Every year I wonder how my Christmas vacation will be played out. As a religious holiday, Christmas means little to me; however, I treasure the Christmas season for the pure spectacle and the honest improvement in condition of man for the duration.
As a child, Christmas was simply marvelous. We would put up our small, artificial tree and festoon said tree with a hodge-podge of ornaments collected from a variety of sources over the years. Christmas Eve was set aside for the opening of one gift and could be marked by a visit with my aunt and her family or a visit by some of the Davis clan who were superb carolers. Christmas Day started early with the opening of the gifts and then a drive to my grandparents or another aunt's house for the Christmas revelry with the family.
Of course, as a child, vacations are never considered an opportunity for rest. They are not occasions for catching up with life or embarking upon new projects. As an adult, vacations seem, more and more, time for just those things. As such, some of the bloom is off the Christmas rose, but I find that I don't mind much. I don't tend to travel during the school year, as I need the time to recharge the batteries and try and reorganize the life that has progressed into chaos since the previous vacation.
For the past several years, I have spent Christmas Day in blissful isolation. Curled up on the couch with a hot cup of coffee while watching movie after movie...the following days devoted to household projects, a bit of shopping the after-Christmas sales and more treasured rest. This year, Christmas Day was a bit different. First, it was warm and sunny. For New England, a Christmas Day in the 50's is an event of note. Couch and coffee are less appealing under those conditions. Instead, I grabbed the dog and headed for the beach. Along with many other dogs and their parents, we romped and played in the sand and surf. Poor pup was a complete mess of sand and dried salt when we returned home, but his tail was still wagging furiously. An odd Christmas Day, but a most enjoyable one.
The subsequent days went mostly as anticipated. A bit of shopping for much-needed clothes, a few books to consume before the return to the salt mine...However, my hoped-for relaxation was not manifesting as hoped. Perkunas is a very active dog. He loves people and dogs and would be happy spending all day playing, running, romping, etc. Like a rambunctious child, he has an inexhaustable supply of energy. Every time I took to the computer, he wanted to play. Pick up a book and he wanted to go for a walk. I began to look ahead to winter vacation and spring break and the momma of them all - Summer. That was enough to prompt me to pet store. Yes, I got him a playmate. A 2 1/2 month old, cream-colored schnoodle. I named him Rodney.
Perkunas is a good big brother and Rodney is an adoring little brother. Both have already begun conspiring to outsmart me and are succeeding nicely. A few snarly scraps are the worst they have done to themselves; they get along nicely. Right now, of course, I have even less peace than before. But that is temporary. Currently is the regimen of house-training and that means taking Rodney outside every 1-2 hours and getting up once at night. But, he is progressing very well and I suspect he will be in fine shape by next week. So, I am forfeiting a quiet Christmas vacation for more relaxing vacations to come. A small sacrifice...of course, I have always wanted a ferret...
Saturday, December 31, 2005
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
My Rant on Education
The current philosophy powering American education is the most dangerous farce portrayed in our country in modern history. We are sending into the world legions of pampered, enabled, ill-prepared beings who will demonstrate lackluster adult performance and contribute only marginally to the future of this country.
The entire "No Child Left Behind" construct is preposterous. Not all people can learn all things to the same level. Some students are plainly and simply limited. Not only are they truly not up to the task of an academic environment, they obtain little benefit from their tenure of incarceration. We teach them nothing that they can really use to cobble together a productive life. Across the board, vo-tech programs are being slashed by budget cuts. The reality is that schools have to cover their ample butts in light of standardized testing and must channel funds towards core academic courses. Ridiculous. These kids need alternative programs that will teach them skills to find jobs, manage money and raise families. They don't need many of the courses that we mandate they take. They do not becomre more well-rounded by the experience, nor do they build futher critical-thinking skills. They don't have the intellectual capital - and there is no sin in that.
However, modern education theory dictates that all students be tossed into a common barrel and the teacher has to somehow find a way to deliver the curriculum to every mind. This is not possible. One person cannot deliver enough modified versions of a curriculum to meet the needs of every type of student now found in the regular education classroom. Into regular classrooms are tossed students with severe learning disabilities, behavioral problems, emotional problems and widely varying levels of intellect. Once this situation did not exist. Once, the truly problematic students had their own program, where they were given a curriculum more suited to their needs and they were not causing continuous disruption of other students' learning. Now, they are thrown (usually without support) into the regular education classroom and the result is not pretty. The behavioral problems demand a high degree of teacher attention and can bring the learning process to a near standstill. The learning disabled and intellectually-challenged students are frustrated and, too, demand tremendous amounts of individual attention. In a small, structured setting, this is possible. In a classroom of 30 diverse students, this is a pipe dream.
At the other end of the spectrum are the advanced students, who have to try and learn despite the obstacles of their classmates. When homogeneously grouped, these kids thrive. When heterogeneously blended with the remainder of the student population, they cannot receive the curriculum that the deserve and cannot perform up to the standard that they are capable. It is a tragedy that students who want to learn are prevented from doing so by a flawed educational philosophy.
Schools are chided when they implement levels in their system. Honors, regular and low-level courses are becoming a thing of the past. Honors is still holding on, but the low-level course is slowly becoming a thing of the past. These students are being thrust into regular-level courses and the prevailing attitude is that if these students fail, it is the fault of the teacher not providing a sufficiently modified program for them. When you have a number of these students in the classroom, that level of modification is simply not possible. So, teachers often give the students a passing grade to keep the administration and parents satisfied. That is a travesty of education and completely lacking in integrity, but it is becoming the norm.
No one wants to admit that some people are not cut out for an academic life. Academic intelligence has taken on almost a moral quality, so people are afraid of the stigma of having a "normal" or "average" child. To have a child with lower-ability is unthinkable. Some of these parents work through their subconsious shame by morphing into demons plaguing the school system. The demand unrealistic modifications and set ridiculous standards for their child and the teachers. They work like madmen to set up a system that ensures their child's failure appear to be, in no way, the fault of the child (or them). They are miserable, vain, petty people who think their child's success in school reflects upon their societal status. I'd pity them, if they didn't cause so much disruption to the academic community.
I love my job, but I see a bleak future for America. Comapnies and businesses will have to turn more and more to other sources of skilled labor, as we are not producing the necessary individuals for the jobs. We have to unload this unhealthy attitude that all of our youth are "too good" for vo-tech education and rebuild these programs. Everyone should have a basic liberal arts education, but not everyone will or should take jobs requiring college educations. Let students receive training and education in areas tailored to their abiliies and wants, not our view of what makes a fine Young American.
Rant Over.
The entire "No Child Left Behind" construct is preposterous. Not all people can learn all things to the same level. Some students are plainly and simply limited. Not only are they truly not up to the task of an academic environment, they obtain little benefit from their tenure of incarceration. We teach them nothing that they can really use to cobble together a productive life. Across the board, vo-tech programs are being slashed by budget cuts. The reality is that schools have to cover their ample butts in light of standardized testing and must channel funds towards core academic courses. Ridiculous. These kids need alternative programs that will teach them skills to find jobs, manage money and raise families. They don't need many of the courses that we mandate they take. They do not becomre more well-rounded by the experience, nor do they build futher critical-thinking skills. They don't have the intellectual capital - and there is no sin in that.
However, modern education theory dictates that all students be tossed into a common barrel and the teacher has to somehow find a way to deliver the curriculum to every mind. This is not possible. One person cannot deliver enough modified versions of a curriculum to meet the needs of every type of student now found in the regular education classroom. Into regular classrooms are tossed students with severe learning disabilities, behavioral problems, emotional problems and widely varying levels of intellect. Once this situation did not exist. Once, the truly problematic students had their own program, where they were given a curriculum more suited to their needs and they were not causing continuous disruption of other students' learning. Now, they are thrown (usually without support) into the regular education classroom and the result is not pretty. The behavioral problems demand a high degree of teacher attention and can bring the learning process to a near standstill. The learning disabled and intellectually-challenged students are frustrated and, too, demand tremendous amounts of individual attention. In a small, structured setting, this is possible. In a classroom of 30 diverse students, this is a pipe dream.
At the other end of the spectrum are the advanced students, who have to try and learn despite the obstacles of their classmates. When homogeneously grouped, these kids thrive. When heterogeneously blended with the remainder of the student population, they cannot receive the curriculum that the deserve and cannot perform up to the standard that they are capable. It is a tragedy that students who want to learn are prevented from doing so by a flawed educational philosophy.
Schools are chided when they implement levels in their system. Honors, regular and low-level courses are becoming a thing of the past. Honors is still holding on, but the low-level course is slowly becoming a thing of the past. These students are being thrust into regular-level courses and the prevailing attitude is that if these students fail, it is the fault of the teacher not providing a sufficiently modified program for them. When you have a number of these students in the classroom, that level of modification is simply not possible. So, teachers often give the students a passing grade to keep the administration and parents satisfied. That is a travesty of education and completely lacking in integrity, but it is becoming the norm.
No one wants to admit that some people are not cut out for an academic life. Academic intelligence has taken on almost a moral quality, so people are afraid of the stigma of having a "normal" or "average" child. To have a child with lower-ability is unthinkable. Some of these parents work through their subconsious shame by morphing into demons plaguing the school system. The demand unrealistic modifications and set ridiculous standards for their child and the teachers. They work like madmen to set up a system that ensures their child's failure appear to be, in no way, the fault of the child (or them). They are miserable, vain, petty people who think their child's success in school reflects upon their societal status. I'd pity them, if they didn't cause so much disruption to the academic community.
I love my job, but I see a bleak future for America. Comapnies and businesses will have to turn more and more to other sources of skilled labor, as we are not producing the necessary individuals for the jobs. We have to unload this unhealthy attitude that all of our youth are "too good" for vo-tech education and rebuild these programs. Everyone should have a basic liberal arts education, but not everyone will or should take jobs requiring college educations. Let students receive training and education in areas tailored to their abiliies and wants, not our view of what makes a fine Young American.
Rant Over.
Monday, December 19, 2005
The Taste of the Past
I have indulged in coffee since I was a child. It was as much a part of my daily routine as brushing my teeth. Each morning before school, I would be treated to a cup of strong coffee heavily laced with milk and sugar. Cafe au lait for the knee-pants crowd...but only that morning cup. After the breakfast mug, I would take my caffeine in soda form. That post-dawn serving, though, was a carved-in-stone necessity to start my day off on the right foot.
The bean of choice was the Louisiana classic - Community Dark Roast. Most people associate Louisiana with coffee and chicory, but that was not as widespread a brew as cliche indicates. We drank straight dark roast - rich, strong, hair-tingling...no weak-sister-sissy-pants beverage. The bag itself gave indication of the potency of the potion - red, with black and a touch of gold. Bold, eye-opening, rich with old-world style. Aahhh....a big steaming mug, saccharin sweet with swirls of milk from happy southern cows.
When I moved to Massachusetts, I was deprived of my cafe au choice. At that time, ironically, was the dawn of the coffee revolution. The roasted wonder bean had moved from subsistence status to gourmet level and the varieties and flavors exploded in number. Coffee could be had from all points of the globe and in as many flavors as one could dream. Grocery store shelves bulged with bags and cans...most offered whole-bean dispensers so that customers could grind to their own specifications. Nowhere, though, was Community to be found. It was easier to find beans from Zimbabwe than Louisiana. Nothing I tried compared to the full flavor of Community and I was continually disappointed in my search for an appealing substitute.
Then, Community began to look to a larger market. Not geographically, necessarily, but they entered the coffee house club. CC's began to open around Louisiana, operating much like the average Staryucks. With this move came the establishment of a website with online ordering. Praise the Force...Community could now be procured by those removed from Dixieland. I regularly order Community Dark Roast and, yes, their blend with chicory. What a welcome delight is that morning cup. I organize the coffee pot at night and set the timer to have it brewed and waiting when I wake. Facing the New England winter is much easier when fortified with a hot cup of memory. Yummmmmmm.....and I have to admit to sneaking the occasional afternoon mug on especially cold day. Leftovers make the most spendicious iced coffee. This is a pleasant surprise as iced coffee is nothing one ever considered during my youth.
Once again, online shopping has brought joy to my life. It has delivered to me a staple of my younger days, one that has a very special place in my heart. Let others pay the sun and the moon for some wanko variety or flavor. I'll take my plain perfection anyday....
The bean of choice was the Louisiana classic - Community Dark Roast. Most people associate Louisiana with coffee and chicory, but that was not as widespread a brew as cliche indicates. We drank straight dark roast - rich, strong, hair-tingling...no weak-sister-sissy-pants beverage. The bag itself gave indication of the potency of the potion - red, with black and a touch of gold. Bold, eye-opening, rich with old-world style. Aahhh....a big steaming mug, saccharin sweet with swirls of milk from happy southern cows.
When I moved to Massachusetts, I was deprived of my cafe au choice. At that time, ironically, was the dawn of the coffee revolution. The roasted wonder bean had moved from subsistence status to gourmet level and the varieties and flavors exploded in number. Coffee could be had from all points of the globe and in as many flavors as one could dream. Grocery store shelves bulged with bags and cans...most offered whole-bean dispensers so that customers could grind to their own specifications. Nowhere, though, was Community to be found. It was easier to find beans from Zimbabwe than Louisiana. Nothing I tried compared to the full flavor of Community and I was continually disappointed in my search for an appealing substitute.
Then, Community began to look to a larger market. Not geographically, necessarily, but they entered the coffee house club. CC's began to open around Louisiana, operating much like the average Staryucks. With this move came the establishment of a website with online ordering. Praise the Force...Community could now be procured by those removed from Dixieland. I regularly order Community Dark Roast and, yes, their blend with chicory. What a welcome delight is that morning cup. I organize the coffee pot at night and set the timer to have it brewed and waiting when I wake. Facing the New England winter is much easier when fortified with a hot cup of memory. Yummmmmmm.....and I have to admit to sneaking the occasional afternoon mug on especially cold day. Leftovers make the most spendicious iced coffee. This is a pleasant surprise as iced coffee is nothing one ever considered during my youth.
Once again, online shopping has brought joy to my life. It has delivered to me a staple of my younger days, one that has a very special place in my heart. Let others pay the sun and the moon for some wanko variety or flavor. I'll take my plain perfection anyday....
Sunday, December 18, 2005
Sunny Day with Dog
Not that we spent much of our time outdoors, but the sunshine added that "special something" do the day's going's on.
I always feel sorry for Perkunas on weekends. During the week, he is in daycare and gets to romp and play with many dogs of all shapes and sizes. Each day, I pick up a tired, but very happy, poodle. On weekends, however, he is home with me. What a boring experience. I do not roll in the dirt, sniff butts, fight for rawhide bones or any of the things that canines consider the height of hilarity. So, I can understand why he gives me those "pity me" stares starting on Saturday morning.
During warmer times, I walk him all over town. We go to the park and walk along the river. He gets to socialize with the children playing in the park while I chat with their parents. We go downtown, where everyone oohs and aahs over him. With the onset of the cold, I have not been able to walk him nearly as much. This is not really due to the cold, but rather to the lack of effort on the part of the citizenry to clear the ice from their sidewalks. So far, I have made two spectacular slips onto the ice while giving Perkunas a walk and would be happy if that were the winter total. He has also taken a few headers, but he is shorter and lighter than me, so the damage is rather negligible.
So, I have had to find other activities for the pup on weekends. We have settled in to a nice pattern of car rides and visits to the pet stores that allow dogs to visit. He gets to visit with other dogs while I check out the newest toys and attire for the well-dressed pooch. Today, one of the stores was having Pictures with Santa to benefit a local animal shelter. Needless to say, I succumbed and now have a photo of Perkunas giving Santa a big kiss on the nose.
He was also a big help today in that he taste tasted some homemade yogurt for me. I was trying out a technique that seemed easy enough for my students to perform as a lab activity and he was the first one to taste the experimental batch. It passed puppy muster and gave me confidence to try it myself. He was right, it was good. Of course, I have had to contend with a cloud of gaseous ferment issuing from his tiny bottom all evening, but that is a small price to pay.
Tomorrow, he is back in daycare and will again be a content little man. But, the next week is a vacation week...now I know why parents hate summer...
I always feel sorry for Perkunas on weekends. During the week, he is in daycare and gets to romp and play with many dogs of all shapes and sizes. Each day, I pick up a tired, but very happy, poodle. On weekends, however, he is home with me. What a boring experience. I do not roll in the dirt, sniff butts, fight for rawhide bones or any of the things that canines consider the height of hilarity. So, I can understand why he gives me those "pity me" stares starting on Saturday morning.
During warmer times, I walk him all over town. We go to the park and walk along the river. He gets to socialize with the children playing in the park while I chat with their parents. We go downtown, where everyone oohs and aahs over him. With the onset of the cold, I have not been able to walk him nearly as much. This is not really due to the cold, but rather to the lack of effort on the part of the citizenry to clear the ice from their sidewalks. So far, I have made two spectacular slips onto the ice while giving Perkunas a walk and would be happy if that were the winter total. He has also taken a few headers, but he is shorter and lighter than me, so the damage is rather negligible.
So, I have had to find other activities for the pup on weekends. We have settled in to a nice pattern of car rides and visits to the pet stores that allow dogs to visit. He gets to visit with other dogs while I check out the newest toys and attire for the well-dressed pooch. Today, one of the stores was having Pictures with Santa to benefit a local animal shelter. Needless to say, I succumbed and now have a photo of Perkunas giving Santa a big kiss on the nose.
He was also a big help today in that he taste tasted some homemade yogurt for me. I was trying out a technique that seemed easy enough for my students to perform as a lab activity and he was the first one to taste the experimental batch. It passed puppy muster and gave me confidence to try it myself. He was right, it was good. Of course, I have had to contend with a cloud of gaseous ferment issuing from his tiny bottom all evening, but that is a small price to pay.
