On Monday, May 11, Fletcher turns five. For those in the dark - readers who trip over this in search of sanity, guidance and council, Fletch is my son. For the record, I don't know how he has lived this long - He is as clumsy as his father, and seems to seek adrenaline in every feasible way. Today was his party, where friends from school, from the neighborhood and just friend in general converged on my home, took over for a few hours and left us in post-party euphoria.
During the party, Mom and Dad played referee, nurse, and babysitter to about 15 kids and some of their parents. We were unusual as we were only the second of about 15 parties to host at our own home. It seems that an entire industry has emerged here in North Carolina where family after family is coaxed, cajoled, and peer pressured into the next big event - all for the reasonable cost of 299.99. Kidding. It is unreasonable. In the past year we have attended parties of all shapes and sizes, ranging from a childrens museum (which is the most reasonable of all), to bowling, to the bouncing festival, some of which exceed $400. We looked at this, and discovered nothing we could do which hadn't been done, especially in the southern end of the price range. Oh and by the way, while taking them all to Transformers 2 was my suggestion, it was shot down for two reasons. 1 - Megan Fox. and 2 - The kids are only 5. Waaah.
So we hosted at home. the opening salvo from my son was that he wanted a reverse party. People arrive, we open presents, we eat cake, then dogs, then we run around. A little Jason, obviously - driving to the point, and relegating all the other crap to just fluff.
We decorated the house with Star Wars paraphenalia. We boiled about a million hot dogs (a little too long) and we opened the doors to throngs of fans of Fletcher. Despite some of my son's five year old drama (I don't wanna play red light green light I wanna knock opened the Vader pinata so rebuild it daddy everyone can leave now so I can open presents) the party was a success overall - no fatalities and lots of presents.
And then I get to turn 5 again. As people left, Fletch and I got to opening the boxes containing those sweet little, logical, uniform, modular blocks. Heaven in heat sealed bags. And as we tore into each bag of Legos, we raced through the instructions, building starship and droid one after another. And when my son would get distracted, his brother, I mean his father would carry on, building, so that we could destroy the evil Empire promptly and with great mayhew and discontent.
I was fortunate tonight, as while I am unsure that these memories will carry forward for my son, and while someday when he is nearing forty, his memory of these times may have faded, I know that when I am eighty, these images will be etched into my brain and be pulled back to remind me of those great times with my son. Today, I was able to transport back to a time of innocense where good and evil were defined by terms of Jedi and Sith.
I also hope that as he gets older, and I still live vicariously through him, he and I will do other things together - like cruising for girls in college bars - hopefully we can do that for his 6th birthday.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Thursday, February 19, 2009
The Right to Bear Children
So, in the headlines today, among the stories of economic stimulus and changes in the government, there is a current which continually to stimulate our need to judge people. The news provides us persistent status of Nadya Suleman, the mother of 14, Angolina-look-alike-lips, who in no way is capable of raising 14 children. And she has our attention.
Nadya went through fertility treatments no less than 7 times. Her first 6 kids were all the result of science, and the provision of semen from a close personal friend. In turn, she had an additional 6 embryos, which she had fertilized, and then placed in her womb. Naturally, because nature has a sense of humor, 2 of Ms. Suleman's embryos split, giving her a total of 8. At which point she delivered all 8 a few weeks ago. Since then, she has run the media circuit, telling the world of how she will raise these 14 kids with love and student loans. A plan which can certainly not fail.
Since then, while denying she was on welfare, she has taken food stamps, and disability for 2 of her first 6 kids. In addition, her family has looked at the situation, and metaphorically and literally shaken her head, wondering what the hell went wrong in their own child rearing. Her doctor fails to see what was irresponsible for implanting the final 6 in a mother without a job.
However the latest was societies response to her 14 kids. In recent news there have been calls to remove the children from her home. Naturally, I would agree, that a person's belief that they can raise 14 kids is certainly a possible symptom of insanity. However, I would suggest that our nation's laws provide no limit on numbers of children or who can raise them. My issue is that the suggestion was made that the children be removed subject to an investigation, which seems to put the cart before the horse. And frankly, if this is legal, your author is in deep trouble. I will certainly be arrested for something that I have thought of doing.
As I mentioned above, the evidence is strong that this mother may not appreciate the needs of 14 children. Further, in watching her responses on the Today show, while she is incredibly well spoken, and says the right answers to the questions, I would submit that these answers were entirely too correct and too well spoken to not have been scripted. Further, when the financial plan is to live on student loans until she graduates to be a social worker, at which time they will be on easy street, the evidence begins to build. Today, her father and mother are beginning to show signs that this is a real issue. Lastly, while Ms Suleman believes that her community and her church will surround her with love and assistance. That had better be one large church. The reality is that the facts of this story are the precursors to the story which reads, "Mother smothers 14 then steps in front of traffic". But folks, we need to do the investigation first. And fast. And final.
