ER: Nice House, Nobody Home

After the entry about doctors was written, more complications arose with Mr. Jon Pants. His pain got more intense, and we got really worried. His parents got really worried. The whole blogosphere got worried. ("Heh, yeah I WISH the whole blogosphere got worried" - Jon)

Tuesday night I was at a rehearsal, when I got a call telling me to come home because he needed to go to the ER and wanted me there. So of course I'm thinking, "Man this is bad timing. I was making some really good headway in this rehearsal. Thanks a lot...."

No really I was more than happy to attend. After all, I would want the same treatment if it was me going to the hospital.

So arriving home, I found Jon lying on the couch, and we called an ambulance so he could stay in a comfortable position, and hopefully get through the waiting process quicker. From this point on we commence "Devin lurks in the background like a ghost and watches discomfort unfold."

From the corner I lurked in at home, I watched as the paramedics asked question after question. "Scale of 1-10, how much pain?" "What is your recent medical history?" "If a train leaves Paris at 4:10 going 150 mph, and is headed for Freiburg, but has to make a stop in...."

Finally we piled into the ambulance, where I lurked and was occasionally minimally regarded by one of the paramedics. Jon lay on his little stretcher, with his little sheet, and his many seat belts, and we rolled and bumped along. A few times the ambulance hit pot holes at a tremendous speed and I thought, "Good thing I am in an ambulance right now, cuz I just threw out my back. And I can't feel my feet. And my tongue is bleeding." *shakes head* that didn't happen. *nods...* yes it did....

As we pulled into the hospital, we were greeted by the ever so pungent and fantastic image of a homeless person bawling out one of the nurses, who I heard say, "Sir, that isn't very nice. You shouldn't call people stupid. No one is calling you stupid." The scene carried on behind me, as if it had been staged for those of us who were new to the hospital environment and needed a feeling of chaotic authenticity to punctuate the already uncomfortable experience. Another nurse proceeded to take Jon's information, and asked him many of the same questions that the paramedic already asked...which begs the question, why ask the first time if no one is going to regard the answers?

Then we were asked to wait. We waited a normal amount of time. The ambulance hadn't helped speed anything up, and I watched the other ten people in the waiting room with a strange fascination. None of the people were there for even close to the same reason we were. Finally Jon was called, and I sat for a long time talking on the phone and trying not to feel nervous. I wrote the following in my journal, after thinking about the possibility of appendicitis:

Today's imagining is the one that follows the story of the appendix. I like to think it had it's glory day. It was once a vital organ that flew in to the rescue of the early man, pelt cape flying magnificently. It was like a cure-all. Broken arms healed faster, colds were heated, and scrapes were sterilized with the power of mother's kiss.

After a few millenniums it found it was getting old and tired and was losing its touch. Sometimes Appendix would mend fevers, and break bones, instead of the opposite. So early man said,

"Appendix, you have been a loyal friend. You have taught me to heal. I want you to choose a new job. Something simpler and less important. You deserve a luxurious retirement."

So Appendix went about exploring his options. It thought providing internal heat was too time consuming, and aiding the tastebuds was too much of a tease. So it decided to settle down near the large intestine, and commenced it's long and easy life as a pack-rat.

And man hated it ever since.

I was finally called into Jon's little room, where he was lying, in a hospital gown (teehee, wish I had pictures). I was instructed by the very nice nurse to help him drink this icky stuff to make his insides glow for the cat-scan that he would be getting in a couple of hours. So every ten minutes I poured him this whitish stuff that smelled vaguely of milk and lemon, and I felt useful. Jon felt helpless. They gave him morphine. He felt helpless and slightly loopy.

We moved to another room. We don't know why. We were there for literally half an hour.

They moved us to another, smaller room with a more comfortable bed, where I sat on a square foot of real estate, and Jon lay in anguish, wishing he didn't have an IV in his arm (keeping him hydrated and drugged). Minutes ticked. I lay my head down to try to sleep, and woke up and this time literally couldn't feel my toes. My tongue wasn't bleeding though. Discomfort doesn't begin to describe my night on that chair. Jon got no sleep at all, worried that he would jerk and pull the IV out. The cat-scan took five minutes, and we got the results FOUR HOURS LATER.

