This year, I discovered I had allies and friends I did not know I had.
Two of them, in addition to their encouragement and support, gave me a tremendous gift. Tonight, I think, is an appropriate time to share.
My Dad was not big on pictures. As I've blogged before, he was a very big man . . . very uncomfortable in his own skin (we have that in common) . . . and did not like to be photographed. And/so we don't have a lot in the way of photos. And we didn't have anything in the way of videos or audio recordings when he died in 2005.
In the eulogy I gave at First Baptist during Pop's memorial service, I described the night in 2004 that I appeared, for the first time, before the Asheboro City Council . . . and pleaded for their help in extracting some kind of justice out of the over-paid, over-rated, cheap lying bullies who run Randolph Hospital (it's my opinion and I've more-than-earned the right to call those two jerks as I see them). I wanted - still want - to see the people running this town to demonstrate some of the "small-town" values they boast so much about having.
Because I gotta say, since coming home, I just have not seen it.
It was in the days before I discovered blogging, and I was terrified of the consequences of going "public" with my story . . . not that the Courier Tribune's David Renfro or Ray Criscoe were going to allow that story to become public knowledge by actually reporting it. The reporter put down her pen when I stood up to speak.
(The Courier's pay-walls these days are simply a variation of more of the same old "circle the wagons around the right people" crap that all but killed our little town.)
I read from a prepared statement, my voice trembling at times, and and my hands shaking.
My Mom and Dad attended the meeting to lend moral support - but neither had indicated they were going to speak. But when I sat down, on the verge of tears, and pretty much knowing my presentation had fallen on deaf ears, my Father stood up and made his own impromptu plea to the Council to do something - anything - to call attention to the series of evil deeds that had driven me out of Asheboro, and to help his daughter come home.
He was also on the verge of tears.
My relationship with my Dad was not always a smooth sail. It was actually very rocky for a very long time.
But Pops was everything a Father should be that night.
Meanwhile, our local newspaper took yet another dive for its biggest advertiser. There was no mention of my appearance in their "report" on the meeting.
The following February, Daddy died unexpectedly in his sleep . . . a few weeks after totalling his beloved truck, "Big Red", in an accident in Spencer, N.C. He was pretty badly banged-up in the wreck, but sent home after a night of observation in the hospital.
There was no post-mortem exam. Dad had a history of cardiac problems, we declined a post-mortem, and the local Medical Examiner signed it off as a heart attack. I've always thought he threw a pulmonary embolus as a result of some of the injuries he suffered in the wreck.
Anyway, years passed, and it never occurred to me that the City Council meeting was taped, and that my presentation - and my Dad's - was recorded.
But when I hooked up with Pat and Mike Bradshaw this fall, and started looking at the evidence they had proving beyond any shadow of any doubt that our local newspaper might as well operate under the masthead of Pravda, I realized that I might actually be able to hear Daddy's voice once again.
I made the requests, paid the copying fees, and picked up the tapes. And for weeks I just stared at the envelope - did not even open it.
But a few weeks ago, right before I went to sleep, I finally curled up in bed, popped the tape into a very old Walkman I had dug out for just the occasion, inserted the ear pieces, turned off the lights and listened to my Father's voice once again. It was a clear night down East, and as I listened to my Father BE the best Dad ever, I gazed out the window into a carpet of glistening, dancing stars . . . tears streaming down my face.
At that moment, a train whistle echoed in the distance.
There are not words.
This year, I am thankful for my friends . . . old and new.
Happy New Year.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
A Visit From Christmas Present: A Funny Thing Happened On My Way To Pediatric Board-Recertification
I put THE-Christmas-Card-that-makes-it-Christmas under the Christmas Cross in the kitchen window this year. And late on Christmas night . . . finally alone with my thoughts . . . and with just the blue lights on the Cross turned on to dance out over the fresh snow in the front yard . . . I had inadvertently created an ethereal, Dickensish backdrop against which to contemplate Christmases Past, Present and Future.
It certainly gave "Blue Christmas" a new meaning . . . for all that it seems the Ghosts are prodding me towards a certain path and course-of-action.
Since I put up this post in July - on the American Board of Pediatrics' latest changes to the re-certification process (changes my career & experience in Asheboro only prove are about appearance as opposed to substance - but we'll get to that) . . . a couple of people have asked what I decided to do.
Despite still feeling "resentfully indifferent" about re-certifying my Pediatric Boards, I did ultimately (and still fairly resentfully) decide to continue playing the game (at least for a little while). So during the last few months of 2010, I worked very diligently on the "Part 2" and "Part 4" activities that allowed me to enroll in the American Board of Pediatrics "Maintenance of Certification Program". The decision ultimately boiled down to picking my battles.
It all got done just as the holiday season rolled around.
You will have to read the original post and the links for the details of the ridiculous/time-consuming/expensive hoops we Peds have to jump through in order to prove we are what we trained and originally certified to be.
Please note that when I say "we Peds", I mean the Peds who are not grandfathered out of the requirements in a completely unfair and arbitrary way.
But a funny thing happened on the way to this dog & pony show. Actually, the "Part 4 Activity" . . . an interactive online exercise designed (by the American Board of Medical Specialties) to improve Patient Safety . . . turned out to be somewhat gratifying . . . and potentially useful . . . for two reasons.
First, I could only find one approved safety improvement activity in the exercise in which I was not already 90-100% compliant with JCAHO standards (one of the benefits of using Electronic Medical Records in an institutional setting is that a lot of the things - like medication reconciliation and arranging/communicating patient follow-ups - become fairly "cookbook).
The only activity for which I did not "qualify out" (very frustrating and time consuming in and of itself) was a little exercise in improving hand-washing rates.
Taking some fairly simple steps at the hospital where I now work (in stark contrast to the cheapskates at Randolph - the people who put Pediatric ventilators under tarps and rolled them behind doors when JCAHO came to visit - this hospital was only all too eager to help), I was able to improve my performance & compliance very quickly. Since I already have a reputation on the LDRP unit as being a bit of a hard-ass when it comes to outside visitors to the nursery and infection control (what your baby is exposed to once you walk out the hospital's front door is one thing, but I just think a hospital should do everything it possibly can to prevent newborns and premies from being exposed to outside - or inside - germs), it was all good.
Given all the CRAP doctors often get from the rule-makers and the suits about rules and regulations, having it confirmed that one is already on-the-ball was actually kinda nice.
Pause to pat myself on the back.
But here's the thing about that: Putting up a few alcohol hand-wash dispensers within easier reach is just not earth-shattering stuff compared to the huge personal & professional sacrifices I've made . . . and risks I've taken in the past . . . going to the mat for the safety of individual patients . . .
. . . especially when the aforementioned oily jerks and un-convicted felons running "non-profit" Randolph Hospital are pulling down the money that they are now.
And I'm still thinking that, "dime-a-dozen" though this Pediatrician may be, a girl deserves credit for her work.
So now that I'm done doing my part to improve handwashing in my little corner of the world. . . and have gotten everything logged in with the American Board of Pediatrics (most importantly my VISA card tagged for $1,030) . . . and despite my aversion to sending more correspondence-that-no-one-apparently-reads to a regulatory body, I'm probably going to sit down in January and compose a scathing letter to the American Boards of Pediatrics and Medical Specialties . . . because I still think that, when it comes to accountability and transparency and patient safety and medical ethics, our "oversight" agencies are just playing the "it is better to look good than BE good" game with the public . . .