At the end of the day, I have no doubt that an investigation will result in 14 kids finding new homes, better homes, and homes where they are not starved. In watching my sister and her husband today, who have a 3 week old son, Gage, it is obvious that I was right 4 years ago, when I said to myself that parenthood is the hardest job you will ever have. Nurturing one child is hard work, often thankless, spattered with happiness, sadness, and sleepless nights. My sister and her husband are handling it like most new parents, figuring out what works, and what doesn't. I watched her calculate the number of ounces of milk Gage ingested today. I laughed out loud. While they are doing and awesome job, the parents both have exceptional intellects and deep passion for doing a great job. Ms Suleman lacks the intellect, and has a passion for craziness and no real appreciation for what she has brought into the world. I wish only the best for her children, and I only hope that this disaster is mitigated by quick action of the state.
Nadya went through fertility treatments no less than 7 times. Her first 6 kids were all the result of science, and the provision of semen from a close personal friend. In turn, she had an additional 6 embryos, which she had fertilized, and then placed in her womb. Naturally, because nature has a sense of humor, 2 of Ms. Suleman's embryos split, giving her a total of 8. At which point she delivered all 8 a few weeks ago. Since then, she has run the media circuit, telling the world of how she will raise these 14 kids with love and student loans. A plan which can certainly not fail.
Since then, while denying she was on welfare, she has taken food stamps, and disability for 2 of her first 6 kids. In addition, her family has looked at the situation, and metaphorically and literally shaken her head, wondering what the hell went wrong in their own child rearing. Her doctor fails to see what was irresponsible for implanting the final 6 in a mother without a job.
However the latest was societies response to her 14 kids. In recent news there have been calls to remove the children from her home. Naturally, I would agree, that a person's belief that they can raise 14 kids is certainly a possible symptom of insanity. However, I would suggest that our nation's laws provide no limit on numbers of children or who can raise them. My issue is that the suggestion was made that the children be removed subject to an investigation, which seems to put the cart before the horse. And frankly, if this is legal, your author is in deep trouble. I will certainly be arrested for something that I have thought of doing.
As I mentioned above, the evidence is strong that this mother may not appreciate the needs of 14 children. Further, in watching her responses on the Today show, while she is incredibly well spoken, and says the right answers to the questions, I would submit that these answers were entirely too correct and too well spoken to not have been scripted. Further, when the financial plan is to live on student loans until she graduates to be a social worker, at which time they will be on easy street, the evidence begins to build. Today, her father and mother are beginning to show signs that this is a real issue. Lastly, while Ms Suleman believes that her community and her church will surround her with love and assistance. That had better be one large church. The reality is that the facts of this story are the precursors to the story which reads, "Mother smothers 14 then steps in front of traffic". But folks, we need to do the investigation first. And fast. And final.
At the end of the day, I have no doubt that an investigation will result in 14 kids finding new homes, better homes, and homes where they are not starved. In watching my sister and her husband today, who have a 3 week old son, Gage, it is obvious that I was right 4 years ago, when I said to myself that parenthood is the hardest job you will ever have. Nurturing one child is hard work, often thankless, spattered with happiness, sadness, and sleepless nights. My sister and her husband are handling it like most new parents, figuring out what works, and what doesn't. I watched her calculate the number of ounces of milk Gage ingested today. I laughed out loud. While they are doing and awesome job, the parents both have exceptional intellects and deep passion for doing a great job. Ms Suleman lacks the intellect, and has a passion for craziness and no real appreciation for what she has brought into the world. I wish only the best for her children, and I only hope that this disaster is mitigated by quick action of the state.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
I am less of a Patriot
This weekend, I joined my fellow Americans in what looks to be a repeatable, frequent activity. I stood alongside my brethren - Black, White, Hispanic, Middle Eastern, Asian, and every other imaginable flavor. We walked through the tiled miles, watching, hunting, and at times even fighting for our rights to obtain food cheaply. No, we were not in bread lines, nor were we in some post-apocalyptic scene from Mad Max. We were in Walmart. Yes, Walmart, Friday night, for food shopping. And I am less of an American because of it.
I am not a snob. Walmart is no better nor worse than any other big box store, though the brand of loser in Walmart on a Friday night is indeed special. I had never been on a Friday night, and will likely choose better in the future. But we wandered the halls of Walmart looking for the best China has to offer. We found aisle after aisle of bargain, and we spent about 2/3 to half of what we normally spend on groceries, and found everything, if not more than in our normal supermarket. And for this, I should lose my right to a veterans funeral.
I say these disparaging remarks not to take away from the millions of American shoppers who frequent Walmart - I too will be going back. We have been forced into these conditions by economic challenges, and the realities that saving at times like these is all that much more important. I make these remarks because I am angry - I know, big surprise - that Walmart has taken such a share of the market, that they can afford to be so low in cost, and in turn that they can pressure their suppliers to be so much lower for Walmart that they make it impossible to compete, fairly and freely. How does a local supermarket ever open their doors when Walmart is cutting them 50 cents on the dollar? Impossible to start right from the beginning.
In addition, when Walmart squeezes their vendors so tightly, the vendor is forced to ship their manufacturing overseas. Once they transfer the manufacturing for Walmart overseas, they ship all of it there - It fails to make sense to do anything here, if they have to do any manufacturing there - which in turn castrates American manufacturing. Even if we could make it better here, we wouldn't, simply to save a few pennies. Interesting to note, while sitting over lunch a few weeks ago, I was talking with an MBA and a PhD candidate - two fairly smart guys. I posed the question, what do we as a nation still produce and product well. My MBA friend, whose family was in textiles, pointed out that his family still produces some of what they did many years ago (surprisingly nylon stockings). However, we couldn't name anything else, besides cars (and they didn't really make the "Produces Well" category. This is shameful.
