2009

Another year gone. Wow.

I'll be thirty-nine this year. For the first time, people, so cut that out! Actually I don't have a problem with aging as far as the numbers go, but wow... thirty-nine? Am I really pushing that close to forty?

I look at what I've done with my life since I became an adult. I'm not where I thought I'd be. My plan back when I graduated from college was to teach, go to grad school, get married, have a couple of children after three years of marriage, and continue that grad work while I was staying at home with my perfectly-behaved genius-level offspring, one of whom would, naturally, be a girl. After that, I figured we'd see.

Instead here I am breathing down the neck of forty, and... ouch.

I managed the teaching thing. I taught English to students ranging from seventh through ninth grades, and additionally taught elective courses with students through twelth grade. But after six years, I'd had enough. I loved my students, and there are absolutely some rockin' moments from my teaching career, but those good moments didn't outweigh the complete exhaustion I felt while in that profession, the sick feeling that started every Sunday afternoon by 2:00 p.m. as I realized Monday was coming, or the so-sick-to-my-stomach-I-really-threw-up episodes I'd have each morning of the first day of school that the students arrived.

Every year people, I was so sick I literally puked.

So uhm... no. Teaching for a lifetime wasn't in the cards for me. That said, I think my kids' teachers are awesome and I am so glad that there are people who are able to make teaching their life's work. I'm also glad I had the teaching experience because I think that as a parent it makes me even more able to see the educator's side of things when one of my blessed offspring does something marvelously obnoxious.

I also managed the getting married thing. Twice, in fact, which wasn't in The Plan. Nor were the two divorces that followed at all in the plan. I come from what we now refer to as an "intact" family, meaning one father and mother who have been married for forty-one-and-a-half years now. I knew nothing else, growing up, and I had every expectation that my marriage would be the same way.

Nope. My first husband was a child when we got married, and looking back I married him for all the wrong reasons so it's not as if I'm blameless in the situation. After a couple of years of me working and him being irresponsible and basically lolling around, we called it quits. It was pretty amicable as far as those things go, although there were also some very bad moments, again, as those things tend to go. But we didn't have any children, so that made things much easier when we decided to end it.

About six months after my first husband and I divorced, I met the father of my children. He seemed to me to be everything that my first husband wasn't: adult, responsible, employed. We were married almost a year to the day after my first divorce was final.

Note to self: dating for only six months before you get married? Not the best idea. Not saying it can't work for some people, but in my situation I really should have employed some watchful waiting, especially as he was so gung-ho on getting married. I guess some covers can only be maintained for so long.

During that same timeframe I'd moved back to my hometown and was simultaneously working and taking classes toward an information systems degree. I figured that since dealing with actual humans all day apparently wasn't in the cards for me, I'd be better off specializing in machines.

Enter pregnancy #1.

Then pregnancy #2.

My sons' father traveled for a living and for the first four years of our marriage he was home a maximum of one week per month, and a minimum of one weekend every four months. That made it pretty easy to handle the little relationship issues that would crop up, because there was such a tiny window to have to deal with things.

It also left a very tiny window for conception, but apparently he and I were exceptionally fertile together considering our reproduction rate.

The elder son and I were pretty much a unit of two for the first four years of his life. Due to his father's work schedule, I was essentially a single parent. I was and still am incredibly blessed that I live in the same town as my parents, who helped out amazingly (and continue to do so), but even so, I'm not going to say it's easy knowing that everything that happens, and I mean everything, all comes down to just you. No parenting team -- just a solo act. The buck started and stopped with me.

I continued taking classes for my IS degree, and in that time I learned that hey, I can do math!! Hee. This is a realization that may never have come to me if I hadn't opted out of teaching. But see, math is definite. Concrete. There is always a right answer. It's a beautiful thing, and I learned to appreciate that beauty once my brain realized this important point: math is just another language.

So I learned to translate math into English, and maintained an appallingly high GPA through Calculus 1, Calculus 2, Physics 1, Physics 2, Boolean Algebra, statistics, microeconomics, macroeconomics, Accounting 1...

I think I'm more proud of that than the Phi Beta Kappa key I earned with my B.A.

With the birth of our second son, my then-husband made the choice to come home off the road (which he'd been wanting to do for some time). That's where the problems really started.

Less said about that, the better.

Still, we had two children, and I did love him very much. So we tried, and tried... and during that time I went back to work when the Gum Zombie was eighteen months old and have continued to work since that time.

My classes have gone on hold indefinitely. I'm not even sure I want to do the IS degree anymore. I spent a couple of years working in the legal field as a secretary for attorneys who handled criminal and family law. I loved it. Every day there was something new, I was mentally stimulated. It was awesome. But the awesomeness began to pale with the realization that I was taking these people home with me.

I had no one to talk to about any of this either, because my ex was dealing with his own work issues and anything I experienced simply couldn't be heard as his problems were so much more severe to him. So I was left to stew, and finally, I listened to my father when he suggested (for the fifth time) that I really consider putting in my application for the job of office manager at his company.

I'd worked for Dad's firm for years, off and on. I started there when I was eighteen years old as the office go-fer, and over time, during college vacations, during summers when I was teaching, after my first divorce, and during my second pregnancy when the boys' dad was temporarily out of work (he used to work for WorldCom, and we all know how that went). During those years I progressed from running errands and scrubbing bathrooms to doing much of the typing and adminstrative work. I already knew the business, and my training time would be minimal.

