Captivity - Day One

Idiot governor Tom Wolf declared closure as of last night, so Pennsylvania is locked down.

I got up early this morning, around 1pm, and surveyed the damage.
It was sunny, which only served to add to the confusion. This happened because idiot governor and state legislature ruled that it can only be sunny once a week at most. Mother Nature obeyed.

The guard posted at our door nodded good morning. I invited him in for coffee; he seemed about ready to come in, then he recoiled. For some reason, we're the only house on the block with a guard. He has a hazmat suit, so I figure he's one of idiot governor's boys. We make coffee a lot and leave the door open, so he can smell the rich aroma of French roast. If they're going to stand outside, we're going to play with them.

Mrs lefty had been on the phone. This is not actually different from normal. She talked to all our relatives, plus some other people's relatives.  She revealed the discussions to me, when I fell down the stairs at 1pm. Everybody was calm. Most knew there was something off with this. There is nothing sweeter than vindication.

If you're going to be held hostage in your house, the present is a decent time, strictly in the area of technology. You have the internet, phones, and video conference. Unless, of course, the other end of the video has an iDevice, then you're f'd. iDevices use Facetime, which no other device on the planet does, so you have to find another way to do things.  Hint: the encrypted text messenger called Signal has video too, and runs on all phones or computers.


Me? I'm still furious.
We are big boys and girls. We can make our own decisions. If we want to play at Corona Playground, there's no reason we shouldn't. We have had our movement restricted for no good reason, nor is there a good reason to restrict movement.

Stay with me a moment, please.
If you have a brain cell in your head, you're not going out close-dancing. You're going out for food, medicine, and hopefully to help others. There is no radical change - you use your best sense. We do not need to be restricted in movement. The government isn't going to rid us of anything but tax money. This is a perfect explanation of why we don't need Big Government. In fact, many Big Government roadblocks have been removed, so food and services can continue. Just like the libertarians said. You don't need all that crap to live your life. The roadblocks aren't helping anybody.

• most importantly: remain calm
• if absolutely necessarily, watch the news or check social media ONCE a day. More than that is toxic: it focuses you on Bad.
• help others, especially the elderly and sick - there have been all sorts of stories of neighborhoods getting together, maintaining help groups and keeping in touch by email.
• make Family Time. This ancient art existed before Faceyspaces. Play board games. Tell scary stories. Watch some absolutely hideous tv.  What manly men haven't played Barbies with their little girl? What manly men haven't played Barbies without their little girl? What manly men haven't played dress up like Barbie? Please don't respond to that question.

Mrs lefty stated that the captivity will have some consequences: family feud, divorces, alcoholics, and Corona Babies. Please use contraception unless you are already trying for a baby. I'm thinking about alcoholism, but my old boss suggested drugs. He said it took too long to get good at alcoholism. RIP, you big dummy.

I'm thinking of removing our car's muffler and painting FREE CORONAVIRUS on the sides of the car, so I can go cruising. If you're in the hood, stop by and see me. I'll be just in front of the police car with the flashing lights. You should probably wait the til police car goes away first. You don't want idiot governor to throw you in gulag without hazmat suit.

This Death Thing Must Stop

Work is weird.

Of course work is weird - it's work.

The current employer could not be anywhere near as weird as the previous one, but it has its own particular weirditees. Everything requires a process, including getting a computer and desk. Just because the 2437 form was filled out doesn't mean there's a computer or desk waiting: no one knows where the form goes or how the process works - only that most of the time it doesn't. It was decided I had the job at the beginning of December, and my January 2nd start date came and went, with no computer and no desk. It took an additional six weeks for the computer to arrive. I discovered that it wasn't mandatory to do your job here either, when my boss saw things undone and merrily breezed past them, as if this were normal (it was). After a number of years, this still astounds me. If there's one thing the Twilight Zone<tm> taught me, it was to do your job well and communicate progress. This turned out to be laughably unnecessary. I have the problem of all newbies: I do my work and expect the same from others. My coworkers just laugh at me (most people do) and tell me the job will eventually remove my soul so I'll be just like them (shudder). If someone asks for something that can't be done immediately, I communicate progress. They laugh, shake their heads, and say, "Newbie."  I have requests that were made months ago. When I send reminders, they're promptly ignored. My employer is a parody of itself, like Congress.