Meanwhile we were visited by a few nurses of varying degrees of attractiveness and pleasantness. The sounds of patients sleeping, and snoring, and farting, and moaning was very obvious through the curtain-walls. When I got up to ask for some water, the nurse directing me to it gave me vague directions from five feet away, while I groggily walked inch by inch so as not to miss the fountain and look like a dumbass. I looked like a dumbass anyway. Why couldn't she just take me to it?? Five feet, I tell you.

Finally 7:30 AM rolled around. We had been there since 10:45 PM. The doctor came in to tell Jon that nothing was wrong with him that was visible, and that he should just take anti-spasm medication for his bladder and percoset for the pain. He said we could leave. He hurried out of our curtained room, and on to the next patient who had shocked himself and was worried that it would somehow accelerate his leukemia. The doctor said that was unlikely, and that he could leave.

I have always liked the term, "dead pan." It makes me think of a frying pan, which in addition to having never been alive, is laying even more dead than usual. This is what I saw when I looked at the doctor. Gotta love the ER.

Also, I have never needed an Egg McMuffin and Hash Browns as badly as I did that day. Thank God for greasy horrible food to get us through the tough times.

Thank you Herb Patterson, inventor of the Egg McMuffin!

So updating Jon's condition, he feels somewhat better. Nothing is perfect. He is headed to his first day back to work tomorrow.

We still don't know what the actual problem is.

Subculture: Unfit Parents' Club

You have ALL been there. You are cruising the aisles of Target, Wal Mart, or your local supermarket, and you find yourself gravitating away from Aisle 10 due to the horrible racket coming from the other side of the shelving unit. You don't know what started it, you don't know who it involves. All you know is that you can do nothing about it, and to keep your sanity you have to keep as far away from it as possible.

Yes, I am talking about the crying baby being ruthlessly ignored by it's mother, who is too busy talking on the phone, or looking through mini skirts to pay any attention to the blobby set of vocal cords that is quickly growing painfully hoarse.

It is situations like this that make you want to stay away from Target, Wal Mart and any public store with particularly echoey acoustics. Yet we all must occasionally patronize one or more of these places. And now you know why iPods were invented.

Earlier this evening on a particularly excrutiating ride on the B Line, a member of the UPC (Unfit Parents' Club) showed us all that no matter how long it takes to get home, and how often the T shuts down unexpectedly, or how many Red Sox fans can be crammed against you, it can always be worse. There could be a crying baby being ignored. How naive we all can be sometimes. Remember the Target acoustics and how annoying it can be to browse through knock-off designer blouses with a crying baby in the vacinity? Just keep in mind, there is always another side of the store to retreat to when things get heavy. There is no where to hide on the T.

Just try to escape...

As we entered the T and saw the adorable blob of smiliness, I noticed that it was holding a T-mobile Sidekick cell phone. Adorable, right? Awwww, it's so cute thinking it can operate a complicated electronic device. How wrong I was. As soon as the device was taken from the baby, a sound of anguish and horror filled the T, that absolutely no one could ignore....except for it's mother. She looked to be about 18 years old, and was in desperate need of making a phone call, or I hoped she was, otherwise she was causing her baby to scream completely needlessly. Around them was a crowd of people bunched together, hovering over the tiny stroller, and my thoughts were as follows:

"Pay attention to your baby. You have given her nothing to distract herself with,
you won't touch her, and she is frightened by the giant mass of strangers staring at
her due to the screaming that she has been given permission (by you) to continue."

Meanwhile, my friend had inserted his earbuds, and was zoning to some tunes to drown out the din. I was so uptight, I hadn't the strength, nor the wherewithall to do the same, or even to take a seat when it became available. All I could do was watch, and hope something would change.

The crying went on. And on and on. Finally I looked over when the noise had subsided to find the unsurprising image of the baby once again playing with the cell phone. Everytime it was seized again, the hoarse crying began again, and my thoughts were ammended.

