Now, That’s Entertainment….

A visit to a doctor’s office is always a good way to observe people and learn.

I had an appt. on Thursday at 1:30. This is a regular good ol’ GP who sees anybody for anything. My Phys. Assist. at my old pdoc’s office got me in with her. She’s very popular. Proof of that is the 1 1/2 hours that I had to sit in the waiting room.

Usually, I take a book along to read but this day, I forgot it on the kitchen table. Not in the mood for conversation, I sat and listened to other people talk. Soon, I found myself jumping in on the talk.

One guy told a really sad story about how his wife got hooked on prescription meds when his young son had died. A pdoc prescribed her several different emotion-numbing meds to get her through her grief. Soon, he said that she had become addicted. She would go through her month’s supply and than hit the streets to buy more. Poor guy said that he had lost his home, his car, and all of his savings to the insatiable appetite that she had for the drugs. He said that she weighed 140 lbs when their son died and was now down to 79 pounds. He had sought treatment for her from several venues but so far, had no luck in helping her kick the monkey on her back. So sad…….

One lady told a story about a local pdoc who is known in this area for his generosity in prescribing drugs. He and 3  other staff members at his office would see around 150 patients a day. That’s around 40 each.  Forty patients in eight hours….you do the math. Spending just enough time with each patient to “treat ‘em and street ‘em”…..handing out prescriptions like  Halloween candy. She said that as soon as you left his office, you’d be approach by people in the parking lot saying, “What did they give you? Do you want to trade it for what I have? Or, do you want to sell it?” Crying shame….pdoc parking lot transformed into a drug dealer’s paradise.

After the few people that I was talking to got called back into the doc’s office, I was sitting there reading the signs on the walls. You know….how to tell if a mole is cancerous, why it’s better to breast feed your baby, the importance of exercise in seeking wellness, etc.

Suddenly, I heard a garbled voice say, “Hey, you know anybody who wants to spend time with me?” The voice was coming from over my shoulder and I turned to see who was being addressed. It was me that the lady was talking to. Now, don’t get your panties in a wad and call me insensitive or politically incorrect…but….the lady had one of the illnesses/diseases that makes one talk in a halting manner and like you have your mouth full of marbles or something. I am not poking fun at her. I just want you to get the picture. 

“on my soap box”

I hesitate to use the word “retarded” because I know I’ll get somebody on their high horse giving me a lecture about using the word. Just like the word “midget”. We are no longer allowed to use that word. What’s wrong with using words that describe somebody? It’s stupid to have to think of a whole prhase to describe something when one word gives you the exact picture. I turned around and looked over the half-wall separating the waiting room into two halves. There was a dark haired lady wearing glasses peering over the wall at me.

“steps off soapbox”

“Excuse me?” I said.

Now remember, she was very hard to understand.

“Do you know anybody who wants a job driving me around? It would be on Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday.  It pays $7.40 an hour.But, not Wednesday.”

This came out soundling like “Dyou know eeny buddy wants a job dwiving me awound. It would be on Money, Toosedee, Fursday, and Fwyday. But, no Wensdee”.

I stilled wasn’t sure what she was trying to say. As I said, she was hard to understand and what I am typing that she said is my best guess. Also, I got the impression that she thought seven dollars and forty cents was really high pay for driving her around.

As politely as I could, I said, “No, I do not know of anyone.” And, went back to reading about the results of chewing tobacco over a life time. There were some really ugly pictures in the brochure. I was fascinated by a picture of a young guy with half of his face gone as a result of smokeless tobacco aka dip, snuff when I heard this…..

“You’d need a dwirvers license, insurwance, no smoking, no swinking, and a back-up check”.

A BACK-UP CHECK???? WTF is a …..oh….then, it hit me that she meant a “background check”.

Once again, I told her that I didn’t know of anyone.

“See dat car in the parking lot with the barwes (should be bears) in the window?” She said.

“Yes, I do.” I replied.

She said, “Those are kwissing barwes! I bought them for my mover (mother).”

I thought to myself, “Why is the government paying someone to drive her around when her mother has a perfectly good car plum full of kissing bears in the back window.