• A nod to the draconian government of the UK, which just enacted the most sweeping snooping legislation in the entire world. Naturally there was barely a whimper from the Great Unwashed.
• Why do I care - I'm in the US. Because the UK is frequently a staging ground for the US. Rest assured, it's coming. -Ever vigilant.

• I'm passing this along, even though I know my people don't use iDevices. 12 iPhone security tips for iOS 12. I plan to use as many as I can. 
• The world has taken a large step toward security by using HTTPS instead of HTTP to get to websites. In case you doubt the seriousness of this, important, secure businesses like banks use HTTPS. In case you're still not convinced, PornHub uses it too. To use it yourself, install your browser's version of the HTTPS Everywhere extension, which will only allow HTTPS connections unless the site doesn't support it. You won't have to do anything after installation.

Last night we saw one of those drug commercials with a 15 minute list of possible side effects. It was a cancer drug for post-menopausal women. My favorite warning of all time is "don't take this new med if you're allergic to it." If you experience death, call 1-800-LETS-SUE. The other warning was not to give it to anyone if they may be pregnant. I'm not a doctor (although I'm interested in gynecology and specialize in psych disorders), but post-menopausal women don't get pregnant. Even the alleged Immaculate Conception occurred before the lady in question was 40. Speaking of which, how can anybody be part of a religion which refers to 'without sex' as 'immaculate'?

How can anybody take seriously a blog that starts a paragraph with drugs, migrates to the Virgin Mary, then closes with a Christian sex question?

• If you're ever bored, go through the labels list for this blog. I think anybody thinking of reading ThermionicEmissions should look at them. It's a delightfully absurd hodgepodge of words, which will excite or completely put off a prospective reader.

A new study by Yale professor Cydney Dupree suggests that white Americans who hold liberal socio-political views use language that makes them appear less competent in an effort to get along with racial minorities. Yale. Education has also become a parody of itself. Missing is the black outrage because white liberal Americans think they're stupid.

Meanwhile, every department in which I worked had absolutely no trouble interacting with 'minorities.' We were a team full of minorities, including the rarest of them: women. All that matters is that you do your job well; that's where the difficulty interacting came in. We were either way ahead of our time or woefully behind.

• I will never forget the day the hiring manager came into our office and told us he needed to see more faces of color in our department. As he was finishing, he looked directly at me, as if he was expecting a witty retort. For some reason, perhaps naked fear of job-hunting, my mouth stayed shut. Little did I know, this event foreshadowed the profound stupidity that was to follow. WE NEED DIVERSITY! Why, are minorities better at IT? WE NEED DIVERSITY! What about hiring the best person for the job, regardless of anything else? WE NEED DIVERSITY!
• That particular job made me a pretty happy employee, because I could do my job the best way possible and still pull off goofiness in a way I became known for (and accepted!). While on a late night project, the head of HR asked if we'd like a beer. I told her I didn't drink. She looked at me in horror and said, "You mean you're like this without drugs or alcohol?" It was one of my finest moments.
• I discovered one of my coworkers was a cheerleader in high school. She told me not to tell anybody. Naturally I procured pom poms and followed her down the main hallway, shaking them, right past a managerial meeting. She turned red, the managers fell off their chairs, and I smiled. They left me alone because I did my job well.
• Another Red Moment came when I was under a desk, hooking up a computer. Someone at a nearby desk started a rant about Stupid IT never fixing anything. I popped up from under the desk and she turned shades of red her department had never seen. Her coworkers were in hysterics. She apologized at regular intervals.

Whether or not you consider it valid, people line up for Past Life Regression. Let us suspend disbelief and consider it for a bit.... everybody who comes out says they were a famous person in a prior life: Joan of Arc, Pope John Paul XVIIQ - CMM, or Atilla the Hun. If this is true, who picked up the trash? Who cooked the food? Who taught New Yorkers to add an 'r' to random words (brar, sawr)? After studying this for damn near fifteen seconds, I think I have the rhythm of the method. Let me translate:

• I was Napoleon: I was Napoleon Smith, the guy who fetched hyena meat and wiped Napoleon's ass for him
• I was a highly-decorated naval seaman:  I was frightfully, obnoxiously, annoyingly gay and enjoyed seamen
• I was a famous obstetrician: I got a lot of women pregnant
• I was George Washington, the father of our nation: I got a lot of women pregnant
• I was a very early champion of women's rights: I got a lot of women pregnant and insisted on abortions
• I was JFK: I got a lot of women pregnant
• I was Thomas Crapper - inventor of the toilet: I was the guy who cleaned shit out of Rome's sewers
• I was a judge of early French cuisine: I was a vulture that only ate dead things
• I was a health pioneer, celebrated the world over with raised arms: I was a mosquito, carrying malaria

