US Surgeon General, Dr Regina Benjamin, on NPR's "Tell Me More" getting women to prioritize health over hair.
http://tinyurl.com/9ddrtmx
Showing posts with label health. Show all posts
Showing posts with label health. Show all posts
Thursday, August 09, 2012
Monday, June 09, 2008
Wrist Sling Match
Just an update on the wrist situation:
I thought it was a bad sprain, but there's a chance that something broke, fractured, or was chipped. I've been a bit impaired, lately, without the full use of my right hand. Showering, in-particular, is a bear. In fact, I'd imagine the right side of my body is just a tad bit cleaner than the left, on most days.
Let's not even get into other bathroom concerns.
These days, my wrist is wrapped in elastic bandages, a guard, and the occasional sling, although I may need to switch to a wrist guard (the kind for carpal tunnel syndrome) for more support. We'll see.
Gotta run, but I hope to be back very soon.
I thought it was a bad sprain, but there's a chance that something broke, fractured, or was chipped. I've been a bit impaired, lately, without the full use of my right hand. Showering, in-particular, is a bear. In fact, I'd imagine the right side of my body is just a tad bit cleaner than the left, on most days.
Let's not even get into other bathroom concerns.
These days, my wrist is wrapped in elastic bandages, a guard, and the occasional sling, although I may need to switch to a wrist guard (the kind for carpal tunnel syndrome) for more support. We'll see.
Gotta run, but I hope to be back very soon.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Indignity of Persistence - Part II
I'm not trying to overwhelm you with negativity, but recent events made a "part 2" almost a necessity.
Indignities Defined
First, I'd like to explain what I meant by "Indignity of Persistence." I think there are often a lot of similarities between infants and the elderly. In many cases, both are bald or balding, incomprehensible, toothless, need constant care to survive, and have trouble managing their excretory imperatives.
Among the difference between them is the fact that babies have no sense of dignity. This is why we can them up in cute little costumes and laugh hysterically when they do really silly things. We interpret the things they do as signs of who and how htey will be, but their overall future identities aren't strongly defined by how much they drool, crawl backwards, or babble. They have no concept of embarrassment and would probably have no time for it if they did - there's too much drooling, crawling, and babbling to get done.
Elderly adults, on the other hand, have already established a sense of self and broadcast an identity to those around them. Dignity and pride are usually well-established and deeply-ingrained. Wetting themselves, cursing out loved-ones for no reason, and forgetting who and where they are, can encroach on that dignity - especially for Alzheimer's patients.
Getting sick is a part of life. Surviving it is seen as a triumph. But advanced stages of Alzheimer's Disease can be seen like flipping the identity switch. And, even if the patient him- or herself has already lost or forgotten what it was to be embarrassed by soiling oneself or forgetfulness, their loved-ones still remember. Living in Alzheimer's can be seen, by one's loved ones, as an indignity upon the patient and, I'd imagine, many of them feel that death would be a far more merciful fate the persistence of life.
My Own Crazy
There have been a number of events, over the years, that have left me very concerned about the chances that I'll be (or that I am) facing my own flavors of crazy. Diagnosed mental illness in blood relatives, my own interaction with other human-beings, and undiagnosed, but somewhat apparent, mental and emotional issues that plague my father's life.
I've not researched the topic in some times, but I think one can be genetically predisposed to developing Alzheimer's. So my family history concerns me. There are Alzheimer's sufferers on both sides of my family, but the only ones related by blood are on the paternal side.
I watch and listen to them, wondering if the different varieties and flavors o' crazy are the diluted version of whatever their parents had. I smell a little blueberry crazy over here - maybe some obsessive-compulsive tendencies. There's some crunchy pistachio over in the form of anger management issues. Lime-flavored crazy tastes a lot like persistent paranoia.
I don't now which flavor I'll end up with, if any, or whether I'll "luck out" and get a triple-scoop - the terrible trifecta. I look back and see a far-reaching path of burned bridges and I wonder how many were lit by own tendency to flame versus those that sparked from other people's hot heads.
My saving grace, right now, is the fact that there are still SOME positive elements left in my life and that those who think the most of me are the people I respect the most. The rest are often those whose traits are... less than enviable. Still, it's not like I can honestly say all people who dislike me are bad. I've raged against quite a few machines and I don't know that I was always right - even in how I went about expressing it.