I've been there since July of 2006, and I don't regret a moment of it. I don't have the issues with clients that I had working at the law firms, and I don't feel sick on Monday mornings. Sure there are some weeks when I'd rather be, say, HOME... but that's due more to the incredible volume of stuff I have to do here at the house (and occasional bouts of laziness) than it has to do with any work-related stress.

This past July, my marriage imploded. Suddenly everything I'd been ignoring (I was in serious denial) came to a head.

I couldn't ignore it anymore.

And yet I didn't leave. Even then, I tried to stick it out. We had nearly ten years together. We had two sons together.

But finally, in September, it was over. There wasn't any huge revelation at that point like the explosion in July. It's just that the final straw hit. Like that last feather on the balance that tips the scale... poof.

Over.

Even now, things aren't quite balanced. The boys' father loves them in his own way and sees them once a week most weeks on Wednesdays for about three hours. That's all he says he can manage. No overnights, not anymore. He can't see working and then having to pick up the children and then having to take them home, get them fed, ready for bed, etc.

Hmmm... sounds like something I do nearly every single day. But I guess I'm just special like that.

And as for child support? It ain't happening. He finally found work a few months after the divorce was final, but it's barely over minimum wage and he's been unable to find a job that pays more. The child support he's ordered to pay is below state minimum guidelines for someone even making minimum wage, but still he makes no effort to even contribute a dime to his children's care.

I don't see it happening, either. Back when I was working in family law I was talking about people who seemed to believe that they shouldn't have to pay child support for their children, and in a rare fit of relevant communication the man told me, "Well, if you ever left me you'd never see a dime. I'd sooner disappear and change my identity than to ever pay child support again."

Lovely, eh? And yet, somewhere in my feeble obviously-overly-optimistic brain, I thought the responsibility I saw in him back at the beginning of the relationship would somehow kick in, and he'd see that children need the support, both emotional and financial, of both their parents.

That's one reason I actually wear my Phi Beta Kappa key: to remind me that I do have a brain, somewhere. All concrete evidence to the contrary.

So now, here I sit, on the cusp of thirty-nine. Twice-divorced. Single mother. Single income.

Two cats. One dog. Two beautiful brilliant sons.

One job, that miraculously covers all my expenses for the month. Barely, but it does cover them.

And one boyfriend I've been seeing since shortly after this divorce was final. No, that wasn't in the plan either. My intention, when I asked for the divorce, was just to stay single. I'm obviously no great shakes at picking husbands. The goal was simply peace.

I can do solitude. I can handle being a single parent. Although I'm the sole responsible adult in the household, with that comes some freedom. It's not all bad that the buck starts and stops with me.

The children are secure and happy. No, we don't have everything we want, but we have everything we need.

And yet, into that came this man. This wonderful, caring, patient, kind man. Over the past months (WAY more than six, thankyouvery much -- I do occasionally learn something) we've gotten to know each other better and better. And slowly, our lives have blended. It's been close to a year now, and he's still everything he appeared to be on first meeting.

He seemed responsible. He still is.

He seemed kind. He still is.

He knocked my socks off. He still does.

The forties? Not looking too bad.

Here's to a great 2009, everyone.

Note to Self:

Four mini-eclairs for breakfast? Likely not your best move.

Seriously folks -- major sugar rush here. Eeeeek!

More Pictorial Goodness

Here's a new one, taken of me getting ready for my sister's wedding:



I keep hoping they'll let me use it for my next drivers license photo.

In other news, heading out in a few minutes to the local reception for my sister and her husband. They got married up in NYC, and his family's in New York so many of them were able to make it, but with all our Florida friends and relatives my folks opted to also have a little shindig down here.

So my face is all spackled, my hair is done (and the humidity BETTER not be too bad... grrrr!!!), and in a bit here I'll be heading out the door.

My cold is much better and the fever is gone. I'm still coughing, and it's worse at night, but I think I'll make it through the evening without scaring anyone that I'm passing around some plague.

Small victories are good.

Christmas. Sick. Bleah.

On the first day of Christmas my body gave to me
A fever of 100.3.

Yippee.

Yep, I'm sick. As in so sick that I was "invited" to leave work yesterday about 2/3 through the workday lest I spread my disease to the masses.

Okay, so I guess I looked a bit silly wearing my coat in the middle of the afternoon, periodically pulling the hood up when I'd enter colder parts of the office.

Once I left the office, I drove home, completely forgetting that Teddy was at my mother's house being puppy-sat. Called her, and luckily it was okay for him to spend the night.

I went to sleep about 8:45. At 9:00 my mother called because Teddy was yapping and wouldn't shut up, so she was worried that they'd missed something in his bedtime routine. No, no, you're doing fine Mom... he's just thrown off.

The elder son wasn't wanting to go to bed before me, so for once I just said "Fine, you can stay up and watch TV until you're tired."

He watched Family Guy, he informed me this morning with great glee.

Ugh. I mean, I'll watch Family Guy because I find it amusing in one of those "this show is so terrible" kinds of ways, but NEVER when the children are up. It's not appropriate.

Sooo... still have presents to wrap. My elder son has likely gleaned more terribleness from the TV, the Gum Zombie is fretting about wrapping the presents they bought, and somehow I'm supposed to play Santa tonight and get everyone up and to my parents' house by 8:45 tomorrow morning.

But this too shall pass. Merry Christmas, everyone!

An Open Letter to My Co-Workers

I had to send out this e-mail a few minutes ago:

Folks,

I’m now missing not only my blue pen but my red one as well.

Either my pens become ambulatory over the weekends and flee my desk, or someone is aiding and abetting them in their escape.