"You are raising a child addicted to flashing things that only you should
have access to. In essence you are giving her the idea that she is allowed to have
anything she wants if she cries hard enough. You laugh at her when she throws
tantrums, and she doesn't change. You also figure that since you are the mother
and supposedly have control, everyone around you should suffer as much as you.
But really, all you have control over is the level of irritation being exhibited by the
other passengers. You have NO control over your child. Get ready to be ruled by a brat
who will grow into a rebellious teen and make similarly bad decisions that will lead you to
being the 36 year-old grandmother of another bratty baby that will annoy everyone."

Now, I know she couldn't have made the conscious decision to have this child. Because the evidence that I was able to witness showed that she had no interest in putting forth a little lady into the world full of grace and generosity. And really who would decide to have a baby for the purpose of making it into a needy little brat who you barely pay attention to? No one. Or no one with sense. And really, it was the lack of sense that likely led to the conception of this, admittedly cute, devil's child. So I am not going to go on a tangent about the accesibility of condoms, or the power of saying no. There is no sense in infusing logic into the situation.

You can't really use logic with this one either

My favorite part of all of this was the lack of concern that the UPC member showed for the staring passengers' comfort. I can't fathom having that little care for other people. Such little regard for strangers who are judging you,

(AKA this girl)

definitely shows a lack of regard for your child. And really for yourself.

Side note: just looked up movies about teen pregnancy and a guy on a forum suggested Alien, Aliens, Alien 3, and Alien Resurrection. Props. Mega props.

On the final bit of steam that I have left regarding this topic, I would like to mention that the UPC member's pet name for her child was, "Fea," which in Spanish, means "ugly girl." That would be cute coming from someone who has all her other ducks in a row. This girl's ducks were wandering around the room with no regard for order.

Subculture: Doctors who think that they are gods

In recent weeks, my boyfriend has been experiencing some rather unusual health problems. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't visit the doctor for any random problem, and honestly I don't blame him. Doctors can be difficult. They can give you half-assed information, all the time believing that what they say is gospel, because let's face it..they are gods. Or at least that's what they want us to think.

Yup.

When he first attempted to approach a doctor regarding his new condition, he was met with a prostate exam, and orders to take antibiotics and 2400 mgs of ibuprofen per day. Ok sure. So there's a problem and let's just get rid of all the germs and all the pain and make it all better. But wait, Mr. Doctor. You don't even know for sure what the problem is. Hmmm back to the drawing board.

Dr. Scary says "this should fix it"

Three days later Mr. Specialist says, "Erm...kidney stone...*cough*...should pass soon...." Kthxbye. Mr. Specialist sure wasn't very special.

Hypnosis is not a viable option.

Three more days pass, new problem arises, new doctor to see on short notice. Bound to be a bust. Everybody is just so flippant and fast moving these days. 3:00 comes; appointment time. Three hours, a blood panel, an ekg, and a urine sample later, Mr. New Doctor has all his ducks in a row. What does he say? "Sometimes doctors hear one thing and they just jump to conclusions, but I don't want to do that. I want to make sure we cover all our bases and solve the problem."

Ok cool. That's good.....wait wait wait. Hold on. You want to solve the problem???? What the hell were the other doctors trying to do?

Mr Doctor #1: "I declare an enlarged prostate! So it is said, so it shall be written."
Mr. Specialist: "I declare a kidney stone! So it is said, so it shall be written."

Sounds so godly, no? I KNOW EVERYTHING BECAUSE I WENT TO GRADUATE SCHOOL FOR A BUNCH OF YEARS AND I HAVE A PIECE OF PAPER THAT DETAILS THE AWESOMENESS OF MY BRAIN. Sure. So why do we have so many doctors, if you know everything? Surely if you are so smart, you can also be omnipotent. Yes? Oh...no? So where did your answer come from? Oh....out of your ass, you say? Or is that what you were searching for during the prostate exams? You couldn't pull one out of your own ass, so....Ok I won't go on.

Really, people. It shouldn't take three doctors to finally get to the idea that "all bases should be covered" and make sure that all the tests can be done. The sad thing is that this happens all the time. How often do we hear about this exact sort of thing. "I had five doctors tell me I was imagining my symptoms until finally the sixth found out I have cancer."

This is a message to doctors: I know you are on a budget, and sometimes so is your patient. At least give them the option up front of running all necessary tests, so you can be sure. Otherwise they will have to spend a bunch of money anyways to go to various different doctors.