What I don't want is to find out, decades from now, that I've been wearing my pop's brand of people repellent and that the failed relationships in my life aren't just due to natural selection, but are in fact due to my bull-headedness, stupidity, or assholery. My own crazy.
Persistent Ends
Just last night, I got a call from my aunt, C. She said that my paternal grandmother, who suffers from Alzheimer's, began having seizures and other strange symptoms. They took her to the hospital for tests, but she seemed mostly okay except for having trouble breathing.
While they were trying to make it easier for her to breathe, she apparently had a massive stroke - a fatal one. She died some time yesterday afternoon.
This the second Alzheimer's sufferer in my family to die in as many weeks.
I didn't have a relationship with my paternal grandparents for most of my life. When my grandfather passed a couple of years, ago, I wasn't sure how to feel. Now that my grandmother has died, it was a similar experience - although she always seemed to be a sweeter person, to me, anyway.
In her later years, she'd reached the point where she didn't know who some of her children and grandchildren were. She'd be introduced to me, think I was my father (since we have the same name), have it explained to her, embrace me, then forget me and start the whole thing all over, again.
So, I have a fondness for her, but there was no relationship to be had over the past few years. Despite that, I think I was on the edge of SOME kind of emotional reaction, but I never go the chance for that to fully develop. I was too busy trying to contact my father, who wouldn't return anyone's calls, to give him the news that his mother had died... then trying to get him to stop yelling at me because of his frustrations with... damn-near the entire world. This post is long enough with getting into the multiple layers of erraticism my dad displayed in that 25-minute phone call. At least I can say that he apologized for taking his frustrations with the rest of his family out on me. He even said I'm a very good son, which touched my heart, despite the seething anger I was suppressing, at that moment.
"I figured it was going to go down like that. I knew she was gon' die. Y'all didn't have to tell me that! I ain't stupid!"
I had to (ironically) yell, "Stop yelling at me! This is not an indictment of you or your intellect. We're not calling you stupid. We just thought you should know that your mother died!"
That's just a taste.
Anyway, by the time I got off the phone, I was a wreck... for a few reasons. I'm feeling bad for my family members who were closer to my grandmother, dealing with my own, undefined feelings about her passing, pissed-off at my father for yelling at me while repeating the same things over and over and over, again, and afraid that my grandmother's fate and my father's future might be my own.
And if it is, I may never know... but the people around me will.
Indignities Defined
First, I'd like to explain what I meant by "Indignity of Persistence." I think there are often a lot of similarities between infants and the elderly. In many cases, both are bald or balding, incomprehensible, toothless, need constant care to survive, and have trouble managing their excretory imperatives.
Among the difference between them is the fact that babies have no sense of dignity. This is why we can them up in cute little costumes and laugh hysterically when they do really silly things. We interpret the things they do as signs of who and how htey will be, but their overall future identities aren't strongly defined by how much they drool, crawl backwards, or babble. They have no concept of embarrassment and would probably have no time for it if they did - there's too much drooling, crawling, and babbling to get done.
Elderly adults, on the other hand, have already established a sense of self and broadcast an identity to those around them. Dignity and pride are usually well-established and deeply-ingrained. Wetting themselves, cursing out loved-ones for no reason, and forgetting who and where they are, can encroach on that dignity - especially for Alzheimer's patients.
Getting sick is a part of life. Surviving it is seen as a triumph. But advanced stages of Alzheimer's Disease can be seen like flipping the identity switch. And, even if the patient him- or herself has already lost or forgotten what it was to be embarrassed by soiling oneself or forgetfulness, their loved-ones still remember. Living in Alzheimer's can be seen, by one's loved ones, as an indignity upon the patient and, I'd imagine, many of them feel that death would be a far more merciful fate the persistence of life.
My Own Crazy
There have been a number of events, over the years, that have left me very concerned about the chances that I'll be (or that I am) facing my own flavors of crazy. Diagnosed mental illness in blood relatives, my own interaction with other human-beings, and undiagnosed, but somewhat apparent, mental and emotional issues that plague my father's life.
I've not researched the topic in some times, but I think one can be genetically predisposed to developing Alzheimer's. So my family history concerns me. There are Alzheimer's sufferers on both sides of my family, but the only ones related by blood are on the paternal side.