Tomorrow, he is back in daycare and will again be a content little man. But, the next week is a vacation week...now I know why parents hate summer...
Friday, December 16, 2005
Substitute Teachers
You could not pay me enough money to become a substitute teacher. They have the a terrible job. The pay is lousy, the kids give them no respect and they often have little to actually do during the day - they act as babysitters in most cases.
That being said, they also cheese me off something fierce. I took the day off yesterday and, as usual, crafted specific plans for my students. It is generally accepted in the teaching profession that a day off is more work than a day at work. You have to provide students with work that is curricularly appropriate, provides individual accountability for student progress and keeps them busy for the entire period. This way, even your being absent does not significantly impact student progress. Also, students with a free period are students who lose all self control, and that is a heinous crime to commit against an innocent substitute.
So, I spent time putting together quality plans and duly faxed them to the school yesterday morning. Now, my plans did not require much effort on the part of the substitute and did provide students with sufficient responsibility to fill the period.
Imagine my annoyance when I returned this morning to find that my plans had not been delivered, as written, to the students. Now, at first thought, this would not seem much of a problem...after all, it was just substitute work. Well, teachers actually rely on subs to deliver the lessons as planned and use this confidence to reschedule the remainder of the week's lessons. I arrived today to find that students had not done the reading that I had assigned and were therefore incapable of engaging in the activity that I had planned that used the reading. Then, the substitute decided to continue with a movie I was showing 2 classes. I had planned on continuing the movie today and found myself scrambling to pull together the curriculum I had crafted for the post-film classperiod. Basically, my day was one large balll of stress.
Sometimes the situation is even more aggravating. I have come back from sick days to find my desk rearranged, my various piles of papers "reorganized," soda bottles and snack food wrappers littering the lab area... I generally can't find one thing in its correct location and have to take a prep period to recreate my usual level of structured chaos.
More gripes:
Substitutes sometimes have god complexes and and are utterly dismayed when teenagers do not listen to their every word with reverence. This leads to power struggles betweeen sub and students and that never ends well...
They don't know individual kids (which is to be expected), but try to implicate specific students in the notes that they leave you about the day's events. They are inevitably wrong, but I have to at least follow up on their reports and may wind up embarrassing the falsely-named kid.
Substitutes can be far too wishy-washy and let the kids run wild. This produces building-wide impacts with which I have to deal the next day.
End Gripes
Of course, there are no perfect substitute teachers, just as there are no perfect full-time teachers. And, ultimately, the price is small to pay for the knowledge that your classes are at least being monitored while you are gone. But, just once I would like to return to a classroom that appears as it normally does and students who are actually prepared for the new day's lessons.
Hey, a gal can dream, can't she?
That being said, they also cheese me off something fierce. I took the day off yesterday and, as usual, crafted specific plans for my students. It is generally accepted in the teaching profession that a day off is more work than a day at work. You have to provide students with work that is curricularly appropriate, provides individual accountability for student progress and keeps them busy for the entire period. This way, even your being absent does not significantly impact student progress. Also, students with a free period are students who lose all self control, and that is a heinous crime to commit against an innocent substitute.
So, I spent time putting together quality plans and duly faxed them to the school yesterday morning. Now, my plans did not require much effort on the part of the substitute and did provide students with sufficient responsibility to fill the period.
Imagine my annoyance when I returned this morning to find that my plans had not been delivered, as written, to the students. Now, at first thought, this would not seem much of a problem...after all, it was just substitute work. Well, teachers actually rely on subs to deliver the lessons as planned and use this confidence to reschedule the remainder of the week's lessons. I arrived today to find that students had not done the reading that I had assigned and were therefore incapable of engaging in the activity that I had planned that used the reading. Then, the substitute decided to continue with a movie I was showing 2 classes. I had planned on continuing the movie today and found myself scrambling to pull together the curriculum I had crafted for the post-film classperiod. Basically, my day was one large balll of stress.
Sometimes the situation is even more aggravating. I have come back from sick days to find my desk rearranged, my various piles of papers "reorganized," soda bottles and snack food wrappers littering the lab area... I generally can't find one thing in its correct location and have to take a prep period to recreate my usual level of structured chaos.
More gripes:
Substitutes sometimes have god complexes and and are utterly dismayed when teenagers do not listen to their every word with reverence. This leads to power struggles betweeen sub and students and that never ends well...
They don't know individual kids (which is to be expected), but try to implicate specific students in the notes that they leave you about the day's events. They are inevitably wrong, but I have to at least follow up on their reports and may wind up embarrassing the falsely-named kid.
Substitutes can be far too wishy-washy and let the kids run wild. This produces building-wide impacts with which I have to deal the next day.
End Gripes
Of course, there are no perfect substitute teachers, just as there are no perfect full-time teachers. And, ultimately, the price is small to pay for the knowledge that your classes are at least being monitored while you are gone. But, just once I would like to return to a classroom that appears as it normally does and students who are actually prepared for the new day's lessons.
Hey, a gal can dream, can't she?
The Worst Combination
Weather is an odd thing. It can inspire joy, pain, anger, fear...Generaly, like most folks, I am a fan of nice weather - mild temperatures, sunny skies, dry air...However, I am also a fan of truly inclement weather. The horrible, nasty snowstorm, miserable downpour of rain, galeforce winds - those situations are also enjoyable, but only when one can stay indoors and observe the goings on from the comfort of one's own living room. I cherish crappy days where I can sit on the couch, watch movies and quaff hot beverages. Unfortunately, today is that worst possible combination of weather events.
This morning is an unholy trinity of snow, sleet and freezing rain. And, I still had to go to work. No sitting at home and snuggling in the comforting warmth of fleece blankets. Normally, I could at least look forward to indulging once I got home this afternoon. Today, not the case. Today, the storm is supposed to rapidly move through the area and bring sunshine by afternoon. Rats. With sunshine, I'll want to be out and about, but out and about will be a slushy, pant-spattering mess. So, I'll either sit inside and be antsy to get out or get out and swear constantly about the awful conditions. And there is the puppy factor. Inside he'll be dry, but anxious to get out. Outside he'll be jubiliant and completely sodden with freezing slop. Now, here is where being Alpha comes in handy. I have final say as to his fate. Do I prize my own comfort over his happiness? Do I sacrifice warmth for a living Slushie? Already my head hurts....
This morning is an unholy trinity of snow, sleet and freezing rain. And, I still had to go to work. No sitting at home and snuggling in the comforting warmth of fleece blankets. Normally, I could at least look forward to indulging once I got home this afternoon. Today, not the case. Today, the storm is supposed to rapidly move through the area and bring sunshine by afternoon. Rats. With sunshine, I'll want to be out and about, but out and about will be a slushy, pant-spattering mess. So, I'll either sit inside and be antsy to get out or get out and swear constantly about the awful conditions. And there is the puppy factor. Inside he'll be dry, but anxious to get out. Outside he'll be jubiliant and completely sodden with freezing slop. Now, here is where being Alpha comes in handy. I have final say as to his fate. Do I prize my own comfort over his happiness? Do I sacrifice warmth for a living Slushie? Already my head hurts....
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Plump as a Partridge
Whoa Boy! Is that me! Plump is actually a euphamism for totally fat. This damn fluid retention and metabolic slowdown has packed 60 pounds onto my frame and I feel every ounce. Ugh! Funny, though, the actual impact to my day in terms of stamina, comfort, etc. is really the only thing that concerns me. Odd, but I don't care that I look fat. Anymore than I cared that I looked thin. I just go about my day, as usual, and don't budget any mental time to thoughts about appearance. When I get a "looks" bug, it is usually about my hair or wardrobe, both which need professional assistance in the worst way.
I guess I really place much stock in personal appearance. I do have concern about "proper" appearance and believe that it is a mark of character that one at least does the best with what one has. Nothing irks me more than seeing people put forth no effort towards putting their best face forward. The basics should always be covered - hair washed and brushed, teeth cleaned, body and face scrubbed, clothes washed, etc. Nothing has to be fancy, but there should be some standard of appearance that signals a person has a sense of self-worth. Perhaps that is a flawed attitude. Perhaps self-worth can be expressed in a myriad of ways other than personal hygiene. I grant that other factors come into play, but there does seem to be a strong connection between basic grooming and how you view your inner self.
So, despite the fact that I am a tubby blubby, I cobble together a clean outfit for work each day, my body and hair are clean and I apply a moderate amount of makeup. Takes me all of 10 minutes in the morning to make myself "presentable," and that is quite acceptable for my morning minutes allowance. There are many teachers (and students) who look far better than me, but I at least make the effort to demonstrate a degree of care about my appearance.
Funny, too, is the lack of blatant staring that I receive since I've packed on the pounds. People don't bother to give me a second glance and that is positively refreshing. I now blend in with obese America. Pity, really, but I'll take that bit of easement of daily turmoil and rejoice. Compounded with the benefit that I am warm and toasty this winter, owing to the extra insulation, and my days seem a bit ligher (pun intended) than before.
Of course, I know, for health reasons, that this weight has to come off. The daily diuretics help somewhat (at least my lungs stay dry), but I have to wait for some breakthrough in my diagnosis to start to slide back down the scale. A dream for another day...
I guess I really place much stock in personal appearance. I do have concern about "proper" appearance and believe that it is a mark of character that one at least does the best with what one has. Nothing irks me more than seeing people put forth no effort towards putting their best face forward. The basics should always be covered - hair washed and brushed, teeth cleaned, body and face scrubbed, clothes washed, etc. Nothing has to be fancy, but there should be some standard of appearance that signals a person has a sense of self-worth. Perhaps that is a flawed attitude. Perhaps self-worth can be expressed in a myriad of ways other than personal hygiene. I grant that other factors come into play, but there does seem to be a strong connection between basic grooming and how you view your inner self.
So, despite the fact that I am a tubby blubby, I cobble together a clean outfit for work each day, my body and hair are clean and I apply a moderate amount of makeup. Takes me all of 10 minutes in the morning to make myself "presentable," and that is quite acceptable for my morning minutes allowance. There are many teachers (and students) who look far better than me, but I at least make the effort to demonstrate a degree of care about my appearance.
Funny, too, is the lack of blatant staring that I receive since I've packed on the pounds. People don't bother to give me a second glance and that is positively refreshing. I now blend in with obese America. Pity, really, but I'll take that bit of easement of daily turmoil and rejoice. Compounded with the benefit that I am warm and toasty this winter, owing to the extra insulation, and my days seem a bit ligher (pun intended) than before.
Of course, I know, for health reasons, that this weight has to come off. The daily diuretics help somewhat (at least my lungs stay dry), but I have to wait for some breakthrough in my diagnosis to start to slide back down the scale. A dream for another day...
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Cobwebs like Steel Cable
Oh how my brain hurts! It has been a somewhat tortuous start to the school year and I am now, after many months, beginning to think with anything resembling clarity. Not that there has been any substantial trouble on the job front, but I returned to one of the universe's most bustling jobs after months of virtual inactivity. The energy requirements for making it successfully through the day are enormous for me and I have met the end of each day with a good nap and then bedtime.
As a general rule, my days have had demonstrated little above the level of basic survival behavior. Eat, sleep and work. The only distraction has been my little man - Perkunas! Snow Dog Supreme! He has decided that the greatest thing in the world is snow and would live in an igloo if I offered him the option. We were hit with over 16 inches of snow on Friday and the dog was as happy as any creature on Earth to jump through the snow piles and pretend to be a diminutive snowman.
Beyond that, my brain works dilligently to craft a succession of thoughts that allow me to effectively communicate wiht the living world. It is not easy, but I do my best. I am so ready for the holiday break.....
As a general rule, my days have had demonstrated little above the level of basic survival behavior. Eat, sleep and work. The only distraction has been my little man - Perkunas! Snow Dog Supreme! He has decided that the greatest thing in the world is snow and would live in an igloo if I offered him the option. We were hit with over 16 inches of snow on Friday and the dog was as happy as any creature on Earth to jump through the snow piles and pretend to be a diminutive snowman.
Beyond that, my brain works dilligently to craft a succession of thoughts that allow me to effectively communicate wiht the living world. It is not easy, but I do my best. I am so ready for the holiday break.....
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
The Tornado Lands in Oz
Like the Wicked Witch of the East, I have been feeling like a house has fallen on my head. Not in a bad way, really, just loads of various occurrences forming an event horizon with ground zero in my living room.
1. Cruise - GREAT! Loved every minute of it and am already considering another trip next summer. Perhaps the Scandanavian region.... Only downside was that I got a cold on the trip and it lasted the entire voyage.
2. Cold - The cold that wracked me on the cruise exploded when I got home. This was likely facilitated by the 38 hours without sleep that I endured during the homeward travel. I felt like an exploding water balloon and found myself returning to couch confinement for a few days while I emptied my head and chest of mucous and engaged in Olympic-level power napping.
3. Preparing for work - school starts next week and I am woefully behind in my preparations. Normally, I get a jump-start on the next schoolyear as the old year ends. This past year found me missing the terminal 1 1/2 months of work, so I accomplished nada. So, I now have to make sure that I have sufficient curriculum ready for the first week....
4. Continuing with the medical train ride - Back to that particular grindstone. Further meetings with my hematologist/oncologist and treks to Mass General Hospital have found continued enlarged liver, chronic anemia and, a new wrinkle, depressed antibody levels. The cause? They still don't know, but they're still working on it with gusto!
But, the biggest event is that I have a new man in my life. Dark and handsome. Silent type, too. Very smart, fun, active. Not the biggest guy around - tops the scales at 3 lbs right now. Already, we are the star couple in town and EVERYONE loves him. His name - Perkunas. The best little puppy in the world...
Went shopping for shoes one day at the mall and passed the pet store window. There he was - an all-black toy poodle puppy. Energetic, with a gleam in his little black eyes. I had no choice - the energies of the universe simply overtook my body and moved me through the procedure of purchase. Of course, I also had to get all of the items that one needs to own a dog, and also some luxuries such as a car seat and a very stylish carry bag. We go shopping and run errands all the time and he is the perfect dog to tote around department stores as he really doesn't bark unless he is very excited, so he goes quite unnoticed by store personnel. His first vet trip provided him with a glowing health certificate, which made me very proud...
He is smart and loves people and other animals. Independent, yet enjoys down-time on the couch with me. I have already enrolled him in day care for when I start school again. We stopped by for him to visit the other dogs in the program and he had the best time playing with them, although they are all larger than is he. The only negative aspect is that his romping will make for a daily dirty doggie...fortunately, he likes his bathtime.
So, I have had little free time to do anything but reconnect with the medical community, prepare for work and create my new family routine. I am actually looking forward to the start of the school year. Forced structure of time - not always a bad thing...
1. Cruise - GREAT! Loved every minute of it and am already considering another trip next summer. Perhaps the Scandanavian region.... Only downside was that I got a cold on the trip and it lasted the entire voyage.
2. Cold - The cold that wracked me on the cruise exploded when I got home. This was likely facilitated by the 38 hours without sleep that I endured during the homeward travel. I felt like an exploding water balloon and found myself returning to couch confinement for a few days while I emptied my head and chest of mucous and engaged in Olympic-level power napping.
3. Preparing for work - school starts next week and I am woefully behind in my preparations. Normally, I get a jump-start on the next schoolyear as the old year ends. This past year found me missing the terminal 1 1/2 months of work, so I accomplished nada. So, I now have to make sure that I have sufficient curriculum ready for the first week....
4. Continuing with the medical train ride - Back to that particular grindstone. Further meetings with my hematologist/oncologist and treks to Mass General Hospital have found continued enlarged liver, chronic anemia and, a new wrinkle, depressed antibody levels. The cause? They still don't know, but they're still working on it with gusto!
But, the biggest event is that I have a new man in my life. Dark and handsome. Silent type, too. Very smart, fun, active. Not the biggest guy around - tops the scales at 3 lbs right now. Already, we are the star couple in town and EVERYONE loves him. His name - Perkunas. The best little puppy in the world...
Went shopping for shoes one day at the mall and passed the pet store window. There he was - an all-black toy poodle puppy. Energetic, with a gleam in his little black eyes. I had no choice - the energies of the universe simply overtook my body and moved me through the procedure of purchase. Of course, I also had to get all of the items that one needs to own a dog, and also some luxuries such as a car seat and a very stylish carry bag. We go shopping and run errands all the time and he is the perfect dog to tote around department stores as he really doesn't bark unless he is very excited, so he goes quite unnoticed by store personnel. His first vet trip provided him with a glowing health certificate, which made me very proud...
He is smart and loves people and other animals. Independent, yet enjoys down-time on the couch with me. I have already enrolled him in day care for when I start school again. We stopped by for him to visit the other dogs in the program and he had the best time playing with them, although they are all larger than is he. The only negative aspect is that his romping will make for a daily dirty doggie...fortunately, he likes his bathtime.
So, I have had little free time to do anything but reconnect with the medical community, prepare for work and create my new family routine. I am actually looking forward to the start of the school year. Forced structure of time - not always a bad thing...
Thursday, August 04, 2005
The Empty Suitcase
Is there anything in the world more mocking than the open, empty suitcase? You stand before it clutching your carefully prepared packing list like a sword of power and are promptly reduced to a quivering mass of insecurity and indecision. All the time spent researching weather patterns, details of shore excursions, professionally-prepared packing guidelines amount to nothing when staring into the Great Nothingness.
You roust the suitcase from its slumber and, with great (perhaps over-) confidence, you fling it open. The energy of empowerment that you have built over the preceding few days fills you to the point where you practically glow with capability. Every eventuality predicted, evaluated and managed. All necessary items carefully inventoried. Outfits have been planned to masterfully match the weather and planned occasions. Multitasking is the name of the game and with efficiency that would be envied by the most stereotypical Swiss, a complete cruise vacation has been designed to fit into a single rolling carryon and a shoulder pack.
Yeah, right.