I couldn’t have asked even if I wanted to but she was at it again…..

She began questioning me….

“Do you have caw (car)? Do you have insurwance?”

“Yes, I do”, I replied, “But I am not looking for a job.”

She wasn’t letting off of me……”You would get paid a lot of money…..$7.40 an howa. And, you’d only have to do it on Mondee, Toosdee, not Wensdee, Thursdee, and Fridee. You’d just have to take me to appointwnets and spend time with me.” She insisted.

My head began to hurt. It was bordering on pounding. I am usually a very nice person and try to be helpful. But this woman was driving me CWAZY!

“And, ya gotta get a backup check” she added.

My head was going to explode.

“Listen, lady” I was trying to be nice and calm. “I can’t take the job because I smoke and drink and you said that wasn’t allowed”.

Ok…I just told a lie to a retarded woman. Bad, bad bad!

Being ever persistent, she said this, “Well, you can dwink and smoke after work. You just can’t dwink and smoke when you are with me.”

My brain was working overtime trying to find something to shut her up. AHA….I said this….

“It’s embarrassing but I wouldn’t pass a backup (used her word) check. I haven’t been out of prison very long. Plus, I smoke and drink from early morning til I go to bed. I wake up and make me a Bloody Mary first thing every morning and then light a cigarette and drink and smoke. I’m sorry but I can not help you!”

She said, “well, do you know anybody else………..”

My head felt like John Henry the Steel Driving man was hammering it.

“NO!” I said.

TG, the nurse called my name. As I was going thru the door, a little elderly man leaned over and whispered to me, “That’s some good quick thinking, honey!”

To Quote Jake Houseman…..

Remember the movie, Dirty Dancing? Jake Houseman was “Baby”s father and did not want her around sexy dance instructor Johnny Castle. But, by the end of the movie, he has changed his mind about Johnny and says…..

“When I’m wrong, I say I’m wrong.”

So, this is where I eat crow and admit that I’m wrong, I suppose.

Several months ago, I decided to go off all antidepressants. I found the side effects to be worse than the actual depression. I didn’t like the lack of energy, the weight gain, the insomnia, the shakes or, the feelings of anxiety. Add to that the expense (since I don’t have insurance), the time taken up driving to a doctor’s visit only to be seen for around 2 minutes.

I had had ENOUGH! So, I set out on a mission to find some other way to keep my head out of the black hole. I figure that there had to be another way to be able to carry on from day to day without being pumped full of pharmaceuticals.

I bought a Bose speaker set for my iPod….figuring that loud and clear music would rev up my cob-webb covered brain. I made a promise to myself to get outside and get fresh air and hopefully sunshine every single day. I’ve been trying to eat healthy to make sure that I get the right vitamins and nutrients. I went so far as to start drinking Mona Vie, which is some expensive shit. I bought Greens-To-Go which are packets of grounded fruits and vegetables. They are grounded into a powder and I drink them every day. I bought sublingual vitamin-B….the one that is liquid and you put under your tongue.

The results have been not good. So, as Jake said, when I’m wrong, I say I’m wrong.

It just about makes me wanna puke to say this….but….I need an antidepressant.

Now, the problem is I don’t know which one to try. I’ve tried almost everyone on the market and even one that is not from this country, therefore not FDA approved.

I need help. I need all of you (the readers) to tell me what is working for you. Tell me the side effects. Tell me how long it took to work, the cost, the convenience, etc.

There are several new ones on the market that I haven’t tried yet. I did try Cymbalta and it worked fairly well at first. The biggest problem with it was the horrible withdrawal. I felt sick for days.

But, I am getting desperate. Everyday living is becoming a struggle. I am behind in every aspect of my life. I can’t get the desire to go anything going. And, I have NO energy.

This is not living. This is merely existing and I don’t know how much longer I can do this.

I’ve lost almost all contact with friends and family. I can’t bring myself to  call them or see them.  It takes more effort than I can muster.

So….anybody got any suggestions???????

I’m really about as low as I’ve ever been.

A BSC Pdoc?

No, not BSC; just a POS.

Awesome Grand Rounds, doc.