If you need a pen, go to the shelves where they are stored and fetch one. If you need directions, ask me. In fact, you can just follow me as I walk there because I will be doing that momentarily to replace the ones that were hijacked.

If it’s on my desk, leave it there.

Thanks.
Amanda

Thing is, I know who works over the weekends most often. I even have a pretty good clue who's thieving my pens.

Inconveniently, he happens to be the company president.

Whoops.

Redemption Arc

Okay, since I bashed the snot out of The Biggest Loser's Vicky I figure I'd better also be fair here now since the finale has aired. In the final episode Vicky showed signs of being a different person from the one she was on the Biggest Loser ranch.

In her time on the show, Vicky (along with her alliance of her husband Brady and another couple Ed and Heba) had some pretty nasty confrontations with a gentleman named Phil, which would be part of the reason for my very silly tv-related seething. However, it appears during the finalists' time at home they still had conference calls with all 18 original contestants. During one of those calls, Vicky was overwhelmed with the time constraints upon her with trying to work out to win the contest, work and spend time with her children, and pretty much broke down. As she put it, she'd feel guilty spending time with her children because she felt she should be working out, and was feeling guilty spending time working out because she felt she should be with her children.

Vicky shared that at that time, this same Phil told her to just live in the moment, to value her time with her children when she was with them, and to value her workout time when she was working out. It's a simple enough prescription, but when you're trying to do everything and be all things to all people it's easy enough to forget.

So yay to Vicky for giving credit where credit is due and for not letting her broken foot get in the way of her weight loss.

And on a related note, Michelle won! Yay!!!

Survivor Gabon Finale - More Bitching and Moaning

It's reality TV central around my place. Hee. I guess in my ex's defense I should state that I really really like reality TV, so some of his hatred of it could have been due to my inordinate love of the genere.

That said, I was expected to watch up to 8 hours of football every Sunday and another 4 hours on Mondays throughout football season, so I thought my reality TV viewing was an even trade-off, but someone didn't agree with me there. Harumph.

Anyway...

We all know the outcome of Survivor Gabon, at least those of us who cared do: Bob won. Yay. And I won't put her name in here because I think she enjoys all the negative press, but the contestant whose name started with "C" and almost rhymes with "urine"... Oh. My. God.

I have never, in my life, seen such a despicable person on TV. And the amazing thing about it all is that she's not any type of negative-edit victim. In fact, she was upset because during the first half of the season she felt she was portrayed as a bit of a wall flower rather than the raging bitch that she truly is.

One of her statements from last night's finale was that she doesn't "find niceness to be an interesting personality trait," or words to that effect. I can't help think that any person who doesn't find niceness to be a valuable or interesting personality trait has been exceptionally sheltered. I would pity her when she finally meets the person who can out-vicious her, because she's going to be sobbing and bleeding for weeks, except I think she's pretty much going to deserve it. Karma can out-bitch anyone.

During the final tribal council she blasted Sugar, a rather decent player who had, apparently, been a bit more tearful during production that the TV edit would show due to her father's recent death from lung cancer, and told her that (among other things) the only thing she would give her would be a handful of antidepressants so it was at least believable when she was crying over her dead father.

I'm sorry, I'm sure it's aggravating to be stuck around a watering pot 24/7, but you do NOT knock someone due to their deceased father. That was outrageously disgusting and offensive. Furthermore, when Jeff Probst called her on it during the reunion show, she didn't even have the decency to apologize for her behaviour.

What kills me about this little twit is that, somehow, she thinks all this trash-talking is "cute", and shows her supposedly "dry" sense of humor.

Uhm, sorry child. All it shows is that you are an immature inexperienced little girl without an ounce of self-awareness or conscience.

Gag.

Okay, I feel better now. Whew.

The Biggest Loser - Warning, Griping Ahead

I've not been a huge watcher of The Biggest Loser since my sons' father didn't care for reality TV, but I did see Season 3 (the Kim season – Erik won that one) and I've been watching this current season from the get-go as my television viewing is no longer restricted. Yay, garbagey TV!! Yes I know it's crap, but some of it's just dang good times, yanno?

Back when I watched Season 3 of TBL it was a real inspiration as I could relate to so many people on the show. It began airing right after my huge weight loss push, so I felt in a way as if I were working on getting healthier right along with the contestants. The hard thing for me during that season was seeing just how tiny everyone got while my weight loss took a bit more normal amount of time. But keeping in mind that these folks were on the ranch and had zero responsibilities other than exercising and eating properly whereas I was working a full-time job, herding two kids, and still managing to get the weight off helped on that a bit.

That said, this past year after my "divorce diet" weight loss that put me down to a low of 145 lbs., I'm currently at 157. Ick. I dropped down to 152 back in early September but as soon as I hit that weight my brain apparently severed its connection with my stomach and I've been sitting around 155, give or take a couple pounds either way, for the past three months. So… what better method of trying to kick myself back into shape than to once again throw myself into the Biggest Loser series cycle, right?

Well, it would have been a good idea except for one reason: Vicky.

Vicky is one of the finalists for this season's Biggest Loser, and I have to say that the way she's been portrayed on the show gives the impression of an incredibly vile, nasty, untrustworthy, vengeance-laden, hateful individual. So instead of concentrating on weight loss (which actually has finally reconnected over the past two weeks – yay!), I spend my time during every two-hour episode yelling "HATE!!" and "EVIL!" each time Vicky does one of her patented smirks, grimaces, poo-faces, or says something particularly self-congratulatory or entitled-sounding.

Holy crap, what a revolting wreck of a human.