Suddenly the dark power of the empty suitcase sends its soul-draining tendrils through your skin and into your spine. You become convinced that you have coincidentally forgotten everything and overplanned. All of your carefully-coordinated outfits are inappropriate and unflattering, to boot. You won't be sufficiently warm; you are going to be too hot. Nothing is fashionable. It is all too casual. It is all too dressy. Is that bra torn? What if this happens? What if that happens? It's Alaska - it could snow. Its southern Alaska - it will rain. The crowd will be old. The boat will be filled with youthful energy.
I have nothing to wear.
You roust the suitcase from its slumber and, with great (perhaps over-) confidence, you fling it open. The energy of empowerment that you have built over the preceding few days fills you to the point where you practically glow with capability. Every eventuality predicted, evaluated and managed. All necessary items carefully inventoried. Outfits have been planned to masterfully match the weather and planned occasions. Multitasking is the name of the game and with efficiency that would be envied by the most stereotypical Swiss, a complete cruise vacation has been designed to fit into a single rolling carryon and a shoulder pack.
Yeah, right.
Suddenly the dark power of the empty suitcase sends its soul-draining tendrils through your skin and into your spine. You become convinced that you have coincidentally forgotten everything and overplanned. All of your carefully-coordinated outfits are inappropriate and unflattering, to boot. You won't be sufficiently warm; you are going to be too hot. Nothing is fashionable. It is all too casual. It is all too dressy. Is that bra torn? What if this happens? What if that happens? It's Alaska - it could snow. Its southern Alaska - it will rain. The crowd will be old. The boat will be filled with youthful energy.
I have nothing to wear.
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
Handbag Hell
In defiance of the accepted feminine stereotype, I must declare that I have no interest in either shoes or handbags. I view both with a strongly utilitarian eye. Today, however, I had to undertake an unsettling journey into handbag hell. I was in need of an evening bag for my upcoming cruise and spent the day moving from store to store in search of an appropriate satchel.
A search of my house will generally produce only two handbags - one brown and one black shoulder plain shoulder bag. I prefer shoulder bags over handbags or clutches since I consider myself incapable of keeping a watchful eye on any item not attached to my person. Once a bag is set down for any reason, there is a rather significant chance that it will remain in that position until the janitorial staff finds in while closing for the evening. Further, I purchase bags that are as plain as an unsalted Saltine. I have neither the time nor the eye to coordinate bags with outfits. I refuse to devote sections of my closet to a handbag collection designed to complement each individual item of my wardrobe. So, plain and in solid black or brown.
An evening bag has never found sanctuary in my home. Formal occasions do not fill my social calendar, therefore, I have never found need for a bag designed solely for "dress up" events. I was not even sure where to begin. I knew that I didn't want to spend the world for the bag as its use was quite limited, but wanted something that was appropriate. For an unfeminine femme, this was a puzzle. So, off to the malls and associated shops.
There should be a book titled "The Myth of the Perfect Handbag." It is as nonexistent as Bigfoot. No two women are shaped or sized exactly the same, nor share exactly the same taste. Even with this trememdous diversity and the vast handbag universe, no one seems to be able to find the Holy Grail of handbags. I know this, because I engaged in sociological research while shopping. I keenly interrogated women who were also bag shopping. I asked the young and the old, every cultural and racial profile I could discern...the consensus was that gorgeous bags existed, functional bags were common, comfortable bags could be had, but no one bag fulfilled every criterion to meet the definition of "perfect." I watched the well-dressed and the tacky scurrying about from shelf to shelf, touching, holding, trying on...bag after bag after bag. The right color, but the wrong size. The perfect style, but won't hold a phone. On and on and on...Like a test set by the Fates to weed out the unworthy...
I had thought that my needs were sufficiently specific that finding something suitable would not pose too much of a challenge. A bother, certainly, but nothing to raise the blood pressure. Of course, I was totally wrong. I wanted a simple, elegant black bag with a thin shoulder strap. It doesn't exist. If it did, it was sucked into hell long ago, leaving behind a race memory that serves only to show us what could have been. If it had a strap, it was replete with garish decoration. If it was plain, it was a clutch. If it was the right material, it was too large and if it was reasonably priced, it was too small. I wandered through the forest of tassels, beads and sequins...winced at too many zeroes on price tags...I had to have a lie down half-way through the ordeal.
Did I buy anything? Yeah. Plain. Black. Wrist strap. Wallet-style, rather than pure purse. Where? Target. I am ashamed. I got so discumbobulated by hour 3 that I defaulted to Target and grabbed a cheapie bag that will do the job, but not much else. I feel like I have let down the team.
I'm afraid to even think about dress shoes....
A search of my house will generally produce only two handbags - one brown and one black shoulder plain shoulder bag. I prefer shoulder bags over handbags or clutches since I consider myself incapable of keeping a watchful eye on any item not attached to my person. Once a bag is set down for any reason, there is a rather significant chance that it will remain in that position until the janitorial staff finds in while closing for the evening. Further, I purchase bags that are as plain as an unsalted Saltine. I have neither the time nor the eye to coordinate bags with outfits. I refuse to devote sections of my closet to a handbag collection designed to complement each individual item of my wardrobe. So, plain and in solid black or brown.
An evening bag has never found sanctuary in my home. Formal occasions do not fill my social calendar, therefore, I have never found need for a bag designed solely for "dress up" events. I was not even sure where to begin. I knew that I didn't want to spend the world for the bag as its use was quite limited, but wanted something that was appropriate. For an unfeminine femme, this was a puzzle. So, off to the malls and associated shops.
There should be a book titled "The Myth of the Perfect Handbag." It is as nonexistent as Bigfoot. No two women are shaped or sized exactly the same, nor share exactly the same taste. Even with this trememdous diversity and the vast handbag universe, no one seems to be able to find the Holy Grail of handbags. I know this, because I engaged in sociological research while shopping. I keenly interrogated women who were also bag shopping. I asked the young and the old, every cultural and racial profile I could discern...the consensus was that gorgeous bags existed, functional bags were common, comfortable bags could be had, but no one bag fulfilled every criterion to meet the definition of "perfect." I watched the well-dressed and the tacky scurrying about from shelf to shelf, touching, holding, trying on...bag after bag after bag. The right color, but the wrong size. The perfect style, but won't hold a phone. On and on and on...Like a test set by the Fates to weed out the unworthy...
I had thought that my needs were sufficiently specific that finding something suitable would not pose too much of a challenge. A bother, certainly, but nothing to raise the blood pressure. Of course, I was totally wrong. I wanted a simple, elegant black bag with a thin shoulder strap. It doesn't exist. If it did, it was sucked into hell long ago, leaving behind a race memory that serves only to show us what could have been. If it had a strap, it was replete with garish decoration. If it was plain, it was a clutch. If it was the right material, it was too large and if it was reasonably priced, it was too small. I wandered through the forest of tassels, beads and sequins...winced at too many zeroes on price tags...I had to have a lie down half-way through the ordeal.
Did I buy anything? Yeah. Plain. Black. Wrist strap. Wallet-style, rather than pure purse. Where? Target. I am ashamed. I got so discumbobulated by hour 3 that I defaulted to Target and grabbed a cheapie bag that will do the job, but not much else. I feel like I have let down the team.
I'm afraid to even think about dress shoes....
Monday, August 01, 2005
Feelin' Evil
Some days the little red devil tap dances on your shoulder and prompts you to go jiggy yourself. Today is a mega-preggo day. I look and feel as if I'm 7 months along, but knew that I had to make more progress towards my trip and life. So, makeup, clothes, lots of caffeine and off I went. Already I was in a minor snitty mood, due to my size/shape and the fact that I am sporting my first sunburn of the year. Normally a little time in the sun wouldn't render me red, but I'd forgotten about that garish yellow label on the Lasix which cautions against both natural and artificial sunlight....stupid medication....
First, I had some blood to donate to the vampiritic medical community. The parking lot was packed to the gills and I was too darn lazy to walk very far. So, the "Clergy" placard goes flying onto my dashboard and the RAV 4 turns into the oh-so-sweet clergy parking space. Evil, but I wasn't going to be there all day...
Went to Filene's and actually found one style of pants that will serve for work. While browsing, I ran across a miserably boorish woman. One of those who thinks nothing of pushing you out of the way while she circles around the clothing carousel. I spied her doing the "try the jacket on over the clothes and look at yourself in the big pillar mirrors" thing. I further spied that she had hung her already-selected garments on a rack while she tried on her jacket. Was easy to remove said garments and scatter them around the department.
A final stop brought me to purchase some seed for my bird feeder. Now, being a townie, I am well aware of the traffic directions that should be followed and those that should be ignored (and are ignored by all locals). So, I happily backed my car out of my parking space and proceeded to head the wrong way up the one-way drive in the parking lot (as is the local custom). Ahead, I see an elderly woman driving a Lexus the correct way down said drive waving at me and looking anxious. Figuring she is a lost tourist, I roll down my window and am greeted with a contemptuous "You're going the wrong way." I considered all appropriate responses and finally inquired if she'd like to hear my proposal concerning old women and Soylent Green.
Fortunately, Monkey Baby had been an obedient, respectful branch-swinger during my absence, so my return home was quite pleasant and without incident. We took a book onto the porch and read a bit while waiting for the grocery delivery. Delivery - fine. No new opportunities to exercise my evil streak. Kind of a shame, actually. I do enjoy a good bit of malevolence now and then...
First, I had some blood to donate to the vampiritic medical community. The parking lot was packed to the gills and I was too darn lazy to walk very far. So, the "Clergy" placard goes flying onto my dashboard and the RAV 4 turns into the oh-so-sweet clergy parking space. Evil, but I wasn't going to be there all day...
Went to Filene's and actually found one style of pants that will serve for work. While browsing, I ran across a miserably boorish woman. One of those who thinks nothing of pushing you out of the way while she circles around the clothing carousel. I spied her doing the "try the jacket on over the clothes and look at yourself in the big pillar mirrors" thing. I further spied that she had hung her already-selected garments on a rack while she tried on her jacket. Was easy to remove said garments and scatter them around the department.
A final stop brought me to purchase some seed for my bird feeder. Now, being a townie, I am well aware of the traffic directions that should be followed and those that should be ignored (and are ignored by all locals). So, I happily backed my car out of my parking space and proceeded to head the wrong way up the one-way drive in the parking lot (as is the local custom). Ahead, I see an elderly woman driving a Lexus the correct way down said drive waving at me and looking anxious. Figuring she is a lost tourist, I roll down my window and am greeted with a contemptuous "You're going the wrong way." I considered all appropriate responses and finally inquired if she'd like to hear my proposal concerning old women and Soylent Green.
Fortunately, Monkey Baby had been an obedient, respectful branch-swinger during my absence, so my return home was quite pleasant and without incident. We took a book onto the porch and read a bit while waiting for the grocery delivery. Delivery - fine. No new opportunities to exercise my evil streak. Kind of a shame, actually. I do enjoy a good bit of malevolence now and then...
Friday, July 29, 2005
Damn Dirty Apes
I wondered why my computer keys were sticky and slightly redolent of old banana daiquiri...I see Monkey Baby has been indulging his newly-found computer addiction. Reading his post was quite informative and explained several anomalies in my recent phone and credit card bills. He apologised most profusely after I tied him up on the patio and allowed the squirrel coalition to titter aggressively and furiously twitch their tails in his general direction. Currently, MB is affecting a put-upon pouty face and giving me the silent treatment. Perhaps I'll allow him a little Animal Planet this evening...
I have been caught up in the ironies of life, the largest being the circumstances surrounding the purchase of new clothes. Perhaps men do not follow the clothes-buying ritual, but I find it odd that in order for a female to mount a clothes shopping expedition, she must appear as if the last thing in the world she needs is new clothes. A serious wardrobe expansion mission must be undertaken in full make-up, with freshly-coiffed hair and the most stylish outfit she can muster. This is what made the whole prospect so daunting to me. I had NOTHING to wear to even go shopping! Oh the horror of that first clandestine shopping trip to WalMart to hastily grab a pair of drawstring pants and two blouses. With that, I could return for a more prolonged trip to add a few other items. With some new makeup and a very long-overdue trip to the hairstylist, I was able to face the glory of glories: The Mall.
Before, I was too damn small for anything to fit properly. Now, I am too large for things to fit properly. Well, I should clarify. I am too heavy for my height, but my weight distribution is the real problem. All in front, like an expectant mother. Yes, my ass, back and thighs are also partridge-plump, but that is not a real problem with today's range of clothes sizes and styles. But that protruding belly makes fittings difficult. And, regardless, nothing really looks "good." Oh well, I am getting to be an age where these things concern me less and less. Although I did have a guy give me prolonged eye while I was in line for my iced coffee. And, the nice gay manager of my grocery store actually gave me an appreciative uplifted eyebrow. Can't be too bad off if the immaculately-groomed aren't spitting in my path...
I also find it interesting that my former greatest joy in life - unbridled activity - is currently beyond my reach. My joints and muscles ache continuously, with some days finding me dreading any form of motion. Even my jaw has gotten stiff and sore to open beyond a certain degree. So, tearing apart the treadmill or pressing iron is a laughable consideration. It is almost like a punishment, more than an illness. So perfect an impairment to chastise me for some heinous offense committed in a former life. Perhaps I should start contributing more to charity to buy insurance for my next life...
Tomorrow finds me connecting with a friend to do some serious bookshopping. We shall partake in a nice luncheon and provide ourselves with as many books as we can squeeze into her vehicle. Monkey Baby has requested a few titles of the Tarzan series and I need some light reading for relaxation and to take on the plane next weekend. Maybe I'll continue the Edgar Rice Burroughs theme and pick up some of his John Carter books. I haven't read those since I was a kid and I could go for some semi-classic science fiction. Regardless, I shall have a bright spirit when I land in Seattle. Meet up with good friends for good times and then hit the open ocean for adventure. Wonder if the Pirates of the Caribbean ever get that far north...
I have been caught up in the ironies of life, the largest being the circumstances surrounding the purchase of new clothes. Perhaps men do not follow the clothes-buying ritual, but I find it odd that in order for a female to mount a clothes shopping expedition, she must appear as if the last thing in the world she needs is new clothes. A serious wardrobe expansion mission must be undertaken in full make-up, with freshly-coiffed hair and the most stylish outfit she can muster. This is what made the whole prospect so daunting to me. I had NOTHING to wear to even go shopping! Oh the horror of that first clandestine shopping trip to WalMart to hastily grab a pair of drawstring pants and two blouses. With that, I could return for a more prolonged trip to add a few other items. With some new makeup and a very long-overdue trip to the hairstylist, I was able to face the glory of glories: The Mall.
Before, I was too damn small for anything to fit properly. Now, I am too large for things to fit properly. Well, I should clarify. I am too heavy for my height, but my weight distribution is the real problem. All in front, like an expectant mother. Yes, my ass, back and thighs are also partridge-plump, but that is not a real problem with today's range of clothes sizes and styles. But that protruding belly makes fittings difficult. And, regardless, nothing really looks "good." Oh well, I am getting to be an age where these things concern me less and less. Although I did have a guy give me prolonged eye while I was in line for my iced coffee. And, the nice gay manager of my grocery store actually gave me an appreciative uplifted eyebrow. Can't be too bad off if the immaculately-groomed aren't spitting in my path...
I also find it interesting that my former greatest joy in life - unbridled activity - is currently beyond my reach. My joints and muscles ache continuously, with some days finding me dreading any form of motion. Even my jaw has gotten stiff and sore to open beyond a certain degree. So, tearing apart the treadmill or pressing iron is a laughable consideration. It is almost like a punishment, more than an illness. So perfect an impairment to chastise me for some heinous offense committed in a former life. Perhaps I should start contributing more to charity to buy insurance for my next life...
Tomorrow finds me connecting with a friend to do some serious bookshopping. We shall partake in a nice luncheon and provide ourselves with as many books as we can squeeze into her vehicle. Monkey Baby has requested a few titles of the Tarzan series and I need some light reading for relaxation and to take on the plane next weekend. Maybe I'll continue the Edgar Rice Burroughs theme and pick up some of his John Carter books. I haven't read those since I was a kid and I could go for some semi-classic science fiction. Regardless, I shall have a bright spirit when I land in Seattle. Meet up with good friends for good times and then hit the open ocean for adventure. Wonder if the Pirates of the Caribbean ever get that far north...
Thursday, July 28, 2005
Sneaky Monkey
She's sleeping right now, so I'm using her computer to order organic bananas and primate porn. My name is Monkey Baby and I'm an 8" tall, mystically-animated stuffed Capuchin monkey. Sci rescued me from the clearance bin at the Wild Oats market after I told her that she needed some Ephedra in the worst way. I had to ride home dangling upside down from the rearview mirror for that one. It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
I take care of her as best I can. I am good at converation and, fortunately, share the same taste in television programs and movies. We look forward to our daily schedule of television viewing - The Lost World, Buffy, Angel, Charmed, ER, etc. and I was the one who suggested the purchase of wireless headphones so that we could blast our evening movies and not have the neighborhood rioting on the front porch. My pair came special order...I am also responsible for helping her sleep at night. Me and the new sleeping pills her doctor prescribed. I help her pick her clothes when she has to run errands and sit on her lap when she reads. We are good friends.
Sci hasn't touched her computer in weeks, it seems. She turned it on today and, wow. I have never heard her shriek like that. She started on about over 300 new email messages. That warranted an extra big gulp of iced coffee. She got depressed for a long time when she found out that her friend's father had passed on. I think she cried, too, but she had me faced the other direction so as not to read her mail, so I can't be sure. Then she got even more depressed when she rememebered that she had forgotten to send a thank you card to a friend who had sent her two glorious photographs. I've seen them - a beautiful flower and a sparkling ocean scene - hanging in the guest bedroom and in the hallway. People remark on them when they come by, along with the mirror made by another talented friend (Sci has no artistic talent, so she tries to surround herself with evidence that real artists do exist in the world). We had a discussion about friendship afterwards and agreed that hers were the best in the world. They care, check in, worry, laugh, bless...no matter what, Sci feels as rich as Rockefeller.