Worse still is the fact that everything is found in Walmart was disposable. There was nothing which seemed to have an enduring quality - Clothes were fairly single use - no handmedowns. Furniture was pressboard, and would look lovely for 4 years, and then look lovelier in a landfill. Toys lined the shelves, and the video game areas far outsized the sporting good areas (at least the baseball, football type sporting goods) and the toys for the most part would not survive the attention switch of a four year old, let alone pass from an older child to a younger one. Tags on all of the products read "Made in Somewhere Else". And the icing on the cake was Walmart's weak attempt to sell us a non-plastic bag for our use to carry crap into our homes, hung at the check out below eye level, and out of the way. I guess the profit on those is lower.
While this began years ago, Walmart exacerbated the issue by controlling so many diverse vendors from televisions to TV dinners and left us with an additional economic catastrophe to deal with. Their sole saving grace is that they do in fact pass on these savings to customers, and this does help many Americans. I found myself watching the people in line as we checked out. The old black man, with US Army Retired on his baseball cap. The young Hispanic couple, he in his work clothes, and mom carrying the young infant, with their daughter in tow. The stereo-typical 40-something, single mother, white woman with her cigarette pack in her back pocket of the too tight for her age jeans, smacking candy from her kids hands while they waited in line, and us, another couple in this sea of hundreds, just trying to save some money, in hopes of finding an American dream, and watching Walmart push it just a little farther out of reach.
On a side note, there is something ironic about buying ammunition and food at the same time. Where our forefathers worked the North Carolina landscape into crops and hunted food with their ammunition, I now buy ammunition to forget about the economic and other life challenges we face today, and I buy my crops with labels from Peru so I can have my blueberries in February. As I have said in the past, Globalization is grand, but better still is that I am so far from the hunter/gatherer that I don't think I know my place in the food chain anymore. . .
I am not a snob. Walmart is no better nor worse than any other big box store, though the brand of loser in Walmart on a Friday night is indeed special. I had never been on a Friday night, and will likely choose better in the future. But we wandered the halls of Walmart looking for the best China has to offer. We found aisle after aisle of bargain, and we spent about 2/3 to half of what we normally spend on groceries, and found everything, if not more than in our normal supermarket. And for this, I should lose my right to a veterans funeral.
I say these disparaging remarks not to take away from the millions of American shoppers who frequent Walmart - I too will be going back. We have been forced into these conditions by economic challenges, and the realities that saving at times like these is all that much more important. I make these remarks because I am angry - I know, big surprise - that Walmart has taken such a share of the market, that they can afford to be so low in cost, and in turn that they can pressure their suppliers to be so much lower for Walmart that they make it impossible to compete, fairly and freely. How does a local supermarket ever open their doors when Walmart is cutting them 50 cents on the dollar? Impossible to start right from the beginning.
In addition, when Walmart squeezes their vendors so tightly, the vendor is forced to ship their manufacturing overseas. Once they transfer the manufacturing for Walmart overseas, they ship all of it there - It fails to make sense to do anything here, if they have to do any manufacturing there - which in turn castrates American manufacturing. Even if we could make it better here, we wouldn't, simply to save a few pennies. Interesting to note, while sitting over lunch a few weeks ago, I was talking with an MBA and a PhD candidate - two fairly smart guys. I posed the question, what do we as a nation still produce and product well. My MBA friend, whose family was in textiles, pointed out that his family still produces some of what they did many years ago (surprisingly nylon stockings). However, we couldn't name anything else, besides cars (and they didn't really make the "Produces Well" category. This is shameful.
Worse still is the fact that everything is found in Walmart was disposable. There was nothing which seemed to have an enduring quality - Clothes were fairly single use - no handmedowns. Furniture was pressboard, and would look lovely for 4 years, and then look lovelier in a landfill. Toys lined the shelves, and the video game areas far outsized the sporting good areas (at least the baseball, football type sporting goods) and the toys for the most part would not survive the attention switch of a four year old, let alone pass from an older child to a younger one. Tags on all of the products read "Made in Somewhere Else". And the icing on the cake was Walmart's weak attempt to sell us a non-plastic bag for our use to carry crap into our homes, hung at the check out below eye level, and out of the way. I guess the profit on those is lower.
While this began years ago, Walmart exacerbated the issue by controlling so many diverse vendors from televisions to TV dinners and left us with an additional economic catastrophe to deal with. Their sole saving grace is that they do in fact pass on these savings to customers, and this does help many Americans. I found myself watching the people in line as we checked out. The old black man, with US Army Retired on his baseball cap. The young Hispanic couple, he in his work clothes, and mom carrying the young infant, with their daughter in tow. The stereo-typical 40-something, single mother, white woman with her cigarette pack in her back pocket of the too tight for her age jeans, smacking candy from her kids hands while they waited in line, and us, another couple in this sea of hundreds, just trying to save some money, in hopes of finding an American dream, and watching Walmart push it just a little farther out of reach.