To add insult to injury, Vicky and her husband Brady say that part of the reason they went on The Biggest Loser (the current season is families, with husbands and wives and parents and adult children competing) is because their four-year-old daughter now weighs more than their seven-year-old son. This child is eating six yogurts at a time, six donuts at one sitting… it is flat-out scary. The son, it appears, is protected by his metabolism at this point. But it's come out during the course of the show that both Brady and Vicky hate all vegetables. Like, I think it's possible they believe they hate vegetables more than I hate Vicky. Scary.

I’m sorry folks, but when you're thirty-eight years old (as Vicky is), you do NOT get to go on national TV and wrinkle up your face like a petulant preschooler at cauliflower soup when you're on a weight-loss show. When you're thirty-eight and have children (I'm in the same boat so I can speak to this) you do not get to just stop by a fast food restaurant for dinner every night because you work a full-time job. When you're thirty-eight and the mother of two you do not get to ban vegetables from your house just because you and your spouse don't like them.

With adulthood there come a few responsibilities, and chief among those would be that if you're a parent, you have to set an example for your kids. You cannot expect your children to eat vegetables if you yourself subsist solely on the double-quarter-pounder-with-cheese and a large fry value meal. You cannot expect your children to develop good nutritional habits if you don't even bother bringing the basics of good nutrition into the home.

Those of you who've been reading this for awhile or who have read back are aware that I hate, loathe, and despise peas and all their repellent little legume friends. I just can't freaking stand them. It's a texture issue. That said, do I eat them if they're served? Youbetcha, when the kids are watching. If they aren't watching, quite frankly I'll pick them all out, because another part of being an adult is the privilege of avoiding certain foods when feasible. Although I hate peas and pea-type vegetables, I know I eat enough other vegetables to more than make up for the fact that in my book peas are the culinary pond scum of the vegetable world. But still… I eat them when I'm in front of my children because that is what a responsible parent does.

In fact, I even cook peas and their relatives (my elder son's favorite is baked beans). Why? Because my children learned over the course of time that these foods tasted good! And they learned that because I, in spite of my personal tastes, had the good sense to feed my children a well-balanced diet. I didn't wrinkle up my nose and make the gagging gesture any time we had peas. I didn't say "Oh those are gross!" each time my elder son dived into his serving of baked beans. I will admit that peas don't figure hugely in our diets at home as there are plenty of other vegetables from which to choose, but they still do make an appearance.

Seriously, bailing out on feeding your kids vegetables because they don't like them and it's inconvenient to try to make them eat them? Ain't gonna fly here. It's cases like this where all I can think is, who is in charge in this house? Because it sure isn't the parents.

If I can manage to cook at home at times, I'm pretty sure it's within nearly everyone's grasp. I'll freely admit I'm not perfect. Sometimes we eat weird things. Sometimes I'll look ketchup dead in the eye and declare it a vegetable. Last weekend I spent most of Sunday baking cookies (yes, with WHITE flour and WHITE sugar!) and glazing walnuts (with sour cream! and more WHITE sugar!), so it's not like I'm the poster girl for Prevention Magazine or any other health related publication. In fact, the double-quarter-pounder-with-cheese value meal cited above? Is my own personal favorite. I'm not anything near a health nut. But I do see the value in good nutrition, and although my children and I do enjoy our treats, that's what they are: treats. They aren't staples.

So this weekend while Vicky is exercising her little heart out and dehydrating herself for the final weigh in on Tuesday night at the live finale to determine who is this season's Biggest Loser – that is, assuming her stress fracture in her foot isn't her excuse for packing back on 20 lbs. since she left the ranch – I'll be sautéing up some chicken and tomatoes and steaming broccoli for my kids' and my dinner.

And after that? More cookie baking. Hee.

Note: The Biggest Loser finale is at 8:00 PM ET on NBC, if anyone's interested in watching this trainwreck. Go Michelle!!

Kids -- ACK!!!

So this morning I'm trying to get my little darlings up and running for school. Well, it's not exactly "school" for them since their schedule is weird and they're actually off from now through sometime after New Year's Eve, but still they go to the school building and hang out there at the on-site daycare.

Anyway, the kids. Now yesterday wasn't much of a weekend day for me (general crap to deal with, etc.), so getting motivated on my end was difficult enough. But then the offspring... oy gevalt. The elder was already out of his bed camped out on the couch, but wasn't conscious. He eventually pried his eyes open around 6:45 or so, then spent several minutes "discussing" (translation: arguing about) appropriate clothing for 47-degree weather. He did not win. The younger one had to be awakened twice and once he finally managed to get vertical he then opted to fling himself on the hall carpet in front of his bedroom.

Out of all three of my children (including the dog), only the canine managed to follow directions. All I had to say was, "Teddy, it's time to go to Grammy's!" and he raced into the kitchen and hopped into his crate.

I hate Mondays.

Sign of the Times

It's a pretty good bet that your business is slowing pretty severely when you find yourself braiding your hair into pigtails at your desk, and you don't care that it's a ridiculous look for a woman on the downhill slope to forty.

Just saying.

Yes, I'm Going There

Here's an idea that will stop the gay marriage debate:

Take marriage out of the state all together and make it strictly religious. Civil unions would be recognized by the state, with registered domestic partners enjoying all the same rights as those who were previously married under state law were given.

Of course, this could mean that those whose marriages were performed in a civil ceremony rather than religious could lose their "married" label. But hey, it's just a label, right? Civil unions are exactly the same, with the exact same civil and constitutional rights. Quit your whining. It's just a matter of nomenclature.

