probably be too busy to bother to write it down, anyway. As it happens, I'm a dabbler in crafts--one quilt, one pair of pillowcases, one wreath, one pair of mittens, and so on. The quilt was the worst, it took me 4+ years to finish, and the only reason I got it done at all is because I was unemployed for 6 months, and I spent 40 hours a week on it until I got it done. Never again.
5. Music. As a kid, I took lessons on the accordion, do they even exist any longer? Then, like every one else in the 60s and 70s, I learned guitar. I still have two guitars, but no finger calluses (if they ever make artificial ones I might take another stab at it). I sang in the church choir and in high school choir, and I CAN carry a tune in a bucket. As long as I don't have to carry it too far. Or hit too many high notes. I can read music, and I have perfect pitch, a skill I have never found the slightest use for. Singers that sing off-key set my teeth on edge.
6. Technical tips for the computer-savvy. Eons ago I wrote programs in (remember them?) Fortran? Cobol? Assembler? GWBasic? But computer programmers have gone the way of stenographers, I think, and the systems analysts and engineering types talk a language of their own. I will admit to a whimsical view of Windows, for many years my desk sported a sign that said "I don't do Windows". I mean, how can you take an operating system seriously that has you click on "start" to turn the computer OFF?
7. Bad sad things -- abuse, violence. I can't let my mind even go in those directions without doing a meltdown myself, and I bet there are plenty of people who can't read about them either.
So what's left? Well, pretty much just random thoughts -- small ones. And no, "Micro" thoughts doesn't mean I write about Bill Gates, either.
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Happy HAPPY
I am so pleased, I actually, this time, managed to change my template without losing anything, changed my profile photo (no more dancing horse gif), and actually ended up with something reasonably good. I know I took that class in HTML, but somehow, my mind (like a stainless steel sieve) lost all that knowledge. I was reduced to cut-and-paste, and I messed that up a couple of times. Somehow, I couldn't upload the images for the template directly to blogger?? and had to create a Photobucket account and load them there? And my photo is from the at&t homepage? It all seems so cumbersome, I just hope it doesn't take half an hour to load.
Anyway, this is a nice boost for me, as I have been feeling truly old today, since today is R's(daughter's) birthday, she's, well she's (whisper) 26. I mean how could *I* have a daughter that old, I'm just a **few** years older myself. I mean, I don't feel any older....
Weather here in WV has been cold cold cold. Sunday the water line to the barn froze, and so it was haul-buckets-from-the-bathtub time. And then Sunday night, everyone but R went to bed, when she noticed the sound of running water in the pipes in the house, and realized no one was taking a shower, no washer was running, etc., so why was the water running? Alas, it was because the water line to the barn was unfrozen; but not before it had split the water line and gallons of water poured into the tack room, under the door, and down the path from the barn. SO there we were at midnight, sweeping water out of the tack room, after shutting off the line, and trying to fend off curious horses who were certain we must be out there to give them midnight snackies.
All is repaired now, and it turns out the heat tape on the line wasn't (blush) plugged in, so natch, the line would freeze, it was down to 8 degrees after all. No permanent damage done. I love winter, anybody want three muddy shaggy horses?
Thursday, February 16, 2006
How to Train a Cat
Made you look! You KNOW there isn't any way to train a cat, right? They train YOU. To feed them at a certain time, in a certain place, with a particular food. They train you to regularly empty their litter pans, and they *punish* you if you don't. They train you to scratch all the itchy places when they bump your hands or ankles and purr. They command the best seat in the house, the widest windowsill, the basket of fresh warm laundry. Paper bags must be placed on the floor to be explored, feathers must be dangled, crinkly bits of paper tossed to chase. Ah yes, it's a cat's world we live in.
Dogs on the other hand are easily trained. So why are there so many badly behaved ones? Because we are creatures of impulse, getting things without thinking through the responsibilities that come with ownership. So we see dogs that jump up and put their muddy paws on your clean clothes, ones that bark until the neighbors are ready to punch out their eardrums, dogs that lunge ahead when they're on a leash because no one ever taught them to walk on a lead, dogs that won't sit, stay, lie down or even come when called. It takes very little time on a daily basis to teach a dog to behave like a civilized companion, but it does take consistent effort over a period of weeks or months to get them to be reliable about what they should and should not do. It is well worth the effort. You'll be able to take your dog out in public, or have guests at your home, knowing that your dog will be a welcome member of any group, and you will have much less to worry about liability-wise if your dog is trained and well socialized. There's something really pitiful about a dog bouncing off the furniture, overturning glasses, and evading every attempt of his ineffective owner to corral him, because no one ever taught him the simple command "come!" Dogs have an inate desire to please their people, they only need to know what's expected of them.
Maybe I shoud give advice on child rearing too, while I am at it? The truth is, kids come pretty much hardwired in the behavior department, maybe because they're grown for 9 months before being hatched, as opposed to 60 days for dogs and cats. You can only modify their basic 'hardware' with 'software'. Your job as a parent is to teach them to be empathetic to the hurts of others, to share, to control their impulses in physical confrontations, to feel proud of themselves, to feel loved, to feel valued for who they are at every stage of their development and education. They need to have a sense of community, of knowing that they belong to a larger group than their own family, and that there are duties that are done for the family, and duties that one does as a member of the human race. This would include setting a good example by doing volunteer work yourself, things that you do for the simple joy of helping others, and not for money or status. It could be as simple as picking up trash along the roadway in front of your house, or picking out a toy to donate at Christmas. They need to learn to be satisfied with what they have in material possessions, not always lusting after what one doesn't have, because that way lies madness, and 'things' aren't a substitute for love. And they need to learn that you don't treat your family worse than you treat your friends; not by backtalk, rude remarks, name calling, stomping off in a huff, refusing to do your share, or anything else disrespectful to the family members. After all, friends come and they go; your family is in for the long haul, and long after you're just a dim memory to that friend, your "birth" family will still be in your life, and important even after you start a family of your own. Most of all, hug your kids...they're never too big or too grown up to hug, and hugs are one-size-fits-all, too. And finally, if you do your dead level best to be the best parent you can be, and your kid grows up to be selfish and violent and greedy and sad, don't beat yourself up with it. Everyone, in the end, is responsible for who they are, because everyone, young and old, makes choices, good or bad, and then lives with the results. That's life.
Dogs on the other hand are easily trained. So why are there so many badly behaved ones? Because we are creatures of impulse, getting things without thinking through the responsibilities that come with ownership. So we see dogs that jump up and put their muddy paws on your clean clothes, ones that bark until the neighbors are ready to punch out their eardrums, dogs that lunge ahead when they're on a leash because no one ever taught them to walk on a lead, dogs that won't sit, stay, lie down or even come when called. It takes very little time on a daily basis to teach a dog to behave like a civilized companion, but it does take consistent effort over a period of weeks or months to get them to be reliable about what they should and should not do. It is well worth the effort. You'll be able to take your dog out in public, or have guests at your home, knowing that your dog will be a welcome member of any group, and you will have much less to worry about liability-wise if your dog is trained and well socialized. There's something really pitiful about a dog bouncing off the furniture, overturning glasses, and evading every attempt of his ineffective owner to corral him, because no one ever taught him the simple command "come!" Dogs have an inate desire to please their people, they only need to know what's expected of them.
Maybe I shoud give advice on child rearing too, while I am at it? The truth is, kids come pretty much hardwired in the behavior department, maybe because they're grown for 9 months before being hatched, as opposed to 60 days for dogs and cats. You can only modify their basic 'hardware' with 'software'. Your job as a parent is to teach them to be empathetic to the hurts of others, to share, to control their impulses in physical confrontations, to feel proud of themselves, to feel loved, to feel valued for who they are at every stage of their development and education. They need to have a sense of community, of knowing that they belong to a larger group than their own family, and that there are duties that are done for the family, and duties that one does as a member of the human race. This would include setting a good example by doing volunteer work yourself, things that you do for the simple joy of helping others, and not for money or status. It could be as simple as picking up trash along the roadway in front of your house, or picking out a toy to donate at Christmas. They need to learn to be satisfied with what they have in material possessions, not always lusting after what one doesn't have, because that way lies madness, and 'things' aren't a substitute for love. And they need to learn that you don't treat your family worse than you treat your friends; not by backtalk, rude remarks, name calling, stomping off in a huff, refusing to do your share, or anything else disrespectful to the family members. After all, friends come and they go; your family is in for the long haul, and long after you're just a dim memory to that friend, your "birth" family will still be in your life, and important even after you start a family of your own. Most of all, hug your kids...they're never too big or too grown up to hug, and hugs are one-size-fits-all, too. And finally, if you do your dead level best to be the best parent you can be, and your kid grows up to be selfish and violent and greedy and sad, don't beat yourself up with it. Everyone, in the end, is responsible for who they are, because everyone, young and old, makes choices, good or bad, and then lives with the results. That's life.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
Hospital room eti-ket
OK, I've calmed down somewhat from my hospital ordeal, but I still want to pass along my experiences in a semi-private hospital room as an illustration of how NOT to behave if you find yourself there.