Anyways, thank you Mr. New Doctor. Hopefully you continue to be as helpful as you seemed today. Tuesday brings an ultrasound, and continued work with a doctor who is "intrigued and excited to learn more." I hope he was top of his class. He is so far at the top of the list.

And yes, the clip art was necessary. There's just too much good clip art out there to illustrate my point.

Book Corner! With an Asian flare

I spent a good deal of time maybe a year or more ago reading a bunch of Asian-themed books. The reason is mostly that people were giving books to me and they all happened to be Asian themed. Three such books are listed below:

The Bonesetter's Daughter by Amy Tan
Saving Fish From Drowning by Amy Tan
Snowflower and the Secret Fan by Lisa See

The Bonesetter's Daughter - Amy Tan
I believe this was my first endeavor into Amy Tan's work. I had heard, of course, of the Joy Luck Club, but didn't know much about the way that she wrote. With The Bonesetter's Daughter I was expecting great storytelling, but didn't realize the extent that I would be whisked away.

It is the story of a young woman named Ruth, who is making a living as a ghostwriter and is trying to juggle her career and the care of her mother, who is exhibiting signs of dimentia. Her mother, LuLing, came originally from China, and as she starts to lose her memory and her ability to function properly, she strives to tell Ruth the story of her life, and how she grew up. From the time that her story begins to when it ends, the reader is swallowed up in a beautiful tangle of history. Her life as a child, growing up in a family known for making ink draws you into the culture. Her life as a young woman learning to help others during World War II as China is ravaged by the Japanese soldiers pulls at the reader's heartstrings. The secret that runs through the entire story intrigues and keeps the reader wishing to know more. LuLing's secret is the entire reason that she began to tell her story at all. She wished to make sure that it was passed down before she forgot altogether.

The heart that is exhibited in this story is deep and full of beauty, and I recommend it to anyone looking for a soothing writing style to carry them into a land of wonder.

Great!!

Saving Fish From Drowning - Amy Tan
Oh Amy Tan. How you drew me in with one book, and then pushed me away with another. Let me just say, that her writing style stays true. Always lovely. Always soothing. The characters in this, however, were anything but soothing, and I felt very disconnected and unable to relate.

The story is one of modern day adventure, as a group of several very different people from America go on a planned expedition through China that takes some very unplanned turns. The group of rich, comfortable, sometimes bratty Americans is forced to find out just what they are made of in order to get back safely to the lives that they love. The story is narrated by the ghost of a woman who was originally going to lead them through the vast country, but suddenly died before they ever left. Her disconnected involvement is always a bit frustrating, but intriguing nonetheless.

My biggest problem came in seeing the characters constantly complaining mostly about really petty things, that real people would probably complain about. The reason this bothers me is that I don't really fancy reading a fictional book about something that seems too irritatingly real. They are all very uninformed, and therefore, they cannot make justified decisions. But they do it anyways. Now I see why this is a viable way of telling a story. However, it just made me want the book to end. Quickly. Sorry, Amy. You had a great idea....it just didn't resonate with me.

Less than great

Snowflower and the Secret Fan - Lisa See
This book not only gave me greater insight into the lives of Chinese families in 19th century China, but also into the lives of women in a predominantly male driven society. The tale of two young girls, bound by a pen-pal style friendship, touches the soul, in a beautiful, and tragic way.

The reader is privy to the extreme pains of foot-binding, the conditioning of young ladies, but most importantly the preservation of a secret language, written only by women, which allows them the freedom of literacy, and the decadence of a world apart from men. The two main characters are separated by their families differing lifestyles, but they are easily bound by their promise to write to each other, and learn to love each other despite their opposing prospects. Their love goes deeper than the words on the page, and the sweetness of their relationship tugs at the heart.

A glowing account of two lives, the book traverses the lives of the girls from the time they are four to their last days. At the time that I was reading it, I regarded it as more than fiction. It felt as though it should be the true story of two very real girls, which made me all the more voracious for the details, with which the pages were jam-packed. A lovely read throughout. Thinking back on it now, makes me want to possibly revisit it in the future.

Exquisite!

But you don't have to take my word for it!!