What, you want to get married but you have to settle for a civil union? Why can't you get married? Ohhhh... your religion isn't too cool with you hooking up with husband number three*. Yes, well, I can see where that might be an issue in some denominations.

It isn't fair? You should be able to get married too? Please, do tell me what makes your third marriage more valid and committed than the marriage of the gay couple who have been together for twenty-plus years, who were finally able to get married, and whose marriage is now in danger of being invalidated by the passing of California's Proposition 8.

Get back to me on that when you have an answer.

*Full disclosure: I'm twice divorced, folks, and in a committed relationship with an eventual eye toward marriage, so this scenario would nuke me specifically -- I'm not razzing on anyone who's had bad luck in marriage. But seriously... like we straights have all done so well with it? The sanctity of marriage ultimately is not defined by gender, but instead by the caring, compassion, and committment of the partners.

Reflections

Oish, what a couple of days I've had. I've been mulling over the situation with my former doctor in the post below since it happened, and in addition I had a bit of a verbal spat with my ex (resolved, I think), AND the freaking IRS appears to have lost the bloody tax check I mailed in. They'd like a new one by November 27th, thanks, even though my bank shows they already cashed the blasted thing. Arrrgh!!!

Some weeks it just doesn't pay to get out of bed, yanno?

Ah well, anyway...

I think I've come up with part of what might have precipitated the doctor's outburst. Prior to my appointment there was a woman in the waiting room ahead of me. Accompanying her was her very rude, loud, boor of a husband. He'd been creating a ruckus out in the main reception area, continued to create more problems in the GYN waiting area, and proceeded to loudly grouse his way back in to the exam and appointment area with his wife. Something about "You gave them $140 for nothing!!" with his wife desperately trying to shush him.

It's highly possible that this was the patient my doctor was dealing with right before me; if so, I'd say that it's also a pretty safe bet that he used up any and all reserves of understanding and courtesy while dealing with his patient's asshat of a husband.

So he finally escapes from that lunatic and enters my room, where in his perspective I first gripe about the wait time, and then I deny information that, again in his perspective, I certainly had been given.

So he lost it. Ouch.

And while thinking about the doctor situation, I've also been reviewing my own actions both during the event and leading up to it. In the course of that particular navel-gazing exercise, I flashed on a couple of entries Dr. Rob put up in August: Getting Along, Part 1 - Doctor Rules, and Getting Along, Part 2 - Patient Rules. So, as evidenced by those links, I went back to those posts and re-read them, most specifically the Patient Rules post.

In brief, the rules:
1. Your doctor can't do it alone.
2. Be honest.
3. [Your doctor doesn't] play favorites.
4. Don't mess with the staff.
5. If you don't trust, leave.
6. No news might be bad news.

For more detail, please see Dr. Rob's original post in its entirety.

The doctor in question appeared to believe I broke Rule 4, although the nurse to whom this refers agreed with me that I didn't accuse her of lying. Now she and I might disagree about what I was told vs. what I heard, i.e., she is certain she read his remarks verbatim whereas I'm positive that I would have heard it if I'd been told I had a hormonal imbalance, since I was convinced my problem was, in fact, hormonal and I remember being flatly disgusted that it wasn't. But in light of the fact that everything else I was told does indicate that the problem was indeed hormonal, there is a possibility that I misheard her. I can't understand how I could have missed it, especially as I was convinced the testing would finally show some hormonal cause to the 22-day-period-from-hell; but I must admit, since I can't replay what she said, the possibility is there.

My culpability in this situation, overall, lies in the fact that I totally hosed it on following Rule 5. I've re-read my posts about my health issues last spring, and it was clear from what I wrote as the testing progressed that I wasn't happy with my care or my doctor's communication. I also was afraid to call his office to seek clarification on anything, for fear I'd annoy him or cause him to talk to me harshly. He had that reputation with his office staff prior to his practice moving, to the point that one of the nurses who was assigned to another doctor in the building told me they all held their breaths when he arrived in the morning until they knew what kind of mood he was in.

Gee, I had others telling me he was difficult and I was experiencing some of the same thing as well as fear of worse. Why in the world did I remain under his care?

Simple... and stupid: I was afraid of offending him and/ or hurting his feelings.

Like I said... stupid. Unbelievably, ridiculously stupid, especially in light of what happened since I didn't listen to my gut and find another doctor.

Any offense or hurt feelings on his part couldn't possibly have compared to what I was subjected to this past Tuesday. And unless the man is an irredeemable jerk (which I'll admit that I suspect, but in all fairness I also know him to be capable of wonderful professional caring and concern from one of my friends who has seen him), he's also disturbed by what went on.

So to all three of you who are still reading this blog with my sporadic posting and all, please-oh-please, if you have any doubts about your doctor, if you just aren't feeling comfortable, if you have some niggling worry, find another physician. No one, doctor or patient, can thrive in a relationship without trust. And the damage done by leaving a doctor's care is much less than the damage that can result from continuing to see a doctor about whom you feel in any way uneasy.

Believe me.

Now all that said, I certainly don't feel any of this excuses the doctor's treatment of me. It explains it -- doctors are people too, and all of us screw up at times -- but doesn't excuse it.

It isn't appropriate to accuse patients of acts they didn't commit.

It isn't appropriate to attempt to deliberately embarass patients.

It isn't appropriate to badger, belittle, and verbally batter patients to gain false confessions of actions they didn't commit.

It isn't appropriate to talk over patients as they try to explain something and raise your voice to them.