He talked about how if you’re a nonbeliever the Koran says you should have your head cut off, you should have oil poured down your throat, you should be set on fire.

It’s not because he was poked fun at because of his beliefs, nor because of   pre deployment distress syndrome (What the FUCK IS THAT?!)

Try as many in the media may, there is no excuse.  Only a reason.

It’s the jihad stupid.

I dunno why people go into denial, or make excuses for the inexcusable.  Is it because they’re trying to make themselves feel better or safer?  I do know that all this political correctness can get a lot more people killed.

update:

The murderous piece of shit terrorist and his connection to other like-minded “traumatized (and/or crazy…fill in the excuse blank) believers in the religion of peace hate & terror”

Say it ain’t so

Nah, can’t be…not big pharma and the most transparent and ethical …..oh fuckit.

Ace calls it pretty much a direct quid pro quo to the tune of $150 million

 All the dirty details (and links) can be found at Ace’s place.

Grave News for All “defectives”, (or “No CPR for you…you nutcase”)

We called it “The night of thirteen codes”  I remember where I was standing (5 surgical) when an icy chill ran down my spine after a resident half jokingly said, “Just think if we had socialized health care”  (In resident-ese, “It could be much worse…we’d be even shorter staffed…and possibly lacking things we needed.  Patients could die.”)

Perhaps that is one of the reasons why I feel so strongly about this topic. I was proud of where I worked and the care we gave…for me, a good night consisted of going home knowing we’d done our best with the best talent and equipment money could buy.  This was not some “evil, for profit” hospital; it was a non-profit, Catholic medical center.  No one was ever turned away.

My patients ranged from:

The well insured state senator, to members of opposing gangs who’d shot each other (I don’t think either of their gangs offered health coverage), to the working poor with no coverage,(in which people filled out assistance from the hospital forms…usually the hospital ended up writing it off) to the homeless, who knew that a claim of chest pain would get them: compassionate conversation and offers of help from one of the Sisters, a shower, a warm meal, clean clothes and a bed for the night…I guess they figured that the battery of blood work and the stress test the next morning was worth it.

I don’t remember ever seeing an ability to pay status being stamped upon any chart.  Everyone was treated the same. When your business is saving lives, all that other stuff seems like bullshit.

“It could be much worse…we’d be even shorter staffed…and possibly lacking things we needed.  Patients would die.” – Nowhere in my wildest nightmare did I think to translate that into….”a computer printout would tell us who to let die, so our even smaller staff could be freed up to hunt down old, scarce equipment…and even older, much less effective medications”

That’s just one reason I’m so passionate about this subject.  The other began almost 25 years ago, when trying to explain to an employee of a PPO,  in a city far away: “Why my critically ill child could not be treated in their “preferred hospital” and had been transferred….and hell yes they’d be covering this.” I won. Dealing with a PPO will seem like child’s play compared to dealing with some government paper pusher. Trust me on this.

Enough with the digress-a-thon; and on with the post.

Good News for the disabled

Life. It happens. Sometimes it’s just a hassle getting to the good parts

**Example** I started this as a draft on Sunday and am just getting back to posing it today

WTF was that goo inside Mr Armstrong?

One site says Stretch Armstrong was filled with corn syrup.
When I dissected my little brother’s Stretch Armstrong, I remember it looking more like a type of runny Gak, that stuff my kids played with (note…Gak stains ceilings and walls)

Playdoh smells better & you can do more with it

Back to Stretch for a minute. That’s me.  I’m being pulled in several directions at the same time; and I don’t see it slowing down for about a month.  Did a bunch of people peer into my mind and see what I’d already planned; and then proceed to mess my shit up? Evidently yes. In one case, I know that is a fact.

I have four of these going on, or am directly involved in them right now….Add home purchse/move to the list of “Needs d’s attention.” On the upside, at least death and pregnancy are not on the to do list. (fingers crossed that ex brother in law does not succumb to his pancreatic cancer at the wedding…I kid you not)

Wow, now that I’ve  looked at it; and see that my life is actually included in some sort of “life changing stress list” ….shouldn’t I be having a meltdown?  Here I thought I was just busy.