I watch and listen to them, wondering if the different varieties and flavors o' crazy are the diluted version of whatever their parents had. I smell a little blueberry crazy over here - maybe some obsessive-compulsive tendencies. There's some crunchy pistachio over in the form of anger management issues. Lime-flavored crazy tastes a lot like persistent paranoia.
I don't now which flavor I'll end up with, if any, or whether I'll "luck out" and get a triple-scoop - the terrible trifecta. I look back and see a far-reaching path of burned bridges and I wonder how many were lit by own tendency to flame versus those that sparked from other people's hot heads.
My saving grace, right now, is the fact that there are still SOME positive elements left in my life and that those who think the most of me are the people I respect the most. The rest are often those whose traits are... less than enviable. Still, it's not like I can honestly say all people who dislike me are bad. I've raged against quite a few machines and I don't know that I was always right - even in how I went about expressing it.
What I don't want is to find out, decades from now, that I've been wearing my pop's brand of people repellent and that the failed relationships in my life aren't just due to natural selection, but are in fact due to my bull-headedness, stupidity, or assholery. My own crazy.
Persistent Ends
Just last night, I got a call from my aunt, C. She said that my paternal grandmother, who suffers from Alzheimer's, began having seizures and other strange symptoms. They took her to the hospital for tests, but she seemed mostly okay except for having trouble breathing.
While they were trying to make it easier for her to breathe, she apparently had a massive stroke - a fatal one. She died some time yesterday afternoon.
This the second Alzheimer's sufferer in my family to die in as many weeks.
I didn't have a relationship with my paternal grandparents for most of my life. When my grandfather passed a couple of years, ago, I wasn't sure how to feel. Now that my grandmother has died, it was a similar experience - although she always seemed to be a sweeter person, to me, anyway.
In her later years, she'd reached the point where she didn't know who some of her children and grandchildren were. She'd be introduced to me, think I was my father (since we have the same name), have it explained to her, embrace me, then forget me and start the whole thing all over, again.
So, I have a fondness for her, but there was no relationship to be had over the past few years. Despite that, I think I was on the edge of SOME kind of emotional reaction, but I never go the chance for that to fully develop. I was too busy trying to contact my father, who wouldn't return anyone's calls, to give him the news that his mother had died... then trying to get him to stop yelling at me because of his frustrations with... damn-near the entire world. This post is long enough with getting into the multiple layers of erraticism my dad displayed in that 25-minute phone call. At least I can say that he apologized for taking his frustrations with the rest of his family out on me. He even said I'm a very good son, which touched my heart, despite the seething anger I was suppressing, at that moment.
"I figured it was going to go down like that. I knew she was gon' die. Y'all didn't have to tell me that! I ain't stupid!"
I had to (ironically) yell, "Stop yelling at me! This is not an indictment of you or your intellect. We're not calling you stupid. We just thought you should know that your mother died!"
That's just a taste.
Anyway, by the time I got off the phone, I was a wreck... for a few reasons. I'm feeling bad for my family members who were closer to my grandmother, dealing with my own, undefined feelings about her passing, pissed-off at my father for yelling at me while repeating the same things over and over and over, again, and afraid that my grandmother's fate and my father's future might be my own.
And if it is, I may never know... but the people around me will.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Indignity of Persistence
My aunt was diagnosed with diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease some years, ago. At first she just seemed really sweet and kinda silly. Later, she became more easily confused by things, although she was still fairly aware. She had a regular caregiver who helped my uncle take care of her since things like bathing herself became too much for her.
By the time my grandmother's 80th birthday celebration came around a year and a half, ago, my aunt was still mobile, but unexpressive. Making eye-contact with her caused her to turn away.
In her eyes I thought I could see ... something like what you feel when you experience deja vue. Everything about your surroundings in that moment, seem very, very familiar, but you don't know how or why. Being confronted with one of those familiar faces, in an up-close and personal way, was uncomfortable, I guess.
The next time I saw her, about a year later, she was bed-ridden and unresponsive, needing others to take care of her every need. My uncle took months off from work, to take care of her and make arrangements for others to help.
From what I understand, my uncle was told that the care he could provide her was insufficient so he was forced to put her in a home... where they could take better care of her.