. . . in other words (playing with North Carolina's state motto), "To Seem Rather Than To Be .
(It was also apparently former Senator John Edwards' motto, but that's neither here nor there. I did note that his eldest daughter is marrying a doctor . . . it's like the Ghosts are playing with him too.)
For all of the PR-centered blather about "teamwork" that these agencies now spew, it's for damned sure my hard-earned Pediatric Board certification did not mean a hill-of-beans to any of the aforementioned oily jerks and morons running Randolph Hospital when a newborn baby's life was in real danger and their nurses (supposedly a valued part of the healthcare team) called the woman they-trusted-most-to-fix-things in to help.
"Care you can trust" certainly flew out the window when Bob Morrison and Steven Eblin and Asheboro's mill-town "honorables" rubber-stamping their every move chose to protect and shield the Cone-owned medical twit who thought being a NALS instructor made him a Neonatologist (not that the Courier's Ray Criscoe or the N&R's John Robinson or "progressive" GSO blogger-king, Edward Cone-of-the-Cones, think that's "relevant" to anything in healthcare that needs to be fixed) . . . the guy who did EVERYTHING wrong.
Likewise, when little-ol'-disruptive me did my duty and reported what happened . . . my Pediatric Board certification meant NOTHING to the Medical Board, to DHHS/the NHSC, to JCAHO or to local, state & Federal law enforcement.
As for the second gratifying thing about this little ABMS-approved exercise in quality improvement, it was actually almost (key word: almost) funny to have EVERYTHING (and I do mean EVERYTHING) in the course underscore how right I was back that fateful night back in 1998 . . . and how right I've been all along about what is REALLY wrong in medicine (turns out I'm not so "crazy" after all) . . . and how badly Randolph Hospital and DHHS/the NHSC and JCAHO and the Medical Board and the IRS/law enforcement all SCREWED UP when it came to the case of Dr. Mary Johnson and what she did one night in the middle-of-the-night over twelve years ago in order to put a patient first.
Everything that has happened since adds up to the MOTHER of all "system failures" . . . not that anyone anywhere in a position of oversight is going to do something about it until I come-to-terms with the fact that I am going to have to sue-the-crap out of one - or several - of the aforementioned anyones, in order to facilitate that change I've hoped for for so long.
I mean, one might actually use the core principles of this course to help formulate & support a fairly wicked lawsuit against the state & Federal agencies that have let me swing in the wind for twelve years . . .
. . . the agencies that were not there and that did not care about the very bad things going on right under their noses.
In short, boys and girls, Mary Johnson did everything RIGHT that night long ago. She played by a book that none of the "right people" in her "home"town had even bothered to read . . . a book that their lawyers - and the N.C. State Bar - ultimately burned in the sad/sorry joke that substitutes for North Carolina's legal system.
Of course, it's only recently become clear to the rest of the world, how POINTLESS writing letters about medical ethics to the politicos and overseers was. Liars and cheats in power don't care about what other liars and cheats do (the best belated Christmas present I could get in 2011 is an indictment of John Edwards . . . every time someone promoted his wife's credentials as a "healthcare advocate", I wanted to scream, "WHY do you think C-Section rates are up 60% since 1996? Could it have ANYTHING to do with the fear of lawsuits . . . where lawyers like our John-Boy can channel dead babies for lay juries?).
So readers, thirteen Christmases after being thrown to the wolves by a bunch of mill townPotters Scrooges for doing my job the way it was supposed to be done, 2011 is looking very promising indeed.
The Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present and Future are working in concert once again - through a mere mortal in the trenches - to make the world a better/safer place.
The chimes were ringing the three quarters past eleven at that moment.
``Forgive me if I am not justified in what I ask,'' said Scrooge, looking intently at the Spirit's robe, ``but I see something strange, and not belonging to yourself, protruding from your skirts. Is it a foot or a claw!''
``It might be a claw, for the flesh there is upon it,'' was the Spirit's sorrowful reply. ``Look here.''
From the foldings of its robe, it brought two children; wretched, abject, frightful, hideous, miserable. They knelt down at its feet, and clung upon the outside of its garment.
``Oh, Man! look here. Look, look, down here!'' exclaimed the Ghost.
They were a boy and girl. Yellow, meagre, ragged, scowling, wolfish; but prostrate, too, in their humility. Where graceful youth should have filled their features out, and touched them with its freshest tints, a stale and shrivelled hand, like that of age, had pinched, and twisted them, and pulled them into shreds. Where angels might have sat enthroned, devils lurked, and glared out menacing. No change, no degradation, no perversion of humanity, in any grade, through all the mysteries of wonderful creation, has monsters half so horrible and dread.
Scrooge started back, appalled. Having them shown to him in this way, he tried to say they were fine children, but the words choked themselves, rather than be parties to a lie of such enormous magnitude.
``Spirit! are they yours?'' Scrooge could say no more.
"They are Man's,'' said the Spirit, looking down upon them. ``And they cling to me, appealing from their fathers. This boy is Ignorance. This girl is Want. Beware them both, and all of their degree, but most of all beware this boy, for on his brow I see that written which is Doom, unless the writing be erased. Deny it!'' cried the Spirit, stretching out its hand towards the city. ``Slander those who tell it ye! Admit it for your factious purposes, and make it worse! And bide the end!''
. . . Charles Dickens (A Christmas Carol)
It certainly gave "Blue Christmas" a new meaning . . . for all that it seems the Ghosts are prodding me towards a certain path and course-of-action.
Since I put up this post in July - on the American Board of Pediatrics' latest changes to the re-certification process (changes my career & experience in Asheboro only prove are about appearance as opposed to substance - but we'll get to that) . . . a couple of people have asked what I decided to do.
Despite still feeling "resentfully indifferent" about re-certifying my Pediatric Boards, I did ultimately (and still fairly resentfully) decide to continue playing the game (at least for a little while). So during the last few months of 2010, I worked very diligently on the "Part 2" and "Part 4" activities that allowed me to enroll in the American Board of Pediatrics "Maintenance of Certification Program". The decision ultimately boiled down to picking my battles.
It all got done just as the holiday season rolled around.
You will have to read the original post and the links for the details of the ridiculous/time-consuming/expensive hoops we Peds have to jump through in order to prove we are what we trained and originally certified to be.
Please note that when I say "we Peds", I mean the Peds who are not grandfathered out of the requirements in a completely unfair and arbitrary way.
But a funny thing happened on the way to this dog & pony show. Actually, the "Part 4 Activity" . . . an interactive online exercise designed (by the American Board of Medical Specialties) to improve Patient Safety . . . turned out to be somewhat gratifying . . . and potentially useful . . . for two reasons.
First, I could only find one approved safety improvement activity in the exercise in which I was not already 90-100% compliant with JCAHO standards (one of the benefits of using Electronic Medical Records in an institutional setting is that a lot of the things - like medication reconciliation and arranging/communicating patient follow-ups - become fairly "cookbook).
The only activity for which I did not "qualify out" (very frustrating and time consuming in and of itself) was a little exercise in improving hand-washing rates.
Taking some fairly simple steps at the hospital where I now work (in stark contrast to the cheapskates at Randolph - the people who put Pediatric ventilators under tarps and rolled them behind doors when JCAHO came to visit - this hospital was only all too eager to help), I was able to improve my performance & compliance very quickly. Since I already have a reputation on the LDRP unit as being a bit of a hard-ass when it comes to outside visitors to the nursery and infection control (what your baby is exposed to once you walk out the hospital's front door is one thing, but I just think a hospital should do everything it possibly can to prevent newborns and premies from being exposed to outside - or inside - germs), it was all good.