It isn't appropriate to continue to continue to harrangue patients who are obviously in great distress, manifesting physically as well as emotionally.

It isn't appropriate to threaten and intimidate patients with the implication that you will harm their ability to receive decent medical care in the future.

Oh, and if there is some sort of discussion that must take place due to a difference of opinion, I personally feel that patients should be permitted to get dressed and the discussion be moved to a more neutral location rather than carrying on an argument while the patient is stuck in a vulnerable position on an exam table dressed in a backless gown with a paper drape, and nothing else.

So on breaking Rule 5? Totally my fault. But as to my former doctor's treatment of me? Utterly unacceptable.

My GYN (Revisited)

Sigh.

I almost had my annual GYN appointment today. Almost. Yes, with the same doctor I was griping about back in this post.

I really should listen to myself when I think I should find another doctor, but I'm one of those folks who not just dislikes the annual "spread 'em and grin" appointment, I loathe it. I feel violated by it, I feel literally sick to my stomach over it.

So basically, because I didn't want to get used to yet ANOTHER doctor with his hands somewhere I feel at my core they shouldn't be, and because I fear dying from some preventable disease that could have been detected by this appointment even more than I fear the appointment, I scheduled this year's with him again.

Late, I'll grant you, but I scheduled it.

The man is a ... well... words can't describe. Let me give you the story.

I had an appointment at 3PM my time this afternoon. The doctor finally entered the exam room after I'd been parked on the table, as I was told, in the gown and sheet with nothing else, for nearly 45 minutes. To top it off, I was in no small amount of pain.

He asked how I was doing in a monotone without looking at me, and I responded that I'd been doing better before I'd been sitting on the table for 30 minutes and the bursitis in my hip flared up. I wasn't nasty, just stating the facts... even had a half-smile on my face which he'd have noticed if he'd freaking looked at me. He didn't apologize, nothing. Just said he'd been with a patient. I said that was okay, things happened. And they do. I get that, even though it was now over an hour past my appointment time, I get that.

If I hadn't made that comment likely things wouldn't have gone downhill the way they did, but I fully believe that his response and treatment of me was inexcusable. And I apologized.

He then got, to my mind, very confrontational. He went back to the last time I was in in April of '07 and mentioned that I'd been told of a hormonal imbalance, and had failed to get their recommended treatment, to which I responded I'd NEVER heard I'd had a hormonal imbalance. I was shocked, because this was the exact opposite of what I'd heard (check back in the linked post above and it will state that the nurse said the problem was NON-hormonal in nature).

That really set him off. saying he knew the nurse who called me would have told me this. I told him that I'd been blogging about it and had blogged the resport of the test results right after they happened and if he had internet access I would happily locate that for him. He said he didn't and he called the nurse in who had called me with the test results (I'd had an endometrial biopsy). He then said in front of the nurse that I had accused her of lying to me, which I had NOT. I told him what I had been told, which does NOT mean I called her a liar. Good grief. And anyone who's dealt with patients or people for that matter knows that a person CAN miss something they're told, if indeed I did.

Really, I don't think she told me because I would have grabbed onto "hormonal imbalance" as at least SOME sort of diagnosis. And as I recommended to y'all above, I checked my blog to verify that I heard I was told that my results said the bleeding issues I had were NOT hormonal in nature.

I will admit it's possible I misunderstood. But that in no way excuses the doctor of saying I said the nurse was a liar (what a freaking JERK), or for him RAISING HIS VOICE AT ME. There I was, in the stupid gown with the stupid paper wrapper, in about the most vulnerable position you can get into, and he's yelling at me.

It was around that point, when he was being very nasty with me that I mentioned going somewhere else. He agreed, and said he would likely dismiss me as a patient which I told him was his right of course.

I am so upset. You simply don't treat people that way no matter what, and when you're a DOCTOR you most DEFINITELY do not talk to a patient who is visibly upset in that fashion. I even showed him that my hand was shaking and he made zero attempt to try to calm himself or to diffuse the situation. Nope, I was the one doing that. Why? Because I'm always the one who tried to calm the loud situations.

After he yelled, I mentioned that I'd just gotten out of ten years of a verbally abusive marriage and I would not be talked to in that fashion again. That likely made him more angry... but I can't take it. I simply can't be talked to that way. It's impolite, it's unprofessional, and I feel even more sick now than I did when I went in.

His nurse was very nice to me after he left -- yeah, the one he accused me of calling a liar. And I'll be happy to see another doctor than him, believe me, but now I'm terrified he'll put his "letter of dismissal" in my file and say awful things about me in it and I won't even know and it will become impossible for me to get another GYN which is devastating because if I had known there really WAS a problem, gee, I would have been in to see the doctor quite some time back. And I'd like to get in to see one, so I really REALLY am terrified he's going to do something to screw that up.

God I hate this.

Food, Glorious Food!!

Okay, now on to something we can all agree on... food and the fatty goodness thereof!

Yeah, yeah, I do my best to eat healthily. After all, I knocked off over 40 lbs back in '06-'07 and I'm not about to let my weight creep that high again. My knees were KILLING me! My joints appear to much happier when I'm more in the 150's range.

That said, there are some things I just won't cut out of my diet. I flatly refuse. For example, life simply isn't worth living to me if I can't have cheese. I know, I know, saturated fats, bad, naughty... well, tough.

Fat is a flavor carrier, and some fat in our diets is necessary. Now, perhaps not the amount of fat that I prefer, but all in all I think I strike a fairly good balance.

Then again, there are the days when I don't, like when I fix Super Taters as a side dish.