Careful what you wish for department:

Our dogs have always been small furry people. I wondered what it would be like to adopt a dog that was actually a dog. Yes, we got one. She defends the house by standing at the window and barking like a lunatic when someone is on her sidewalk. I watched her 'find' something, then dig a hole in the yard to go after it. I have only seen dogs dig in cartoons. Then I get dragged out when the door opened because there was a bird flying over her yard.

Thinking further, I prefer small furry people.




Things are going nicely in society's rapid descent to the place where the red guy with the horns is in charge. As proof, I submit this page, which describes a child being prepared for sex change surgery. Have I mentioned he's 6 and is in line for chemical castration at 8?

WTF?

Standard Disclaimer: I am not a doctor and know absolutely nothing about gender reassignment. Of course there's a however coming... However (I told you it was coming), it doesn't take a PhD (Piled High and Deep) to figure out that a 6 year old is not legally allowed to and is not capable of making this decision, Then there's another small issue: he hasn't hit puberty yet. If the mother child decided to become an alcoholic, would this be ok?

Here is where it truly devolves to Peak Stupid:

• Mom has changed his name to Luna and dresses him in female clothes
• Mom enrolled him in school as a female.
• Mom has support and financial backing
• There is a nasty custody battle
• (non-custodial) Dad, who seems relatively sane, is required to pay for this
• Dad has been accused of abuse for saying his son is male
• The 'debate' is being fought on social and religious issues.

Of course the plea is slanted (it's Dad asking for help), so we can be sure this isn't the full story. But I'm sure the main concept (sex change) is correct.

Fact: children under a certain age (16-18?) cannot have nose jobs for cosmetic reasons.

Announcement: today I identify as a 6 year old and demand to be treated as such. I'm enrolling in first grade and will sue if I am age-bullied. Hopefully I will not be the tallest kid in class - that's hard on kids. Since I'm so socially awkward, I won't bother the girls (or the boys, probably). Class Clown status is virtually assured, like the last time I was 6. If they give me a Chromebook, the class will get a presentation on security. If they give me a Macbook, I will spend the rest of the week in the principal's office. Ah, good times....

• Have you noticed the commercials for the products called "That's What I Call Music"? Inevitably it's not.

As Captain Picard Kirk said, or one of those other captains, "Keep your friends' genitals.." no.. wait.. "Keep your friends close, keep your enemies in France." No, that wasn't it either. France... maybe it was Napoleon. Remember the good old days, when people with certain disorders thought they were Napoleon? You don't see many Napoleons these days. Is this a good thing? Not if you wear your socks on your ears it isn't.

Pithy emissions aside, the last few days have been rough and I felt a strange compulsion (different from my other strange compulsions) to say something (not again), as if saying something is going to make a difference. No, they haven't changed the medicine again.

A superstitious relative says death happens in threes.

[Rod Serling voice] A perfectly ordinary couple, going about their lives.

His mother goes into the hospital and passes in short order.

Immediately after the funeral, they got a call and drove three hours to say goodbye to her father. A few days prior they went to visit their neighbor, with end stage cancer, to say goodbye. He died several hours after they left. While putting together the shiva/wake for his mother, she received news that her father died.

If this were us, I'd start calling us the Angels of Death. People could pay us not to visit their loved ones. Or to visit their loved ones, depending on how they felt about them.

How sadly lucky these people were, to be able to say goodbye. 

If they didn't get the chance, it would haunt them (sorry) for the rest of their lives. The message here is to value what you have. To never be in a position where you'll regret what you said or didn't say. Don't let friends and family be ignorant of your feelings for them. Before you leave mad, ask yourself how you'd feel if that was the last time you spoke to them.  Remember the Big Picture. The only nice thing I can relate is the couple visiting their terminal neighbor brought him joy, possibly the last joy he experienced.

Say what you will, but we treasured each day with Marshall. When he left, we weren't burdened with 'we could have done better'. Unfortunately this doesn't stop grief - it just doesn't add to it. (he's talking about his dead dog again...)