Because I've been a good monkey, Sci says I can go to Alaska next week. I don't have a passport or ticket, but Sci says she can smuggle me shipboard and onto Canadian soil(if required) without incident. Her family has a history of smuggling. Her grandfather brought a rather sizeable quantity of fresh meat into Venezuela and his sisters carried a variety of seeds and plants from Venezuela back to the United States. Since no one attempted capture or prosecution the 20 or so years since these infractions of customs regulations, she figures the family has the right gene. I am looking forward to the trip very much and so is she. I already have a "monkey suit" (hah hah) and don't get seasick. Sci is still concerned about clothing, but she figures that since she isn't trolling for testosterone, A+ appearance is not really required. She is considering packing a sleeping bag, however, as it is totally possible that her friend will snag a hunk and require the stateroom for the evening. Fortunately, Sci is not averse to camping, as long as the buffet and public facilities are readily available.
I try to be a good cheerleader for Sci. I give her a good pep talk every time she is having a bad joint/muscle day or looks particularly pregnant. I tell her I love her and give her big hugs. She is still contemplating a live pet, but assures me that she will instruct the beast against making me an afternoon snack. Right now she is recovering from the past several days of 95+ degree heat. She is a cheap femme and doesn't have air conditioning. One day was so hot that we relocated to the public library for the afternoon. I enjoyed that. We got books and lounged on a soft bench. She read something by William Gibson and I read Curious George. She said that when my reading skills improve, I should check out Pierre Boulle. With a French name, I bet he's good with the ooh-lah-lah language....
Well, I think she's waking up. She naps a lot, which is fine with me as I can raid the fridge and make long-distance phone calls. But, she doesn't like me playing on the computer as I'm not educated in the ways of avoiding spyware and have an unfortunate tendency of signing up for mailing lists using her email address. This was fun though. When I get my own computer, I'm going to have a blog. I shall call it Going Bananas.....
I take care of her as best I can. I am good at converation and, fortunately, share the same taste in television programs and movies. We look forward to our daily schedule of television viewing - The Lost World, Buffy, Angel, Charmed, ER, etc. and I was the one who suggested the purchase of wireless headphones so that we could blast our evening movies and not have the neighborhood rioting on the front porch. My pair came special order...I am also responsible for helping her sleep at night. Me and the new sleeping pills her doctor prescribed. I help her pick her clothes when she has to run errands and sit on her lap when she reads. We are good friends.
Sci hasn't touched her computer in weeks, it seems. She turned it on today and, wow. I have never heard her shriek like that. She started on about over 300 new email messages. That warranted an extra big gulp of iced coffee. She got depressed for a long time when she found out that her friend's father had passed on. I think she cried, too, but she had me faced the other direction so as not to read her mail, so I can't be sure. Then she got even more depressed when she rememebered that she had forgotten to send a thank you card to a friend who had sent her two glorious photographs. I've seen them - a beautiful flower and a sparkling ocean scene - hanging in the guest bedroom and in the hallway. People remark on them when they come by, along with the mirror made by another talented friend (Sci has no artistic talent, so she tries to surround herself with evidence that real artists do exist in the world). We had a discussion about friendship afterwards and agreed that hers were the best in the world. They care, check in, worry, laugh, bless...no matter what, Sci feels as rich as Rockefeller.
Because I've been a good monkey, Sci says I can go to Alaska next week. I don't have a passport or ticket, but Sci says she can smuggle me shipboard and onto Canadian soil(if required) without incident. Her family has a history of smuggling. Her grandfather brought a rather sizeable quantity of fresh meat into Venezuela and his sisters carried a variety of seeds and plants from Venezuela back to the United States. Since no one attempted capture or prosecution the 20 or so years since these infractions of customs regulations, she figures the family has the right gene. I am looking forward to the trip very much and so is she. I already have a "monkey suit" (hah hah) and don't get seasick. Sci is still concerned about clothing, but she figures that since she isn't trolling for testosterone, A+ appearance is not really required. She is considering packing a sleeping bag, however, as it is totally possible that her friend will snag a hunk and require the stateroom for the evening. Fortunately, Sci is not averse to camping, as long as the buffet and public facilities are readily available.
I try to be a good cheerleader for Sci. I give her a good pep talk every time she is having a bad joint/muscle day or looks particularly pregnant. I tell her I love her and give her big hugs. She is still contemplating a live pet, but assures me that she will instruct the beast against making me an afternoon snack. Right now she is recovering from the past several days of 95+ degree heat. She is a cheap femme and doesn't have air conditioning. One day was so hot that we relocated to the public library for the afternoon. I enjoyed that. We got books and lounged on a soft bench. She read something by William Gibson and I read Curious George. She said that when my reading skills improve, I should check out Pierre Boulle. With a French name, I bet he's good with the ooh-lah-lah language....
Well, I think she's waking up. She naps a lot, which is fine with me as I can raid the fridge and make long-distance phone calls. But, she doesn't like me playing on the computer as I'm not educated in the ways of avoiding spyware and have an unfortunate tendency of signing up for mailing lists using her email address. This was fun though. When I get my own computer, I'm going to have a blog. I shall call it Going Bananas.....
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
Listing Littles
Lately, I have been experiencing a goodly dose of pain from each corner of my ever-expanding form and have had little to do but think. Little topics on my mind:
1. Health - duh. The newest pet phrase used about me is "unusual constellation of symptoms." I must admit that is rather cool...But, I have been punted to the higher powers in Boston and must submit to further inquisition on August 25 by those masterful minds.
2. My patio - how to decorate/utilize it. Right now, it is barren save for a bird feeder that has been adopted by 2 squirrels, a pair of house sparrows, 1 male goldfinch and 1 mourning dove. I would love to make it a decorous and useful setting, but lack any talent for such things. Would like a solar-powered waterfall...
3. Money - Damn patio set me back FAR more than estimated and that pinched like the dickens. Guess I'll have to investigate the lucrative profession of prostitution. I do live on a street corner...
4. Weight - I am an official fatty and that irks me. I am at my highest weight ever - the scale at the doctor's office insulted me royally by displaying 152 lbs. The combination of total inactivity for an extended period, an out-of-control appetite and my innards going completely askew has skyrocketed my weight. I am horribly uncomfortable, detest my appearance and now must face the possibility of having, of all things, to go on a diet. The doctor says that I shouldn't worry since she feels much of this is medically-promoted, but I am still not happy with the road that I must travel to get back into shape. Glad I have a full fitness center in the basement. And a TV. Wonder if I can get a fridge for cheap...
5. Clothes. I have none. Now, when a woman says she has no clothes, this is generally a code for "I have 3 closets and 8 storage bins full of garments, but don't FEEL like wearing any of them right now." In my case, it is, however, a statement of fact. I have lived the past month or so with 2 pairs of shorts and 3 tops. Everything else is far too small, even underwear and shoes. Its not like I gradually gained poundage and had time to supplement my wardrobe. I went from skeleton to mastadon in the blink of an eye and now am up the creek without the proverbial paddle. I have a cruise to undertake in August and have not one stitch to wear. This means shopping, which is quite difficult right now, and money, which is in short supply....
6. Cat. I am considering getting a cat. This is a very difficult decision for me. I love/hate pets. I love the companionship, but absolutely abhor the duties involved. I detest cat hair on my furniture and on myself. I will not tolerate my new furniture being used as a scratching post - it is the only real furniture I've ever had (always had to get second-hand garbage since I had evil cats). I enjoy being able to display fragile objects. I don't like litter pans - not the work involved, actually, but the appearance, the smell and the inevitable tracking of litter around the house. For the first time in my life, I have a clean, comfortable house in which I can place any object in any location and actually investigate and invest in quality (or a reasonable facimile) furnishings. But, I am also lonely. I have been suffering terribly from isolation sickness and I remember fondly the companionship of a fellow living creature. So, I am considering another friggin' feline. Of course, the type I would get would be a Sphynx - the type with no hair - and those run a tasty dollar...but no cat hair to worry about...
7. My car. It needs detailing in the worst way. Also, the windshield leaks and there is a very disturbing noise under the hood. I hate cars for this reason. They self-sabotage and it is up to me to deliver them from their jam. Luckily, my mechanic is within walking distance and I can do a drop off and walk home. But, its another drain on the brain.
There are other little mental ruminations, but those are the ones lit with neon lettering. Nothing earth-shattering, really, but issues that will actually require action on my part. And that is what I am least capable of at the moment - action. Both physically and mentally. I am just pooped with having to think about life and take actions to keep things flowing somewhat smoothly. Of course, this is really just a big bag of whine and I should be paddled for such nonsense, but when you are couch-surfing with your good buddy Percoset, whining counts as recreation...
1. Health - duh. The newest pet phrase used about me is "unusual constellation of symptoms." I must admit that is rather cool...But, I have been punted to the higher powers in Boston and must submit to further inquisition on August 25 by those masterful minds.
2. My patio - how to decorate/utilize it. Right now, it is barren save for a bird feeder that has been adopted by 2 squirrels, a pair of house sparrows, 1 male goldfinch and 1 mourning dove. I would love to make it a decorous and useful setting, but lack any talent for such things. Would like a solar-powered waterfall...
3. Money - Damn patio set me back FAR more than estimated and that pinched like the dickens. Guess I'll have to investigate the lucrative profession of prostitution. I do live on a street corner...
4. Weight - I am an official fatty and that irks me. I am at my highest weight ever - the scale at the doctor's office insulted me royally by displaying 152 lbs. The combination of total inactivity for an extended period, an out-of-control appetite and my innards going completely askew has skyrocketed my weight. I am horribly uncomfortable, detest my appearance and now must face the possibility of having, of all things, to go on a diet. The doctor says that I shouldn't worry since she feels much of this is medically-promoted, but I am still not happy with the road that I must travel to get back into shape. Glad I have a full fitness center in the basement. And a TV. Wonder if I can get a fridge for cheap...
5. Clothes. I have none. Now, when a woman says she has no clothes, this is generally a code for "I have 3 closets and 8 storage bins full of garments, but don't FEEL like wearing any of them right now." In my case, it is, however, a statement of fact. I have lived the past month or so with 2 pairs of shorts and 3 tops. Everything else is far too small, even underwear and shoes. Its not like I gradually gained poundage and had time to supplement my wardrobe. I went from skeleton to mastadon in the blink of an eye and now am up the creek without the proverbial paddle. I have a cruise to undertake in August and have not one stitch to wear. This means shopping, which is quite difficult right now, and money, which is in short supply....
6. Cat. I am considering getting a cat. This is a very difficult decision for me. I love/hate pets. I love the companionship, but absolutely abhor the duties involved. I detest cat hair on my furniture and on myself. I will not tolerate my new furniture being used as a scratching post - it is the only real furniture I've ever had (always had to get second-hand garbage since I had evil cats). I enjoy being able to display fragile objects. I don't like litter pans - not the work involved, actually, but the appearance, the smell and the inevitable tracking of litter around the house. For the first time in my life, I have a clean, comfortable house in which I can place any object in any location and actually investigate and invest in quality (or a reasonable facimile) furnishings. But, I am also lonely. I have been suffering terribly from isolation sickness and I remember fondly the companionship of a fellow living creature. So, I am considering another friggin' feline. Of course, the type I would get would be a Sphynx - the type with no hair - and those run a tasty dollar...but no cat hair to worry about...
7. My car. It needs detailing in the worst way. Also, the windshield leaks and there is a very disturbing noise under the hood. I hate cars for this reason. They self-sabotage and it is up to me to deliver them from their jam. Luckily, my mechanic is within walking distance and I can do a drop off and walk home. But, its another drain on the brain.
There are other little mental ruminations, but those are the ones lit with neon lettering. Nothing earth-shattering, really, but issues that will actually require action on my part. And that is what I am least capable of at the moment - action. Both physically and mentally. I am just pooped with having to think about life and take actions to keep things flowing somewhat smoothly. Of course, this is really just a big bag of whine and I should be paddled for such nonsense, but when you are couch-surfing with your good buddy Percoset, whining counts as recreation...
Thursday, June 30, 2005
The Absence of a Thing
Today was my visitation with the surgeon who performed my laparoscopy. All day, I felt the creep of nervous energy. Or the vapors, I'm not sure which. Being surrounded by the incessant high-pitched whine of power tools began to eat away at my composure fairly quickly. Today was brick-cutting day for my patio work and I was starting to lose what little mind I had left. So, the nerves that were building in anticipation of my medical visit were being rasped with sandpaper for hours on end. It was a blessing to vacate the dwelling and head to the hospital.
My hopes were high that some informration would be forthcoming that would help clarify my condition. Of course, with typical pattern, those hopes were quickly dashed. I don't have any visible cancers or tumors or anything weird. There wasn't even much fluid in my abdomen during the procedure. The only thing that could be visibly observed was a weird inflammation of the liver. Not rampant cirrhosis or anything. In fact, the surgeon had no idea what it was. So, back to the ever-expanding drawing board.
But, the absence of a thing can be considered good and I can't really argue with that. The absence of cancers and tumors, etc. - I'll vote for that being solidly good. When I returned home, the brick cutting was finished. The absence of the noise was most definitely good. A nice little front has moved into the area, temporarily banishing the heat and humidity - Good, good, good...Right now, I'll just give thanks for the things I don't have in life. Seems to be the most optimistic thing to do...
My hopes were high that some informration would be forthcoming that would help clarify my condition. Of course, with typical pattern, those hopes were quickly dashed. I don't have any visible cancers or tumors or anything weird. There wasn't even much fluid in my abdomen during the procedure. The only thing that could be visibly observed was a weird inflammation of the liver. Not rampant cirrhosis or anything. In fact, the surgeon had no idea what it was. So, back to the ever-expanding drawing board.
But, the absence of a thing can be considered good and I can't really argue with that. The absence of cancers and tumors, etc. - I'll vote for that being solidly good. When I returned home, the brick cutting was finished. The absence of the noise was most definitely good. A nice little front has moved into the area, temporarily banishing the heat and humidity - Good, good, good...Right now, I'll just give thanks for the things I don't have in life. Seems to be the most optimistic thing to do...
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
Revenge is a Dish Best Served Red
A busy day for Scigirl. Well, not by normal standards, but by the diminished ruler with which I weigh my days, it was just jam-packed. On my calendar was a visit by my accountant, the grocery delivery service, my maid service and the continuing presence of the patio crew. Also, I had to take my 24-hour urine offering to the hospital lab and submit to further bloodletting.
Currently, the maids are busily cleaning my hovel and I silently bless them for their efforts. Today is miserable. There is no air in motion over any portion of this town. Further, the air is laden with the heavy drops of moisture that drive you to madness before they finally coalesce into torrential rains. Ick. The only comfortable zone is in my living room, directly in front of my high-velocity fan. I am counting the minutes until I can get back there. But, I'll take being ousted from my zone of pleasure as partial payment for having my housekeeping duties performed by others. Lazy, but I'm old, so sue me.
The groceries arrived on schedule and, as always, were the pick of their respective litters. Plump, pink watermelon pieces, jaunty mangoes, sinuous bananas...all cool and sweet and perfect for a hot summer day. The juicer was fired up for a heat quenching watermelon and cucumber cocktail. Both of those fruits are known for having cooling effects on the body and they are making this summer o' misery far more tolerable. All hail the Champion juicer and those grocery delivery boys!
My accountant dropped by with the thick folder of tax payments that I now have to re-make to satisfy the dunderheads in the state and federal IRS offices. Apparently, the boobs tried to debit the bank which holds the mortgage to my house and not my personal bank. How dimwitted its that? So, my tax payments couldn't be made since they bungled the job and I now have to send them all over again. Year-end taxes and estimated payments. Cretins. But, at least I got the opportunity to have a very nice visit with my accountant and we are planning a great book-shopping adventure and Harry Potter movie marathon. Always more fun to have an accomplice when you are hurling popcorn at the television screen.
But, the best event so far today was my small, but mentally rewarding, bit of revenge against the medical system. Early this morning found me hauling 6 liters of urine over to the hospital and presenting my much-abuseed arm for another blood draw. The phelobotimist was quite good and we chatted about things as she was readying the sample tubes. I told her about the poor little nurse who had such a hard time giving me and IV and we both laughed over the inexperience of youth. The stick went fine and tube after tube of blood was withdrawn from my poor, ravaged vein. As normal, she pulled the needle and popped a piece of gauze over the puncture point while she shuffled a few things around. When she removed the gauze, she found herself baptized in blood as my vein spewed forth a very impressive arc of heme all over her tunic. She had forgotten to remove the tourniquet. We both looked at each other for a few seconds and then began laughing at the whole situation. Once the tourniquet was removed, of course, the bleeding stopped and things were fine, but I could tell she was quite shaken. For my part, I was secretly pleased. Not that I had one thing against her, but she was a representative of the entity that has established itself as the largest of the various thorns that have burrowed into my side. Although unplanned and, obviously, not a conscious act, my body wreaked a tiny mote of vengeance. A little liquid slap in the face of the caducean serpents. Not much of a reckoning, but a nice little gift from the powers that be.
Tomorrow finds me visiting the surgeon who performed my laparoscopy and, hopefully, leaving with a bit of useful information. If not, he better not be wearing his best shirt...
Currently, the maids are busily cleaning my hovel and I silently bless them for their efforts. Today is miserable. There is no air in motion over any portion of this town. Further, the air is laden with the heavy drops of moisture that drive you to madness before they finally coalesce into torrential rains. Ick. The only comfortable zone is in my living room, directly in front of my high-velocity fan. I am counting the minutes until I can get back there. But, I'll take being ousted from my zone of pleasure as partial payment for having my housekeeping duties performed by others. Lazy, but I'm old, so sue me.