Grandma, aka Dad's mom who passed away this past March, is the one who brought Super Taters into our family. I think she got the recipe for "Gourmet Potatoes", as they were originally called before Dad and my uncle got their hands on the name, out of some magazine or cookbook written back in the glorious 1940's, before levels of cholesterol and triglycerides were measured on a regular basis. Let me tell you, they are TOTALLY teh awesome. I am so not kidding here. They are also utterly a heart attack in a casserole dish. Potatoes, cheddar cheese, sour cream, butter, chives... oh drool.

And just so I'm not alone in my addiction I'm posting the recipe. Have some, call your cardiologist, then give me an update ;)

Super Taters

6 medium potatoes (equals one 5 lb. bag)
2 cups shredded cheddar
1/4 cup butter
1 1/2 cups sour cream (room temp.)
1/3 cup chopped green onions
1 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. pepper
other seasonings (I like the Montreal Steak Seasoning and extra garlic powder) to taste

Cook (boil) potatoes in skins, cool. Peel and shred coarsely. In saucepan over low heat, combine cheese and 1/4 cup butter, stirring occasionally until almost melted. Remove from heat and blend in sour cream, onions, salt and pepper. Fold in potatoes, and turn into greased 2 qt casserole. Dot with 2 tsp. butter. Bake 25 min. or until heated through, 350 degrees. Serves 8.

Note: shredding the potatoes is a total pain in the asterisk. I've found this can be somewhat mitigated by a) leaving out the peeling of the boiled potatoes, because the shredding kills the large chunks of skin anyway, and b) delegating the shredding task entirely to your scullery assistant while you do the melting of the cheese and butter mixture.

Oh, and for where you're to fold the butter, cheese, sour cream, etc. into the shredded potatoes? It's my experience that there's no spoon strong enough to stand up to the heft of these combined ingredients. Just scrub down your hands and plunge 'em in. An added bonus is once you're done mixing you get to lick it all off your fingers. Yay!!

Arrrrrrghhhh!!!!!!

Note: Y'all, this post contains some potential hot-button issues. The point isn't to discuss the nature of sin, the point is how we as parents deal with things our kids bring to us. Full disclosure: socially, I am a liberal. So if you continue to read, please understand that my viewpoint is going to reflect that stance.

Enter the Gum Zombie:

"Mommy, am I gay? Because the kids at school keep saying I am. Just because I like a girl! It's just one girl... and she's not that big even."

Mournful face on the Gum Zombie ensues.

Look of combined horror and extreme amusement carefully stifled on the mother's face.

"No, sweetie. You're not gay. You're five."

"Okay!"

And with that, the Gum Zombie skipped off merrily. Problem solved.

It's good to be five.

------------------------

Being thirty-eight, on the other hand, and a mother, has a few screaminess inducing moments.

Arrrrrgh!!!!!! Good grief. I mean, I know at this point in young-people parlance that "gay" is the new "stupid", i.e., just insert "stupid" instead of "gay" in nearly any teen or pre-teen conversation and you'll have the same meaning. However, I am not to the stage yet where I can view this sort of thing with any degree of equanimity.

I honestly don't care in the grand scheme of things whether my sons are eventually attracted to girls or boys. I just want one of them to bring home a doctor to pander to my ever-increasing hypochondriac nature.

Oh, and I'd like them to be happy too. Ahem.

But facing facts, it's much easier to be "straight", so to speak, in our society. I don't want either of my sons to have to deal with homosexuality in a world that still on many levels would discriminate against them. It's not a choice, though... and so, like any parent, I just worry that my children will have harder situations to deal with than I wish they would have had.

-----------------

Calling in the older son:

"Uhm, honey, do you know what "gay" means?"

"Well, I know that one meaning for it is happy. And it also has a bad meaning too. I mean, when I ask [the Gum Zombie] if he's gay, I'm just asking if he's happy."

Cue a rather smarmily-saintly expression on the nine-year-old's face.

Because, you know, Mommy was obviously born yesterday.

Cue exasperated inner eyeroll on the part of said maternal unit.

"Sweetie, another meaning for gay is when boys have boyfriends and girls have girlfriends. Asking your brother if he's gay because he likes a girl is just silly."

"Really?? Like instead of a girlfriend, a boy would have a boyfriend?"

"Yeah."

"That's weird."

"No, it's just different."

"Oh."

And the nine-year-old wanders off looking vaguely puzzled.

It can be confusing to be nine.

-----------------

Shoot, how else am I going to handle it? I think I did okay, with the exception of the fact that I'm now going to be That Woman Who Told Her Son What Gay Means Thus Enabling Him To Infect Our Precious Offspring With This Information.

Sigh. I give.

Perception Personality Image Test

I have a little addiction to personality tests. Scrolling down you'll see my Harry Potter personality is Albus Dumbledore. On the Myers-Briggs scale, I rank as an INFJ. Well, here's a new one I managed to glom onto while catching up at Addicted to Medblogs.

Your result for The Perception Personality Image Test...

NBPS - The Idealist

Nature, Background, Big Picture, and Shape

You perceive the world with particular attention to nature. You focus on the hidden treasures of life (the background) and how that fits into the larger picture. You are also particularly drawn towards the shapes around you. Because of the value you place on nature, you tend to find comfort in more subdued settings and find energy in solitude. You like to ponder ideas and imagine the many possibilities of your life without worrying about the details or specifics. You are in tune with all that is around you and understand your life as part of a larger whole. You prefer a structured environment within which to live and you like things to be predictable.