We knew one of the three people well. We had the pleasure of meeting another, with whom I shared a hobby. One passing is more than enough.... three caused a serious ripple in reality. For the couple mentioned above... can you imagine? The only comfort seemed to be friends and loved ones showing up.

We have a lot of thinking to do. Maybe you do too. Maybe you already did. 

Care to tell people what you came up with?

• Coming up next on ThermionicEmissions Television: Things I have pulled out of my foot.

More Targeted Ranting

You know that one of my favorite topics is healthcare. This time it's a doozie, if we can ever begin to define doozie.

For those of you following at home, my new insurance has a $5,000 deductible, plus over $500 per month in premiums. I shopped Obamacare and found that my choices were very similar, so I went with a work plan.

I had to pick up a prescription the other day. This was at the only pharmacy chain I was permitted to use. The lovely lady behind the counter, flush with cleavage (moreso than most customer service people) rang the medicine up and hesitated, backing away from the register. This was a subtle sign that I chose to file away in the almost not-noticed category.

She asked if I knew I had a copay. Of course I had a copay, this was Obamacare. This is when I made my second mistake: "Hit me," I said.

Thirteen hundred and forty seven dollars.

I forgot all about her cleavage, which is something I cannot normally avoid and asked her to repeat it, in case I had stuck an icepick in my ear or had a lapse in my ability to comprehend numbers.

Thirteen hundred and forty seven dollars.

Thirteen hundred and forty seven dollars?

Thirteen hundred and forty seven dollars.

For medicine?

Thirteen hundred and forty seven dollars.

For an old, generic medicine I have to refill monthly.

Thirteen hundred and forty seven dollars.

Jesus tap-dancing Christ, to quote South Park. What have we come to? This is a negotiated preferred price. I cannot afford that now, no less monthly.

What exactly were the criminal Obama and criminal Congress thinking? Oh yeah, gifts for the insurers and Big Pharma<tm>. How are (semi-)normal people supposed to afford healthcare? I have bloodwork scheduled and I'm wondering if I should mortgage the house in preparation. HOW IS THIS INSURANCE?

My doctor recommended a few online sites. Friends recommended Canada. I wound up at goodrx.com. This is a coupon-based site that negotiates deals. It even works with insurance. You can only go to certain places but they are chains, like Walmart. According to the website, my thirteen hundred and forty seven dollar prescription would cost me thirty seven dollars. Really - thirty seven dollars. Gee, that's a bit of a discount.

Off to Walmart. The medicine was six hundred dollars cash. With the coupon, it was only about three hundred and fifty dollars. Even the most math-impaired among us will recognize that the discount price was about ten times the advertised price. The kind gentleman behind the counter, completely without cleavage, informed me that the 'discount' price from the website was usually incorrect, even to the ten times figure.

A call to the site yielded the fact that although there were seven options, none of them led to a human (even after yelling the F-word, which sometimes gets you what passes for a human). Each option recommended performing that action online. Emailing would take twenty four hours, which I did not wish to spend wandering around Walmart, even considering this was a twenty four hour Walmart.

My very patient doctor prescribed something else, which was ready in ten minutes, at about sixty bucks with coupon from goodrx. When I suggested strangling the people who voted for Obamacare, the doc said it was actually Big Pharma<tm>. That's a lot of strangling. The situation is so bad that the doctor didn't have health insurance. Digest that for a moment.

Contact your Congressperson and demand a workable solution. This can mean torture and/or starving for people who need healthcare. You think gun-related violence is bad now? Wait til people can't get their psych meds.


With concern and respect,
-lefty

You Call That Insurance?

They say to never blog while pissed off but I don't care. I don't even know who They are anyway.

I got a letter from my pharmacy insurer last week. Note that this used to be covered under insurance. The letter stated that I have to use a certain pharmacy or mail order or pay for it myself. My 'insurance' went into effect on the first of the year, so why wait thirty days to send me notice?

My benefits admin was very pleasant and called the pharmacy insurer with me. They kindly told me exactly what the letter said. I told them I support a local pharmacy, as I have for the past twenty years. Tough shit - you use THIS pharmacy or we don't pay.  Ooh, I forgot to mention that the pharmacy insurer has a two part name, the second part being the pharmacy I must use. Nothing fishy there.