I should say at the outset that I asked for a private room, having been through this before*. The step-down unit of the ICU didn't have anything but a semi-private, but they promised me a private room as soon as one became available (ho ho). My roommate, Mrs. G., seemed nice enough, asking me if her TV bothered me, and I said no, it was fine. Little did I know then that she would have it on 24 hours a day; it wasn't so much the sound of it, but the light from the screen flickering, flickering all night long, I felt like I was taking part in one of those WWII military tests to see if strobe lights could drive people crazy (they can). At one point, about 1 am, I heard Mrs. G snoring, so I siddled up to her TV and turned it off. But alas, she woke up 20 minutes later and turned it back on for the rest of the night. The second night there, I had the Hub bring me my sleep mask and earplugs, which helped immensely. Therefore Mrs. G is still alive.
Secondly, there is the matter of visitors. I have noticed in the past the tendency of families in this friendly place to treat hospitals like venues for family reunions, and Mrs. G. was no exception. She had visitors ALL THE TIME, even outside of visiting hours, at least 2 at any time and one time she had 5, including one four year old and one 7 week old. This despite the big sign right on the front of the nursing station, facing everyone as they get off the elevator that says "No children past this point. No more than two visitors at a time. Please be quiet, our patients need their rest" The nurses came in to see Mrs. G. several times when she had 5-with-two-kids and never said a word to her or to them. Worse yet, her husband used our bathroom, how icky is that??? Instead of the public RR near the elevators. And do you know how hard it is to modestly get through such a crowd to get to the bathroom, all the while clutching your gown together in the back so as not to flash the entire room? And there was only one visitor chair in the room, need I explain who got to use it, when my family came they had to perch on the edge of my bed.
(*The last time I was in the hospital, they put me in a room with a senile old lady who was on her way the next day to the nursing home. She was OK, fairly lucid, while her (enormous) family was visiting, but after they left, she kept trying to get out of the restraints, the nurses had arguments about how to fasten them so as to keep her in bed and yet not strangle her if she still climbed over the side rail. Once they had her somewhat secure they left, and then she realized I was in the room, and she kept saying "Who's there? I'm gonna to get my gun" and "You better git or I'm gonna blow your damned head off". One can only hope the nurses checked her bag when she came in. Finally I'd had it, and told the nurse if they didn't find me another room I was leaving, AMA. I told them I wouldn't be held responsible if the crazy woman got out of bed and put her hands on me while I was asleep. They said, oh, no, there aren't any rooms, and I said, fine, I'll just call my husband to come get me. It was about 11 pm, I called him and he came right over, bless him. And lo, it seems there WAS another bed, a private, actually an isolation room with a little antechamber, so it was the most quiet hospital room I've ever been in. I'm not one to make waves or be confrontational, but that night I really went over the edge.)
Anyway, back to Mrs. G. She (apparently) had trouble getting to the bathroom in a timely manner, and so she had a beside commode. This gave me the singular blessing of eating my lunch while on the other side of the curtain by my elbow, Mrs. G was, ah well, you can guess. Loverly. In the entire 3 days I was there, she never washed her hands, bathed, changed her gown, or brushed her teeth. What ever happened to the draconian nurses who used to bully patients into all of these, plus walking in the halls? They all seem to be wusses now.
I might not have been so vexed if my own doctor hadn't been such a prick, but I've gone to his office to pay for a copy of my records, to take to another doctor next month, so that's the end of him.
Come to think of it, maybe that's why they call us "patient"? And have you ever noticed, that doctors only "practice" medicine? Do you suppose they ever do it for real?
Ah well, pass me another Xanax, thanks.
I should say at the outset that I asked for a private room, having been through this before*. The step-down unit of the ICU didn't have anything but a semi-private, but they promised me a private room as soon as one became available (ho ho). My roommate, Mrs. G., seemed nice enough, asking me if her TV bothered me, and I said no, it was fine. Little did I know then that she would have it on 24 hours a day; it wasn't so much the sound of it, but the light from the screen flickering, flickering all night long, I felt like I was taking part in one of those WWII military tests to see if strobe lights could drive people crazy (they can). At one point, about 1 am, I heard Mrs. G snoring, so I siddled up to her TV and turned it off. But alas, she woke up 20 minutes later and turned it back on for the rest of the night. The second night there, I had the Hub bring me my sleep mask and earplugs, which helped immensely. Therefore Mrs. G is still alive.
Secondly, there is the matter of visitors. I have noticed in the past the tendency of families in this friendly place to treat hospitals like venues for family reunions, and Mrs. G. was no exception. She had visitors ALL THE TIME, even outside of visiting hours, at least 2 at any time and one time she had 5, including one four year old and one 7 week old. This despite the big sign right on the front of the nursing station, facing everyone as they get off the elevator that says "No children past this point. No more than two visitors at a time. Please be quiet, our patients need their rest" The nurses came in to see Mrs. G. several times when she had 5-with-two-kids and never said a word to her or to them. Worse yet, her husband used our bathroom, how icky is that??? Instead of the public RR near the elevators. And do you know how hard it is to modestly get through such a crowd to get to the bathroom, all the while clutching your gown together in the back so as not to flash the entire room? And there was only one visitor chair in the room, need I explain who got to use it, when my family came they had to perch on the edge of my bed.
(*The last time I was in the hospital, they put me in a room with a senile old lady who was on her way the next day to the nursing home. She was OK, fairly lucid, while her (enormous) family was visiting, but after they left, she kept trying to get out of the restraints, the nurses had arguments about how to fasten them so as to keep her in bed and yet not strangle her if she still climbed over the side rail. Once they had her somewhat secure they left, and then she realized I was in the room, and she kept saying "Who's there? I'm gonna to get my gun" and "You better git or I'm gonna blow your damned head off". One can only hope the nurses checked her bag when she came in. Finally I'd had it, and told the nurse if they didn't find me another room I was leaving, AMA. I told them I wouldn't be held responsible if the crazy woman got out of bed and put her hands on me while I was asleep. They said, oh, no, there aren't any rooms, and I said, fine, I'll just call my husband to come get me. It was about 11 pm, I called him and he came right over, bless him. And lo, it seems there WAS another bed, a private, actually an isolation room with a little antechamber, so it was the most quiet hospital room I've ever been in. I'm not one to make waves or be confrontational, but that night I really went over the edge.)
Anyway, back to Mrs. G. She (apparently) had trouble getting to the bathroom in a timely manner, and so she had a beside commode. This gave me the singular blessing of eating my lunch while on the other side of the curtain by my elbow, Mrs. G was, ah well, you can guess. Loverly. In the entire 3 days I was there, she never washed her hands, bathed, changed her gown, or brushed her teeth. What ever happened to the draconian nurses who used to bully patients into all of these, plus walking in the halls? They all seem to be wusses now.
I might not have been so vexed if my own doctor hadn't been such a prick, but I've gone to his office to pay for a copy of my records, to take to another doctor next month, so that's the end of him.
Come to think of it, maybe that's why they call us "patient"? And have you ever noticed, that doctors only "practice" medicine? Do you suppose they ever do it for real?
Ah well, pass me another Xanax, thanks.
Thursday, February 09, 2006
Into the Out Of
I just returned from three endless days at the hospital. It all started with chest pains on Monday while I was at work, bad enough that I finally convinced myself I should go to the ER. They did lab work, and admitted me so I could take a stress test on Tuesday. The ER doctor had seen me before for an unrelated condition, and he said that knowing that I am "stoic" and was complaining of pain, that he took it seriously. Tuesday morning my "family" physician came by, sneered at the program I was watching on TV, and proceeded to lecture me about over-reacting, since I'd had a full cardiac workup "just two years ago". He condescendingly told me that I should have gone to his office, he could have run an ECG, maybe done some labs, then sent me on my way. But since I'd come to the ER, it was "a free pass to be admitted" since no ER doc would send someone home that said they had chest pains.