On a side note, there is something ironic about buying ammunition and food at the same time. Where our forefathers worked the North Carolina landscape into crops and hunted food with their ammunition, I now buy ammunition to forget about the economic and other life challenges we face today, and I buy my crops with labels from Peru so I can have my blueberries in February. As I have said in the past, Globalization is grand, but better still is that I am so far from the hunter/gatherer that I don't think I know my place in the food chain anymore. . .
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
I hate off shore call centers (or why I should just read the directions)
So today, I spent 30 minutes on a chat session with Linksys technical support. The lag was remarkable between the time it took me to type my question and the time it took to receive a response. I have no doubt that this was because someone trascribed it to postal mail, and then mailed it to Bangalore. (Home of the torpedo). They ran me through the script. Painfully slowly. "Is the power light on?" This only makes me angrier, because I know there is someone in BF that answers "Ooops, you're right". I explain my issue to them in great detail. They then ask me specific questions which demonstrate that they have not read any of my typing. Which only angers me more. I then realize I want to do something else, and the game begins. I respond with another answer, and then let them know that they have 8 minutes or I am returning the product. Nothing like a little pressure to add some fuel to the fire.
We continue down the path. Open the device manager. "Is your device there?" My reply "I don't know, the device manager is pretty big. Wanna give me a hint where it is?" For the record, "Wanna" might not translate so well. We look. Not there. 6 minutes, I tell them. "Is the device plugged into the computer?" "Yes" Really? You asked if it was in the Device Manager, but thought I might not have plugged it in? Seriously dude, the script is meant to be read top to bottom. 4 minutes, I type. Another minute of diagnosis fails, and finally I surrender. I eat my egg salad, and start again. This time, when the installation gets to the point where I got stuck ( a point which my overseas friend never discovered in his script, I find that there are more words than I saw before - An option which I should have chosen. And I click next. And next again. And oh my, guess what - Next again. And suddenly I could connect to the internet.
So now, I have completed the task of connecting my Xbox to the internet again, with blazing fast speed. And I realize, I don't really hate the linksys products I have bought over the years. I hate the product service which I have received. And to be fair, so have millions of other Americans. I just saw a story on the news the other day, where people are pushing the companies from which they buy into moving their operations for call centers back to the continental US. Clearly with 11 million unemployed we can do a better job. Companies like Cricket, who make a cell phone for the elderly actually tout their on shore call centers on their television ads. Many more, like Dell are moving back, having failed to serve their customers from afar, and realizing that their customers will simply go to best buy and buy from the Geek Squad, because these kids speak their native tongue while reading the script.
I do recognize that it is not Linksys' fault that I don't read directions, but when I call for help that you brag about, I would really like the person to answer the phone having read them before I call.
We continue down the path. Open the device manager. "Is your device there?" My reply "I don't know, the device manager is pretty big. Wanna give me a hint where it is?" For the record, "Wanna" might not translate so well. We look. Not there. 6 minutes, I tell them. "Is the device plugged into the computer?" "Yes" Really? You asked if it was in the Device Manager, but thought I might not have plugged it in? Seriously dude, the script is meant to be read top to bottom. 4 minutes, I type. Another minute of diagnosis fails, and finally I surrender. I eat my egg salad, and start again. This time, when the installation gets to the point where I got stuck ( a point which my overseas friend never discovered in his script, I find that there are more words than I saw before - An option which I should have chosen. And I click next. And next again. And oh my, guess what - Next again. And suddenly I could connect to the internet.
So now, I have completed the task of connecting my Xbox to the internet again, with blazing fast speed. And I realize, I don't really hate the linksys products I have bought over the years. I hate the product service which I have received. And to be fair, so have millions of other Americans. I just saw a story on the news the other day, where people are pushing the companies from which they buy into moving their operations for call centers back to the continental US. Clearly with 11 million unemployed we can do a better job. Companies like Cricket, who make a cell phone for the elderly actually tout their on shore call centers on their television ads. Many more, like Dell are moving back, having failed to serve their customers from afar, and realizing that their customers will simply go to best buy and buy from the Geek Squad, because these kids speak their native tongue while reading the script.
I do recognize that it is not Linksys' fault that I don't read directions, but when I call for help that you brag about, I would really like the person to answer the phone having read them before I call.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Medical Malpractice
This morning, I find myself in the waiting room of one of North Carolina's larger medical centers. My wife is undergoing a last minute out patient procedure, and while I sit here holding her hand, I find myself wondering why we are so broken in this particular area of our lives. OK, to be truthful, I am not holding her hand right now. She is in recovery, zonked out on the one thing we do well - get people high. So while I wait, I thought I would make a few observations, and maybe one of my readers can help fix what is broken.
So first, I should point out - The people here for the most part have been terrific. From the woman we met at reception at 6:55 AM who guided us to our room, to the IV nurse who patiently worked with Amy to try to get her IV started, to our doctor, the team here has been wonderful. The care they brought literally had me in tears, and I wondered where these people can find the compassion in the bureaucracy to which our legal establishment has perverted our hospitals. It was remarkable, and at a low point in our lifes, it was comforting like warm blankets and labrador retrievers.