I've flippin HAD IT.
(don't blog when pissed off)

My first effort against this travesty called insurance was to contact my congressman. He greatly sympathized with my plight and promised to vote to repeal Obamacare as soon as possible. For some reason, I did not feel helped.


I PROMISE YOU CAN KEEP YOUR DOCTOR

I am trying my best to state facts and not call people names; it's juvenile and counterproductive. (Even though I feel juvenile and want to release a fusillade of epithets in their general direction.) The fact is that the President and every Congressman who voted for this travesty should be thrown out on their asses. Better yet, they should have to USE Obamacare. A special version of Obamacare that involves $500 per week premiums and a $20,000 deductible. Let them live like the proles.

This alleged insurance is a scam, benefiting lower income folks, insurance companies and of course, Big Pharma<tm>. It is not my intention to offend any of you who fall into these categories - there are better ways to do this. We were lied to from the beginning. It's not insurance if it doesn't start paying until you meet your yearly $5,000 deductible. Any idea what it would take to do that? Perhaps being run over by a bus, if you manage to live. This would create its own unique set of issues because after you've met your deductible, the copays start, not to mention the emergency room fee, the doctor fee, the diagnostic fee(s), and $40 copay per gourmet hospital meal (featuring fruit from a can, vegetables from a can, mashed potatoes from a can, and chicken from a can). We will simply pay for every medical expense, all year long, unless, heaven forbid, we reach our deductible. And all this is mandatory. I don't care what the Supreme Court says; they have no right to compel us to purchase something.

I was out of my mind with rage over insurance years back, with premiums that rose up to fifteen percent per year. That seems like Disneyland by comparison.

Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor? (Animal House)
It's time for ACTION. Yes, action. Let's get ready for it.
The only problem is what kind of action.
To start, we need to lobby Congresspeople. Write letters and emails. Call and visit their office to talk to their staff (they have staff to help people with insurance and other things).
We're fighting Insurers. We're fighting entrenched government and Big Dollar Lobbies.
We need to take a stand and the time to do this is now. The republicans promise to repeal Obamacare but I believe some of them voted for it. It's all a show regardless. Neither party will help us.



Don't even get me started on dentists; which your plan may or may not cover.

Good Riddance, I Say

It's still 2012 and we're all still alive.  There was no apocalypse and my crew somehow managed to survive.  It wasn't easy.

I have been struggling with a way to describe this past year.  The title of this post will serve for now.  We have been struggling in general.  This has not been a happy holiday season.

It would seem that there are but a few groups who aren't struggling now.  One of them is Congress; currently busy not struggling with a way to save us money and benefit its constituents.  Instead, the traitorous bastards struggle with ways to get us to pay for their misdeeds and usurp the Bill of Rights.

Another group not struggling is rental car centers, or at very least, the one near us.  We're on week two of our rental, with nary a word on the body work of our car after the deer committed suicide with it.

Deer are another topic entirely.  My friend, the deer hunter, told me he had a clear shot at a deer a few weeks back.  He shifted, the deer heard it and ran.  If their hearing is that good, how does a deer miss a loud 35mph Hyundai at night with lights?  I suspect it was suicidal after all.

Some tell me this is deer season and they're about.  They sure are - they're decorating hoods all over the place.  And trust me, you don't want that kind of hood ornament.  Last weekend we were near the scene of our accident and came upon someone else's fresh accident.

Do we need to aerially spray the neighborhood with Prozac for the deer?  Are they that depressed?  Others speculate that they're just horny.  I'm just horny too but I don't go leaping in front of moving vehicles (unless that vehicle is Eva Longoria).  Some organization or other is talking about deer contraceptives, which brings me to my next point... what in the world is the pope going to say about deer condoms?  He sure as hell doesn't like them for humans.  My only thought here is that since the pope doesn't believe animals have souls, perhaps it's all equal in the end.  Perhaps if we tell the pro-lifers that we're giving abortions to the deer, they'd guard the roadways.  This way we won't actually have to touch the deer and the deer won't be able to get to the roads to leap in front of random cars.  Everybody wins (if we assume the deer aren't depressed in the first place).

HOLIDAYS

Holiday time is supposed to be a happy time.  Supposed to.
It seems that happiness took a few days off during my recent break from work.  It had gotten so bad that I cancelled xmas entirely (for myself).  As for everybody else, depression crashed into bipolar disorder, which sideswiped dream therapy, causing horrible nightmares for children.  Neuroses played table tennis with grief.  Not to be outdone, multiplicity sulked behind the scenes and refused to effectively communicate.