Given all the CRAP doctors often get from the rule-makers and the suits about rules and regulations, having it confirmed that one is already on-the-ball was actually kinda nice.
Pause to pat myself on the back.
But here's the thing about that: Putting up a few alcohol hand-wash dispensers within easier reach is just not earth-shattering stuff compared to the huge personal & professional sacrifices I've made . . . and risks I've taken in the past . . . going to the mat for the safety of individual patients . . .
. . . especially when the aforementioned oily jerks and un-convicted felons running "non-profit" Randolph Hospital are pulling down the money that they are now.
And I'm still thinking that, "dime-a-dozen" though this Pediatrician may be, a girl deserves credit for her work.
So now that I'm done doing my part to improve handwashing in my little corner of the world. . . and have gotten everything logged in with the American Board of Pediatrics (most importantly my VISA card tagged for $1,030) . . . and despite my aversion to sending more correspondence-that-no-one-apparently-reads to a regulatory body, I'm probably going to sit down in January and compose a scathing letter to the American Boards of Pediatrics and Medical Specialties . . . because I still think that, when it comes to accountability and transparency and patient safety and medical ethics, our "oversight" agencies are just playing the "it is better to look good than BE good" game with the public . . .
. . . in other words (playing with North Carolina's state motto), "To Seem Rather Than To Be .
(It was also apparently former Senator John Edwards' motto, but that's neither here nor there. I did note that his eldest daughter is marrying a doctor . . . it's like the Ghosts are playing with him too.)
For all of the PR-centered blather about "teamwork" that these agencies now spew, it's for damned sure my hard-earned Pediatric Board certification did not mean a hill-of-beans to any of the aforementioned oily jerks and morons running Randolph Hospital when a newborn baby's life was in real danger and their nurses (supposedly a valued part of the healthcare team) called the woman they-trusted-most-to-fix-things in to help.
"Care you can trust" certainly flew out the window when Bob Morrison and Steven Eblin and Asheboro's mill-town "honorables" rubber-stamping their every move chose to protect and shield the Cone-owned medical twit who thought being a NALS instructor made him a Neonatologist (not that the Courier's Ray Criscoe or the N&R's John Robinson or "progressive" GSO blogger-king, Edward Cone-of-the-Cones, think that's "relevant" to anything in healthcare that needs to be fixed) . . . the guy who did EVERYTHING wrong.
Likewise, when little-ol'-disruptive me did my duty and reported what happened . . . my Pediatric Board certification meant NOTHING to the Medical Board, to DHHS/the NHSC, to JCAHO or to local, state & Federal law enforcement.
As for the second gratifying thing about this little ABMS-approved exercise in quality improvement, it was actually almost (key word: almost) funny to have EVERYTHING (and I do mean EVERYTHING) in the course underscore how right I was back that fateful night back in 1998 . . . and how right I've been all along about what is REALLY wrong in medicine (turns out I'm not so "crazy" after all) . . . and how badly Randolph Hospital and DHHS/the NHSC and JCAHO and the Medical Board and the IRS/law enforcement all SCREWED UP when it came to the case of Dr. Mary Johnson and what she did one night in the middle-of-the-night over twelve years ago in order to put a patient first.
Everything that has happened since adds up to the MOTHER of all "system failures" . . . not that anyone anywhere in a position of oversight is going to do something about it until I come-to-terms with the fact that I am going to have to sue-the-crap out of one - or several - of the aforementioned anyones, in order to facilitate that change I've hoped for for so long.
I mean, one might actually use the core principles of this course to help formulate & support a fairly wicked lawsuit against the state & Federal agencies that have let me swing in the wind for twelve years . . .
. . . the agencies that were not there and that did not care about the very bad things going on right under their noses.
In short, boys and girls, Mary Johnson did everything RIGHT that night long ago. She played by a book that none of the "right people" in her "home"town had even bothered to read . . . a book that their lawyers - and the N.C. State Bar - ultimately burned in the sad/sorry joke that substitutes for North Carolina's legal system.
Of course, it's only recently become clear to the rest of the world, how POINTLESS writing letters about medical ethics to the politicos and overseers was. Liars and cheats in power don't care about what other liars and cheats do (the best belated Christmas present I could get in 2011 is an indictment of John Edwards . . . every time someone promoted his wife's credentials as a "healthcare advocate", I wanted to scream, "WHY do you think C-Section rates are up 60% since 1996? Could it have ANYTHING to do with the fear of lawsuits . . . where lawyers like our John-Boy can channel dead babies for lay juries?).
So readers, thirteen Christmases after being thrown to the wolves by a bunch of mill town
The Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present and Future are working in concert once again - through a mere mortal in the trenches - to make the world a better/safer place.
The chimes were ringing the three quarters past eleven at that moment.
``Forgive me if I am not justified in what I ask,'' said Scrooge, looking intently at the Spirit's robe, ``but I see something strange, and not belonging to yourself, protruding from your skirts. Is it a foot or a claw!''
``It might be a claw, for the flesh there is upon it,'' was the Spirit's sorrowful reply. ``Look here.''
From the foldings of its robe, it brought two children; wretched, abject, frightful, hideous, miserable. They knelt down at its feet, and clung upon the outside of its garment.
``Oh, Man! look here. Look, look, down here!'' exclaimed the Ghost.
They were a boy and girl. Yellow, meagre, ragged, scowling, wolfish; but prostrate, too, in their humility. Where graceful youth should have filled their features out, and touched them with its freshest tints, a stale and shrivelled hand, like that of age, had pinched, and twisted them, and pulled them into shreds. Where angels might have sat enthroned, devils lurked, and glared out menacing. No change, no degradation, no perversion of humanity, in any grade, through all the mysteries of wonderful creation, has monsters half so horrible and dread.
Scrooge started back, appalled. Having them shown to him in this way, he tried to say they were fine children, but the words choked themselves, rather than be parties to a lie of such enormous magnitude.
``Spirit! are they yours?'' Scrooge could say no more.
"They are Man's,'' said the Spirit, looking down upon them. ``And they cling to me, appealing from their fathers. This boy is Ignorance. This girl is Want. Beware them both, and all of their degree, but most of all beware this boy, for on his brow I see that written which is Doom, unless the writing be erased. Deny it!'' cried the Spirit, stretching out its hand towards the city. ``Slander those who tell it ye! Admit it for your factious purposes, and make it worse! And bide the end!''
. . . Charles Dickens (A Christmas Carol)
Monday, December 27, 2010
I knew It Was Cold Today, But . . .
. . . I didn't know it was freezing in Hell.
The mighty blogger-king/local journalist, Edward Cone, generally deliberately deaf, dumb and blind to anything going on south of Greensboro's city limits (particularly if it's a local story that might be relevant to any of the myriad of ills facing healthcare today), has taken note of Community One's sad/sorry predicament.
Still snowed in, I must call/ inform my pal, Buzz Armfield-of-the-Asheboro Armfields, of this momentous occasion. He tells me that he may have had a Bob Morrison sighting earlier this month at a Greensboro restaurant whilst dining with the Mrs./some friends.
The fellow diner-presumed-to-be-Bob certainly met the physical description . . . and glowered at Buzz most of the evening.