Within a year, she was dead. Some type of infection set in her body. From what we're being told, the city, state, county or whomever is saying that this infection shouldn't be been fatal - the facility should've caught it.
So, my uncle was forced to send his wife away for better care and signs indicate that she received the exact opposite.
I believe an autopsy has been ordered, so we'll see. Either way, the people who loved my aunt have to deal with the mixed-emotions of being sad that she's passed but maybe embarrassed by some sense that the indignity of her persistence has come to an end.
Happy Valentine's Day, Unc.
By the time my grandmother's 80th birthday celebration came around a year and a half, ago, my aunt was still mobile, but unexpressive. Making eye-contact with her caused her to turn away.
In her eyes I thought I could see ... something like what you feel when you experience deja vue. Everything about your surroundings in that moment, seem very, very familiar, but you don't know how or why. Being confronted with one of those familiar faces, in an up-close and personal way, was uncomfortable, I guess.
The next time I saw her, about a year later, she was bed-ridden and unresponsive, needing others to take care of her every need. My uncle took months off from work, to take care of her and make arrangements for others to help.
From what I understand, my uncle was told that the care he could provide her was insufficient so he was forced to put her in a home... where they could take better care of her.
Within a year, she was dead. Some type of infection set in her body. From what we're being told, the city, state, county or whomever is saying that this infection shouldn't be been fatal - the facility should've caught it.
So, my uncle was forced to send his wife away for better care and signs indicate that she received the exact opposite.
I believe an autopsy has been ordered, so we'll see. Either way, the people who loved my aunt have to deal with the mixed-emotions of being sad that she's passed but maybe embarrassed by some sense that the indignity of her persistence has come to an end.
Happy Valentine's Day, Unc.
Monday, February 04, 2008
Biking Shorts - Part 2
So, I've been biking around like a madman, these past couple of months.
After years or trial-and-error, trying to find a bicycle that felt right and worked well, I learned, the hard way, that not all bikes are created equal. Having finally found one that worked for me, I was all too happy to ride around the neighborhood, hit the paved biking trails, peddle to the bus stop (which I sometimes take to class), and, eventually, to bike the 6 miles or so (round-trip) to and from class.
Tallahassee's got hills for DAYS, but somehow my screaming thigh muscles weren't deterrents. I mean, it's true that money's tighter than it's been in some time, but I don't really HAVE to bike back and forth to class. I could drive or I could walk to the bus stop and ride for free.
Instead, I set up my audio entertainment*, set up my gear**, and hit the road. I feel like I'm doing a good thing. Really.
A recent podcast I listened to was about fuel-efficient cars - hybrids, etc. - and how that's a good thing for the environment and for decreasing our dependence on oil, but an even better way is to carpool or catch the bus or walk... or bike your way around.
I guess that makes sense. If biking, for instance, allows you to only drive half as much as you used to, you've effectively doubled your gas mileage - depending on how you look at it. In my case, I drive a day out of the average week. In fact, I drive so little that I feel strange behind the wheel, these days.
Besides feeling like I'm wasting fossil fuels and contributing to global warming, I just feel like a huge target for police officers who've GOT to find SOME reason to pull me over (despite the fact that I'm the slowest driver you'd never want to meet on the highway).
So, I'm helping the environment, reducing the chances that I'll get a traffic ticket, decreasing my auto insurance rates by driving less, saving gas money (I estimate that a half-hour, round-trip commute costs about $3 per trip on a good day), and keeping myself healthy.
And, honestly, it's just plain ol' FUN.
Click below to skip to...
Part 1
Part 3
Part 4
* - usually, streaming NPR programming through my Treo smartphone and listening to it wirelessly through my stereo Bluetooth headphones. More on those at a later date. You know I'm way overdue for some tech ranting. :-)
** - Tallahassee weather (hell, this whole region's weather) is moody as can be, so layers are key.
After years or trial-and-error, trying to find a bicycle that felt right and worked well, I learned, the hard way, that not all bikes are created equal. Having finally found one that worked for me, I was all too happy to ride around the neighborhood, hit the paved biking trails, peddle to the bus stop (which I sometimes take to class), and, eventually, to bike the 6 miles or so (round-trip) to and from class.