That aside, everything else was fine.


SOMEONE ELSE'S MIRACLE

Bro and Sis-in-law's mom had to go to the hospital for tests.  She walked in, had tests and became half paralyzed.  Brain cancer.  Then full paralysis (I strongly suspect the hospital, not cancer).  Days later, with many diagnoses, she was alert, awake, and oriented.  A transfer to hospice that was a death sentence got commuted to extended care.  My wife (the nurse) proved to a doctor that he had no idea what he was talking about.

So my relatives are celebrating and my wife scored some dignity for a dying woman.


THE WIFE'S MIRACLE

I hate health insurance companies.  This is kind of like saying that we hate Hitler.
My wife has been on the same medication for chronic pain for three years.  Because the insurance company is invested in finding new and better ways not to pay for things, they introduced the review/precertification process.  Once a year, the prescribing physician has to jump through hoops to get the medicine recertified so the insurance will pay for it.  The last time was June.

So what happened when my wife went to pick up her December pain meds?  The insurer decided that one year between reviews was no good and decided on six months instead.  Yes, these thieving bastards required another review so my wife could receive the pain meds she's been on for three years. This was made all the more amusing by the fact that her doctor was on vacation for two weeks with no way to reach him and a full answering machine.

The pharmacist, bless him, sat on the phone for twenty minutes with the insurer and got an override for four days worth of medicine (with the full copay, of course).  We had the option of paying cash for the meds, at ten dollars per pill, which we could not do.

For anyone still following, the insurer decided it was perfectly ok to completely stop a patient's prescribed pain meds due to a precert that could not be reasonably performed in one day.  This would cause not only horrible pain, it would cause the patient to go into detox.  But it's ok - this is how the insurance lobbies got Congress to write insurance law.

My wife put on her asshole hat and called the insurance company.  They were quite sympathetic to her plight but checked all the way up the chain and couldn't do a thing for her.  Her only option was to pay cash for the meds, which they would reimburse after the fact, then tackle the doc when he returns and force him to make the paperwork right.

So we're out about two hundred for meds now.  Combined with weeks of car rental, our mortgage company hopefully has a forgiveness program.

Another slew of imaginary points to the wife for keeping herself out of detox.   Notice that I am not sending kudos for bettering herself - just for scraping to get the bare minimum.   Life should not be about scraping for bare minimum.


MY MIRACLE

A few days ago I ventured across the building in search of Coca Cola.  There, in the machine, shining out like brown gold, was an actual row of Coke.  In the Coke machine, which is usually filled with Pepsi.  An xmas miracle!

But luck refused to abandon me this week.  The next day, there were two rows of Coke in the Coke machine.  And as if that weren't enough, there was silverware in the silverware drawer.  I was on a roll.  If I played numbers, this was the week to play them.

Finding soda made me feel almost invincible.


AND IN THE END

The kids were upset.  The pets were clingy.  Gifts sat unopened.  No one was happy.

We decided to hold our own xmas, the night after the other one, perhaps sending out our own metaphorical finger to the universe.

The kids got excited.  The pets got in the way.  The Hess chopper was the star of the evening.
I participated, in spite of cancelling xmas, by giving.

============================

We wish you a very Happy Whatever, dear reader(s).  Strength to those who need it.  Good health for all.  Keep the deer away from us.  Have a safe and happy new year and may 2013 be much less apocalyptic and much more enriching.

It's a Gallbladder!

Yes, at approximately 12:35pm today, my wife gave birth to a gallbladder.  Mother is sore but well, father is much better because he didn't have to watch.

Everybody was really surprised, as the entire routine took about four hours, house to house.  Apparently this type of thing used to require an overnight stay and a lot of grief.

Having worked in the field, I don't like doctors and I like hospitals less.  But I have to say that the experience was not bad, all things considered.  The hospital ran like a well-oiled machine, the surgeon was on time and visited me immediately after, and the staff was competent and really personable.

For those of you familiar with gallbladders, this was apparently an interesting case.  Initial symptoms looked a lot more like gastritis than gallbladder.  The diagnosis was a bit of a surprise but we trust the diagnostician.  The tests barely showed anything wrong.  The surgeon said he only operated because of the family history.  He was shocked to find the bladder was bogged, whatever that means.  Apparently it was much worse than any of the indicators.  He said the timing was right because it might have burst in the next two weeks.