Now I ask you, does this sound like someone you'd want for your doctor? I have only been seeing him since the fall, when my doctor of 25 years gave up her practice after developing stage 4 breast cancer. I'd only seen him once several years ago, and then about three times since the fall, but he is the one that she sent her patient records to. I reflected on the patient who, a few months ago, went to the clinic my daughter works in, complaining of chest pains; after he waited an hour they told him they wouldn't be able to see him that day, and he should go to the ER. Instead he went home, where he dropped dead in his front yard 2 hours later. Then there was the teacher who taught band at the kids' junior high, who was found dead in his car parked in front of the doctor's office, where he had been going because he had chest pain. So anyway, my doctor left, they did the stress test, which was abnormal. The hospital had withheld my BP medicine prior to the test, since taking it can give a false negative. When I got up to the floor again, I was really in misery, my pulse above 120, BP 165/95, and BAD chest pains. And found that lo, my doctor didn't order the BP medicine to be "held" prior to the test, but wrote "D/C" (discontinue)! And when they tried to page him, he didn't answer his page. Finally they contacted the doctor on call, who said to give me a dose that evening, and straighten it out with my doc in the morning. My doc didn't come in the next morning, but sent his partner, who was clueless as to why he would have done this, but wrote the orders for the hospital to reinstate the med, and ordered a cardiologist consult. The cardiologist did a stress echo-gram, said it was normal, and that as far as he was concerned, I could go home -- if --my regular doc concurred. So of course, neither he nor his partner returned their pages (it was 7 pm by then) and finally the doctor on call said I could be discharged. I think I'll find a new physician. It's probably just as well that I find this out now, for a fairly benign problem, instead of waiting to be in the ICU like I was in 2000 and 2002. My old doctor would never have questioned my judgement about going to the ER, even if she hadn't agreed that it was necessary in the end. I do, after all have TWO insurance plans I'm covered under, we pay thousands of dollars every year for coverage, it wasn't going to come out of anyone's pocket. And because I'm a medical technologist, and have worked in biomedical research for 30 years, in Memphis, San Francisco and here in WV, I have a reasonably good grasp of medical matters, and especially of lab tests. I'm not used to being talked down to about my conditions, and I am familiar with what physicians routinely handle for a given patient, and I know that my doctor dropped the ball this week. I'm going to make an appointment with someone that the nurses spoke highly of, and see if we have any kind of "rapport" to build on.
In the last year, I have lost my therapist after 5 years(retired), my doctor after 25 years, and last month my psychiatrist (retired), so I am feeling a little abandoned these days.
It feels good to 'vent' here some, just reading it all back over makes me feel better.
There's still my thoughts on roommates in the hospital, but I'll save that for another day.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Happy Birthday to Meeeee.......
I haven't posted for a while because I (blush) misplaced the sheet of paper that had my user name and password for blogger on it. Yeah, I know, you're not supposed to write them down, but geez, even if I basically use the same ones most of the time, there are those sites (like the bank) that makes you change passwords every 60 days or whatever, or the ones that require you use "three out of four of the following: !#$^*^, lower case letters, upper case letters, and/or numbers" and must be 8 characters or more long. Like I'm going to remember that? I'm lucky if I remember where I left my car keys. And it makes me feel even more feeble minded if I have to email a site to get them to tell me my password. I have the list now, taped to my desk for all the world (not really) to see, and if I get my bifocals lined up just so, I too can see it.
Speaking of losing my mind and using bifocals, today is my birthday. I'm ____ today (fill in as you think appropriate). Hub has baked a cake and is fixing dinner, son and daughter brought home flowers yesterday, and last Sunday I got a new computer (an HP pavilion). Tomorrow I'm off to the spa for a massage and then get my hair done. All in all, a very satisfactory b-day arrangement. Especially since I've noticed that over time, I am slowly morphing into (say it isn't so!) my mother. I see her face in the mirror now, and I hear her voice coming out of my mouth, saying things like "back in the day..." and arguing with the hub about what other movie or TV show we saw that actor on. I truly believe there are only 50 actors and actresses in Hollywood, outside of the big stars, and they are endlessly recycled in show after show. For instance, I watch Law and Order on TNT (all the old ones, on every night) and the same actors will be the victim one show, the "perp" the next, and a lawyer the episode after that. You truly can't tell the players without a program. But I digress... I can remember my folks trying, when we were kids, to explain who some old-timey celebrity was, and we would roll our eyes and shake our heads as they labored to describe Charleton Heston or Jack Lemmon or whoever. Now I do that, trying to tell my kids (in their 20s) about Paul Newman and Robert Redford. If they've not seen Butch Cassidy, forget it. Barbra Striesand? Lucille Ball? Forget it.
Ah well, can't really complain about getting old, the alternative is so much worse.
Peace.
Speaking of losing my mind and using bifocals, today is my birthday. I'm ____ today (fill in as you think appropriate). Hub has baked a cake and is fixing dinner, son and daughter brought home flowers yesterday, and last Sunday I got a new computer (an HP pavilion). Tomorrow I'm off to the spa for a massage and then get my hair done. All in all, a very satisfactory b-day arrangement. Especially since I've noticed that over time, I am slowly morphing into (say it isn't so!) my mother. I see her face in the mirror now, and I hear her voice coming out of my mouth, saying things like "back in the day..." and arguing with the hub about what other movie or TV show we saw that actor on. I truly believe there are only 50 actors and actresses in Hollywood, outside of the big stars, and they are endlessly recycled in show after show. For instance, I watch Law and Order on TNT (all the old ones, on every night) and the same actors will be the victim one show, the "perp" the next, and a lawyer the episode after that. You truly can't tell the players without a program. But I digress... I can remember my folks trying, when we were kids, to explain who some old-timey celebrity was, and we would roll our eyes and shake our heads as they labored to describe Charleton Heston or Jack Lemmon or whoever. Now I do that, trying to tell my kids (in their 20s) about Paul Newman and Robert Redford. If they've not seen Butch Cassidy, forget it. Barbra Striesand? Lucille Ball? Forget it.
Ah well, can't really complain about getting old, the alternative is so much worse.
Peace.
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
It's History
Monday I went to human resources to review my Official Personnel File. The reason I went, is because this time next year I tentatively plan on retiring, and I wanted to see if all the time-in-service had been credited. I had, for most of my career, been paid on NIH grants, so-called "soft" money, and had changed departments, fund numbers, pay grades, over and over.
The file was depressingly accurate. It started in Sept. of 1980 (!), when I earned so little I thought I was looking at the employee number (4 digits). Then it went on and on and on, page after depressing page of personnel actions, appointed, terminated, appointed, over and over. I've worked on more federal grants than Carter has little liver pills, and all of those investigators have since moved on to bigger and better things (I guess) while I stayed. And stayed.
Don't get me wrong. I love West Virginia, the mountains, the people, and even (for the most part) the university I work for. But I've only to look at my lifetime earnings to realize that WV is economically challenged -- i.e., poor. The coal mines sucked the life out of the people here, and all the money dug out of the bones of these hills went to feather nests far from here. It was never good land for farming, being poor clay soil and rocky, with deep ravines and ragged mountains. The joke is that West Virginia cattle have legs of unequal length, so they can keep their balance on the hillsides. Industry has been a mixed blessing, for example, the huge chemical plants in the Charleston area bringing in money, and leaving WV a major pollution problem too. And being a poor state, the infrastructure found in other states just isn't here--the roads are narrow and twisty, the water/sewage supplies are poor or non-existent outside the town limits, the workforce, outside of the enclave here at the university, largely uneducated and in poor overall health. And with the growth of the "information age", life-long residents here can see in excruciating detail how far they fall from the television and movie portrayal of life in America.
The contrast is especially glaring for me, because we moved here from San Francisco. When we first came here and still had CA ID, people at the register would look at it, and say, why'd you move HERE? But from the start I was impressed by the people, so ready to talk to you and to lend a hand, and so very different from the big city anonymity. One time, I was transporting groceries home in the pickup truck, and the bags slid in the bed, going everywhere. I pulled off the side of the road to climb in the back and brace them better, and someone stopped right away to see if I needed help. Jeez! In CA you could be laying spread-eagled in the middle of the road and people would swerve to go around you before they'd stop.