The Buzzman was unfazed. A lesser being like myself would have gotten indigestion.
Given what the Bobber makes, courtesy of the oblivious "right people" composing the Board of Directors of our local "non-profit" hospital, I'd have sent him the bill for that dinner.
Christmas is over, folks. And, when it comes to good-will towards some men in Asheboro, I gave at the office long ago.
The mighty blogger-king/local journalist, Edward Cone, generally deliberately deaf, dumb and blind to anything going on south of Greensboro's city limits (particularly if it's a local story that might be relevant to any of the myriad of ills facing healthcare today), has taken note of Community One's sad/sorry predicament.
Still snowed in, I must call/ inform my pal, Buzz Armfield-of-the-Asheboro Armfields, of this momentous occasion. He tells me that he may have had a Bob Morrison sighting earlier this month at a Greensboro restaurant whilst dining with the Mrs./some friends.
The fellow diner-presumed-to-be-Bob certainly met the physical description . . . and glowered at Buzz most of the evening.
The Buzzman was unfazed. A lesser being like myself would have gotten indigestion.
Given what the Bobber makes, courtesy of the oblivious "right people" composing the Board of Directors of our local "non-profit" hospital, I'd have sent him the bill for that dinner.
Christmas is over, folks. And, when it comes to good-will towards some men in Asheboro, I gave at the office long ago.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
A Yellow Christmas . . . With Chunks
This morning, when I called to check in with Mama to make sure that Santa had arrived . . . and to see what time I should plan to be at my brother's home for the Johnson family gathering, I was informed that we had "a very sick little girl" at the house, and I needed to pick up some Ginger Ale on the way up.
Miss Abigail had been hurling all night . . . in a re-run of the horrific aftermath of her Aunt Mary's fifth birthday party.
In my case, the bedroom walls and bedding and my hair were splattered with spaghetti and chocolate birthday cake and orange juice. In Abby's case, it was chunks of cheese & processed unidentifiable meat products from the ordurbs & finger foods she had inhaled at a Christmas Eve party at her cousin's house.
(To this day, Aunt Mary does not drink orange juice.)
Ginger Ale is hard to find on Christmas morning. It's not something that all gas stations stock.
When I arrived, Abby was awake and playing on her latest battery-operated kidmobile . . . although she was still looking a little peaked.
But she did not seem as traumatized by the experience as I had been. She told me she had had a "cough" but was all better now. She made a face when she tasted the Ginger Ale, but did drink most of it.
And mean old Grandma refused to give her any more cheese products. She had yogurt for lunch.
Miss Abigail had been hurling all night . . . in a re-run of the horrific aftermath of her Aunt Mary's fifth birthday party.
In my case, the bedroom walls and bedding and my hair were splattered with spaghetti and chocolate birthday cake and orange juice. In Abby's case, it was chunks of cheese & processed unidentifiable meat products from the ordurbs & finger foods she had inhaled at a Christmas Eve party at her cousin's house.
(To this day, Aunt Mary does not drink orange juice.)
Ginger Ale is hard to find on Christmas morning. It's not something that all gas stations stock.
When I arrived, Abby was awake and playing on her latest battery-operated kidmobile . . . although she was still looking a little peaked.
But she did not seem as traumatized by the experience as I had been. She told me she had had a "cough" but was all better now. She made a face when she tasted the Ginger Ale, but did drink most of it.
And mean old Grandma refused to give her any more cheese products. She had yogurt for lunch.
Friday, December 24, 2010
Merry Christmas
Went through the pile of mail early this morning. About half-way through the stack, I found THE Card that makes it Christmas.
Opening the card is always a powerful moment that makes me feel a lot like George Bailey. And I am always very grateful to get it.
Ran some last-minute errands. Found myself alone in my parents garage amongst some of Dad's things - took a moment to tell Pops Merry Christmas, and that I miss him. Got home - stocked the fridge and all of the bird-feeders. Hung the last lighted wreath. Called the hospital back East to check on "Mabel" (not a real name) our nursery's resident "orphan" (not a real status, but this Christmas she has many Mothers to fuss over her). Watched my favorite episode of Y&R (a Christmas classic from 2008 in the vein of "It's a Wonderful Life"). Re-checked the Snoop Dog's innards and fiddled some more with the lights on the Christmas Cross. Texted back and forth with the Yas - who are on their way in. Checked in with Mama - who is helping my brother plot Santa. Will wrap the last presents tonight whilst playing Christmas music.
On that note, for your listening enjoyment, I present Miss Tammy Wynnette:
Merry Christmas to all who read this blog. God bless us everyone.
If we dream hard enough, maybe we will get some snow.
Opening the card is always a powerful moment that makes me feel a lot like George Bailey. And I am always very grateful to get it.
Ran some last-minute errands. Found myself alone in my parents garage amongst some of Dad's things - took a moment to tell Pops Merry Christmas, and that I miss him. Got home - stocked the fridge and all of the bird-feeders. Hung the last lighted wreath. Called the hospital back East to check on "Mabel" (not a real name) our nursery's resident "orphan" (not a real status, but this Christmas she has many Mothers to fuss over her). Watched my favorite episode of Y&R (a Christmas classic from 2008 in the vein of "It's a Wonderful Life"). Re-checked the Snoop Dog's innards and fiddled some more with the lights on the Christmas Cross. Texted back and forth with the Yas - who are on their way in. Checked in with Mama - who is helping my brother plot Santa. Will wrap the last presents tonight whilst playing Christmas music.
On that note, for your listening enjoyment, I present Miss Tammy Wynnette:
Merry Christmas to all who read this blog. God bless us everyone.
If we dream hard enough, maybe we will get some snow.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
The Poopy Snoop Dog
Yesterday, I arrived home for my twelve days of Christmas.
I had originally planned to spend my first day of Christmas at Busch Gardens in Williamsburg, Virginia - totally immersing myself in the Christmas spirit courtesy of "Christmastown". But the last two weeks have been brutal, and all Dr. Johnson wanted to do was get home to her own bed and her own Christmas tree . . . with the blue lights you can see from space.
One of the YaYa traditions at my house is the launching of the Flying Snoopy (either on Christmas Eve - or Christmas Eve Eve) . . . an inflatable portraying Snoopy as the Flying Ace on his doghouse. I aim it towards "the mountain" facing my house, and tilt it backwards just a bit, so it looks like the Snoop Dog is taking off to sail over the hill.
When it's windy, like it is tonight, it's really cool.
Getting this particular Christmas decoration up has been an even bigger deal since my brother married a Snoopy freak (I say this with great love and affection for the Mother of my niece and nephew).
OBTW, she has passed that gene on.
But this year I was worried. Snoopy is showing his age now. And last year, the Snoop Dog got very wet and muddy. When I took him down, I hosed him off and hung him upside down under the overhang on my back porch. And I left him there to dry out.
And I pretty much forgot about him.
Fast forward to spring. I still had not taken Snoopy down. It had become a bit of a joke amongst friends and family. Poor Snoopy should not have to suffer such an indignity . . hanging upside down with his arse all up in the air.
One day when I got home from down East, I noticed that an entire family of birds had made a nest in Snoopy's motor/fan. They were pretty smart birds - the location of the nest was pretty much ideal. As I was unwilling to disrupt my feathered friends (who sang and chirped all spring and part of summer for me), Snoopy stayed on the back porch until all the baby birds learned how to fly.