We'll take those odds.

Once again we had a reminder that you have to be up on your condition and your meds before and after the procedure.  In spite of getting about five doctors together on pain meds, the staff still questioned my wife about the meds.  She actually brings a list of her meds with reason, dose, and prescribing doctor noted in case there are any questions.  In spite of this, they still tried to give her narcotics for pain (her pain meds are non-narcotic).

In short, don't go along for the medical ride.  Question everything and go no further until you're satisfied with the answers.  The life you save may be your own.

==========================

You know for a fact that absolutely no outing could possibly proceed without grief (hence this blog), so allow me to let loose.....

Since when do you need to show up at the hospital with two hundred dollars before you have a procedure?  Answer: since we got HMOs and since my coworkers are apparently crack addicts.

Follow this logic (if you can):  too many people were using emergency rooms as their primary care, so the insurance slapped on a fifty dollar fee for using the emergency room; waived if you got admitted.  Then it went to one hundred dollars.  I get the point- you were being penalized for using the emergency room.

I recently discovered that if admitted, there is now a five hundred dollar fee!  So now we're being penalized for being admitted, as opposed to being penalized for just appearing in the emergency room.  

When I complained to my benefits people about the fees, they told me those fees got raised so they didn't have to raise other fees.

And that helps me how?

============================

So I'm minding my own business in the waiting room, which is an impressive feat.  Today was especially cold, perhaps out of spite.  The hospital doors opened right into the waiting room, dumping large amounts of arctic air into the area.  

There was a very large flat-screen television mounted in the corner of the room.  You could see it from outside.  But even if you couldn't see it, you could hear it.  There was no apparent way to turn down the thunderous aural assault.  To make matters worse, there was no apparent way to change the damn channel either.

I cannot afford a flat-screen television that large.  Strangely enough, I cannot afford two hundred dollars copay for the procedure either, yet there I sat, traumatized by both.

There were several signs on the wall that I truly appreciated.  They told everyone to be courteous to your neighbors by not talking loudly, especially on cell phones.

Personally I thought it was a violation of the Geneva Convention to force anyone in a confined area to watch The View.   Perhaps this hospital never got the memo.  Next up, possibly to rhyme, possibly just to annoy, came The Chew.

I know this in spite of never having looked at the screen.  I was trying to check email and amuse myself in other ways.

It was at about this point that I got company in the waiting room.  There was one fellow closer to the television but by the look on his face, I think he was incoherent long before he sat down.  To my right was the television, to my left were two yentas.  Yenta is a Yiddish word meaning chatterbox or ratchetjaw.  So here were the perfect pair of negative Jewish stereotypes for my amusement.

But amusement is not really accurate.  Nor bemusement.  Perhaps something a bit closer to Two Hour Trip to Hell.  When I die, I figure I'm going south anyway.  If it's every bit as bad as its press indicates, hell will be eternity at Chuck E. Cheese's.

You have to understand my plight... thunderous bad tv on my right and two loud yentas to my left.  There was simply nowhere to go.  The phrase stereo assholes most accurately depicts my dilemma.

The Chew is apparently some sort of cooking show.  I would place it squarely in the Annoying Cooking Show category in spite of not watching many cooking shows.  Suffice it to say Jacques Pepin it wasn't.   What made the show more intolerable was the color commentary from the yentas....

tv:  ...we start with olive oil

yenta #1:  ooh, I don't use olive oil.

yenta #2: yeah, it's too expensive.

yenta #1: right.

I'm still trying to read something on my phone.  

tv:  we'll be right back.

yenta #1:  there are too many commercials

yenta #2:  yes there are

yenta #1:  I wish they wouldn't have so many commercials

Now I'm trying to read a book.  And failing.

yenta #1:  where do we check the status?

yenta #2:  I don't know - go to the desk.

yenta #1:  there's nobody there

yenta #2:  isn't that just perfect.  Nobody's home.

yenta #1:  there should be somebody there

yenta #2:  yes there should.  They're absolutely horrible.

yenta #1:  horrible.