The Perception Personality Types:

Take The Perception Personality Image Test at HelloQuizzy

Strikingly accurate, actually...

Fay Update

Much to my relief, Fay didn't make quite the visit we thought she'd make earlier on this week, although she's hanging around the state forever and has been giving us days upon days of icky grey skies, misty rain, and wind. I can live with it, though.

However, my elder son was extremely disappointed the tropical storm's path veered away from us on Tuesday, as he's unburdened by worries about property damage, potential loss of life and limb, and all those other pesky adult details. He was all set with his flashlights and plans for when the power failed as it had back in the 2004 hurricane season.

As the day wore on and we didn't get much more than heavy wind and spitting rain, he became more and more frustrated. Finally I came out of the back of the house to find the entire family room dark, save for four flashlights set about the room, lighting up the ceiling.

"Sweetie? Uhm... what's going on?"

The response through gritted teeth, "I. Am having. A power outage. Mommy."

"I see. Well, that's nice. Enjoy your power outage!" as I ran to the computer stifling a bad case of the giggles.

Within five minutes, his younger brother (a.k.a. the Gum Zombie -- long story) was in front of me with his tale of woe:

"Mommy, he won't let me tuwn on any of the lights! And he's tuwned off the TV! I want to watch my cawtoons!"

"Okay honey, just go to my bedroom and you can have lights and TV there."

"Oh, GOOD!" and he scampered off gleefully.

Of course, when I went into my room later and saw the light on when it wasn't really needed I turned it off, which led to a round of "But you SAID I could have light!" "Oh you're right, sweetie... I'm sorry." and I flipped the light back on.

They're weird. I can't imagine where they get it from...

Which Austen Heroine Are You?

Take the Quiz here!

Fay Update

Well, we've just started getting some weather bands from Tropical Storm Fay. We'll see how it goes. So far the storm appears to be moving farther east which is good for us.

If I make it through this without losing power I will be one happy camper.

Riding out the storm with Diet Coke. Opted out of boxwine as I'm not only in charge of two children but also my mother's geriatric chihuahua in addition to our Teddy and the two cats.

Hopefully the kids will leave me a can or two...

Rezz Day

My two-year blogoversary was July 18th, and today is my first "Rezz Day" for Second Life. It's been a heckuva year.

I don't like looking at my posting for the past year and seeing how small the number is when compared to the previous year, but all things considered I'm still here. And I'm finally finding things to write about again.

I needed the break, to be honest.

I could have written more, I suppose, but the fact of the matter is that much of the past year was spent dealing with my divorce and its aftermath. This blog's primary purpose is for amusement, with some serious and/ or ranty junk thrown in here and there for good measure. Most of anything I wanted to write about was extremely ranty, and not very flattering toward my ex (well, duh... reminds me of my therapist saying I seemed very angry with my ex... for this I pay her $125/hour?). It was fairly all-consuming, and drained much of the creativity out of me for some months.

I have blog entries up at my other blog covering what I was dealing with during that time period. I've toyed with making it open access as most of the matters have been resolved more or less. But on the other hand, it hardly reflects well on my sons' father and is also admittedly rather one-sided in its perspective, so I've left it on "invitation only" status. Anyone is welcome to request an invitation, though. Just e-mail me at the g-mail address on my sidebar and I'll zap one off to you.

I've been lurking, albeit sporadically. This year brought a loss to the blogging community as Babs opted to close up shop. MonkeyGirl took a break (but is BACK!), AD's muse took a vacation but at least was hitchhiking on a back road and got picked up again. Medblog Addict is still as addicted as ever, and I'm awaiting the next doctor of the month (I think we're still at June?) with eager anticipation.

Some docs have entered the podcasting world, such as Dr. Anonymous. The llama-loving Dr. Rob is distractible as ever, much to my reading eyes' delight.

It's good to be back.

---------------------------------

As for my first year in Second Life, well, it's been illuminating. I logged in to the grid like anyone else, and unlike many, I stayed. I'm still there, for that matter... I've just found more of a balance between Second Life and the rest of my interests. I'm now the assistant operations manager for Dublin in SL, which basically boils down to me herding DJs and handling occasional crises of smaller and larger proportions. The staff in Dublin is awesome, both hosts and DJs, and overall we have a great time. To anyone considering entering Second Life, I'd suggest going through the Dublin in SL portal. The natives are friendly (for the most part, unless you catch me before my coffee) and the virtual landscape in the three-sim area is amazing. Okay, I might be biased, but still...

Additionally, I'm an officer for Friendly Fire's group, and was able to meet Mack and Case earlier this year when they did a very rare non-virtual performance about 90 minutes from where I live. Anyone who's seen them play inworld knows the energy is amazing, but to see them performing in person is a mindblower. They love what they do and it truly shows. The adrenaline was pouring off the stage in waves, and I loved basking in the washover.

Problem was, I wasn't quite sure how to cheer without the sound effects I use in Second Life, so I had to settle for chair dancing and clapping like a maniac. "Yeehaw" might have crossed my lips a time or too, as might a "hoo" kind of noise.

And a bunch of the lunatics from both Dublin and the Friendly Fire set just threw me a "Rezz Day" party... bless their insane hearts :) I would have had this posted about 2 PM ET, but I've been being silly since then. And it was delightful. All of you (and you know who you are) ROCK!!!

I'm not going to complain. The blogoverse rocks and SL rocks. I'm so glad I've had the opportunity to meet all of you, in whatever format it's taken *hugs*

Yes, I'm occasionally a bit silly. But it was a great evening.