So over all the years I've done OK at my job, slowly advancing the boundaries of knowledge in the laboratory, meeting a lot of great people and having a pretty good time, all in all. Never figured I'd get rich, anyway.
The file was depressingly accurate. It started in Sept. of 1980 (!), when I earned so little I thought I was looking at the employee number (4 digits). Then it went on and on and on, page after depressing page of personnel actions, appointed, terminated, appointed, over and over. I've worked on more federal grants than Carter has little liver pills, and all of those investigators have since moved on to bigger and better things (I guess) while I stayed. And stayed.
Don't get me wrong. I love West Virginia, the mountains, the people, and even (for the most part) the university I work for. But I've only to look at my lifetime earnings to realize that WV is economically challenged -- i.e., poor. The coal mines sucked the life out of the people here, and all the money dug out of the bones of these hills went to feather nests far from here. It was never good land for farming, being poor clay soil and rocky, with deep ravines and ragged mountains. The joke is that West Virginia cattle have legs of unequal length, so they can keep their balance on the hillsides. Industry has been a mixed blessing, for example, the huge chemical plants in the Charleston area bringing in money, and leaving WV a major pollution problem too. And being a poor state, the infrastructure found in other states just isn't here--the roads are narrow and twisty, the water/sewage supplies are poor or non-existent outside the town limits, the workforce, outside of the enclave here at the university, largely uneducated and in poor overall health. And with the growth of the "information age", life-long residents here can see in excruciating detail how far they fall from the television and movie portrayal of life in America.
The contrast is especially glaring for me, because we moved here from San Francisco. When we first came here and still had CA ID, people at the register would look at it, and say, why'd you move HERE? But from the start I was impressed by the people, so ready to talk to you and to lend a hand, and so very different from the big city anonymity. One time, I was transporting groceries home in the pickup truck, and the bags slid in the bed, going everywhere. I pulled off the side of the road to climb in the back and brace them better, and someone stopped right away to see if I needed help. Jeez! In CA you could be laying spread-eagled in the middle of the road and people would swerve to go around you before they'd stop.
So over all the years I've done OK at my job, slowly advancing the boundaries of knowledge in the laboratory, meeting a lot of great people and having a pretty good time, all in all. Never figured I'd get rich, anyway.
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
TV commercials
Just for instance...
Am I the only one who finds the Burger King commercials with the plastic headed King more than a little creepy? The white tights, and the little silk dancing shoes? Or the great big "King Kong" sized King peering in the window at the blonde girl, who forgets all her fear when he hands her a Whopper? If I ever saw anything like the King on the street, burger or no burger, be assured I'd run the other way...
And the commercial for the "male enhancement" supplements, I think one is called Enzyte, with the super smarmy guy with the toothy grin who is (so they suggest) the envy of all his neighbors after he jumps in the swimming pool and loses his swim trunks? Are we supposed to believe that after using Enzyte, he is now noticably super endowed, or is he just super virile? Or has a constant hard-on? Or what? Just in the interest of scientific discovery, of course...
And what do you think of the bikini clad lovelies and oiled hunky guys working out on the Bowflex, the Ab cruncher, Nautilus equipment, or whatever. Do you think they REALLY got those six pack abs in three 20 minute workouts a week? I think not. I bet they spend hours and hours in the gym, weight lifting, running, stair climbing, aerobics, and resistance training to the total exclusion of a real life. Not to mention steroids (so that now the guys at least need Enzyte too).
Do they think we really believe a green lizard is a good source of information about car insurance? Most of the tiny green lizards I see are pancaked to my driveway, and aren't saying much about anything.
And that wee tiny print at the end of all the ads, the REAL information that disclaims all the foregoing information in the commercial, why do I get the feeling they don't want or expect that it will be read, since they put it up in type smaller than the phone book, and leave it on the screen for all of 0.5 seconds? I notice that as TVs have gotten larger, that the typeface is even smaller than it was before...imagine seeing it on a 9" screen, it would look like smudged bird crap.
And I really resent the ads for anti-depressants. In the first place, I think advertising aimed at the patient enormously inflates the price of the medication for the consumer (there are only two countries in the world which allow direct-to-consumer advertising of pharmaceuticals). In the second place, the little idea that something as complicated as depression can be "fixed" with a mere pill leaves those of us struggling for years with depression with the feeling that we must be malingering if we don't become cured after popping this miracle pill. And in the third place, I resent the way they glibly hurry through the list of "side effects", many of which are fatal or life-threatening. If you've ever looked at the listing for a drug in the PDR (Physician's desk reference)then you know the known side effects go on and on, include common and uncommon effects with percentages, and include special warnings for lactating mothers, pregnant women, children, and other special groups. This is information that presumably your physician and/or pharmacist are familiar with, accounting for why they may well say "no" when the patient asks for a particular drug. And this doesn't even mention drug inter-actions and unique side effects or allergic reactions.
And don't even get me started on ads like the ones for Victoria Secrets underwear, with their impossible standard of feminine beauty--do we really need to see these so that we can feel even more inadequate in our own skins?
This is just my opinion, of course-- an Un-bowflexed, Non-luscious, dull toothed, finely wrinkled, depressed, medicated, woman who will probably need a house Scooter for mobility, a Medic Alert button around my neck, supplemental medicare insurance, and a lifetime supply of Jack Daniels before long.
Am I the only one who finds the Burger King commercials with the plastic headed King more than a little creepy? The white tights, and the little silk dancing shoes? Or the great big "King Kong" sized King peering in the window at the blonde girl, who forgets all her fear when he hands her a Whopper? If I ever saw anything like the King on the street, burger or no burger, be assured I'd run the other way...
And the commercial for the "male enhancement" supplements, I think one is called Enzyte, with the super smarmy guy with the toothy grin who is (so they suggest) the envy of all his neighbors after he jumps in the swimming pool and loses his swim trunks? Are we supposed to believe that after using Enzyte, he is now noticably super endowed, or is he just super virile? Or has a constant hard-on? Or what? Just in the interest of scientific discovery, of course...
And what do you think of the bikini clad lovelies and oiled hunky guys working out on the Bowflex, the Ab cruncher, Nautilus equipment, or whatever. Do you think they REALLY got those six pack abs in three 20 minute workouts a week? I think not. I bet they spend hours and hours in the gym, weight lifting, running, stair climbing, aerobics, and resistance training to the total exclusion of a real life. Not to mention steroids (so that now the guys at least need Enzyte too).
Do they think we really believe a green lizard is a good source of information about car insurance? Most of the tiny green lizards I see are pancaked to my driveway, and aren't saying much about anything.
And that wee tiny print at the end of all the ads, the REAL information that disclaims all the foregoing information in the commercial, why do I get the feeling they don't want or expect that it will be read, since they put it up in type smaller than the phone book, and leave it on the screen for all of 0.5 seconds? I notice that as TVs have gotten larger, that the typeface is even smaller than it was before...imagine seeing it on a 9" screen, it would look like smudged bird crap.
And I really resent the ads for anti-depressants. In the first place, I think advertising aimed at the patient enormously inflates the price of the medication for the consumer (there are only two countries in the world which allow direct-to-consumer advertising of pharmaceuticals). In the second place, the little idea that something as complicated as depression can be "fixed" with a mere pill leaves those of us struggling for years with depression with the feeling that we must be malingering if we don't become cured after popping this miracle pill. And in the third place, I resent the way they glibly hurry through the list of "side effects", many of which are fatal or life-threatening. If you've ever looked at the listing for a drug in the PDR (Physician's desk reference)then you know the known side effects go on and on, include common and uncommon effects with percentages, and include special warnings for lactating mothers, pregnant women, children, and other special groups. This is information that presumably your physician and/or pharmacist are familiar with, accounting for why they may well say "no" when the patient asks for a particular drug. And this doesn't even mention drug inter-actions and unique side effects or allergic reactions.
And don't even get me started on ads like the ones for Victoria Secrets underwear, with their impossible standard of feminine beauty--do we really need to see these so that we can feel even more inadequate in our own skins?
This is just my opinion, of course-- an Un-bowflexed, Non-luscious, dull toothed, finely wrinkled, depressed, medicated, woman who will probably need a house Scooter for mobility, a Medic Alert button around my neck, supplemental medicare insurance, and a lifetime supply of Jack Daniels before long.