The groceries arrived on schedule and, as always, were the pick of their respective litters. Plump, pink watermelon pieces, jaunty mangoes, sinuous bananas...all cool and sweet and perfect for a hot summer day. The juicer was fired up for a heat quenching watermelon and cucumber cocktail. Both of those fruits are known for having cooling effects on the body and they are making this summer o' misery far more tolerable. All hail the Champion juicer and those grocery delivery boys!
My accountant dropped by with the thick folder of tax payments that I now have to re-make to satisfy the dunderheads in the state and federal IRS offices. Apparently, the boobs tried to debit the bank which holds the mortgage to my house and not my personal bank. How dimwitted its that? So, my tax payments couldn't be made since they bungled the job and I now have to send them all over again. Year-end taxes and estimated payments. Cretins. But, at least I got the opportunity to have a very nice visit with my accountant and we are planning a great book-shopping adventure and Harry Potter movie marathon. Always more fun to have an accomplice when you are hurling popcorn at the television screen.
But, the best event so far today was my small, but mentally rewarding, bit of revenge against the medical system. Early this morning found me hauling 6 liters of urine over to the hospital and presenting my much-abuseed arm for another blood draw. The phelobotimist was quite good and we chatted about things as she was readying the sample tubes. I told her about the poor little nurse who had such a hard time giving me and IV and we both laughed over the inexperience of youth. The stick went fine and tube after tube of blood was withdrawn from my poor, ravaged vein. As normal, she pulled the needle and popped a piece of gauze over the puncture point while she shuffled a few things around. When she removed the gauze, she found herself baptized in blood as my vein spewed forth a very impressive arc of heme all over her tunic. She had forgotten to remove the tourniquet. We both looked at each other for a few seconds and then began laughing at the whole situation. Once the tourniquet was removed, of course, the bleeding stopped and things were fine, but I could tell she was quite shaken. For my part, I was secretly pleased. Not that I had one thing against her, but she was a representative of the entity that has established itself as the largest of the various thorns that have burrowed into my side. Although unplanned and, obviously, not a conscious act, my body wreaked a tiny mote of vengeance. A little liquid slap in the face of the caducean serpents. Not much of a reckoning, but a nice little gift from the powers that be.
Tomorrow finds me visiting the surgeon who performed my laparoscopy and, hopefully, leaving with a bit of useful information. If not, he better not be wearing his best shirt...
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
Regina Urinationia
I am in the middle of my third attempt to successfully complete a 24-hour urine test. The premise is simple - collect every drop of urine produced in a 24 hour period and bring it in for testing. To facilitate the process, you are given a urine collection device and a container for storage. The containers hold several liters and I was given two, "just in case." Well, twice now, I've blown through both of those before sitting down to dinner. That was pre-surgery. Since I've been on painkillers since the surgery, I've not tried again as I didn't want to impact the tests. But, I took no medication yesterday or today, so I felt this was a good day to give it another go.
Well, jug #1 is already filled to overflowing. In fact, my last trip to the loo was of such regal proportions that I overflowed the urine trap (and it holds a liter). Plus, I spilled some trying to pour it into the container. Too damn bad. I am NOT going to start over again.
Funny thing is that I don't even feel that unsettling urgent-pee sensation. Its more like - oh, might as well go take a tinkle. Then, WHOOSH. I can't really pinpoint when the Crown of Urea was laid upon my head, but it is not a headpiece I am comfortable wearing. I'm thirsty. I pee like a racehorse. Sometimes my blood says I'm very dehydrated. I get monstrous fluid retention....I would prefer some consistency in my kingdom.
And still my other end doesn't speak up often. This is quite distressing now, in that the distension due to slow processing of food is quite insulting to the recently-bothered parts of my innards. Food sits, more food comes in . Food gets packed in and wee-beasties begin to snack and fart. La Grande Regina bloats out further with trapped gas bubbles. One would think the fluids I ravenously drink to replenish those lost would create good diplomatic relations between the Urinary Union and the country of Colonia. But, no. Rather like France and Great Britain, they recognize each other's existence, but wouldn't lift the proverbial finger to give a modicum of aid or assistance.
So, I am possessed of high hopes that I can renounce my crown tomorrow and pass the long-awaited samples to the hospital laboratory. They also have to drain a few pints of blood for more tests. Fluid, fluid, fluid...I wonder what would happen if I swallowed a few diapers?...
Well, jug #1 is already filled to overflowing. In fact, my last trip to the loo was of such regal proportions that I overflowed the urine trap (and it holds a liter). Plus, I spilled some trying to pour it into the container. Too damn bad. I am NOT going to start over again.
Funny thing is that I don't even feel that unsettling urgent-pee sensation. Its more like - oh, might as well go take a tinkle. Then, WHOOSH. I can't really pinpoint when the Crown of Urea was laid upon my head, but it is not a headpiece I am comfortable wearing. I'm thirsty. I pee like a racehorse. Sometimes my blood says I'm very dehydrated. I get monstrous fluid retention....I would prefer some consistency in my kingdom.
And still my other end doesn't speak up often. This is quite distressing now, in that the distension due to slow processing of food is quite insulting to the recently-bothered parts of my innards. Food sits, more food comes in . Food gets packed in and wee-beasties begin to snack and fart. La Grande Regina bloats out further with trapped gas bubbles. One would think the fluids I ravenously drink to replenish those lost would create good diplomatic relations between the Urinary Union and the country of Colonia. But, no. Rather like France and Great Britain, they recognize each other's existence, but wouldn't lift the proverbial finger to give a modicum of aid or assistance.
So, I am possessed of high hopes that I can renounce my crown tomorrow and pass the long-awaited samples to the hospital laboratory. They also have to drain a few pints of blood for more tests. Fluid, fluid, fluid...I wonder what would happen if I swallowed a few diapers?...
I Have a Tunnel
I was supposed to have the crew come during the first week of June to brick in my patio. Unfortunately, we had a spate of rain and the work was postponed and postponed until, of course, a crappy week. It could have been worse, I guess. They could have manifested last week. So, yesterday found me in a nervous state while shovels and a small backhoe ripped apart my back yard.
And, as with all contract work, nothing goes to plan or estimate. The crew found that the topsoil was far deeper than assumed. Normally, they told me, the topsoil only extends downwards about 8 inches. Mine descends through several feet of the Earth. That meant more gravel fill would be needed under the brick and, therefore, more money. Ok. If that was all that would happen, I would count myself lucky.
Seated on the upstairs throne, I hear the disconcerting sound of machinery against brick. My patio already has a bricked section (used as my parking space), and that was to remain intact. My heart starts to pound as I begin to fear they've wrecked the existing brickwork. Wipe. Flush. Open mini-blinds. See big hole.
Strangely, the big hole is surrounded by some very nice brickwork forming what looks like a rounded enclosure. I have a tunnel. This town is known to have tunnels running here and there and various underground chambers. First, it was a shipping and merchant town. Storage and transport of legal and illegal goods was part of daily business. Further, it did function in the Underground Railroad system. The guy who broke into this structure first thought it was an old well, but examination showed it had an extensive horizontal run. Of course, its not totally open anymore; you can't jump into it and run around. However, it's course can be visualized and it definitely runs into this house and appears to intersect with my neighbor's side of the basement.
So, the hole is going to be plugged with largish stones and nothing else has been touched. They stopped digging at that level, leaving the rest undisturbed. Even though it is no longer in any condition to be functional, it seemed a shame to desecrate it further. So, it will be covered with gravel and brick and again go into hiding. Always fun to have a little mystery. Priestess Sci and the Secret Tunnel. Where is J.K. Rowling when you need her?
And, as with all contract work, nothing goes to plan or estimate. The crew found that the topsoil was far deeper than assumed. Normally, they told me, the topsoil only extends downwards about 8 inches. Mine descends through several feet of the Earth. That meant more gravel fill would be needed under the brick and, therefore, more money. Ok. If that was all that would happen, I would count myself lucky.
Seated on the upstairs throne, I hear the disconcerting sound of machinery against brick. My patio already has a bricked section (used as my parking space), and that was to remain intact. My heart starts to pound as I begin to fear they've wrecked the existing brickwork. Wipe. Flush. Open mini-blinds. See big hole.
Strangely, the big hole is surrounded by some very nice brickwork forming what looks like a rounded enclosure. I have a tunnel. This town is known to have tunnels running here and there and various underground chambers. First, it was a shipping and merchant town. Storage and transport of legal and illegal goods was part of daily business. Further, it did function in the Underground Railroad system. The guy who broke into this structure first thought it was an old well, but examination showed it had an extensive horizontal run. Of course, its not totally open anymore; you can't jump into it and run around. However, it's course can be visualized and it definitely runs into this house and appears to intersect with my neighbor's side of the basement.
So, the hole is going to be plugged with largish stones and nothing else has been touched. They stopped digging at that level, leaving the rest undisturbed. Even though it is no longer in any condition to be functional, it seemed a shame to desecrate it further. So, it will be covered with gravel and brick and again go into hiding. Always fun to have a little mystery. Priestess Sci and the Secret Tunnel. Where is J.K. Rowling when you need her?
Monday, June 27, 2005
RIP, Connie C.
My friend Connie C. died over the weekend. She was a colleague at the school at which I teach, starting only a few years after me. She taught Social Studies and was an active teacher/mentor for student teachers from a local college. Most of all, she was a good person.
Connie was a strong-minded woman who believed, as do I, in old-fashioned education. None of this self-esteem bull-s**t. Teach content - build mature, responsible adults. She was very successful in this aim. At most schools, students talk only about teachers they don't like or who have made them mad that day. A "good" teacher is one about whom you never hear. You never heard about Connie. Never. She was highly respected by her students and by her colleagues. Our faculty is very divided. I joke that we represent the two sides of the Force. Those like me and Connie are on the Dark Side. Generally members of the Dark Side have nothing good to say about the White Siders and vice versa. Connie was one of those rare people about whom both sides spoke highly.
Personally, I liked Connie. I don't like all of my colleagues, but Connie was a great gal. The only time I felt that things were somewhat sour was right after I experienced my initial terrible weight loss. I felt as if Connie was avoiding my eye in the hallway and I noticed that she did not chat with me as much as in former days. I wondered if it had something to do with the fact that Connie was a very large woman and I admit to some rather ungenerous thoughts on the subject. But, things smoothed out over time, coinciding with my failure to die (as many suspected I was going to do, I think) and her own progressive loss of weight. For both of us, though, that weight loss was not a signal of good things.
For the past few years, I had noticed Connie losing more and more weight, but not really looking healthy. She seemed to tire more easily and I didn't see her smile as often. But, teaching is one of those up and down professions. Some years are great, others are nightmares. So, colleagues seem quite upbeat some years and may through a year or even several wear more frowns than grins. But, Connie never really seemed to pull entirely out of the negative zone.
This year, Connie talked to me a lot more. I knew that she had been "sick," but that's about all that is ever said about people. To date, I know that very few people at my school have any idea what is going on with me. I was "sick." Connie was "sick." We chatted casually about how the medical system needed an enema and laughed over the day-do-day comings and goings of work. It was nice.
I haven't seen Connie, of course, since I have been out of work and have not been able to keep up with any news from school. The word arrived via telephone from one of the school secretaries. After a diagnostic battle as herculean as mine, Connie was diagnosed with a type of leukemia on Friday and then, this weekend, she suffered a stroke and passed away. My school has lost a spectacular teacher, I have lost a friend, and the world has lost an magnificent human being.
I don't believe in "heaven." I believe, though, that nothing really dies. It can't. It is a fundamental principle of physics that neither matter nor energy can be destroyed, they can only change form. That is what I believe. When we die, we no longer consciously channel energy into keeping our atoms from following the natural processes of entropy. Upon death, the universe works its normal wonders to take apart our molecules and send the bits and pieces to other places where they are needed. We become part of a hundred thousand other things. The grass, a beetle, a newborn kitten, the soil which nourishes a wildflower. We never die because we continue to contribute to life. Langston Hughes had it right:
Dear lovely Death
That taketh all things under wing -
Never to kill -
Only to change
Into some other thing
This suffering flesh,
To make it either more or less,
But not again the same -
Dear lovely Death
Change is thy other name.
RIP, Connie C. I'll miss you.
Connie was a strong-minded woman who believed, as do I, in old-fashioned education. None of this self-esteem bull-s**t. Teach content - build mature, responsible adults. She was very successful in this aim. At most schools, students talk only about teachers they don't like or who have made them mad that day. A "good" teacher is one about whom you never hear. You never heard about Connie. Never. She was highly respected by her students and by her colleagues. Our faculty is very divided. I joke that we represent the two sides of the Force. Those like me and Connie are on the Dark Side. Generally members of the Dark Side have nothing good to say about the White Siders and vice versa. Connie was one of those rare people about whom both sides spoke highly.
Personally, I liked Connie. I don't like all of my colleagues, but Connie was a great gal. The only time I felt that things were somewhat sour was right after I experienced my initial terrible weight loss. I felt as if Connie was avoiding my eye in the hallway and I noticed that she did not chat with me as much as in former days. I wondered if it had something to do with the fact that Connie was a very large woman and I admit to some rather ungenerous thoughts on the subject. But, things smoothed out over time, coinciding with my failure to die (as many suspected I was going to do, I think) and her own progressive loss of weight. For both of us, though, that weight loss was not a signal of good things.
For the past few years, I had noticed Connie losing more and more weight, but not really looking healthy. She seemed to tire more easily and I didn't see her smile as often. But, teaching is one of those up and down professions. Some years are great, others are nightmares. So, colleagues seem quite upbeat some years and may through a year or even several wear more frowns than grins. But, Connie never really seemed to pull entirely out of the negative zone.
This year, Connie talked to me a lot more. I knew that she had been "sick," but that's about all that is ever said about people. To date, I know that very few people at my school have any idea what is going on with me. I was "sick." Connie was "sick." We chatted casually about how the medical system needed an enema and laughed over the day-do-day comings and goings of work. It was nice.
I haven't seen Connie, of course, since I have been out of work and have not been able to keep up with any news from school. The word arrived via telephone from one of the school secretaries. After a diagnostic battle as herculean as mine, Connie was diagnosed with a type of leukemia on Friday and then, this weekend, she suffered a stroke and passed away. My school has lost a spectacular teacher, I have lost a friend, and the world has lost an magnificent human being.
I don't believe in "heaven." I believe, though, that nothing really dies. It can't. It is a fundamental principle of physics that neither matter nor energy can be destroyed, they can only change form. That is what I believe. When we die, we no longer consciously channel energy into keeping our atoms from following the natural processes of entropy. Upon death, the universe works its normal wonders to take apart our molecules and send the bits and pieces to other places where they are needed. We become part of a hundred thousand other things. The grass, a beetle, a newborn kitten, the soil which nourishes a wildflower. We never die because we continue to contribute to life. Langston Hughes had it right:
Dear lovely Death
That taketh all things under wing -
Never to kill -
Only to change
Into some other thing
This suffering flesh,
To make it either more or less,
But not again the same -
Dear lovely Death
Change is thy other name.
RIP, Connie C. I'll miss you.
Thursday, June 23, 2005
Alive, but Reconsidering the Condition
Ow. Double Ow. Perhaps, triple Ow with a side of Oooooooo....
What a trying time, albeit less than many experience. Yesterday morning found me completely tired due to lack of sleep and caffeine. But, I donned simple, loose clothing and walked over to the hospital at the appointed hour. The hospital is only a 5 minute walk, so it was no tremendous burden. Since I was caging a ride home, this meant that I didn't have to leave my car and didn't have to bother anyone for a ride at 7:00 am.
They were running behind. No surprise there and, frankly, that didn't bother me. I'd rather have a doctor run behind schedule than have them say "Oh, sorry for the unforseen complications, but your hour is up so get up and out." So, I was taken to the pre-op area about 1/2 hour after my stated arrival time. First, get nekkid and put on socks and hospital gown. This brought the first of the day's problems. Now, I knew that I had to remove jewelry and had removed my necklace. So out I prance only to be told to remove my jewelry. Huh? Earrings and watch. I never take out my earrings and have never removed my watch since the salesperson put it on my wrist a few years ago. I had totally forgotten about them. Now, the earrings were easy, but I really had no clue how to disentangle the watch from my wrist. Neither did the nurse. Or the second nurse. It took a committee to relieve me of my timepiece. Finally, off to my little bed to prepare for slicing and dicing.
Of course you are visited by every person in the known universe and are asked the exact same questions by each. I should remember to just make copies of my responses and hand them to people next time I'm over there for a procedure. So questions, blood pressure, pulse, etc. Then, compression socks. That was unexpected and really unwanted. But, the doctor had ordered them, so the nurse had to struggle to pull them over my legs, raking my tender skin in the process. Argh. So, I am already sligtly crabby when my mortal enemy - the IV - came up on the agenda. I patiently told the nurse about my IV views and that, although most had been fine, a few were bad. She listened carefully and was very respectful of my anxiety. And, of course, she missed the friggin vein. And, she had used a larger catheter, so had to apply pressure for a few minutes after extraction since I was bleeding. So, time for a second trial. She announced that she would use a smaller catheter, which was fine with me. In it went, and....another grand botch job. I have no idea what she did, but I was getting waves of burning and from the wrist down into my hand, it felt like the skin was going to rupture. As this was only a fluid IV, I knew it couldn't be adverse reactions to a medicine. I informed her of my feelings most concisely and she removed the IV. Another nurse was called over to try. She used the other arm and inserted the IV without a hitch. No pain, no pressure, no nothing. El perfecto. But, of course, each IV was preceded by an injection of Xylocaine, so that made a total of 6 sticks already for the morning.