When I did finally take Snoopy down in the fall, I flipped him upside-down, shook out all of the muck (which seemed to all come out) and folded him up/put him in the attic.
But I was worried he may have been damaged.
The YaYas all expect to see the Snoop Dog up and flying when they come in. This year, the YaYa gathering will be all the more meaningful (to me at least) because we will be one YaYa down (her disassociation from a group of childhood friends who supported her to the nth degree was totally her choice . . . something I do not begin to understand, and am choosing not to dwell on this Christmas). Those of us who remain feel the loss, but we will go on - all the more grateful for our bond.
With all of this in mind, last night, when I got home . . . and despite being worn plum out . . . the very first thing I wanted to do was get Snoopy up for the enjoyment of my friends and family.
I pulled the Flying Ace out of the attic and set him up in the pitch-black dark. Alas, when I plugged the puppy in, he would only partially inflate.
Snoopy was poopy.
It was really quite sad.
This afternoon, I pulled Snoop back to the garage, plopped him on the hood of the Camry, and examined his innards with my readers and a flashlight. I got out the central vacuum and sucked out everything I could . . . but there still seemed to be something clogged deep inside the motor.
It was clear surgery would be necessary.
I unzipped the Snoop Dog's underskirt and removed the screws to his motor - removing the top of the casing. And there I found the source of the problem. The birds' nest had extended down deep into the air exit shaft of the inflatable's motor. With some long medical tweezers and the central vacuum, I was able to remove the offending debris.
(If I get bird flu in the next couple of weeks, look no further to identify the strain than the innards of my inflatable Snoopy.)
Snoopy, the World-War II Flying Ace, was returned to his place of honor in the front yard. And when he was plugged in, he quickly inflated and flew - good as new.
Snoopy was poopy no more.
It was a Christmas miracle.
I had originally planned to spend my first day of Christmas at Busch Gardens in Williamsburg, Virginia - totally immersing myself in the Christmas spirit courtesy of "Christmastown". But the last two weeks have been brutal, and all Dr. Johnson wanted to do was get home to her own bed and her own Christmas tree . . . with the blue lights you can see from space.
One of the YaYa traditions at my house is the launching of the Flying Snoopy (either on Christmas Eve - or Christmas Eve Eve) . . . an inflatable portraying Snoopy as the Flying Ace on his doghouse. I aim it towards "the mountain" facing my house, and tilt it backwards just a bit, so it looks like the Snoop Dog is taking off to sail over the hill.
When it's windy, like it is tonight, it's really cool.
Getting this particular Christmas decoration up has been an even bigger deal since my brother married a Snoopy freak (I say this with great love and affection for the Mother of my niece and nephew).
OBTW, she has passed that gene on.
But this year I was worried. Snoopy is showing his age now. And last year, the Snoop Dog got very wet and muddy. When I took him down, I hosed him off and hung him upside down under the overhang on my back porch. And I left him there to dry out.
And I pretty much forgot about him.
Fast forward to spring. I still had not taken Snoopy down. It had become a bit of a joke amongst friends and family. Poor Snoopy should not have to suffer such an indignity . . hanging upside down with his arse all up in the air.
One day when I got home from down East, I noticed that an entire family of birds had made a nest in Snoopy's motor/fan. They were pretty smart birds - the location of the nest was pretty much ideal. As I was unwilling to disrupt my feathered friends (who sang and chirped all spring and part of summer for me), Snoopy stayed on the back porch until all the baby birds learned how to fly.
When I did finally take Snoopy down in the fall, I flipped him upside-down, shook out all of the muck (which seemed to all come out) and folded him up/put him in the attic.
But I was worried he may have been damaged.
The YaYas all expect to see the Snoop Dog up and flying when they come in. This year, the YaYa gathering will be all the more meaningful (to me at least) because we will be one YaYa down (her disassociation from a group of childhood friends who supported her to the nth degree was totally her choice . . . something I do not begin to understand, and am choosing not to dwell on this Christmas). Those of us who remain feel the loss, but we will go on - all the more grateful for our bond.
With all of this in mind, last night, when I got home . . . and despite being worn plum out . . . the very first thing I wanted to do was get Snoopy up for the enjoyment of my friends and family.
I pulled the Flying Ace out of the attic and set him up in the pitch-black dark. Alas, when I plugged the puppy in, he would only partially inflate.
Snoopy was poopy.
It was really quite sad.
This afternoon, I pulled Snoop back to the garage, plopped him on the hood of the Camry, and examined his innards with my readers and a flashlight. I got out the central vacuum and sucked out everything I could . . . but there still seemed to be something clogged deep inside the motor.
It was clear surgery would be necessary.
I unzipped the Snoop Dog's underskirt and removed the screws to his motor - removing the top of the casing. And there I found the source of the problem. The birds' nest had extended down deep into the air exit shaft of the inflatable's motor. With some long medical tweezers and the central vacuum, I was able to remove the offending debris.
(If I get bird flu in the next couple of weeks, look no further to identify the strain than the innards of my inflatable Snoopy.)
Snoopy, the World-War II Flying Ace, was returned to his place of honor in the front yard. And when he was plugged in, he quickly inflated and flew - good as new.
Snoopy was poopy no more.
It was a Christmas miracle.
"In A Word . . . PATHETIC!!!"
I've really not had a lot of use for corporate directors-of-marketing since my days at Randolph Medical Associates . . . when Steven Eblin (currently chairman of Randolph County United Way - and not now missing any opportunities to mug it up with disadvantage/under-privileged kids for photo ops with the local newspapers) . . . didn't want to market our "non-profit" medical practice to parents on Asheboro's east side.
That's what the Health Department was for . . . Randolph Hospital's "controlled affiliate" wanted to become Asheboro's "premiere" Pediatric practice by sucking up to all the right people . . . no matter if they were right or wrong.
Of course, then Stevie turned right around and fired the homegrown Pediatrician with the "best" patient mix (i.e. highest percentage of insured and paying patients) . . . for the horrible offense of intervening in a case where another doctor (that the hospital had marketed as having skills/expertise he didn't) screwed up.
Real geniuses these gurus were. After all, "Good Pediatricians are a dime a dozen."
And OBTW, Mary Johnson is not supposed to be angry or disgusted that our hallowed systems of medical oversight and patient safety did not work. She's supposed to be content with the big screw . . . she just needs to "get over it" and "move on" . . . and leave her hometown to the socially-incestuous idiots who've sucked it dry . . . or stood by and silently watched while it was sucked dry.
So when a friend of mine forwarded the following little ditty (with appropriate scathing commentary) . . . from the City of Asheboro's new marketing director . . . about a contest at Reader's Digest . . . cheering for our little town . . . I shook my head in dismay.
But I suppose it IS better than this list. And I cannot blame the girl . . . she's not got much to work with.
Here's the text of the e-mail:
We're now in 10th place. Let's bring it to NUMBER 1!!!!!!!!!!!
Subject: We're in 18th place - help us move up!
Have you “cheered” for Asheboro today? We’re currently in 18th place in the Reader’s Digest contest, but the #1 city is gathering tons of votes. We need everyone to vote so that we can win $40,000 for Sunset Theatre and get national media attention. Remember, you can vote 10 times EACH DAY! Please share the word with your family and friends.
Simply visit the link below, create an account and find the page for Asheboro. Then click on the “cheer” button on the left side of the page 10 times each day.
http://wehearyouamerica.readersdigest.com/
Contest rules and details are on the site.