I was originally just posting to say, “As of late, I’m only online in spurts, I post drafts that I don’t seem to be able to get back to editing until they are old news; and will be back in full force mid-August-and if anyone has a spare million dollars, feel free to send it”

***waiting for the meltdown***

*stolen smiley*

Okay…I’m at my best when working under pressure; so WHY am I so paralyzed?

Am I just so used to being powerless over this mess known as my life that I’ve given up?  Probably not.  I don’t feel as if I’ve given up. I don’t feel panicked either.

In my old life, I was a list maker.  What’s the point of making a list when one is unable to do anything on it?

At least Dr. Honeydew seems to see through my bs and makes much needed house-calls.

Life, it happens if one participates or not. I just want to bury my head and come out with everything over and done…and done right.

I best get to it.

No Thanks, We Already Have One

A single payer system, that is; and it’s not working out too well for Native Americans. (unless rationing, incompetence and neglect count as a good thing)

Wealthier tribes can supplement the federal health service budget with their own money. But poorer tribes, often those on the most remote reservations, far away from city hospitals, are stuck with grossly substandard care. The agency itself describes a “rationed health care system.”

Seems the poor it’s supposed to be helping are being screwed. (consider that a preview)

In Washington, a few lawmakers have tried to bring attention to the broken system as Congress attempts to improve health care for millions of other Americans. But tightening budgets and the relatively small size of the American Indian population have worked against them. Emphasis mine

……well that’s just them, I’m sure they’ll perk right up and listen when it comes to the disabled and the mentally ill, not to mention the poor, the elderly etc..

This is a tragic example of what’s in store.

UPDATE

“It didn’t take long to run into an “uh-oh” moment when reading the House’s “health care for all Americans” bill. Right there on Page 16 is a provision making individual private medical insurance illegal.

……Washington does not have the constitutional or moral authority to outlaw private markets in which parties voluntarily participate. It shouldn’t be killing business opportunities, or limiting choices, or legislating major changes in Americans’ lives..”

Read about it here

and I’m sure the average Joe will be first last  in line for new treatments (not to mention what this will do to research)

Influenza…hello? Why don’t they friggin worry about that instead right now?
uh oh…devil is always in those details, looks like not only those evil, successful people will be paying:

Someone has started to read this monstrosity of a bill here

Then Section 401 kicks in.  Any individual (or family) that does not have health insurance would have to pay a new tax, roughly equal to the smaller of 2.5% of your income or the cost of a health insurance plan.

Just as the Cap and Tax scheme isn’t about helping the environment, the stimulus wasn’t about creating jobs or helping the economy; and “health care reform” isn’t about equal access for all.  Follow the money and see who benefits. (time and time again, it’s not We the People, as advertised)

Why the hurry?

Why don’t they actually read the bill?

Are Underpants Gnomes in charge?

What a clusterfuck.

The Taste of Depression…

 

Pdocs/mental health professionals encourage us to talk about our depression. I wonder what their reaction would be if we really told them what we think??????

ScienceDaily (Dec. 6, 2006) — New research has shown that it might be possible to use taste as an indicator as to whether someone is depressed, and as a way of determining which is the most suitable drug to treat their depression. Read more…… and here.

Ok…we’ve all agreed on what depression feels like….cold, slimy,black, hopeless, etc.

But, have you ever given any thought to what depression taste like?

Depression tastes  like….

3 day old roadkill in 95 degree weather on a freshly blacktopped highway

blood in your mouth from teeth knocked loose by the biggest bully in junior high

the smelly bile vomited by a cancer patient living out their last days in hospice

the green bubbly snot from an untreated infection on a little kid’s upper lip

dry, dusty cornfields dying from no rain

the sadness of a homeless parent watching their child cry with hunger

the panic that rises in the throat of a victim of repeated sexual abuse

the helplessness of an elderly person waiting for a Sunday visitor who never shows

the panic of a bulimic  looking for a place to vomit after over indulging

This is what depression really tastes like. No joke. For real.  Any questions?

What’s in Your Bubble?

AC just asked me if I’d ever had a day when I was glad my thoughts were not visible in a thought bubble. *ummm yeah, like all the time*

no words