More visitations, more of the same questions. One of the visitors was a member of the anesthesiology staff. For some reason, he latched onto the fact that I had a few incidences of bleeding with surgeries (tonsilectomy and wisdom tooth extraction) and ordered blood tests. Great. More sticking and more waiting. Arggghhhh....
And, of course, no food, no water, no nothing. Uncomfortable, aggravated; I was actually looking forward to being gassed with great anticipation! Finally, the blood work came back (normal for clotting) and I was set to go. The valium was injected and I don't even remember being wheeled away.....
....or wheeled back. From that angle, the procedure was a rollicking success. I'll find out actually if it was a success in a week's time during my follow-up appointment, but at least I have no memory of the actual work. But, I was again irritated by a nurse whose only knew one word - Breathe. Like an aerobics instructor from Hell, she just repeated this over and over. I wanted to say "get this damned mask off my face and I might be able to breathe," but had not the energy. So, I inhaled and exhaled as best I could with the oxygen mask and the discomfort below my lungs until she was satisfied and replaced the mask with the nose-plug oxygen delivery system. There I lay for a time, until I was deemed ready to move to the second recovery room. Whereas the first area had no windows, this room was generous with them. I hated it. The last thing you want when you are off-kilter, crabby, uncomfortable and slightly confused is the big ol' sun shining on you. I wanted a cool, dark cave. I really wanted a cool dark cave when the body heat started to rise. And rise...and rise. First I threw off my blanket. Then the second blanket. Then my sheet. I was hot to the point of being sick and none too happy about the fact.
Finally, a nurse came by and was taken aback by the appearance of me and my cubicle. Bedding hurled around and me, frankly, exposing myself to whosoever might walk by. I explained that I was about to be messily ill from the heat and she understood. Apparently, morphine can do that to you. So, she straightened my hospital garments, procured a wet rag for my head and ice water. I wanted to marry her. Then, she asked if I wanted something to eat. My choices - toast or a danish. Danish? That's all a person needs coming out of anesthesia. I opted for toast and was surprised to find a few bits of actual wheat in the bread. I only nibbled half a piece, as I was having a hard time swallowing, but it was enough to take the edge off the nausea. The water worked quickly to cool me down, also. I was sufficiently comfortable to take an actual nap while I waited for my ride to arrive.
Now, you are, of course, given instructions to do nothing for 24 hours. I promptly ignored these and drove myself to the pharmacy to fill my prescription for pain killers. I was still riding the morphine wave and felt pretty good. Returning home, I examined, as best I could, what had been done to me in surgery. 4 incisions. One around my belly-button, one a few inches below, one a few inches above and one just below my ribs on the right-hand side of my body. Two had been provided with dressing as they were showing a tendency to ooze while I was in the hospital. I was told that I can remove bandaids and dressings this afternoon, but not the steristrips underneath.
The evening proceeded rather well. The pain was more of a discomfort than anything. I ate and drank and felt marginally fine. But the margin of fine was getting slimmer and slimmer as the evening wore on. As the drugs cleared from my system, the discomfort was turning more and more to pain. Not unexpected. What WAS unexpected was the fiasco of trying to lay down to go to bed. I had put off taking my pain medication until right before bedtime (advised so by the nurse). So, I popped my pill a few minutes before laying down and was looking forward to being prone and relieving the pain and stress on the belly. Was I ever wrong. Laying down was so painful I nearly started crying. OMG, was it a nightmare! I couldn't breathe, it hurt and, frankly, it scared me. Getting out of bed was difficult, but I did so and contemplated my options. I could stay up, but I was so tired. I could try and change my sleeping arrangement. I bargained that more head elevation would help, so I got another pillow to put under my head and tried the to-bed ritual again.
Failure #2. Laying on my back was horrendous. With tears in my eyes, I rolled left to get out of the hell-hole and was surprised to find that the new position felt better. I could breathe easier and felt that it just might be comfortable enough to allow me to go to sleep. So, I gave it a whirl and it worked. Mostly. I was up several times to visit the loo, but I was able to get a few hours of sleep between each bladder drainage.
This morning found me hurting again, but at least with some sleep under my belt. Certain positions are more painful than others, and all become uncomfortable after a period of time. Right now, I'm standing in front of the computer and that is not atrocious. I will have to down a painkiller soon, though, as I am starting to get the pain-with-breathing and that is one thing that I really don't appreciate. My bladder is working fine, but I wish my butt would engage. Not one bowel movement since yesterday. And, no inclination to have one either. But, I'm not going to down a Dulco-Lax or anything. Nature will take its course in due time. Also, I am more bloated in other areas. That, likely, is from the stress of the surgery and insult to the innards.
Overall, I'd give myself a C- right now. My painkiller will, hopefully, raise my mark to a B. It will be several days before I make it any higher, but that is ok. What else do I have to do?
What a trying time, albeit less than many experience. Yesterday morning found me completely tired due to lack of sleep and caffeine. But, I donned simple, loose clothing and walked over to the hospital at the appointed hour. The hospital is only a 5 minute walk, so it was no tremendous burden. Since I was caging a ride home, this meant that I didn't have to leave my car and didn't have to bother anyone for a ride at 7:00 am.
They were running behind. No surprise there and, frankly, that didn't bother me. I'd rather have a doctor run behind schedule than have them say "Oh, sorry for the unforseen complications, but your hour is up so get up and out." So, I was taken to the pre-op area about 1/2 hour after my stated arrival time. First, get nekkid and put on socks and hospital gown. This brought the first of the day's problems. Now, I knew that I had to remove jewelry and had removed my necklace. So out I prance only to be told to remove my jewelry. Huh? Earrings and watch. I never take out my earrings and have never removed my watch since the salesperson put it on my wrist a few years ago. I had totally forgotten about them. Now, the earrings were easy, but I really had no clue how to disentangle the watch from my wrist. Neither did the nurse. Or the second nurse. It took a committee to relieve me of my timepiece. Finally, off to my little bed to prepare for slicing and dicing.
Of course you are visited by every person in the known universe and are asked the exact same questions by each. I should remember to just make copies of my responses and hand them to people next time I'm over there for a procedure. So questions, blood pressure, pulse, etc. Then, compression socks. That was unexpected and really unwanted. But, the doctor had ordered them, so the nurse had to struggle to pull them over my legs, raking my tender skin in the process. Argh. So, I am already sligtly crabby when my mortal enemy - the IV - came up on the agenda. I patiently told the nurse about my IV views and that, although most had been fine, a few were bad. She listened carefully and was very respectful of my anxiety. And, of course, she missed the friggin vein. And, she had used a larger catheter, so had to apply pressure for a few minutes after extraction since I was bleeding. So, time for a second trial. She announced that she would use a smaller catheter, which was fine with me. In it went, and....another grand botch job. I have no idea what she did, but I was getting waves of burning and from the wrist down into my hand, it felt like the skin was going to rupture. As this was only a fluid IV, I knew it couldn't be adverse reactions to a medicine. I informed her of my feelings most concisely and she removed the IV. Another nurse was called over to try. She used the other arm and inserted the IV without a hitch. No pain, no pressure, no nothing. El perfecto. But, of course, each IV was preceded by an injection of Xylocaine, so that made a total of 6 sticks already for the morning.
More visitations, more of the same questions. One of the visitors was a member of the anesthesiology staff. For some reason, he latched onto the fact that I had a few incidences of bleeding with surgeries (tonsilectomy and wisdom tooth extraction) and ordered blood tests. Great. More sticking and more waiting. Arggghhhh....
And, of course, no food, no water, no nothing. Uncomfortable, aggravated; I was actually looking forward to being gassed with great anticipation! Finally, the blood work came back (normal for clotting) and I was set to go. The valium was injected and I don't even remember being wheeled away.....
....or wheeled back. From that angle, the procedure was a rollicking success. I'll find out actually if it was a success in a week's time during my follow-up appointment, but at least I have no memory of the actual work. But, I was again irritated by a nurse whose only knew one word - Breathe. Like an aerobics instructor from Hell, she just repeated this over and over. I wanted to say "get this damned mask off my face and I might be able to breathe," but had not the energy. So, I inhaled and exhaled as best I could with the oxygen mask and the discomfort below my lungs until she was satisfied and replaced the mask with the nose-plug oxygen delivery system. There I lay for a time, until I was deemed ready to move to the second recovery room. Whereas the first area had no windows, this room was generous with them. I hated it. The last thing you want when you are off-kilter, crabby, uncomfortable and slightly confused is the big ol' sun shining on you. I wanted a cool, dark cave. I really wanted a cool dark cave when the body heat started to rise. And rise...and rise. First I threw off my blanket. Then the second blanket. Then my sheet. I was hot to the point of being sick and none too happy about the fact.
Finally, a nurse came by and was taken aback by the appearance of me and my cubicle. Bedding hurled around and me, frankly, exposing myself to whosoever might walk by. I explained that I was about to be messily ill from the heat and she understood. Apparently, morphine can do that to you. So, she straightened my hospital garments, procured a wet rag for my head and ice water. I wanted to marry her. Then, she asked if I wanted something to eat. My choices - toast or a danish. Danish? That's all a person needs coming out of anesthesia. I opted for toast and was surprised to find a few bits of actual wheat in the bread. I only nibbled half a piece, as I was having a hard time swallowing, but it was enough to take the edge off the nausea. The water worked quickly to cool me down, also. I was sufficiently comfortable to take an actual nap while I waited for my ride to arrive.
Now, you are, of course, given instructions to do nothing for 24 hours. I promptly ignored these and drove myself to the pharmacy to fill my prescription for pain killers. I was still riding the morphine wave and felt pretty good. Returning home, I examined, as best I could, what had been done to me in surgery. 4 incisions. One around my belly-button, one a few inches below, one a few inches above and one just below my ribs on the right-hand side of my body. Two had been provided with dressing as they were showing a tendency to ooze while I was in the hospital. I was told that I can remove bandaids and dressings this afternoon, but not the steristrips underneath.
The evening proceeded rather well. The pain was more of a discomfort than anything. I ate and drank and felt marginally fine. But the margin of fine was getting slimmer and slimmer as the evening wore on. As the drugs cleared from my system, the discomfort was turning more and more to pain. Not unexpected. What WAS unexpected was the fiasco of trying to lay down to go to bed. I had put off taking my pain medication until right before bedtime (advised so by the nurse). So, I popped my pill a few minutes before laying down and was looking forward to being prone and relieving the pain and stress on the belly. Was I ever wrong. Laying down was so painful I nearly started crying. OMG, was it a nightmare! I couldn't breathe, it hurt and, frankly, it scared me. Getting out of bed was difficult, but I did so and contemplated my options. I could stay up, but I was so tired. I could try and change my sleeping arrangement. I bargained that more head elevation would help, so I got another pillow to put under my head and tried the to-bed ritual again.
Failure #2. Laying on my back was horrendous. With tears in my eyes, I rolled left to get out of the hell-hole and was surprised to find that the new position felt better. I could breathe easier and felt that it just might be comfortable enough to allow me to go to sleep. So, I gave it a whirl and it worked. Mostly. I was up several times to visit the loo, but I was able to get a few hours of sleep between each bladder drainage.
This morning found me hurting again, but at least with some sleep under my belt. Certain positions are more painful than others, and all become uncomfortable after a period of time. Right now, I'm standing in front of the computer and that is not atrocious. I will have to down a painkiller soon, though, as I am starting to get the pain-with-breathing and that is one thing that I really don't appreciate. My bladder is working fine, but I wish my butt would engage. Not one bowel movement since yesterday. And, no inclination to have one either. But, I'm not going to down a Dulco-Lax or anything. Nature will take its course in due time. Also, I am more bloated in other areas. That, likely, is from the stress of the surgery and insult to the innards.
Overall, I'd give myself a C- right now. My painkiller will, hopefully, raise my mark to a B. It will be several days before I make it any higher, but that is ok. What else do I have to do?
Monday, June 20, 2005
Gimme That Ol' Time Religion
I am now ordained in the Church of Spiritual Humanism. No joke. My official church title is "Priestess." And, yes, I can perform ceremonies according to state and local regulations. Yep.
I do weird things sometimes. Actually, I do them to see if I can. I was reading a Terry Pratchett novel yesterday and it was populated with its usual cast of characters, including the various priests and priestesses of the myriad of Discworld gods. And, I thought, "How cool." I have always wanted some mystical title and started daydreaming. This, of course, led me to my favorite way to pass time - research. Everyone's heard that you can be ordained by mailorder and I wondered if that was still the case. So, onto the Internet went my trusty Vaio, searching for information.
I found that it is ridiculously easy to become ordained. Some are free, some require payment. Some offer a simple certificate and notation in their register. Some give you little perks, like sample ceremonies and certificates. Some are Christian in nature, some are non-sectarian. Some offer degrees along with the ordination, such as Doctor of Divinity. It is a booming little business.
Now, even for a lark, ol' Scigirl is neither a hypocrite nor a mocker. I do not believe in a "God," as such. Therefore, I would not attach myself to any institution that was intended to spread the word of a deity. That would run counter to my personal beliefs and, as bad, be disrespectful to those who practice a deity-based faith. I believe that everyone is free to pursue their own spiritual or religious beliefs and would never look down upon someone for believing in a god or goddess. To join a church that promoted God's word, when that is not a part of my own personal beliefs would be insulting, from my point of view.
So, I found the perfect church. The Church of Spiritual Humanism. What is Spiritual Humanism? Their description:
A religion based on the ability of human beings to solve the problems of society using logic and science.
Most people need a religion to help guide them through life's challenges and difficult moral decisions. Recognizing how the power of religious rituals, methods, and communication can impact human behavior, Spiritual Humanism fuses traditional religious behaviors onto the foundation of scientific humanist inquiry.
While it is impossible to remove age old traditions from human culture, we can redirect them by redefining their underlying significance and meanings. Spiritual Humanism is natural, not supernatural. By using a method of scientific inquiry we can define the inspirational, singular spark inherent in all living creatures.
Now, don't that sound like me? Practices based on nature and science. Practitioners are free to God it up as much or as little as they want and choose any type of "God" they wish. I went for the big bonanza package, which allowed me to choose my church title and provided me with various manuals and info on state regulations for performing ceremonies like marraiges, commitment ceremonies, baby namings, Wiccan handfasting, funerals, invocations, etc. Not that I would actually do anything of that, but it is fun to know that I can if I desire.
So, its Priestess Scigirl, now. I wanted to know if I could do it and found out that I could. I obtained a little bit of fantasy and mysticism to add to my resume of life. Nice way to start the week...
I do weird things sometimes. Actually, I do them to see if I can. I was reading a Terry Pratchett novel yesterday and it was populated with its usual cast of characters, including the various priests and priestesses of the myriad of Discworld gods. And, I thought, "How cool." I have always wanted some mystical title and started daydreaming. This, of course, led me to my favorite way to pass time - research. Everyone's heard that you can be ordained by mailorder and I wondered if that was still the case. So, onto the Internet went my trusty Vaio, searching for information.
I found that it is ridiculously easy to become ordained. Some are free, some require payment. Some offer a simple certificate and notation in their register. Some give you little perks, like sample ceremonies and certificates. Some are Christian in nature, some are non-sectarian. Some offer degrees along with the ordination, such as Doctor of Divinity. It is a booming little business.
Now, even for a lark, ol' Scigirl is neither a hypocrite nor a mocker. I do not believe in a "God," as such. Therefore, I would not attach myself to any institution that was intended to spread the word of a deity. That would run counter to my personal beliefs and, as bad, be disrespectful to those who practice a deity-based faith. I believe that everyone is free to pursue their own spiritual or religious beliefs and would never look down upon someone for believing in a god or goddess. To join a church that promoted God's word, when that is not a part of my own personal beliefs would be insulting, from my point of view.
So, I found the perfect church. The Church of Spiritual Humanism. What is Spiritual Humanism? Their description:
A religion based on the ability of human beings to solve the problems of society using logic and science.
Most people need a religion to help guide them through life's challenges and difficult moral decisions. Recognizing how the power of religious rituals, methods, and communication can impact human behavior, Spiritual Humanism fuses traditional religious behaviors onto the foundation of scientific humanist inquiry.
While it is impossible to remove age old traditions from human culture, we can redirect them by redefining their underlying significance and meanings. Spiritual Humanism is natural, not supernatural. By using a method of scientific inquiry we can define the inspirational, singular spark inherent in all living creatures.
Now, don't that sound like me? Practices based on nature and science. Practitioners are free to God it up as much or as little as they want and choose any type of "God" they wish. I went for the big bonanza package, which allowed me to choose my church title and provided me with various manuals and info on state regulations for performing ceremonies like marraiges, commitment ceremonies, baby namings, Wiccan handfasting, funerals, invocations, etc. Not that I would actually do anything of that, but it is fun to know that I can if I desire.
So, its Priestess Scigirl, now. I wanted to know if I could do it and found out that I could. I obtained a little bit of fantasy and mysticism to add to my resume of life. Nice way to start the week...
Sunday, June 19, 2005
Titles
If I was a mystical religious person in a science fiction or fantasy novel, which title would suit me best, I wonder:
1. Priestess
2. Reverend Mother
3. Matriarch
4. Preceptor
5. Magus
6. Emissary
7. Shaman
1. Priestess
2. Reverend Mother
3. Matriarch
4. Preceptor
5. Magus
6. Emissary
7. Shaman
Saturday, June 18, 2005
Playing Ball in the Street
This morning, I watched a boy playing ball in the street. He was alone, having a great time throwing a ball into the air and catching it. Or, chasing it around when it went awry. I watched him for a few minutes and realized that in all that time, no vechicles came along to disrupt his game. I also realized that it was prime cartoon time, and he was outside playing.
This is not an uncommon sight in my neighborhood. At any given time children can be found in the streets playing ball or other games. Further, yards house younger tots who are also engaged in active play. The boy across the street has a paper route. The older kids congregate downtown at a park or by the Richdales (a convenience store held with as much regard by the teens as the Vatican by the Catholics). Yes, there is casual drug use and the occasional incidence of shoplifting. But, parents with toddlers and senior citizens comfortably share the park and visit the convenience store without worry for safety.