Unfortunately, the inefficiency born of litigation have come to take what should be a routine procedure and make it unbearable. We were here 2 hours prior to the procedure, and received no less than 6 separate visitors, 3 of whom asked the exact same questions. Yes, she is allergic to penicillin. Yes, she has been in the hospital. Yes, she is under stress and in nervous. Yes the sky is blue, yes, get the fuck out of our room. Oh and yes she is 5 foot 4 inches tall. If you really brought me into a hospital to ask me how tall she is, we are surely broken. So, we go through the battery of questions. Twice. (Which I thought was nice; I am sure people undergoing open heart surgery hear this same barage 12 times.)
Then the woman comes in to draw blood. She is a linebacker of a woman with the compassion of someone doing a cavity search. After rooting around in one of my wife's arms, I watched her do the other. And my stomach began churning. I have never had an issue with medical stuff. I watched them sew up my hand (I even considered sewing my hand myself that time), I have seen pretty bad wounds, and I even like medical TV. However, while I watched the woman dig for a few minutes, I felt that wave of nausea that comes at sea during a bad storm, or while watching someone you love sit in pain, while you are helpless to kill the beast causing the pain. As the blood finally, mercifully began to flow, I felt the sickness subside and I was able to plan an alibi for the murder of a linebacker. But then the room was filled with more questions from new faces, and with this many witnesses, my plan for revenge was thwarted. Remember - I said most were wonderful here. This woman was just wrong.
The man came while the IV nurse still struggled to find a vein, and he wanted to take Amy down. Now, I know I mentioned above that the people were wonderful, but this woman was above and beyond. She was patient with a sobbing patient, gentle when the times were toughest, and above all professional, while loving. In the case of a large scale hospital, where lives are saved and lost all day, her role was to set up IV inputs for patients awaiting surgery. She comes in for the harder cases where the vein is less than obvious and the floor nurse is unable to help. Some would see her job as small, given that most patients will likely not remember what she did for them on a busy day, and she will seldom be heralded as saving a life, and less often receive the glory she deserves for her work. However, to me today, she was a hero, as without her, I was one straw away from a broken back. Thanks Beth. I will send a letter to Rex hospital, and maybe you will get the praise you deserve.
The gurneyman (I know this isn't the right term, but it sounded funny to me) arrived to take Amy down to the OR, but Beth hadn't been lucky in finding that vein. Amy needs more heroin to make those veins more pronouced. We're on that starting next week. Beth tried everything from smacking my wife's arm, like a junkie on pay day to a little blue and red flashlight which highlights the vein. It was pretty cool. The gurneyman tried to goad her into releasing Amy to him, so and I could see Beth feeling rushed. I then learned a valuable lesson. The patient actually has rights. I told her, but loud enough to hear for the gurneyman, that I didn't care that the OR was ready. We'd move when Beth was ready. And Beth went back to work and the gurneyman stood like a soldier on the parade ground - silent. A few minutes later, Beth finally looked up and called it a day. She explained that the OR could dilate the veins and she was stumped. I can live with that. But patients need to stop moving for schedules, and hospitals need to start moving schedules for patients. The professionals I met today are in this business for the care they get to give - the pay is a bonus.
And so we went - to the elevator - then to a set of door which act like the giant curtain of Oz. And now I sit, and wonder.
Sorry for the break. While I was out, the doctor came out to talk to me. A great guy. After this is all over, I would by him dinner, but he has seen my wife in a way I haven't so I don't know if we could look at each other over steaks and try to erase that thought from my mind. Amy is fine - though completely stoned - lucky. She is in recovery.
It is 1030 now, and despite all of the annoying factors of the visit here, she will be fine. And orderly just came into the waiting room - she clearly has Downs Syndrome, but is high functioning, and she gives me a smile to tell me my wife is back to her room. And so I am off, to find her. And in a few weeks, we will be trying again, and again, to give my boy a little brother or sister to abuse mercilessly as I did to my wonderful sister.
So first, I should point out - The people here for the most part have been terrific. From the woman we met at reception at 6:55 AM who guided us to our room, to the IV nurse who patiently worked with Amy to try to get her IV started, to our doctor, the team here has been wonderful. The care they brought literally had me in tears, and I wondered where these people can find the compassion in the bureaucracy to which our legal establishment has perverted our hospitals. It was remarkable, and at a low point in our lifes, it was comforting like warm blankets and labrador retrievers.
Unfortunately, the inefficiency born of litigation have come to take what should be a routine procedure and make it unbearable. We were here 2 hours prior to the procedure, and received no less than 6 separate visitors, 3 of whom asked the exact same questions. Yes, she is allergic to penicillin. Yes, she has been in the hospital. Yes, she is under stress and in nervous. Yes the sky is blue, yes, get the fuck out of our room. Oh and yes she is 5 foot 4 inches tall. If you really brought me into a hospital to ask me how tall she is, we are surely broken. So, we go through the battery of questions. Twice. (Which I thought was nice; I am sure people undergoing open heart surgery hear this same barage 12 times.)