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Almost the end (of the year)
I survived Christmas! I feel like I should make a t-shirt with that logo. One of the gifts for my son was fun t-shirts; one says, "I just kidnapped myself. Give me $100 or you'll never see me again." Anyway, a good time was had by all, even though one of my gifts to the Hub didn't (and hasn't) arrived. I'm back at work today, I think there might be two dozen of us here, everyone else taking vacation until Jan 3rd. It's a little spooky, actually.
I fell asleep last night trying to think of something to post here, but I didn't come up with much. I slept really well, though. But this morning I got to thinking about a memorable Christmas from several years ago, and I thought I'd relate it here.
I don't know who thought up the original idea, but for some reason everyone in the family decided to come to WV for Christmas this one year. So there were the four of us, my parents, my sister, Hub's father, his sister and her husband from Michigan, and his brother from Oregon. Oh yes, and his sister brought along her grandaughter too, she was about 4 that year. Plus there were the family members that live just south of us, that always came for the day. I knew from past experiences that there were some champion eaters in this crew, so I went into overdrive preparing food that I froze and then needed only to heat up; stews, chili, casseroles, that sort of thing, in addition to all the usual holiday baking of cookies, candy, rolls, pies and so on. I even went so far as to rent an additional refrigerator, because I knew putting away leftovers is such a pain when the fridge is full. Some of them were staying at our house; some at mom's house, and some were coming only for Christmas day. Hub's sister, S, and her husband and grandaughter came a few days early to get things underway, and nearly the first thing we did was go to the grocery store. S started feeling queasy on the way there; by the time we got there, she had to throw up in the parking lot. This was the beginning of what came to be known as the Christmas from hell.
It must have been a really virulent stomach virus, defying all attempts with Lysol and quarantine to control it, because everyone caught it. Everyone, one by one, started in with the throwing up, and proceeded from there. I laid awake at night trying to identify who was running to the bathroom this time, based on the sound of the heaves. My son taunted my daughter who came down with it on Christmas Eve; so of course, he came down with it on Christmas Day. And naturally, all my carefully planned meals went into a cocked hat; the ones who hadn't caught it (yet) wanted regular food; the ones in the depths of sickhood wanted nothing; and the ones recovering wanted crackers and weak tea. And I never knew who would be which, for any given meal. In the end, all 16 of the family got the bug, including those who only came for Christmas day, although, mercifully, they succumbed after they got home. Once everybody left, I caught it too. Oh yeah, we also suffered a plumbing disaster, and had to get a plumber out on Christmas eve. It was the Christmas present that kept on giving; and that was the last time anyone suggested getting everyone together for the holidays.
Hope yours was a Merry One!
I fell asleep last night trying to think of something to post here, but I didn't come up with much. I slept really well, though. But this morning I got to thinking about a memorable Christmas from several years ago, and I thought I'd relate it here.
I don't know who thought up the original idea, but for some reason everyone in the family decided to come to WV for Christmas this one year. So there were the four of us, my parents, my sister, Hub's father, his sister and her husband from Michigan, and his brother from Oregon. Oh yes, and his sister brought along her grandaughter too, she was about 4 that year. Plus there were the family members that live just south of us, that always came for the day. I knew from past experiences that there were some champion eaters in this crew, so I went into overdrive preparing food that I froze and then needed only to heat up; stews, chili, casseroles, that sort of thing, in addition to all the usual holiday baking of cookies, candy, rolls, pies and so on. I even went so far as to rent an additional refrigerator, because I knew putting away leftovers is such a pain when the fridge is full. Some of them were staying at our house; some at mom's house, and some were coming only for Christmas day. Hub's sister, S, and her husband and grandaughter came a few days early to get things underway, and nearly the first thing we did was go to the grocery store. S started feeling queasy on the way there; by the time we got there, she had to throw up in the parking lot. This was the beginning of what came to be known as the Christmas from hell.
It must have been a really virulent stomach virus, defying all attempts with Lysol and quarantine to control it, because everyone caught it. Everyone, one by one, started in with the throwing up, and proceeded from there. I laid awake at night trying to identify who was running to the bathroom this time, based on the sound of the heaves. My son taunted my daughter who came down with it on Christmas Eve; so of course, he came down with it on Christmas Day. And naturally, all my carefully planned meals went into a cocked hat; the ones who hadn't caught it (yet) wanted regular food; the ones in the depths of sickhood wanted nothing; and the ones recovering wanted crackers and weak tea. And I never knew who would be which, for any given meal. In the end, all 16 of the family got the bug, including those who only came for Christmas day, although, mercifully, they succumbed after they got home. Once everybody left, I caught it too. Oh yeah, we also suffered a plumbing disaster, and had to get a plumber out on Christmas eve. It was the Christmas present that kept on giving; and that was the last time anyone suggested getting everyone together for the holidays.
Hope yours was a Merry One!
Friday, December 09, 2005
Gloomy
Today is one of those days when all the grey-ness of the world seems everywhere. It's a place I'm familiar with, and when I come back to it, it seems like any of the times in between that were good never happened. I think part of it is the weather; it's not the cold I mind, it's the darkness, the fact that it's twilight at 4:30 in the afternoon. I have a "sun" lamp, and maybe it does help, at least somewhat, and it's a really good light to sew or do any sort of close work with. And some of it is due to the impending holidays; I do enjoy being off work, and I like finding the right gifts for everyone, if only the actual act of shopping wasn't necessary. And finally, there's the fact that over the holidays I don't (touch wood) see my therapist, and that tends to make me more anxious than usual too. I remember when Christmas was the biggest, most exciting, most longed for day of the year, better than even birthdays. Then gradually it bacame an enormous amount of work, with 15 for dinner, gifts, stocking stuffers, baking, cards, letters, parties, last minute runs to the mall, running out of wrapping paper, tape, ribbon, each new stressor feeling like the final straw. But gradually, as family has died, there isn't really all that much to do for Christmas now, and it makes it feel, I don't know, anticlimactic? Melancholy?
Anyway, I hope all 6 of my faithful readers out there are doing great and planning a big holiday meal with all the trimmings, family, and fun they can stuff into one frenzied day. I plan on sleeping a lot, personally.
Monday, December 05, 2005
First Day Back
Well gosh, time does fly when you're having fun. I am back today at work, having been off for four weeks post surgery. The first two weeks I was so wrecked it was all I could do to get up and shower, never mind accomplish anything. Even a trip to the grocery store left me so pooped I had to go sit in the car until hubby finished. The second two weeks were even worse. I got the Cough That Wouldn't Die back again, in spades. Nothing like coughing with stitches in your tummy. Another trip to the doctor, who (apparently correctly) diagnosed it as a side effect of taking Altace, an ACE inhibitor for high blood pressure. Stopping the Altase is gradually clearing the cough; the prescription for another drug will wait until the cough is completely gone. It will be so wonderful to sleep through the night without racking coughing, trying to sleep in the recliner, and taking nasty cough syrup every 4 hours.
One thing I did do while home was (blush) get another kitten. Yes, I know we have too many, and yes, all the others are bent completely out of shape, but they will get over it eventually. She's a cutie, and now I know to stay out of Petco. We call her Beans, because she's full of them.
It looks at work like I've never been gone, I had been keeping up with the email, so I didn't have 400 waiting for me to wade through here. I don't have any other rush items waiting either, which is good, as I am moving pretty slow today. I wish there was someone to talk to here, but the Asst. Director selected before I left has evidently not started yet, for some reason. There was a big fire event in dentistry while I was gone, they evac'ed the building but soon contained it. Glad to have missed all the excitement.
Well, time to check out a few things and get to work. How long do I have to go today?
One thing I did do while home was (blush) get another kitten. Yes, I know we have too many, and yes, all the others are bent completely out of shape, but they will get over it eventually. She's a cutie, and now I know to stay out of Petco. We call her Beans, because she's full of them.
It looks at work like I've never been gone, I had been keeping up with the email, so I didn't have 400 waiting for me to wade through here. I don't have any other rush items waiting either, which is good, as I am moving pretty slow today. I wish there was someone to talk to here, but the Asst. Director selected before I left has evidently not started yet, for some reason. There was a big fire event in dentistry while I was gone, they evac'ed the building but soon contained it. Glad to have missed all the excitement.
Well, time to check out a few things and get to work. How long do I have to go today?
Monday, November 14, 2005
Introducing the Amazing Sledge-o-Matic
It slices, it dices, it makes julienne fries (but you have to hit it juuussst right).