Kids are all over riding bikes, the parks are filled with children of all ages. Children accompany their parents on bike rides and are happy to be jogger-strollered all over town. What you don't see are packs of kids lost in the virtual worlds created by their handheld video games. You see many teens in the garb of whatever alternative personas are fashionable that year, but even the most ardent gangsta-rapper would run screaming from a real kid from the city.
This is by no means a hick town; however. There are many farms in surrounding towns, but this town was historically a merchant town. A port city. It is dense with construction and this density dates back to the beginning of the historical record. Of course, it has grown over the years, but this burg has always been people-centered, not land-centered. It also went through the expected period of tragic decline. There was a bleak period when it was not a good thing to have your car break down here after dark. But, a successful rejuvenation project was completed and the pearl regained its luster.
Children play in parks and in the street because it is safe. A town where you would ask a stranger to watch your dog while you went into an ATM kiosk. In winter, I stop at a White Hen Pantry to pick up oddities before work and find the parking lot filled with cars with their engines running. No people, mind you, just unlocked vehicles filled with every type of personal and commercial valuable. No one thinks twice. You keep the car running while you run in to get your morning coffee, chat with folks...all the while, your laptop, briefcase, purse, etc. sits safely in plain sight on the passenger seat. Sometimes what sits in that passenger seat is a passenger. Strapped into an infant seat.
Kids have a childhood in this town. They are not oblivious to the realities of the world - evil does happen. We recently had a beloved middle-school teacher murdered, for instance. But, it is a true rarity. No parent lives in fear of their children being kidnapped, attacked or abused in any way. They can run and play. Stop to ask strangers to permit petting of their dogs. They are active and let their imaginations run wild in the various parks and open spaces the city maintains for them. No, they aren't perfect uber-children. But they are CHILDREN. Not pushed to early maturity by circumstance. They still believe in the goodness of life and people. They say "thank you" and "excuse me." As teens, they move through that annoying stage of exerting their snotty independence, but that is part of the human condition. And, if the worst they do is swipe sunglasses and smoke the occasional roach, they are still head and shoulders above the current American post-puberty profile.
I have no children and likely will never have children. But, I am happy to know that this town is kind to children. It lets them understand that the world can be a good place. That people are not necessarily evil, stupid, perverted...it doesn't hide that fact from them, but offers so many opportunities to see the good side of humanity that children can retain their faith. Retain their hope. Retain the habits of mind that will mold them into compassionate adults. Adults that will maintain the communities where children can play ball in the street....
This is not an uncommon sight in my neighborhood. At any given time children can be found in the streets playing ball or other games. Further, yards house younger tots who are also engaged in active play. The boy across the street has a paper route. The older kids congregate downtown at a park or by the Richdales (a convenience store held with as much regard by the teens as the Vatican by the Catholics). Yes, there is casual drug use and the occasional incidence of shoplifting. But, parents with toddlers and senior citizens comfortably share the park and visit the convenience store without worry for safety.
Kids are all over riding bikes, the parks are filled with children of all ages. Children accompany their parents on bike rides and are happy to be jogger-strollered all over town. What you don't see are packs of kids lost in the virtual worlds created by their handheld video games. You see many teens in the garb of whatever alternative personas are fashionable that year, but even the most ardent gangsta-rapper would run screaming from a real kid from the city.
This is by no means a hick town; however. There are many farms in surrounding towns, but this town was historically a merchant town. A port city. It is dense with construction and this density dates back to the beginning of the historical record. Of course, it has grown over the years, but this burg has always been people-centered, not land-centered. It also went through the expected period of tragic decline. There was a bleak period when it was not a good thing to have your car break down here after dark. But, a successful rejuvenation project was completed and the pearl regained its luster.
Children play in parks and in the street because it is safe. A town where you would ask a stranger to watch your dog while you went into an ATM kiosk. In winter, I stop at a White Hen Pantry to pick up oddities before work and find the parking lot filled with cars with their engines running. No people, mind you, just unlocked vehicles filled with every type of personal and commercial valuable. No one thinks twice. You keep the car running while you run in to get your morning coffee, chat with folks...all the while, your laptop, briefcase, purse, etc. sits safely in plain sight on the passenger seat. Sometimes what sits in that passenger seat is a passenger. Strapped into an infant seat.
Kids have a childhood in this town. They are not oblivious to the realities of the world - evil does happen. We recently had a beloved middle-school teacher murdered, for instance. But, it is a true rarity. No parent lives in fear of their children being kidnapped, attacked or abused in any way. They can run and play. Stop to ask strangers to permit petting of their dogs. They are active and let their imaginations run wild in the various parks and open spaces the city maintains for them. No, they aren't perfect uber-children. But they are CHILDREN. Not pushed to early maturity by circumstance. They still believe in the goodness of life and people. They say "thank you" and "excuse me." As teens, they move through that annoying stage of exerting their snotty independence, but that is part of the human condition. And, if the worst they do is swipe sunglasses and smoke the occasional roach, they are still head and shoulders above the current American post-puberty profile.
I have no children and likely will never have children. But, I am happy to know that this town is kind to children. It lets them understand that the world can be a good place. That people are not necessarily evil, stupid, perverted...it doesn't hide that fact from them, but offers so many opportunities to see the good side of humanity that children can retain their faith. Retain their hope. Retain the habits of mind that will mold them into compassionate adults. Adults that will maintain the communities where children can play ball in the street....
Thursday, June 16, 2005
From All Sides
Sometimes it comes at you from all sides. The weather was tropically miserable, then turned cold and damp. I received letters from the IRS and state tax people that I owed money. Apparently, they neglected to debit the funds, as directed, from my account and I now have to get my accountant to send them letters to plead reasonable cause to have them waive the penalties and interest. And, of course, I have to make payment, again. My department chair deciced to be nice and gave my students a review sheet (even though I already had put one online) and said that he would write and grade a final exam for me. Very decent, but I don't like the loss of class control. Knees hurt like the dickens, I'm getting fatter, the fatigue has been terrible....
Saw the surgeon today and scheduled my procedures for next Wednesday. Should be quick and easy (fingers crossed). Then, its wait and see....
All I want to really do now is sleep. I am simply tired and just want to rest. Despite much ass sitting, I have gotten little rest. Always with something on the mind, something to be done, emails to which to respond, phone calls to answer or return...I just want to have time to do the Big Nothing. To really rest and relax. But, something always drops on my head to invalidate that option. Tomorrow, for instance, will find me at the hospital going through my pre-operation testing. It should only take an hour or two, but it still forces me to get dressed, go out and do the testing...can't be called a "nothing" day.
I am going to try to make the biggest nothing out of this afternoon that I possibly can. My brain is too scattered for reading, so its more television for me. Lots of detoxification foods and herbs, sweet and cold fluids, screen-filling fun films (I'm thinking Hellboy, Tank Girl - that sort of theme)...If the phone rings, it will be hurled into a wall. If someone comes to the door, they will be met with a fire extinguisher. If space aliens land on my porch, they will get a harsh talking-to combined with a serious finger-wagging. I mean business....
Saw the surgeon today and scheduled my procedures for next Wednesday. Should be quick and easy (fingers crossed). Then, its wait and see....
All I want to really do now is sleep. I am simply tired and just want to rest. Despite much ass sitting, I have gotten little rest. Always with something on the mind, something to be done, emails to which to respond, phone calls to answer or return...I just want to have time to do the Big Nothing. To really rest and relax. But, something always drops on my head to invalidate that option. Tomorrow, for instance, will find me at the hospital going through my pre-operation testing. It should only take an hour or two, but it still forces me to get dressed, go out and do the testing...can't be called a "nothing" day.
I am going to try to make the biggest nothing out of this afternoon that I possibly can. My brain is too scattered for reading, so its more television for me. Lots of detoxification foods and herbs, sweet and cold fluids, screen-filling fun films (I'm thinking Hellboy, Tank Girl - that sort of theme)...If the phone rings, it will be hurled into a wall. If someone comes to the door, they will be met with a fire extinguisher. If space aliens land on my porch, they will get a harsh talking-to combined with a serious finger-wagging. I mean business....
Saturday, June 11, 2005
Veteran of the Psychic Wars
Although I am not a New Age maven, I do believe in certain aspects of the "alt" lifestyle. I am convinced that natural healers definitely help people and that the healing properties of foods, herbs, etc. are real. I believe that we exert much more control over our own bodies through our minds and attitudes than most people would credit. And, I believe in psychic powers.
Not some wacky, dress like a poser-gypsy and rub your crystal ball, kind of psychic powers. I believe in the ability of the mind to receive electromagnetic signals and make meaning of the pattern. That is the difference between the mind and an oscilloscope. The oscilloscope can receive the pattern of energy and display it visually, but it cannot interpret what it receives. It takes a human reader. Oscilloscopes can easily pick up brain waves and display what it receives. It cannot make meaning of the signals and, to date, neither can science. We don't know what a particular wave pattern "means." What thought generated that specific waveform? That is all that thoughts really are - elecrochemical signals that the brain is able to interpret into meaningful internal dialogue. If a brain can interpret its own signals, why couldn't it interpret the signals sent from others?
I think this is yet another ability that humans possess, but cannot yet consciously control. We don't know which mental muscle to flex. However, I believe that the reception and interpretation of signals happens on occasion to most people, with some more adept than others. For all human abilities and forms, there is natural variation. The same likely holds here. Some have poor reception and/or interpretational abilities; others are designed to more efficiently gather and make meaning of the energy of thought. We all have annoying friends like this. They always know exactly the right thing to say or do, they are incredibly lucky, they seem at ease in situations, almost like they know something that you don't...These people, I feel, are making use, albeit subconsciously, of their better-developed psychic abilities. Jerks.
However, we all have had flashes that prompted some action or inaction. We do something or say something that has no tangible prompt. We just pick up the phone and call a friend and find out that they just, that day, received a payraise. We "feel like" cooking our significan other's favorite meal and they come home to tell you about their horrific day at work. We go to say something and then hold our tongues...little flashes that we don't even consciously perceive, but our mind uses to guide our behaviors.
I have a great friend who knew, without me saying, that I was in a bad way. She knew some details, but "felt" the mental cry I was sending into the universe. Something in the frequency, wavelength or amplitude resonated with her and she knew right away what a better picture of my situation. Yesterday, I was in a brutally bad mood. The weather is atrocious (hot, extrememly humid even for a Louisiana native) and I was feeling sorry for myself. Why? I had no flowers. Or gifts. Or any of those little things that you get when you are sick. I've been away from work for nearly a month and no one from that institution has sent me one thing. The only card I received was from a dear, dear woman who has health problems far worse than mine. My students have risen to the occasion with a couple of cards and my own "toad house" that I requested for my patio from a particularly talented and caring senior. One additional friend and her family presented me with a card. But I was feeling terribly selfish and pitiful and neglected. Where was my obligatory potted green plant with the silk ribbon? Where was the generic stuffed animal holding balloons? I sweated and swelled and layerd the angst on top of myself like a down comforter.
Then, an elderly face peered through my open window and announced a delivery. Answering the door, I was presented with a large vase filled with beautiful and fragrant flowers. Purples, pinks, sunny yellow and creamy ivory...the powdery scent of natural blooms...I knew without even looking at the card who had sent the blooms. It just hit me like a lightning bolt. It was my dear uncle. Of all days to send flowers, the day I most needed them. And I knew the sender without looking at the card. Somehow, his mind received my thoughts and I "felt" his presence on each petal.
Today, I read the comments on my last entry. I had not visited the site since yesterday. Today is not the best day for me either. Again, wetly hot and stagnant. To cheer my spirits, I put on a Tiki t-shirt that I picked up on my trip to San Diego in April and have been quaffing my healing smoothies and juices in a variety of my prize Tiki mugs. It has been a long, long time since I've had a Tiki blowout. Interesting that there's a comment about Tiki for my last entry...I haven't even thought about Tiki much until yesterday and today...
I think that science will one day figure out the physics of thought. I do not know if this would be a good or bad thing. But, it would make dating a whole lot easier....
Not some wacky, dress like a poser-gypsy and rub your crystal ball, kind of psychic powers. I believe in the ability of the mind to receive electromagnetic signals and make meaning of the pattern. That is the difference between the mind and an oscilloscope. The oscilloscope can receive the pattern of energy and display it visually, but it cannot interpret what it receives. It takes a human reader. Oscilloscopes can easily pick up brain waves and display what it receives. It cannot make meaning of the signals and, to date, neither can science. We don't know what a particular wave pattern "means." What thought generated that specific waveform? That is all that thoughts really are - elecrochemical signals that the brain is able to interpret into meaningful internal dialogue. If a brain can interpret its own signals, why couldn't it interpret the signals sent from others?
I think this is yet another ability that humans possess, but cannot yet consciously control. We don't know which mental muscle to flex. However, I believe that the reception and interpretation of signals happens on occasion to most people, with some more adept than others. For all human abilities and forms, there is natural variation. The same likely holds here. Some have poor reception and/or interpretational abilities; others are designed to more efficiently gather and make meaning of the energy of thought. We all have annoying friends like this. They always know exactly the right thing to say or do, they are incredibly lucky, they seem at ease in situations, almost like they know something that you don't...These people, I feel, are making use, albeit subconsciously, of their better-developed psychic abilities. Jerks.
However, we all have had flashes that prompted some action or inaction. We do something or say something that has no tangible prompt. We just pick up the phone and call a friend and find out that they just, that day, received a payraise. We "feel like" cooking our significan other's favorite meal and they come home to tell you about their horrific day at work. We go to say something and then hold our tongues...little flashes that we don't even consciously perceive, but our mind uses to guide our behaviors.
I have a great friend who knew, without me saying, that I was in a bad way. She knew some details, but "felt" the mental cry I was sending into the universe. Something in the frequency, wavelength or amplitude resonated with her and she knew right away what a better picture of my situation. Yesterday, I was in a brutally bad mood. The weather is atrocious (hot, extrememly humid even for a Louisiana native) and I was feeling sorry for myself. Why? I had no flowers. Or gifts. Or any of those little things that you get when you are sick. I've been away from work for nearly a month and no one from that institution has sent me one thing. The only card I received was from a dear, dear woman who has health problems far worse than mine. My students have risen to the occasion with a couple of cards and my own "toad house" that I requested for my patio from a particularly talented and caring senior. One additional friend and her family presented me with a card. But I was feeling terribly selfish and pitiful and neglected. Where was my obligatory potted green plant with the silk ribbon? Where was the generic stuffed animal holding balloons? I sweated and swelled and layerd the angst on top of myself like a down comforter.
Then, an elderly face peered through my open window and announced a delivery. Answering the door, I was presented with a large vase filled with beautiful and fragrant flowers. Purples, pinks, sunny yellow and creamy ivory...the powdery scent of natural blooms...I knew without even looking at the card who had sent the blooms. It just hit me like a lightning bolt. It was my dear uncle. Of all days to send flowers, the day I most needed them. And I knew the sender without looking at the card. Somehow, his mind received my thoughts and I "felt" his presence on each petal.
Today, I read the comments on my last entry. I had not visited the site since yesterday. Today is not the best day for me either. Again, wetly hot and stagnant. To cheer my spirits, I put on a Tiki t-shirt that I picked up on my trip to San Diego in April and have been quaffing my healing smoothies and juices in a variety of my prize Tiki mugs. It has been a long, long time since I've had a Tiki blowout. Interesting that there's a comment about Tiki for my last entry...I haven't even thought about Tiki much until yesterday and today...
I think that science will one day figure out the physics of thought. I do not know if this would be a good or bad thing. But, it would make dating a whole lot easier....
Thursday, June 09, 2005
IV
and I don't mean "4." For the second time in my life, I have lost my composure due to an IV. Luckily, no one was around to see it this time. I can take being poked, prodded, given bad news, pricked, cut, slashed, dinged and donged, but give me a poorly executed IV and I just lose it.
The first time was my last hospital stint. A CAT scan was ordered and time was lacking for oral administration of the dye. So, I had to take it intravenously. Something about the technician bothered me from the beginning. She was aloof and treated me with as much regard as dryer lint. She inserted the shunt and it did not feel "right." I've had IV's before and numerous draws of blood, but this one was different. Something in the way she positioned the shunt did not feel proper and, for reasons I can't explain, it totally unhinged my emotional lockbox. I started to cry, to shake, I felt the overwhelming desire to go home, to get away, I was toddler cornered by an abusive sibling...I could feel the shunt like a tree branch inserted into my arm. It bulged the skin, I was terrified to move my arm. I cried and demanded the test end. The technician simply cocked an eyebrow and ignored me. When I returned to my room, my attending nurse clearly saw my distress and after hearing my tale, marched to the phone at the nurse's station and had a visibly ugly conversation with someone. I can guess who was that someone...
Yesterday was the second time I have been brung low by an IV. Again, the person executing the procedure met with my disapproval. She was the type of nurse that does not listen to you and actively tries to prevent you from speaking. Interrupts, speaks with a condesending tone, treats you as if your illness is a reflection of some personal vice or moral bankruptcy. I had an ill feeling begin to rise within me as I saw her prepare my IV. Everything about it was tinged with "wrong." She swabbed half of my arm with the antiseptic pad, as if afraid she might touch me and contract my taint. Then, she tied the tourniquet and left my area to go and putter with a few things. I was about ready to remove the band when she finally returned. By the time she brought out the needle, I was ready to revisit my liquid diet for the past 2 days.
Sure enough, she botched it. I told her most specifically that the IV was very uncomfortable and she responded that it was properly inserted. With those terse words, she walked away. The area around the shunt was obscenely bloated and turning red. I could feel it with every minor shift of my arm. It might have been "properly inserted" by the book, but not by my personal anatomy. So, there I lay with this abomination shoved under my skin and feeling the sick, scared feeling begin to grow and grow and grow...