Then the woman comes in to draw blood. She is a linebacker of a woman with the compassion of someone doing a cavity search. After rooting around in one of my wife's arms, I watched her do the other. And my stomach began churning. I have never had an issue with medical stuff. I watched them sew up my hand (I even considered sewing my hand myself that time), I have seen pretty bad wounds, and I even like medical TV. However, while I watched the woman dig for a few minutes, I felt that wave of nausea that comes at sea during a bad storm, or while watching someone you love sit in pain, while you are helpless to kill the beast causing the pain. As the blood finally, mercifully began to flow, I felt the sickness subside and I was able to plan an alibi for the murder of a linebacker. But then the room was filled with more questions from new faces, and with this many witnesses, my plan for revenge was thwarted. Remember - I said most were wonderful here. This woman was just wrong.
The man came while the IV nurse still struggled to find a vein, and he wanted to take Amy down. Now, I know I mentioned above that the people were wonderful, but this woman was above and beyond. She was patient with a sobbing patient, gentle when the times were toughest, and above all professional, while loving. In the case of a large scale hospital, where lives are saved and lost all day, her role was to set up IV inputs for patients awaiting surgery. She comes in for the harder cases where the vein is less than obvious and the floor nurse is unable to help. Some would see her job as small, given that most patients will likely not remember what she did for them on a busy day, and she will seldom be heralded as saving a life, and less often receive the glory she deserves for her work. However, to me today, she was a hero, as without her, I was one straw away from a broken back. Thanks Beth. I will send a letter to Rex hospital, and maybe you will get the praise you deserve.
The gurneyman (I know this isn't the right term, but it sounded funny to me) arrived to take Amy down to the OR, but Beth hadn't been lucky in finding that vein. Amy needs more heroin to make those veins more pronouced. We're on that starting next week. Beth tried everything from smacking my wife's arm, like a junkie on pay day to a little blue and red flashlight which highlights the vein. It was pretty cool. The gurneyman tried to goad her into releasing Amy to him, so and I could see Beth feeling rushed. I then learned a valuable lesson. The patient actually has rights. I told her, but loud enough to hear for the gurneyman, that I didn't care that the OR was ready. We'd move when Beth was ready. And Beth went back to work and the gurneyman stood like a soldier on the parade ground - silent. A few minutes later, Beth finally looked up and called it a day. She explained that the OR could dilate the veins and she was stumped. I can live with that. But patients need to stop moving for schedules, and hospitals need to start moving schedules for patients. The professionals I met today are in this business for the care they get to give - the pay is a bonus.
And so we went - to the elevator - then to a set of door which act like the giant curtain of Oz. And now I sit, and wonder.
Sorry for the break. While I was out, the doctor came out to talk to me. A great guy. After this is all over, I would by him dinner, but he has seen my wife in a way I haven't so I don't know if we could look at each other over steaks and try to erase that thought from my mind. Amy is fine - though completely stoned - lucky. She is in recovery.
It is 1030 now, and despite all of the annoying factors of the visit here, she will be fine. And orderly just came into the waiting room - she clearly has Downs Syndrome, but is high functioning, and she gives me a smile to tell me my wife is back to her room. And so I am off, to find her. And in a few weeks, we will be trying again, and again, to give my boy a little brother or sister to abuse mercilessly as I did to my wonderful sister.
Monday, January 12, 2009
A True Warrior
So, tonight I will depart from my normal rant on some subject which no one cares about and talk about heroism - the kind of heroics which often go ignored by the media and are referenced in speeches by figureheads who use these heroes as bullet points towards re-election. Tonight, I talked to my friend Rich, who sits today in Camp Liberty, Iraq. Rich has a mission in Iraq, which I won't talk about, but suffice it to say it is frought with danger and provides safety to the people of Iraq and to the people of the US.
Rich found me tonight, on IM, while I sat here reading Facebook updates and Googling starlets and harlots. In the background, Bear Gryllis lives a life of adventure, and my couch snuggles my bottom into its Jason-made divot. Rich sends me a note, beginning like any he would have written me from his home in New Jersey - "Yo!!!" - Rich is devout Italian, a religion unto itself.
Rich and I grew up together during our service, and while I left after my deployment to Europe, Rich signed on - again and again, to Kosovo, to Iraq, and again to Iraq, setting his civilian life aside to serve proudly in the face of danger. And despite my sage advice, just re-enlisted again while he is currently away, for another 6 years. While this will take him beyond the 20 years needed for retirement and bring him again at least once to a foreign land, he does so, out of love for his nation and pride in his service. And so he serves.
Today, he leads 50 men on a tough and high-risk mission, though I doubt many in Iraq today would not describe their missions as tough and high-risk. Suffice it to say that his is, and theirs may be less so. He chats me tonight though to ask me about my family. About my job. About my son, and my wife. And I want to beat his ass, but I understand. He wants to focus anywhere but where he is, and the stresses of his life, and just for a few minutes be transported to Cary, North Carolina, and get the sand out of his hair, and just leave it all behind.
He tells me his leave (military vacation) may be scrapped, because he wants his 50 troops to get home before him. He tells me that he needs nothing because Christmas has come and go, and they are overwhelmed with care packages - Though I tell him I will be shipping him one full of gay pornography and sex toys, with a letter on the outside telling him to open it in front of his troops (This is funnier than it sounds - my room mate in Bosnia who was with the Philadelphia Fire Department received a similar package, and I have never laughed so hard - however, some of the toys disappeared mysteriously. . .)