The great surgery experience:
4:00 am We rouse ourselves out of nice cosy warm beds to get ready, I shower with the provided anti-bacterial soap, noting that it doesn't smell nice, doesn't suds much, and leaves me feeling slippery after it is rinsed off.
5:30 am In the car driving to the hospital. I start coughing, begin to gag, and spend the entire trip trying not to barf.
6:00 am In the same-day care suite, disrobed and wearing the ever-popular hospital gown, complete with matching blue shoes covers, hair bonnet, and anti-embolism stockings. Where's the fashion photographers?
from 6:15 to seven it's a whirlwind of activites: blood sugar checked, IV line in place, blood pressure checked, anesthesiologist met, surgeon comes by to see how I'm doing, I'm first this morning.
7:00 am We've hit a snag. They want me to remove my wedding band and diamond ring, but NO WAY those suckers are coming off. You've seen trees with fencing stapled to them, where the tree just continues to grow around and over the fencing? That's my wedding band. They lubed it up, put teflon tape under it,pulled and pulled, and all it did was turn my finger more puffy and red. The anesth. dr. comes back, says, I don't like the looks of that, it has to come off, and sends one of the nurses to the ER to get their ring cutter. As she walks in with it, the surgeon pokes his head in, says, what's the holdup? Looks at the finger, says tape it and lets go, and wheeee, we're rolling down the hall. Oh yes, at that point they also gave me some happy juice. By the time we actually reach the OR, I am gone.
Around ten am -- who can see anything without glasses -- and I am trying to wake up really hard. It is very bright, and the nurses are arguing about one of the other nurses. Every once in a while they say "M? time to wake up", but I cannot pry my eyelids apart; I can't figure out where I am, or why I feel so awful. I am panicked that they have me in restraints, but I realize it's only that they've tucked my hands slightly under me, and I can move them. Finally they use a lift to change me onto a regular hospital bed, much better, and then they wheel me to the private room across the hall. N is there, he has spoken to the surgeon, and other than having a gallbladder "stuffed" with gall stones--they had to partially empty it to get it through the incision--I'm tip top. They give me a shot for pain and nausea, and I break out in hives. Luckily they go away on their own in just a few minutes.
1:00 pm By now I have walked, used the bathroom (bless the soul of whoever invented grab bars) eaten a cracker and drunk some ginger ale. I want very much to get home before the pain shot wears off.
2:30 pm Home! My, but the roads are bumpy. But my wonderful bed, so clean and cool, a cat curled up in my armpit, drugs coursing their way in my bloodstream, beaming little silver spotlights on the nasty ol' pain to make it go away, whoosh! All is well in redhead-land. For now.
The great surgery experience:
4:00 am We rouse ourselves out of nice cosy warm beds to get ready, I shower with the provided anti-bacterial soap, noting that it doesn't smell nice, doesn't suds much, and leaves me feeling slippery after it is rinsed off.
5:30 am In the car driving to the hospital. I start coughing, begin to gag, and spend the entire trip trying not to barf.
6:00 am In the same-day care suite, disrobed and wearing the ever-popular hospital gown, complete with matching blue shoes covers, hair bonnet, and anti-embolism stockings. Where's the fashion photographers?
from 6:15 to seven it's a whirlwind of activites: blood sugar checked, IV line in place, blood pressure checked, anesthesiologist met, surgeon comes by to see how I'm doing, I'm first this morning.
7:00 am We've hit a snag. They want me to remove my wedding band and diamond ring, but NO WAY those suckers are coming off. You've seen trees with fencing stapled to them, where the tree just continues to grow around and over the fencing? That's my wedding band. They lubed it up, put teflon tape under it,pulled and pulled, and all it did was turn my finger more puffy and red. The anesth. dr. comes back, says, I don't like the looks of that, it has to come off, and sends one of the nurses to the ER to get their ring cutter. As she walks in with it, the surgeon pokes his head in, says, what's the holdup? Looks at the finger, says tape it and lets go, and wheeee, we're rolling down the hall. Oh yes, at that point they also gave me some happy juice. By the time we actually reach the OR, I am gone.
Around ten am -- who can see anything without glasses -- and I am trying to wake up really hard. It is very bright, and the nurses are arguing about one of the other nurses. Every once in a while they say "M? time to wake up", but I cannot pry my eyelids apart; I can't figure out where I am, or why I feel so awful. I am panicked that they have me in restraints, but I realize it's only that they've tucked my hands slightly under me, and I can move them. Finally they use a lift to change me onto a regular hospital bed, much better, and then they wheel me to the private room across the hall. N is there, he has spoken to the surgeon, and other than having a gallbladder "stuffed" with gall stones--they had to partially empty it to get it through the incision--I'm tip top. They give me a shot for pain and nausea, and I break out in hives. Luckily they go away on their own in just a few minutes.
1:00 pm By now I have walked, used the bathroom (bless the soul of whoever invented grab bars) eaten a cracker and drunk some ginger ale. I want very much to get home before the pain shot wears off.
2:30 pm Home! My, but the roads are bumpy. But my wonderful bed, so clean and cool, a cat curled up in my armpit, drugs coursing their way in my bloodstream, beaming little silver spotlights on the nasty ol' pain to make it go away, whoosh! All is well in redhead-land. For now.
Friday, November 04, 2005
All Hallow's Eve
We had 55 trick-or-treaters on Monday night, the most ever. Considering we live 5 miles from town, on a meandering narrow road, and for years and years had NO trick or treaters, I'm amazed. Most of the costumes were pretty cool too.
When my kids were little, I made their costumes. We'd go to the fabric store and check out the patterns, well in advance of Oct., and then I'd sew them up. I was always conscious of the fact that the costumes needed to be fairly warm--no flimsy ballerina tutus or diaphanous gowns. And no masks, just make-up, so they could actually see where they were going. One year R wanted to a princess, so the dress was made of satin, but a loose drop-over-the-head style, and underneath she wore a white sweat suit. It was either that, or a coat on top, and then you can't see the costume. Some of the costumes were pretty elaborate--the pumpkin, with all the boning to make it poof out and still be sit-able, and the dinosaur were two of them--but the one I remember vividly was the year C (then about 7) decided he wanted to be Count Dracula. I made this big black satin cape with a stand-up collar, and under it was a little triangular grey piece that tied around the neck and around the waist that was stitched to look like a vest, complete with red hanky. We got him plastic teeth, and black pants and a white shirt, and I thought we were set to go. He'd picked it all out, and watched me sew it. So imagine my shock when he tried it on and burst into tears! "No, NO!" he shouted and cried and ran out of the room. I looked at R, who knew him even better than I, and she was mystified. He eventually got over it, and never mentioned what was wrong with it, that he was so disappointed. I have lots of photos of him on the big day, swooping around in the cape and yelling "I vant to drink your BLOOOOD!" So I guess it was OK in the end. But what was he really expecting? Kids are such a puzzle.
I made myself a Raggedly Ann costume one year, complete with red yarn hair, and we took a picture of me and the kids dressed up. N kept it on his desk at work, and one day a sales rep was in and saw it and gushed, "what cute grandkids!" and N said "that's my wife and kids" and she swallowed her foot clear up to her knee. He was not amused.
About 8 or 9 years ago one of the neighborhood cats came to live with us on Hallowe'en. I was sitting on the porch handing out candy when two of the neighbors came up, dressed in costumes with all sorts of dangly bits--I think they were ghosts or mummys. Following them was this little grey kitten, batting at the dangly bits. When I gave them the candy and they left, the kitten didn't follow, and I called out, "boys, don't forget your cat" but they were off. It stayed on the porch with me, playing with the leaves, and I kept urging it to totter on home. Eventually it disappeared, and then I heard a cat crying. I said "kitty kitty?" and one little girl said "here's your cat!" and carried it up to me. I said, no no, not mine, she put it down and it scampered off into the night. When I went inside for the night, I told the family about the kitten, and to my dismay, they went out and searched for it! Luckily it had disappeared. The next morning I went out to my Miata to go shopping, and inside there was this teeny grey kitten sitting on the dashboard saying, "when's breakfast?" So of course inside he went. I convinced the kids there was some little girl in the neighborhood crying her eyes out because her kitten was gone, and on Hallowe'en! Thinking the worst! So they took the kitten and went all up and down the road (they said), asking if he belonged to anyone. No one claimed him, and he's been ours ever since. His name is Mac, short for Macbeth, and he is the most playful cat we've ever had. And obviously highly intelligent, to immediately recognize a soft touch when he saw it.