Thanks!
Casey Fletcher
Marketing Specialist
City of Asheboro
336-626-1201 x 218
And I've got to ask . . . of all the things, Asheboro and its citizens might need money for, these proceeds would go to Sunset Theater?
Needless to say, I shared the e-mail with several of my friends.
One quickly shot back . . .
"That's . . . in a word . . . PATHETIC."
That's what the Health Department was for . . . Randolph Hospital's "controlled affiliate" wanted to become Asheboro's "premiere" Pediatric practice by sucking up to all the right people . . . no matter if they were right or wrong.
Of course, then Stevie turned right around and fired the homegrown Pediatrician with the "best" patient mix (i.e. highest percentage of insured and paying patients) . . . for the horrible offense of intervening in a case where another doctor (that the hospital had marketed as having skills/expertise he didn't) screwed up.
Real geniuses these gurus were. After all, "Good Pediatricians are a dime a dozen."
And OBTW, Mary Johnson is not supposed to be angry or disgusted that our hallowed systems of medical oversight and patient safety did not work. She's supposed to be content with the big screw . . . she just needs to "get over it" and "move on" . . . and leave her hometown to the socially-incestuous idiots who've sucked it dry . . . or stood by and silently watched while it was sucked dry.
So when a friend of mine forwarded the following little ditty (with appropriate scathing commentary) . . . from the City of Asheboro's new marketing director . . . about a contest at Reader's Digest . . . cheering for our little town . . . I shook my head in dismay.
But I suppose it IS better than this list. And I cannot blame the girl . . . she's not got much to work with.
Here's the text of the e-mail:
We're now in 10th place. Let's bring it to NUMBER 1!!!!!!!!!!!
Subject: We're in 18th place - help us move up!
Have you “cheered” for Asheboro today? We’re currently in 18th place in the Reader’s Digest contest, but the #1 city is gathering tons of votes. We need everyone to vote so that we can win $40,000 for Sunset Theatre and get national media attention. Remember, you can vote 10 times EACH DAY! Please share the word with your family and friends.
Simply visit the link below, create an account and find the page for Asheboro. Then click on the “cheer” button on the left side of the page 10 times each day.
http://wehearyouamerica.readersdigest.com/
Contest rules and details are on the site.
Thanks!
Casey Fletcher
Marketing Specialist
City of Asheboro
336-626-1201 x 218
And I've got to ask . . . of all the things, Asheboro and its citizens might need money for, these proceeds would go to Sunset Theater?
Needless to say, I shared the e-mail with several of my friends.
One quickly shot back . . .
"That's . . . in a word . . . PATHETIC."
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
"Ask . . . Tell!"
Yes, I finally have my laptop back. With Windows 7 on board, she is now better . . . stronger . . . faster.
Late on December 18th, when I heard that "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" passed the Senate . . . and not being the sort to send text messages . . . I nevertheless sent one of my YaYas the titular celebratory text message. She had not seen the news that day and had no idea what I was talking about.
We subsequently spoke by phone about what was a watershed moment for her.
The policy has always bothered me because it has nothing to do with merit or performance. Gay servicemen and women who served with distinction and honor (I know a few of them doing just that right now) could lose everything they'd worked for on someone's vindictive whim. Conservatively speaking, I've got a big problem with that.
(Of course, I know a little something about losing everything I'd worked for on someone's vindictive whim. And, like the people who successfully pursued this repeal, I've decided to pick up the gauntlet soon and do something about it besides blog.)
A few months from now and the cloud will no longer be hovering over the heads of gay soldiers. They will be able to ask and tell . . . as they serve the country they're fighting to keep free.
And it's a good thing.
Late on December 18th, when I heard that "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" passed the Senate . . . and not being the sort to send text messages . . . I nevertheless sent one of my YaYas the titular celebratory text message. She had not seen the news that day and had no idea what I was talking about.
We subsequently spoke by phone about what was a watershed moment for her.
The policy has always bothered me because it has nothing to do with merit or performance. Gay servicemen and women who served with distinction and honor (I know a few of them doing just that right now) could lose everything they'd worked for on someone's vindictive whim. Conservatively speaking, I've got a big problem with that.
(Of course, I know a little something about losing everything I'd worked for on someone's vindictive whim. And, like the people who successfully pursued this repeal, I've decided to pick up the gauntlet soon and do something about it besides blog.)
A few months from now and the cloud will no longer be hovering over the heads of gay soldiers. They will be able to ask and tell . . . as they serve the country they're fighting to keep free.
And it's a good thing.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Two Movies
Part of Christmas break for me is indulging in the seldom-enjoyed guilty pleasure of going to the movies. I am looking forward to seeing two movies this year:
Monday, December 13, 2010
The Great Crash Of 2010
My laptop totally crashed last Monday, and is in the computer ICU (thankfully, as I'm fairly diligent about backing up important files, no serious losses were suffered). While she's there, we will be re-working her innards - trading out Vista for Windows 7. For the time being, I'm using my Acer netbook and web-mail.
As there is a great difference between working on a 10-inch screen and a 21-inch screen, blogging will be curtailed for a few more days.
As there is a great difference between working on a 10-inch screen and a 21-inch screen, blogging will be curtailed for a few more days.
Wednesday, December 08, 2010
Tuesday, December 07, 2010
Peace, Elizabeth
Believe it or not (and some in this blogosphere will not), I'm sad too about the passing of Elizabeth Edwards . . . but not for all of the obvious laudatory reasons that will crescendo - then fade - over the airwaves and ether in the coming days.
Ed Cone says that Elizabeth was a visionary in terms of the use of the Internet as a political tool.
But as a doctor-in-public-service-in-North-Carolina who found out the hard way that Elizabeth's husband WAS a political tool . . . and, as a novice-to-the-medium who, back in 2005, bought into the notion (Elizabeth's notion - and Cone's notion) that the Internet could be used to really educate the public and right wrongs and change the world . . . I always found the rhetoric of the never-ending Presidential candidate and his feisty, opinionated wife very empty . . and the vision lacking . . . particularly when it came to really fixing healthcare in this country (Elizabeth's bread-&-butter talking point - especially after her cancer diagnosis).
Doctors-done-wrong by a broken system - serving conscientiously and with distinction in the very government programs her husband advocated - were left out of Elizabeth's noble equations for healthcare reform.
For instance, if I were diagnosed with breast cancer tomorrow, everything I've worked and fought so hard to hold onto (after getting the big government-sanctioned screw - and watching those who did me wrong get rich) would be lost in slow, painful increments.
I suppose that might get me sympathy in Elizabeth's book. But taking the ugly, demoralizing personal and professional hits because I did the right thing by another woman's very sick newborn infant never did.
I never understood the tunnel vision. And, of course, I'm still here in the ether.
Courtesy of Elizabeth's friends in the Greesnboro blogosphere, I learned hard lessons I would have rather not learned - particularly that "The Two Americas" is very much alive and well - if not exactly in the way the Edwardses would have styled it.
That's part of the legacy too.
Tonight I'm wondering if the criminal investigation and possible prosecution of John Edwards was delayed or stalled because those-in-the-know-in-Raleigh knew this was coming . . . and chose to spare Elizabeth in her final days.
I've got no real problem with that if that's what happened. It was kind. But it would not have happened for you or me.
These things being said, tonight it's not about John Edwards (the mere mention of his name is like fingernails on a chalkboard to me) . . . whose self-centered, sorry performance in office as U.S. Senator was the focal point of my differences with Elizabeth.