And shortly, thereafter, our conversation ended. It was 5 am Baghdad time when we started and Rich had a mission outbrief at 0600. For those not paying attention, this means that Rich's commander wanted a debrief from the mission he just finished. At 5 in the morning. Ask yourself, where were you at 5am today?
And so concluded my conversation with an old and most excellent friend. And one of our nation's many heroes. A man, like the many men and women who keep going back. Who put duty into their lives while many here make it the punch line to a joke (courtesy of Jack Nicholson). Who put their own well being in front of the men they lead, and who lead the men and women who put their own well being ahead of all of our own. Today, in a nation where only 1 in 10,000 Americans is personnally affected by the effort overseas, I wanted to write this to remember a great conversation with a hell of a guy. And Fletcher, when you read this some day - take a lesson in patriotism, and join the air force. Their jobs are safer, and dad won't have to worry as much.
Rich found me tonight, on IM, while I sat here reading Facebook updates and Googling starlets and harlots. In the background, Bear Gryllis lives a life of adventure, and my couch snuggles my bottom into its Jason-made divot. Rich sends me a note, beginning like any he would have written me from his home in New Jersey - "Yo!!!" - Rich is devout Italian, a religion unto itself.
Rich and I grew up together during our service, and while I left after my deployment to Europe, Rich signed on - again and again, to Kosovo, to Iraq, and again to Iraq, setting his civilian life aside to serve proudly in the face of danger. And despite my sage advice, just re-enlisted again while he is currently away, for another 6 years. While this will take him beyond the 20 years needed for retirement and bring him again at least once to a foreign land, he does so, out of love for his nation and pride in his service. And so he serves.
Today, he leads 50 men on a tough and high-risk mission, though I doubt many in Iraq today would not describe their missions as tough and high-risk. Suffice it to say that his is, and theirs may be less so. He chats me tonight though to ask me about my family. About my job. About my son, and my wife. And I want to beat his ass, but I understand. He wants to focus anywhere but where he is, and the stresses of his life, and just for a few minutes be transported to Cary, North Carolina, and get the sand out of his hair, and just leave it all behind.
He tells me his leave (military vacation) may be scrapped, because he wants his 50 troops to get home before him. He tells me that he needs nothing because Christmas has come and go, and they are overwhelmed with care packages - Though I tell him I will be shipping him one full of gay pornography and sex toys, with a letter on the outside telling him to open it in front of his troops (This is funnier than it sounds - my room mate in Bosnia who was with the Philadelphia Fire Department received a similar package, and I have never laughed so hard - however, some of the toys disappeared mysteriously. . .)
And shortly, thereafter, our conversation ended. It was 5 am Baghdad time when we started and Rich had a mission outbrief at 0600. For those not paying attention, this means that Rich's commander wanted a debrief from the mission he just finished. At 5 in the morning. Ask yourself, where were you at 5am today?
And so concluded my conversation with an old and most excellent friend. And one of our nation's many heroes. A man, like the many men and women who keep going back. Who put duty into their lives while many here make it the punch line to a joke (courtesy of Jack Nicholson). Who put their own well being in front of the men they lead, and who lead the men and women who put their own well being ahead of all of our own. Today, in a nation where only 1 in 10,000 Americans is personnally affected by the effort overseas, I wanted to write this to remember a great conversation with a hell of a guy. And Fletcher, when you read this some day - take a lesson in patriotism, and join the air force. Their jobs are safer, and dad won't have to worry as much.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Breaking – I mean, Broken - News – Nancy Grace is the wife of Satan
So, during my copious time off last week, I had the opportunity to drive my television’s remote control. As I was taking it through its paces – powering through the turns and burning up the straights - I found myself running through the several news channels. While each seems uniquely biased, and this bias level is adjusted based on who is sitting behind the desks, I came to the realization – There is no more reporting. There is only delivery of opinion.
While I have never been a fan of censorship, I found myself watching Nancy Grace, mesmerized with the fantasy of finding use for a ball gag. She rambled on, spewing pseudo-legal opinions on how to handle the trial of the Kaylee Anthony defendant (seriously, I cannot escape the story of this wretch). Beneath the talking read scrolled repeated facts about the case, and subtitles of the images of the defendant on her jailhouse intercom phone. While nothing new came from the story, the blonde head drooled over the digital corpse of a story, enlightening those who lived in a cave that the mother was talking to a visitor and mentioned anything about the case. (I suspect that if I were in jail for murdering a child, there might not be much else to talk about with any visitors).
Finally, when the wave of nausea was reaching its peak, my thumb slammed a series of keys taking from the channel to SpongeBob – A far more credible and newsworthy story (He and Patrick found the lost city of Atlantis – I am sure this will be covered by Geraldo Rivera, but he will naturally take credit until he realizes that this is one more hoax in his pathetic career as a journalist.) And then I returned to surfing the stations.