I'm reading the signs up on the wall, which state to be courteous to your neighbors by not talking loudly, especially on cell phones.  I was thinking of repeatedly pointing to the signs but I had no way of knowing if either of them could read.  And by this point the other guy was looking even more glazed over than before.  I'm not positive but I think he killed himself rather than having to listen to the yentas for another minute.

And I felt a sudden pang of jealousy.

yenta #1:  oh my God, it was eight minutes.

yenta #2:  eight minutes?

yenta #1:  eight minutes before they went to commercial!  I timed it.

yenta #2:  so you need to pick up his prescription?

yenta #1:  yes, on the way home.

yenta #2:  [groan] how long will it take?  

yenta #1:  i don't know.

yenta #2:  you know you can't just take a prescription in and expect it to be filled on the spot.  It doesn't work like that.

I noticed I was reading the same paragraph over and over again.

yenta #2:  is he done yet?

yenta #1:  wait, let me look at the board... it says he's in ABC1.

yenta #2:  what does that mean?

yenta #1:  wait, let me look again.  Maybe he goes to ABC2 after.

yenta #2:  go find someone and ask.  Sheesh.

yenta #1:  there's nobody there.

yenta #2:  still?  This is terrible.  You'd think it was their job!

And if I shoot them, I will be the bad guy.

yenta #1:  it's very cold out.

yenta #2:  yeah, well, they shouldn't put the door so close.  Am I taking you to the pharmacy?  Maybe you can tell them it's an emergency for the sick patient in the car.  Because if I have to wait, you're walking home.  They should have told you this up front.

yenta #1:  they did tell me.  They gave me prescriptions.  Oh no - another commercial.  I forgot to time it this time.  So many commercials.

Some argue religion.  Some argue supreme beings or deities.  I am here to tell you that angels exist, ladies and gentlemen.  I saw my first one today.  Yes, she was dressed in scrubs so you couldn't see her wings but she was an angel all the same.  She stepped into the waiting room and asked if the yentas were there to pick up Steve.  The yentas said yes and stood.  It was at this precise moment that I could see her halo and golden light filled the room as the yentas prepared to get the )$*# out of my waiting room.

It saddens me that I shall never again see a sight as beautiful.

At that point, all I had to do was wait.  And listen to soap operas in my right ear.

The E-Word

I didn't realize it at first but I've lived my life in a certain way.  Now that I'm more or less middle-aged, I think it's safe to come out of the closet and speak on this topic a bit.  I didn't have far to go out of said closet, as anyone who knows me will attest.

As I tell people who expect me to lift boxes, "I'm a knowledge worker.  Lift it yourself."

You see, my enemy is out there in plain sight: it's exercise.  I don't believe in it.  It's foul and evil and all the rest of that kind of stuff that brings people out into the streets to violate the rights of others.

Let's face it: if you run, you get a heart attack and die.  If you swim, you get a heart attack, drown and die.  Do you really want that for yourself?  I sure as hell don't.

It all happened at the doctor last week.  Before I had a chance to lecture him on keeping patients (specifically this one) waiting for close to an hour, he said I needed to exercise.  I told him I lift one hundred ninety pounds every morning: I get out of bed.  Not flustered at all, he said that was insufficient.

I told him I walk all day at work.   No good.

He suggested I walk the dog.  I suggested that's what fenced yards are for.

Undaunted, he told me to walk inside the fence with the dog.

You have to admire the inventiveness and sheer tenacity of the learned doctor, not to mention his willingness to screw with me.

Then he pulled out the Big Guns<tm>: if I didn't exercise, he would prescribe additional medicine.  I reminded him that the last time he tried that, I learned a new word [akathisia - technical term for ants in your pants or skin crawling], which required two additional medicines to quiet down.

I only had one card left.... the last physician who suggested I exercise had to deal with the description of what happened when I tried.  How I watched the seconds portion of the display until my time was done.  How I sweated, groaned, then took a nap afterward.  He told me that it didn't seem worth it and I should stop exercising, if it caused me that much grief.

New Doc remained unimpressed.



So now I have to farking exercise.

He said all I had to do was ten or fifteen minutes of walking daily.  It was no big deal; he does it.  I reminded him that he was not morally opposed to exercise, as was I.  He sat there and continued to stare at me as if I had sprouted a third head.

Now every molecule in my body is screaming at me (and I haven't started exercising yet).  It goes against everything for which I stand: you know; land yachts, chocolate cream pie, and the sedentary lifestyle.

Wish me luck.