I was wheeled from the preparation area into the room where the colonoscopy and gastroscopy were to be performed and left there, alone, surrounded by featureless white walls and walls of cold equipment. Home. I just wanted to go home. The feeling was overwhelming and I found myself saying it aloud. "I Want to Go Home." Over and over...I could feel tears welling up in my eyes. My stomach was sick. I made a game plan in my mind for tearing out the IV and escaping to safety. Alone, alone, alone and scared to death because of a stupid IV. I only pulled myself together when the doctor and nurses came into the room. First, I had people around me and that in and of itself helped. Second, they pumped my sedative into the IV and that took the edge off of everything.
I don't remember much of the procedure or the return to the preparation area for recovery. At some point, though, the door to my brain opened wide and I was fully awake. I flagged down the first nurse that walked by and stated that I wanted to leave. Right then. Get me out of here. Pronto. ASAP. On the double. Chop Chop...I even threatened to start singing. She gave me the pursed lips look that says "You are a pain in the ass, but it seems like you are purged of sedative," and got the ok from the doctor that I could be released. The joy that welled up in me when she removed the IV from my arm was pure and sweet and large as the sun. I leapt up from the bed and began to grab my clothes from the shelf under the bed. I didn't care if my bare butt was flashing itself to my wardmates. I was headed out of there! I dressed in record time, grabbed another unsuspecting nurse and browbeat him to get my discharge form into my hand and my form out of the door. My ride was waiting and I breathed a tremendous sigh of relief when the medical center was in the rearview mirror of his truck.
No ill effects. No post-procedure complications. Everything was hunky-dory. But, I was still haunted by the spectres of the medical office. I do not know why I am so affected by that one specific thing. One tiny feature of health care done slightly wrong and it shatters my composure like the most fragile crystal goblet. A successful IV and I'm fine. Any number of needles insterted into my form to push something in or pull something out is of no consequence. But, visit this one minute botheration on me and watch me snap. I think I shall take pepper spray to my next outpatient procedure. Screw up my IV at your own peril....
The first time was my last hospital stint. A CAT scan was ordered and time was lacking for oral administration of the dye. So, I had to take it intravenously. Something about the technician bothered me from the beginning. She was aloof and treated me with as much regard as dryer lint. She inserted the shunt and it did not feel "right." I've had IV's before and numerous draws of blood, but this one was different. Something in the way she positioned the shunt did not feel proper and, for reasons I can't explain, it totally unhinged my emotional lockbox. I started to cry, to shake, I felt the overwhelming desire to go home, to get away, I was toddler cornered by an abusive sibling...I could feel the shunt like a tree branch inserted into my arm. It bulged the skin, I was terrified to move my arm. I cried and demanded the test end. The technician simply cocked an eyebrow and ignored me. When I returned to my room, my attending nurse clearly saw my distress and after hearing my tale, marched to the phone at the nurse's station and had a visibly ugly conversation with someone. I can guess who was that someone...
Yesterday was the second time I have been brung low by an IV. Again, the person executing the procedure met with my disapproval. She was the type of nurse that does not listen to you and actively tries to prevent you from speaking. Interrupts, speaks with a condesending tone, treats you as if your illness is a reflection of some personal vice or moral bankruptcy. I had an ill feeling begin to rise within me as I saw her prepare my IV. Everything about it was tinged with "wrong." She swabbed half of my arm with the antiseptic pad, as if afraid she might touch me and contract my taint. Then, she tied the tourniquet and left my area to go and putter with a few things. I was about ready to remove the band when she finally returned. By the time she brought out the needle, I was ready to revisit my liquid diet for the past 2 days.
Sure enough, she botched it. I told her most specifically that the IV was very uncomfortable and she responded that it was properly inserted. With those terse words, she walked away. The area around the shunt was obscenely bloated and turning red. I could feel it with every minor shift of my arm. It might have been "properly inserted" by the book, but not by my personal anatomy. So, there I lay with this abomination shoved under my skin and feeling the sick, scared feeling begin to grow and grow and grow...
I was wheeled from the preparation area into the room where the colonoscopy and gastroscopy were to be performed and left there, alone, surrounded by featureless white walls and walls of cold equipment. Home. I just wanted to go home. The feeling was overwhelming and I found myself saying it aloud. "I Want to Go Home." Over and over...I could feel tears welling up in my eyes. My stomach was sick. I made a game plan in my mind for tearing out the IV and escaping to safety. Alone, alone, alone and scared to death because of a stupid IV. I only pulled myself together when the doctor and nurses came into the room. First, I had people around me and that in and of itself helped. Second, they pumped my sedative into the IV and that took the edge off of everything.
I don't remember much of the procedure or the return to the preparation area for recovery. At some point, though, the door to my brain opened wide and I was fully awake. I flagged down the first nurse that walked by and stated that I wanted to leave. Right then. Get me out of here. Pronto. ASAP. On the double. Chop Chop...I even threatened to start singing. She gave me the pursed lips look that says "You are a pain in the ass, but it seems like you are purged of sedative," and got the ok from the doctor that I could be released. The joy that welled up in me when she removed the IV from my arm was pure and sweet and large as the sun. I leapt up from the bed and began to grab my clothes from the shelf under the bed. I didn't care if my bare butt was flashing itself to my wardmates. I was headed out of there! I dressed in record time, grabbed another unsuspecting nurse and browbeat him to get my discharge form into my hand and my form out of the door. My ride was waiting and I breathed a tremendous sigh of relief when the medical center was in the rearview mirror of his truck.
No ill effects. No post-procedure complications. Everything was hunky-dory. But, I was still haunted by the spectres of the medical office. I do not know why I am so affected by that one specific thing. One tiny feature of health care done slightly wrong and it shatters my composure like the most fragile crystal goblet. A successful IV and I'm fine. Any number of needles insterted into my form to push something in or pull something out is of no consequence. But, visit this one minute botheration on me and watch me snap. I think I shall take pepper spray to my next outpatient procedure. Screw up my IV at your own peril....
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
Souring Like Cream
Just got off the phone with my doctor. As I sit here starving to death and thirsty beyond belief in preparation for my tests today, she informs me that it is the recommendation of the hemotologist/oncologist, herself and the gastroenterologist that I go in for exploratory surgery. It would be the most efficient thing to do and kill many birds with one stone (hopefully, not this Dodo, though). So, her office will call me back within the hour to tell me when I'm scheduled to meet with the surgeon. And, she basically said that I am done for the school year. Glad I'm a happy-go-lucky person...
Monday, June 06, 2005
Spread Cheeks - Insert Head
These are the orders that must be given to graduating physicians because the medical community all have their heads up their asses. No, that is unfair...they are trying, I guess, but it is rather funny how each new doctor brings a whole new set of possible prognoses, tests and wacky surprises...
This morning brought a phonecall from the office of the the hemotologist/oncologist to which I had been referred by my doctor and gastroenterologist. They had an opening today and I grabbed it. The doctor was of the old school - absolutely no bedside manner, but a straight shooter. I appreciate that. Now, he looked a little familiar, but I had been to the hospital so many times that I figured I had seen him around.
Well, I went through the whole spiel of my sordid medical history and he asked a variety of questions. One was whether or not I had ever received a transfusion. I first said "no," but remembered that I had received blood 5 years ago when I was hospitalized for my other bout of edema. I brought that up and he asked the details of my hospitalization. So, I told him the story - edema, go to emergency room, get told I have no blood and am immediately admitted for 3 days, go home with nothing but advice to take iron. He gets an odd look on his face, tells me to get dressed and leaves the room.
So, I wait a bit and he returns with that odd look still in place. He had not really remembered me either until I brought up that last hospital stay. He had actually examined me during that hospital stay! I remember 2 specialists poking and prodding me, but never paid them much attention, but it did explain why I thought I might have seen him before. So, he tells me that during my last stay I had been dangerously anemic. Ok, that I knew. He also said I had fluid in my abdomen. That I had only found out recently from the technician that gave me my recent CAT scan. My CAT from 5 years ago showed the same thing and no one had informed me of the fact. Well, I now find out that I had also shown liver abnormalities 5 years ago and, again, no one told me about it! So, neither the abdominal fluid or the liver abnormalities were ever given any further attention by my former doctor....
The hemotologist/oncologist said that he believes I may have some form of liver disease at the root of all this and wants me to have a liver biopsy and also a sampling of the peritoneal fluid around my intestines. That will have to be scheduled. But, starting Thursday, I begin a 24-hour urine test. I have to collect EVERY DROP of urine for a 24-hour period and store it in my fridge to keep it cold. Lovely. I also have to have more blood drawn for some tests. These are "send away" tests, since they are fairly specialized and not done at the hospital. Tomorrow starts the Great Purgation in preparation for Wednesday's endoscopies. Just a normal week for me! I am now even more thankful that I took my little vacation this weekend...
This morning brought a phonecall from the office of the the hemotologist/oncologist to which I had been referred by my doctor and gastroenterologist. They had an opening today and I grabbed it. The doctor was of the old school - absolutely no bedside manner, but a straight shooter. I appreciate that. Now, he looked a little familiar, but I had been to the hospital so many times that I figured I had seen him around.
Well, I went through the whole spiel of my sordid medical history and he asked a variety of questions. One was whether or not I had ever received a transfusion. I first said "no," but remembered that I had received blood 5 years ago when I was hospitalized for my other bout of edema. I brought that up and he asked the details of my hospitalization. So, I told him the story - edema, go to emergency room, get told I have no blood and am immediately admitted for 3 days, go home with nothing but advice to take iron. He gets an odd look on his face, tells me to get dressed and leaves the room.
So, I wait a bit and he returns with that odd look still in place. He had not really remembered me either until I brought up that last hospital stay. He had actually examined me during that hospital stay! I remember 2 specialists poking and prodding me, but never paid them much attention, but it did explain why I thought I might have seen him before. So, he tells me that during my last stay I had been dangerously anemic. Ok, that I knew. He also said I had fluid in my abdomen. That I had only found out recently from the technician that gave me my recent CAT scan. My CAT from 5 years ago showed the same thing and no one had informed me of the fact. Well, I now find out that I had also shown liver abnormalities 5 years ago and, again, no one told me about it! So, neither the abdominal fluid or the liver abnormalities were ever given any further attention by my former doctor....
The hemotologist/oncologist said that he believes I may have some form of liver disease at the root of all this and wants me to have a liver biopsy and also a sampling of the peritoneal fluid around my intestines. That will have to be scheduled. But, starting Thursday, I begin a 24-hour urine test. I have to collect EVERY DROP of urine for a 24-hour period and store it in my fridge to keep it cold. Lovely. I also have to have more blood drawn for some tests. These are "send away" tests, since they are fairly specialized and not done at the hospital. Tomorrow starts the Great Purgation in preparation for Wednesday's endoscopies. Just a normal week for me! I am now even more thankful that I took my little vacation this weekend...
Sunday, June 05, 2005
Always Look on the Bright Side of Life
Monty Python ranks among the most profound of the modern philosophers and this bit of wisdom is especially relevant for modern times. I unplugged for a few days to hide from the world and commune with my 4 walls. I'm still butt-bound, however, I have tried to look upon the past few days with Monty Python's advice in mind...
Life with a side of Bright:
1. Sunshine
2. Blooms, leaves and chirping everywhere
3. The bustle of the neighborhood
4. Fresh fruit
5. Raw nuts
6. My poinsetta that just won't die
7. A friend who calls just to see if I'm ok
8. Fun movies - Harry Potter, Princess Bride, Spiderman, etc.
9. Popcorn
10. Wireless Internet
11. My new juicer and blender
12. Free tank tops from Netrition
13. Get well cards from my students
14. Real lemonade
15. Natural diuretics
16. Reggae, exotica, calypso, flamenco...
17. Tiki mugs
18. Maids coming on Wednesday
19. Cacao nibs
20. Thin toes
A weekend of quiet indulgence. Much needed. This coming week brings my -oscopies and a full day's preparation beforehand (liquid diet, potent laxatives, etc.). Thursday, I had an appointment with my doctor and she flat out said she was worried about me. Then, on Frideay, my doctor called to tell me she had phone-conferenced with my gastroenterologist. They agreed that I should be referred to a hematologist/oncologist. So that is on the horizon. But, right now, I have some down-time. Yes, I'm bored. Yes, my bottom hurts. Yes, I'm still swelling, albeit less with my hose and elevation on a continuous basis. But, at least I'm coping in my own home, with my TV, cd player, snacks, books...Almost like a vacation. A vacation from life. If only there was a pool boy....
Life with a side of Bright:
1. Sunshine
2. Blooms, leaves and chirping everywhere
3. The bustle of the neighborhood
4. Fresh fruit
5. Raw nuts
6. My poinsetta that just won't die
7. A friend who calls just to see if I'm ok
8. Fun movies - Harry Potter, Princess Bride, Spiderman, etc.
9. Popcorn
10. Wireless Internet
11. My new juicer and blender
12. Free tank tops from Netrition
13. Get well cards from my students
14. Real lemonade
15. Natural diuretics
16. Reggae, exotica, calypso, flamenco...
17. Tiki mugs
18. Maids coming on Wednesday
19. Cacao nibs
20. Thin toes
A weekend of quiet indulgence. Much needed. This coming week brings my -oscopies and a full day's preparation beforehand (liquid diet, potent laxatives, etc.). Thursday, I had an appointment with my doctor and she flat out said she was worried about me. Then, on Frideay, my doctor called to tell me she had phone-conferenced with my gastroenterologist. They agreed that I should be referred to a hematologist/oncologist. So that is on the horizon. But, right now, I have some down-time. Yes, I'm bored. Yes, my bottom hurts. Yes, I'm still swelling, albeit less with my hose and elevation on a continuous basis. But, at least I'm coping in my own home, with my TV, cd player, snacks, books...Almost like a vacation. A vacation from life. If only there was a pool boy....
Thursday, June 02, 2005
Sometimes You Gotta Stand Firm
Went to the gastroenterologist yesterday and he had nothing to say beyond the potential need to refer me to a kidney specialist. He wanted my -oscopies scheduled sooner than next Friday, though, so he told me that the endoscopy center was going to call today for the scheduling. Well, they wanted to schedule me TOMORROW! Firstly, the preparation for the exams is rather severe. You are not supposed to have any food starting the day before the test (this means from when you wake up). They called around 8:30 am and I had already had plenty of food by then. The receptionist handed me off to the nurse who got mad at me for eating! Apparently, I was supposed to magically have known their intentions and abstained from my normal activities. Excuse me for having a malfunctioning secured sattelite uplink to the great forces of the Universe. Next, you have to be on an all-liquid diet, and nothing red or purple. Jello was approved, as were popcicles. Well, I lacked any clear fluid, gelatin or popcicles and would have had to go to the store to get them. Then, you need transportation home from the tests, as you have to be sedated during the procedures. I was not about to start calling friends and begging this assistance at the last minute, especially for a Friday afternoon.
Most importantly, though, I was not mentally prepared. I could have handled the rest if this card was not played. I have had some form of test, procedure, etc. nearly every day for the past 2 weeks. The weather has been lousy. Today and through the weekend, the weather is supposed to be wonderful. I had mentally already projected myself to 10:00 am today (about the time my doctor's appointment this morning would be over) early in the week. It was a happy place. Yes, feet in the air, but sunshine, no tests, Peapod bringing me my grub, new DVD's and, yes, a box of microwave popcorn in which to indulge. I felt the need for a real, live, honest-to-goodness indulgence....No way was I going to give it all up for those procedures. Especially since the gastro guy already said that he doubts the tests will show anything! Uh huh. So, I held firm and no amount of attempted strongarming would move me. I let them schedule the tests for next Wednesday and I would have even taken Monday had there been a slot available. But I was not going to give up my one little window of joy.
So, Scigirl thumbed her nose at the medical authority and is not upset with the decision. I have no reason to be happy, but I am today. The doctor this morning said flat out that she was very concerned about my health and did mention the Big C, but she has mentioned so many things that I have given up listening to anything unless there is a folder of facts to support the diagnosis. I am still out of my classroom and that bothers me. My butt hurts from sitting and that bites. But none of this is cutting through the feeling of relief. No tests. No appointments. No consultations. Not forever, but just for a little while. A few days without nothing more heavy on my mind than which movie I want to watch next. I so need this....
Most importantly, though, I was not mentally prepared. I could have handled the rest if this card was not played. I have had some form of test, procedure, etc. nearly every day for the past 2 weeks. The weather has been lousy. Today and through the weekend, the weather is supposed to be wonderful. I had mentally already projected myself to 10:00 am today (about the time my doctor's appointment this morning would be over) early in the week. It was a happy place. Yes, feet in the air, but sunshine, no tests, Peapod bringing me my grub, new DVD's and, yes, a box of microwave popcorn in which to indulge. I felt the need for a real, live, honest-to-goodness indulgence....No way was I going to give it all up for those procedures. Especially since the gastro guy already said that he doubts the tests will show anything! Uh huh. So, I held firm and no amount of attempted strongarming would move me. I let them schedule the tests for next Wednesday and I would have even taken Monday had there been a slot available. But I was not going to give up my one little window of joy.
So, Scigirl thumbed her nose at the medical authority and is not upset with the decision. I have no reason to be happy, but I am today. The doctor this morning said flat out that she was very concerned about my health and did mention the Big C, but she has mentioned so many things that I have given up listening to anything unless there is a folder of facts to support the diagnosis. I am still out of my classroom and that bothers me. My butt hurts from sitting and that bites. But none of this is cutting through the feeling of relief. No tests. No appointments. No consultations. Not forever, but just for a little while. A few days without nothing more heavy on my mind than which movie I want to watch next. I so need this....
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