When my kids were little, I made their costumes. We'd go to the fabric store and check out the patterns, well in advance of Oct., and then I'd sew them up. I was always conscious of the fact that the costumes needed to be fairly warm--no flimsy ballerina tutus or diaphanous gowns. And no masks, just make-up, so they could actually see where they were going. One year R wanted to a princess, so the dress was made of satin, but a loose drop-over-the-head style, and underneath she wore a white sweat suit. It was either that, or a coat on top, and then you can't see the costume. Some of the costumes were pretty elaborate--the pumpkin, with all the boning to make it poof out and still be sit-able, and the dinosaur were two of them--but the one I remember vividly was the year C (then about 7) decided he wanted to be Count Dracula. I made this big black satin cape with a stand-up collar, and under it was a little triangular grey piece that tied around the neck and around the waist that was stitched to look like a vest, complete with red hanky. We got him plastic teeth, and black pants and a white shirt, and I thought we were set to go. He'd picked it all out, and watched me sew it. So imagine my shock when he tried it on and burst into tears! "No, NO!" he shouted and cried and ran out of the room. I looked at R, who knew him even better than I, and she was mystified. He eventually got over it, and never mentioned what was wrong with it, that he was so disappointed. I have lots of photos of him on the big day, swooping around in the cape and yelling "I vant to drink your BLOOOOD!" So I guess it was OK in the end. But what was he really expecting? Kids are such a puzzle.
I made myself a Raggedly Ann costume one year, complete with red yarn hair, and we took a picture of me and the kids dressed up. N kept it on his desk at work, and one day a sales rep was in and saw it and gushed, "what cute grandkids!" and N said "that's my wife and kids" and she swallowed her foot clear up to her knee. He was not amused.
About 8 or 9 years ago one of the neighborhood cats came to live with us on Hallowe'en. I was sitting on the porch handing out candy when two of the neighbors came up, dressed in costumes with all sorts of dangly bits--I think they were ghosts or mummys. Following them was this little grey kitten, batting at the dangly bits. When I gave them the candy and they left, the kitten didn't follow, and I called out, "boys, don't forget your cat" but they were off. It stayed on the porch with me, playing with the leaves, and I kept urging it to totter on home. Eventually it disappeared, and then I heard a cat crying. I said "kitty kitty?" and one little girl said "here's your cat!" and carried it up to me. I said, no no, not mine, she put it down and it scampered off into the night. When I went inside for the night, I told the family about the kitten, and to my dismay, they went out and searched for it! Luckily it had disappeared. The next morning I went out to my Miata to go shopping, and inside there was this teeny grey kitten sitting on the dashboard saying, "when's breakfast?" So of course inside he went. I convinced the kids there was some little girl in the neighborhood crying her eyes out because her kitten was gone, and on Hallowe'en! Thinking the worst! So they took the kitten and went all up and down the road (they said), asking if he belonged to anyone. No one claimed him, and he's been ours ever since. His name is Mac, short for Macbeth, and he is the most playful cat we've ever had. And obviously highly intelligent, to immediately recognize a soft touch when he saw it.
Monday, October 31, 2005
It's a Blast
Last Friday the whole family went to see Blast!, a brass/percussion/dance performance at the University creative arts center. It was great! The percussion especially, I love a good "dueling drummers" thingy. We were seated in the second row, so we definitely got the full effect.
I did call the surgeon, and went to see the anesthesiologist, so I feel somewhat calmer about the whole surgery thing. I am probably making a big deal about a routine event. You know what the definition of "minor surgery" is? It's surgery that happens to someone else. The therapist did some hypnosis thing with me last week, and taped it so I can listen to it anytime, a relaxation technique. I'm still finding it hard to concentrate this week at work, but have been trying to keep myself busy.
I did go the "retreat" last week. I had a room to myself (yeah!), which is just as well, given that I snore, talk in my sleep, and roll and thrash around all night too. The odd thing was, Tuesday morning at around 5 am, the resort lost all electrical power for around 4 hours due to an unpredicted snowstorm, it is WEIRD waking up in a strange hotel room in pitch black, no air, and voices in the hall. I was afraid to leave my room for fear I would not be able to get back in--the electronic key cards, you know, don't they need electricity to work? So I just pulled the blankets up and waited. When morning came there was some light through the window, luckily I had showered the night before. I used my Palm pilot to get around in the bathroom (note to self: pack a flashlite next time), and although the lights continued to go off and on all morning, we soldiered on. The trip back to Morgantown was--interesting. A very heavy wet snow, coming when the leaves are still on the trees means LOTS of broken trees/limbs down over power lines, some parts of the area here at home didn't get power back until today (a week later). Our road at home had 10" of snow, and we lost two maple trees; many more were bent down to the ground, but should eventually straighten back up, they say. We did keep our power. We do have a fireplace and two kerosene heaters so it's not an insurmountable problem if we lose the furnace, but loosing the hot water means showering at work, at best. If it gets so cold the water lines freeze we're in a world of hurt: the horses need 10+ gallons of water EACH per day, that's a LOT of snow to melt, and in that kind of cold it doesn't stay liquid long either. I just hope this isn't a forecast of the winter to come.
Last night my daughter showed me some pictures of one of our cats, recently deceased, taken when he was a tiny kitten. So sweet! It is so unfair that our companion animals have such short lives, it is such a wrench when they die, and over the years I have had so many that were special, each in its own way. You swear you won't get wrapped up in them, but I always end up heart-tied. I don't know, though, how people who are not pet owners manage to do it, we have always had pets, and even after the losses, will always have more, I can't resist them, and can't imagine life without them. I do try to be reasonable though, and not end up the crazy-lady-down-the-road with 42 cats or whatever. Spay and neuter!! Unless it's a mare, of course, where you just put up with mega PMS every 21 days. Luckily, no one lets stallions roam around loose like male cats and dogs.
I did a google search today for "beeping noises from the TV" and found a huge number of hits from people who have experienced the same thing my husband and I have--TVs unplugged and disconnected from the cable that, for no apparent reason, make LOUD beep-beep-beeping-static-y noises at all hours of the day and night,repeatedly, almost like morse code. Unlike some of the poor people posting about it (who also heard it on computer speakers, stereos, etc.), I know it isn't in my head, as everyone in our house has heard it, on two different sets; I've had to keep the TV in my bedroom swathed in quilts to muffle the noise at night, since all the unplugging didn't work. I thought, initially, that it was a transponder/locator beacon/radar bleed-over, but the consensus online is that it is cellular phones with GPS signalling. I'm going to test it out at home, but if it's true, then all I'll need to do at home is turn off my cell phone at night ( and get Husband to do the same). Apparently the old phones didn't do it, and of course the batteries were such in those days that you turned off your phone at night if you didn't want to recharge it daily (does any one else remember cell phones that came in a zip-up binder like a desk organizer, with a springy cord and receiver set?). It will be a huge relief to solve this, sometimes I have heaved the TV clear out to the garage in the middle of the night, the thing was making so much noise.
Redhead (aka Hears-lotsa-noises).
I did call the surgeon, and went to see the anesthesiologist, so I feel somewhat calmer about the whole surgery thing. I am probably making a big deal about a routine event. You know what the definition of "minor surgery" is? It's surgery that happens to someone else. The therapist did some hypnosis thing with me last week, and taped it so I can listen to it anytime, a relaxation technique. I'm still finding it hard to concentrate this week at work, but have been trying to keep myself busy.
I did go the "retreat" last week. I had a room to myself (yeah!), which is just as well, given that I snore, talk in my sleep, and roll and thrash around all night too. The odd thing was, Tuesday morning at around 5 am, the resort lost all electrical power for around 4 hours due to an unpredicted snowstorm, it is WEIRD waking up in a strange hotel room in pitch black, no air, and voices in the hall. I was afraid to leave my room for fear I would not be able to get back in--the electronic key cards, you know, don't they need electricity to work? So I just pulled the blankets up and waited. When morning came there was some light through the window, luckily I had showered the night before. I used my Palm pilot to get around in the bathroom (note to self: pack a flashlite next time), and although the lights continued to go off and on all morning, we soldiered on. The trip back to Morgantown was--interesting. A very heavy wet snow, coming when the leaves are still on the trees means LOTS of broken trees/limbs down over power lines, some parts of the area here at home didn't get power back until today (a week later). Our road at home had 10" of snow, and we lost two maple trees; many more were bent down to the ground, but should eventually straighten back up, they say. We did keep our power. We do have a fireplace and two kerosene heaters so it's not an insurmountable problem if we lose the furnace, but loosing the hot water means showering at work, at best. If it gets so cold the water lines freeze we're in a world of hurt: the horses need 10+ gallons of water EACH per day, that's a LOT of snow to melt, and in that kind of cold it doesn't stay liquid long either. I just hope this isn't a forecast of the winter to come.