While I disagreed with her vehemently - philosophically and politically - about a whole lot of things . . . and I had no use for her big blind spot where John camped out . . . Elizabeth was also a daughter and a Mother and a sister . . . a woman of substance who lived and died by her choices . . . and Southern dame-in-the-best-sense who fought a good fight. I believe that tonight she's at peace in God's arms.
In the spirit of peace, I'm going to pretend I'm Rob Christensen at the N&O. Comments on this post are closed.
Since you can't even read the obits online at the Courier Tribune (without paying $87/year), I can't pretend to be Ray Criscoe.
Like I said, that vision of the Internet as a tool for truth and justice wasn't all it was cracked-up to be.
Ed Cone says that Elizabeth was a visionary in terms of the use of the Internet as a political tool.
But as a doctor-in-public-service-in-North-Carolina who found out the hard way that Elizabeth's husband WAS a political tool . . . and, as a novice-to-the-medium who, back in 2005, bought into the notion (Elizabeth's notion - and Cone's notion) that the Internet could be used to really educate the public and right wrongs and change the world . . . I always found the rhetoric of the never-ending Presidential candidate and his feisty, opinionated wife very empty . . and the vision lacking . . . particularly when it came to really fixing healthcare in this country (Elizabeth's bread-&-butter talking point - especially after her cancer diagnosis).
Doctors-done-wrong by a broken system - serving conscientiously and with distinction in the very government programs her husband advocated - were left out of Elizabeth's noble equations for healthcare reform.
For instance, if I were diagnosed with breast cancer tomorrow, everything I've worked and fought so hard to hold onto (after getting the big government-sanctioned screw - and watching those who did me wrong get rich) would be lost in slow, painful increments.
I suppose that might get me sympathy in Elizabeth's book. But taking the ugly, demoralizing personal and professional hits because I did the right thing by another woman's very sick newborn infant never did.
I never understood the tunnel vision. And, of course, I'm still here in the ether.
Courtesy of Elizabeth's friends in the Greesnboro blogosphere, I learned hard lessons I would have rather not learned - particularly that "The Two Americas" is very much alive and well - if not exactly in the way the Edwardses would have styled it.
That's part of the legacy too.
Tonight I'm wondering if the criminal investigation and possible prosecution of John Edwards was delayed or stalled because those-in-the-know-in-Raleigh knew this was coming . . . and chose to spare Elizabeth in her final days.
I've got no real problem with that if that's what happened. It was kind. But it would not have happened for you or me.
These things being said, tonight it's not about John Edwards (the mere mention of his name is like fingernails on a chalkboard to me) . . . whose self-centered, sorry performance in office as U.S. Senator was the focal point of my differences with Elizabeth.
While I disagreed with her vehemently - philosophically and politically - about a whole lot of things . . . and I had no use for her big blind spot where John camped out . . . Elizabeth was also a daughter and a Mother and a sister . . . a woman of substance who lived and died by her choices . . . and Southern dame-in-the-best-sense who fought a good fight. I believe that tonight she's at peace in God's arms.
In the spirit of peace, I'm going to pretend I'm Rob Christensen at the N&O. Comments on this post are closed.
Since you can't even read the obits online at the Courier Tribune (without paying $87/year), I can't pretend to be Ray Criscoe.
Like I said, that vision of the Internet as a tool for truth and justice wasn't all it was cracked-up to be.
Sunday, December 05, 2010
Ginger Hunt Update: The Grinch/Mr. Potter Won't Be Getting Her Christmas
The "outing" on this blog, of my good friend, Buzz-Armfield-of-the-Asheboro-Armfields-whose-incredibly-gullible-cousins-gave-one-million-dollars-to-Randolph-Hospital-for-the-dubious-privilege-of-getting-the-family-surname-displayed-by-the-Cancer-Center's-front-door (formerly known as "Vigilant-For-Pianos-Falling-From-The-Sky), was born from the embers of his own heart-warming hometown experiences . . . most recently, his timely departure from the Randolph County Department of Child Support Enforcement . . . and the subseqent implosion of that Department (after the state dumped its administration on the County) under the penny-pinching "management" of Randolph County manager, "I wanna be king of Trashboro", Dick Wells.
Buzz was disgusted at how "small-town values" somehow equated into bullying good, hard-working people . . . and/or throwing long-time, productive/conscientious employees out into the street under false pretenses . . . all to the ultimate detriment of the children these people serve/served.
After the DESPICABLE treatment she received under said "management" , I am happy to report this morning that former Randolph County agent, Ginger Hunt, got her unemployment benefits after all.
The County's/Dick's trumped-up "reasons" for firing her apparently did not pass muster.
And/so, the Grinch/Mr. Potter did not get to steal her Christmas.
It didn't hurt that Buzz, in a generous-act-of-solidarity-with-his-friend-done-wrong, quickly hired a competant (not local) attorney to handle her appeal after Dick & company worked their unique brand of magic . . .
. . . the kind of dark magic that I, as another kind of child advocate, am very familiar with.
It's well-established that Randolph County, North Carolina, is generally a black hole for children and their advocates. Indeed, Voldemort and Vader would thrive in Asheboro. They'd get invited to all the "right" parties.
But this time, the "right people" got Scrooged . . .
. . . thanks be to my pal-who-gets-it, Buzz "Skywalker" Armfield.
The Force is strong in him.
The videos are dedicated to all of the "right people" of Asheboro.
Saturday, December 04, 2010
Simple Things
As my current boss alluded in a phone conversation late yesterday, I am really quite a simple creature - made most happy by simple things. Leave me alone. Don't complicate my way. Be considerate. Let me do my job, and I will be happy - and so will you, if I work for you.
Yesterday, he caught me in the middle of a hunt for brightly-colored socks. And I was happy in the hunting.
This morning, happiness was found in a simple coffee-maker.
For many, many years, I had a very simple, originally very cheap, black 12-cup Black & Decker coffe-maker (probably made-in-Asheboro - before the plant closed - for all I know) . . . one bought when I lived in abject poverty and massive debt-that-I've-yet-to-stop-paying-for as a medical student & resident at NCBH/Brenner's.
Back in those days, I was known to drink up to 30 cups of coffee a day.
These days, I try to limit myself to 2 or 3 cups in the morning.
Alas, after many years of faithful service, my B&D died a few years back, and I decided to upgrade to a fancier model . . . made by another American-company-that-shall-not-be-named-but-I'm-pretty-sure-it-got-bailed-out. It was bright red - and came with all of the bells and whistles . . . bells and whistles I never cared to use much.
Alas, the thing took only two years to die - and this week, it almost took a favorite carpet runner in front of my sink in the kitchen with it.
On Thursday, I went out and bought a very simple, fairly cheap (it was on-sale) black Black & Decker coffee-maker at (horrors!) Wal-Mart (after looking at Lowes Hardware). No bells. No whistles.
And this morning, it very quickly made the best cup of coffee I've made in my own home in two years.
Simple things.
Yesterday, he caught me in the middle of a hunt for brightly-colored socks. And I was happy in the hunting.
This morning, happiness was found in a simple coffee-maker.
For many, many years, I had a very simple, originally very cheap, black 12-cup Black & Decker coffe-maker (probably made-in-Asheboro - before the plant closed - for all I know) . . . one bought when I lived in abject poverty and massive debt-that-I've-yet-to-stop-paying-for as a medical student & resident at NCBH/Brenner's.