Wave after wave passed your surfer by, waiting patiently for something. And then it happened. I stopped surfing and I was swept into a killer wave. I stopped flipping to answer the phone, and there he was. Bill O’Reilly. Satan himself. (And he must be married to Nancy on some plane of hell) I watched opinions roll out of his mouth, wondering whether he has Helen Keller checking his facts. (My apologies to Ms. Keller – She was a remarkable woman, but not the best fact-checker to be sure). As his guests appeared in front of O’Reilly’s oral firing squad, the more liberal guest being shot first and most often, they quickly fell to his salvos of “loudest speaker wins”, and they slowly crept from their remote camera shots, to be replaced by another in search of their 15 minutes.
Again, I felt the sickness growing, and I ran screaming. I went back to Patrick and his spongy friend in the search for the streets of gold. However, I quickly recalled another of these pundits who suffered from a disease of the poor (and typically liberal) – drug addiction. The mentally and physically bloated Mr. Limbaugh, whose addiction to Hydrocodone was made somehow less serious than a heroin addiction, and which was quickly swept under the rug. This is a guy who I am sure thrashed Marion Berry for his snowy habits, and who has certainly basted the bleeding hearts for their positions on these social issues. Hypocrisy. Horse’s ass hypocrisy, of a level heretofore unseen.
The reality is that these heads can say whatever drives the ratings higher and punished for these crimes against our social fabric go undelivered. They drive fear and panic when they make statements about our “crashing” economy. They drive division when they pit artificially inflated groups against one another (the entire right against all of those die-hard liberals), and in doing so eliminate the middle two-thirds of us who are really neither. They make us numb to the death of a little girl, because they play it so often, it becomes the background soundtrack to our lives – and desensitizes us to the violence and tragedy in the American fabric. Unfortunately, there seems no respite from these jesters, except to shoot our TV which Americans cannot seem to do (I know I can’t).
However, I hope that as my family gets older, we as a nation become tired of the sludge and move past it, back to real news. In the meantime, I intend to teach my son (and soon a second child) how to think critically, and act responsibly in viewing television, and the media in general. In the meantime, I have to find something else to discuss, as by keeping them as part of the conversation, they find their power growing and our resistance waning.
While I have never been a fan of censorship, I found myself watching Nancy Grace, mesmerized with the fantasy of finding use for a ball gag. She rambled on, spewing pseudo-legal opinions on how to handle the trial of the Kaylee Anthony defendant (seriously, I cannot escape the story of this wretch). Beneath the talking read scrolled repeated facts about the case, and subtitles of the images of the defendant on her jailhouse intercom phone. While nothing new came from the story, the blonde head drooled over the digital corpse of a story, enlightening those who lived in a cave that the mother was talking to a visitor and mentioned anything about the case. (I suspect that if I were in jail for murdering a child, there might not be much else to talk about with any visitors).
Finally, when the wave of nausea was reaching its peak, my thumb slammed a series of keys taking from the channel to SpongeBob – A far more credible and newsworthy story (He and Patrick found the lost city of Atlantis – I am sure this will be covered by Geraldo Rivera, but he will naturally take credit until he realizes that this is one more hoax in his pathetic career as a journalist.) And then I returned to surfing the stations.
Wave after wave passed your surfer by, waiting patiently for something. And then it happened. I stopped surfing and I was swept into a killer wave. I stopped flipping to answer the phone, and there he was. Bill O’Reilly. Satan himself. (And he must be married to Nancy on some plane of hell) I watched opinions roll out of his mouth, wondering whether he has Helen Keller checking his facts. (My apologies to Ms. Keller – She was a remarkable woman, but not the best fact-checker to be sure). As his guests appeared in front of O’Reilly’s oral firing squad, the more liberal guest being shot first and most often, they quickly fell to his salvos of “loudest speaker wins”, and they slowly crept from their remote camera shots, to be replaced by another in search of their 15 minutes.
Again, I felt the sickness growing, and I ran screaming. I went back to Patrick and his spongy friend in the search for the streets of gold. However, I quickly recalled another of these pundits who suffered from a disease of the poor (and typically liberal) – drug addiction. The mentally and physically bloated Mr. Limbaugh, whose addiction to Hydrocodone was made somehow less serious than a heroin addiction, and which was quickly swept under the rug. This is a guy who I am sure thrashed Marion Berry for his snowy habits, and who has certainly basted the bleeding hearts for their positions on these social issues. Hypocrisy. Horse’s ass hypocrisy, of a level heretofore unseen.
The reality is that these heads can say whatever drives the ratings higher and punished for these crimes against our social fabric go undelivered. They drive fear and panic when they make statements about our “crashing” economy. They drive division when they pit artificially inflated groups against one another (the entire right against all of those die-hard liberals), and in doing so eliminate the middle two-thirds of us who are really neither. They make us numb to the death of a little girl, because they play it so often, it becomes the background soundtrack to our lives – and desensitizes us to the violence and tragedy in the American fabric. Unfortunately, there seems no respite from these jesters, except to shoot our TV which Americans cannot seem to do (I know I can’t).
However, I hope that as my family gets older, we as a nation become tired of the sludge and move past it, back to real news. In the meantime, I intend to teach my son (and soon a second child) how to think critically, and act responsibly in viewing television, and the media in general. In the meantime, I have to find something else to discuss, as by keeping them as part of the conversation, they find their power growing and our resistance waning.
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