Last night my daughter showed me some pictures of one of our cats, recently deceased, taken when he was a tiny kitten. So sweet! It is so unfair that our companion animals have such short lives, it is such a wrench when they die, and over the years I have had so many that were special, each in its own way. You swear you won't get wrapped up in them, but I always end up heart-tied. I don't know, though, how people who are not pet owners manage to do it, we have always had pets, and even after the losses, will always have more, I can't resist them, and can't imagine life without them. I do try to be reasonable though, and not end up the crazy-lady-down-the-road with 42 cats or whatever. Spay and neuter!! Unless it's a mare, of course, where you just put up with mega PMS every 21 days. Luckily, no one lets stallions roam around loose like male cats and dogs.
I did a google search today for "beeping noises from the TV" and found a huge number of hits from people who have experienced the same thing my husband and I have--TVs unplugged and disconnected from the cable that, for no apparent reason, make LOUD beep-beep-beeping-static-y noises at all hours of the day and night,repeatedly, almost like morse code. Unlike some of the poor people posting about it (who also heard it on computer speakers, stereos, etc.), I know it isn't in my head, as everyone in our house has heard it, on two different sets; I've had to keep the TV in my bedroom swathed in quilts to muffle the noise at night, since all the unplugging didn't work. I thought, initially, that it was a transponder/locator beacon/radar bleed-over, but the consensus online is that it is cellular phones with GPS signalling. I'm going to test it out at home, but if it's true, then all I'll need to do at home is turn off my cell phone at night ( and get Husband to do the same). Apparently the old phones didn't do it, and of course the batteries were such in those days that you turned off your phone at night if you didn't want to recharge it daily (does any one else remember cell phones that came in a zip-up binder like a desk organizer, with a springy cord and receiver set?). It will be a huge relief to solve this, sometimes I have heaved the TV clear out to the garage in the middle of the night, the thing was making so much noise.
Redhead (aka Hears-lotsa-noises).
Friday, October 21, 2005
Cough, cough
Aren't you glad you can't catch "real" viruses via the internet? Not that I'm contagious, of course not. I did go to the doctor about the Cough That Wouldn't Die, and he did a chest xray and said "pneumonia". He gave me antibiotics, and this dynamite cough syrup that absolutely lets me sleep all night, I don't know what's in it, but I love it. Now it is all gone, and this weekend I'll have to see how I do without it.
The surgery is scheduled for Nov. 7th, and I am mildly-to-moderately freaked out. It's not the surgery, actually, but the general anesthesia that worries me. I've had several bad experiences with anesthesia in the past, and it makes me worry that it will send ripples throughout my battered psyche, and leave me in total meltdown again. I'll be off 2 to 4 weeks from work, depending on how it goes, so I probably won't be back until after Thanksgiving. In the meantime, I have lots to do at work, but I can't seem to concentrate (at least this week). My mind keeps dragging up events from the past, and worrying at me like a dog with an old rag. Tiresome. My psych doctor yesterday told me I may be more resistant to being knocked out than other people, because modern-day aneth. puts to sleep your verbal brain, the left side, but that I have non-verbal alters on the right side of the brain that may remain aware thoroughout the surgery, doesn't that sound grand? I can see me explaining this to the aneth. dr. before my surgery. And I wonder too, if my two suicide attempts with drug overdoses may have affected by body's ability to handle narcotic drugs, for good or bad. And I really don't fancy having to lay all this out on the day of surgery either. I think I'll call my surgeon back and try to bring some of this up with him. I can count on being a total wreck by the 7th.
Two days next week at a "retreat" for our unit, at a nearby resort. I don't know these people very well, and I guess I'll probably have to share a room with one of the other women, so I can probably count on minimal sleep that night. I hate this. Why didn't I schedule the surgery sooner? I can feel a migraine starting already. I'm too old for this kind of stress.
update: the page in this link is not there, just an ad for IKEA, sorry! I have deleted the IKEA site, they don't need my endorsement!
Here's a link to a cute little video clip (OK at work).
After clicking the link below, a strange room will appear. Click on the left arrow, then on the projector, and finally the ticket for the film you want to view. Enjoy!
The surgery is scheduled for Nov. 7th, and I am mildly-to-moderately freaked out. It's not the surgery, actually, but the general anesthesia that worries me. I've had several bad experiences with anesthesia in the past, and it makes me worry that it will send ripples throughout my battered psyche, and leave me in total meltdown again. I'll be off 2 to 4 weeks from work, depending on how it goes, so I probably won't be back until after Thanksgiving. In the meantime, I have lots to do at work, but I can't seem to concentrate (at least this week). My mind keeps dragging up events from the past, and worrying at me like a dog with an old rag. Tiresome. My psych doctor yesterday told me I may be more resistant to being knocked out than other people, because modern-day aneth. puts to sleep your verbal brain, the left side, but that I have non-verbal alters on the right side of the brain that may remain aware thoroughout the surgery, doesn't that sound grand? I can see me explaining this to the aneth. dr. before my surgery. And I wonder too, if my two suicide attempts with drug overdoses may have affected by body's ability to handle narcotic drugs, for good or bad. And I really don't fancy having to lay all this out on the day of surgery either. I think I'll call my surgeon back and try to bring some of this up with him. I can count on being a total wreck by the 7th.
Two days next week at a "retreat" for our unit, at a nearby resort. I don't know these people very well, and I guess I'll probably have to share a room with one of the other women, so I can probably count on minimal sleep that night. I hate this. Why didn't I schedule the surgery sooner? I can feel a migraine starting already. I'm too old for this kind of stress.
update: the page in this link is not there, just an ad for IKEA, sorry! I have deleted the IKEA site, they don't need my endorsement!
Here's a link to a cute little video clip (OK at work).
After clicking the link below, a strange room will appear. Click on the left arrow, then on the projector, and finally the ticket for the film you want to view. Enjoy!
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
A clean garage
We spent the weekend cleaning the garage. It had gotten so full, even though I park the Miata in it even night, that we literally couldn't reach the back end of the garage. Now it is all accessable, lots of junk thrown out, recycling done, and everything in reach. The incentive for doing this is winter; in the winter, we leave the garage door open a crack, so the outside cats can come in. Although they have their own entrance to the feed room of the barn, full of bales of fresh hay, a heated water bowl, and lots of old rugs, etc., for beds, they still insist on coming into the garage. Once there, they climb all over everything, knocking stuff onto the Miata (which had two lovely dents from the cat carriers falling) and in general making a mess. This year, one entire bench top is cleared for them, there is no loose stuff to knock over (I hope) and I bought a heated kennel pad to go on the bench, with some old blankets. All we need to add is a BIG cardboard box with one side cut out, to help confine the heat, and serve as a wind block. I'm going to see if we can install a cat door in the garage door, so we won't have to leave it ajar for them to come and go. In previous years we had a small heater in the garage, it barely warmed the area directly around it, and all the cats huddled right against it; I'm hoping this pad will be more efficient and having it up on the bench will be warmer too.
Do we have too many cats? Yes. And we're hopeless softies when they get ill, or injured, or go missing. The indoor cats are more indulged, but we can't have them all indoors, we'd have to buy another house for the people!
In other news, the jury is still out on whether or not I will need surgery; more blood work done today, although I don't know what they expect will change; the whole question is being relayed to me in installments via the nurses at the practice, presumably at some point the doctor himself will talk to me. I have a cough I can't shake, 6 weeks now, I can't imagine that would be acceptable going into surgery....
Do we have too many cats? Yes. And we're hopeless softies when they get ill, or injured, or go missing. The indoor cats are more indulged, but we can't have them all indoors, we'd have to buy another house for the people!
In other news, the jury is still out on whether or not I will need surgery; more blood work done today, although I don't know what they expect will change; the whole question is being relayed to me in installments via the nurses at the practice, presumably at some point the doctor himself will talk to me. I have a cough I can't shake, 6 weeks now, I can't imagine that would be acceptable going into surgery....
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