Back in those days, I was known to drink up to 30 cups of coffee a day.
These days, I try to limit myself to 2 or 3 cups in the morning.
Alas, after many years of faithful service, my B&D died a few years back, and I decided to upgrade to a fancier model . . . made by another American-company-that-shall-not-be-named-but-I'm-pretty-sure-it-got-bailed-out. It was bright red - and came with all of the bells and whistles . . . bells and whistles I never cared to use much.
Alas, the thing took only two years to die - and this week, it almost took a favorite carpet runner in front of my sink in the kitchen with it.
On Thursday, I went out and bought a very simple, fairly cheap (it was on-sale) black Black & Decker coffee-maker at (horrors!) Wal-Mart (after looking at Lowes Hardware). No bells. No whistles.
And this morning, it very quickly made the best cup of coffee I've made in my own home in two years.
Simple things.
Friday, December 03, 2010
Thursday, December 02, 2010
Harry Potter And The Deathly Hallows, Part 1
I had wondered how the wizards making movies would/could possibly adapt J.K. Rowling's last book in the series. I must say, Part One was magnificent!
Poor Hedwig. Poor Dobby. I cannot wait to see them avenged next July.
Poor Hedwig. Poor Dobby. I cannot wait to see them avenged next July.
North Carolina Journalists Missing The Point Again
Journalists in our state continue to miss the point - as demonstrated this morning by a front page-above-the-online-fold story in the Raleigh N&O.
Reporter Thomas Goldsmith fashioned a hatchet-job of a story - featuring the wife/dependant of a retired state employee - criticizing the state's efforts (about ten years too little/ten years too late) to cut down on fraud and abuse.
A new law, passed in April 2009, required the state to conduct an audit. Part of the audit included requiring dependents of state employees to prove eligibility.
The woman featured in the story (glaring defiantly into the photographer's lens) didn't - she ignored notices, until she went to the pharmacy one day and the state refused to pay for her medications (about $400/month). The story (and her adult children) styled her as a victim as the evil state - her husband is very sick (prostate cancer) and she didn't have time to comply with a silly rule.
The newspaper got involved. Hell was raised. Her insurance was reinstated - and a story was born.
I am relieved that many of the comments on the story indicate that not everyone is buying the N&O's spin . . . including other dependants who have complied with the requirements:
The N&O should be applauding the state for these actions instead of trying to crucify it. Because every person that is discovered that should not be on the plan is one less case of fraud being done to the state health care plan. I think the state should do this every year. Doing so is the only way state can get accurate numbers of beneficiaries and can know just how much funding that the state health plan will need to continue operating.
Meanwhile, as the daughter of a state employee, I still sit here in the blogosphere . . . five years after coming forward with a story about corruption in local healthcare (and seven years after reporting perjury, contempt and fraud to local/state/Federal authorities) . . . with a story about local "non-profit" hospital executives, who in their efforts to monopolize the landscape and pump-up their own bank accounts . . . defrauded Federal & state programs - and the Pediatrician those programs brought home . . . a Pediatrician they fired for doing her job the way it was supposed to be done . . . by REPEATEDLY lying under Oath in a Court proceeding about matters relevant to her damages claim.
It's called perjury. And it's a felony.
The doctor, abandoned by the government she served - and ignored by her "advocacy" agencies (being Board-certified in Pediatrics didn't count for anything when taking on the Cone-owned wannabe Neonatologist - that night, he might as well have been a fake doctor) - was stripped of everything she had worked YEARS to build - her due process and basic civil rights trampled by apathy and negligence . . . but the newspaper reporters sneer and spit.
The doctor's story is "not relevant" you see. "Hire a lawyer, file a suit and we'll talk." Or better yet, "Tell it to Bledsoe."
But people who ignore/break the rules are "victims".
I don't get it. I really don't get it.
And I'm not looking forward to the fawning drool and drivel that will come with Obama coming to Winston-Salem next week.
Reporter Thomas Goldsmith fashioned a hatchet-job of a story - featuring the wife/dependant of a retired state employee - criticizing the state's efforts (about ten years too little/ten years too late) to cut down on fraud and abuse.
A new law, passed in April 2009, required the state to conduct an audit. Part of the audit included requiring dependents of state employees to prove eligibility.
The woman featured in the story (glaring defiantly into the photographer's lens) didn't - she ignored notices, until she went to the pharmacy one day and the state refused to pay for her medications (about $400/month). The story (and her adult children) styled her as a victim as the evil state - her husband is very sick (prostate cancer) and she didn't have time to comply with a silly rule.
The newspaper got involved. Hell was raised. Her insurance was reinstated - and a story was born.
I am relieved that many of the comments on the story indicate that not everyone is buying the N&O's spin . . . including other dependants who have complied with the requirements:
The N&O should be applauding the state for these actions instead of trying to crucify it. Because every person that is discovered that should not be on the plan is one less case of fraud being done to the state health care plan. I think the state should do this every year. Doing so is the only way state can get accurate numbers of beneficiaries and can know just how much funding that the state health plan will need to continue operating.
Meanwhile, as the daughter of a state employee, I still sit here in the blogosphere . . . five years after coming forward with a story about corruption in local healthcare (and seven years after reporting perjury, contempt and fraud to local/state/Federal authorities) . . . with a story about local "non-profit" hospital executives, who in their efforts to monopolize the landscape and pump-up their own bank accounts . . . defrauded Federal & state programs - and the Pediatrician those programs brought home . . . a Pediatrician they fired for doing her job the way it was supposed to be done . . . by REPEATEDLY lying under Oath in a Court proceeding about matters relevant to her damages claim.
It's called perjury. And it's a felony.
The doctor, abandoned by the government she served - and ignored by her "advocacy" agencies (being Board-certified in Pediatrics didn't count for anything when taking on the Cone-owned wannabe Neonatologist - that night, he might as well have been a fake doctor) - was stripped of everything she had worked YEARS to build - her due process and basic civil rights trampled by apathy and negligence . . . but the newspaper reporters sneer and spit.
The doctor's story is "not relevant" you see. "Hire a lawyer, file a suit and we'll talk." Or better yet, "Tell it to Bledsoe."
But people who ignore/break the rules are "victims".
I don't get it. I really don't get it.
And I'm not looking forward to the fawning drool and drivel that will come with Obama coming to Winston-Salem next week.
Wednesday, December 01, 2010
Bill Clinton $peak$: Do What I Say, Not What I Do
The fact that people will pay good money to see $lick Willie Clinton never ceases to amaze me.
Needless to say, twelve years after writing Clinton's DHHS Secretary begging for help (after getting "shot" for doing the right thing by a patient at Randolph Hospital), and eleven years after getting SLAPP-sued (unsuccessfully) for it . . . and as I still wait for the Federal government and justice system to do right by me . . .
. . . I've earned the right to say, I'm not a fan.
The crime is perjury. Like Mike Sleazely, I believe Mr. Clinton is intimately familiar with it.
Needless to say, twelve years after writing Clinton's DHHS Secretary begging for help (after getting "shot" for doing the right thing by a patient at Randolph Hospital), and eleven years after getting SLAPP-sued (unsuccessfully) for it . . . and as I still wait for the Federal government and justice system to do right by me . . .
. . . I've earned the right to say, I'm not a fan.
The crime is perjury. Like Mike Sleazely, I believe Mr. Clinton is intimately familiar with it.
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