Tallahassee's got hills for DAYS, but somehow my screaming thigh muscles weren't deterrents. I mean, it's true that money's tighter than it's been in some time, but I don't really HAVE to bike back and forth to class. I could drive or I could walk to the bus stop and ride for free.
Instead, I set up my audio entertainment*, set up my gear**, and hit the road. I feel like I'm doing a good thing. Really.
A recent podcast I listened to was about fuel-efficient cars - hybrids, etc. - and how that's a good thing for the environment and for decreasing our dependence on oil, but an even better way is to carpool or catch the bus or walk... or bike your way around.
I guess that makes sense. If biking, for instance, allows you to only drive half as much as you used to, you've effectively doubled your gas mileage - depending on how you look at it. In my case, I drive a day out of the average week. In fact, I drive so little that I feel strange behind the wheel, these days.
Besides feeling like I'm wasting fossil fuels and contributing to global warming, I just feel like a huge target for police officers who've GOT to find SOME reason to pull me over (despite the fact that I'm the slowest driver you'd never want to meet on the highway).
So, I'm helping the environment, reducing the chances that I'll get a traffic ticket, decreasing my auto insurance rates by driving less, saving gas money (I estimate that a half-hour, round-trip commute costs about $3 per trip on a good day), and keeping myself healthy.
And, honestly, it's just plain ol' FUN.
Click below to skip to...
Part 1
Part 3
Part 4
* - usually, streaming NPR programming through my Treo smartphone and listening to it wirelessly through my stereo Bluetooth headphones. More on those at a later date. You know I'm way overdue for some tech ranting. :-)
** - Tallahassee weather (hell, this whole region's weather) is moody as can be, so layers are key.
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
Skinny
I'd heard that actress, Jennifer Love Hewitt, had been criticized, recently, for looking fat in a bikini. Apparently, this had been going on for some time, but, thankfully, stayed below my radar. From what I hear, she ignored the criticism for some time before finally responding via her blog.
I think she said something about how every woman should love her own body and that a size 2 is not fat. When I heard about this, I had to (mentally) applaud her. I hadn't seen the bikini pix that started this frenzy, if it may be called that, but it seems beyond ridiculous that a young woman, celebrated or otherwise, can't go to the beach without the world criticizing every bump, curve, and jiggle.
Ms. Hewitt encouraged women to keep on wearing their bikinis in spite of the unfair way that women are singled-out and ridiculed for what can barely be categorized as "imperfections." I must agree.
Well, today, I was in Pizza Hut that happened to have the news on and they showed the infamous photo of Ms. Hewitt's backside in a bathing suit.
I'll admit, she wasn't as toned as I've seen her in the past and there were signs of cellulite.
Big. Frickin'. Deal.
I'm sure she's got a pimple somewhere we could freak out about, too, but who gives a damn. I mean, really. How is this news?
Meanwhile, there are a ton of movies and television shows featuring funny, fat, flatulent fuckers with receding hairlines and slack jaws married to visions of womanly perfection that somehow found them to be husband- and father-material.
Look, I leer and ogle with the best of'em, but somewhere there is a line and we have lonnnnnng-since crossed it.
How many men can you think of who are out there starving themselves to skeletal states (or trying) just to be worthy of standing in front of a camera?
*crickets chirping*
Wait, I've got one!
Now, tell me... how many such women can you think of?
And don't even get me started on the older women starving themselves, injecting their lips, stretching their skin, and losing their minds trying to remain screen-worthy.
I think she said something about how every woman should love her own body and that a size 2 is not fat. When I heard about this, I had to (mentally) applaud her. I hadn't seen the bikini pix that started this frenzy, if it may be called that, but it seems beyond ridiculous that a young woman, celebrated or otherwise, can't go to the beach without the world criticizing every bump, curve, and jiggle.
Ms. Hewitt encouraged women to keep on wearing their bikinis in spite of the unfair way that women are singled-out and ridiculed for what can barely be categorized as "imperfections." I must agree.
Well, today, I was in Pizza Hut that happened to have the news on and they showed the infamous photo of Ms. Hewitt's backside in a bathing suit.
I'll admit, she wasn't as toned as I've seen her in the past and there were signs of cellulite.
Big. Frickin'. Deal.
I'm sure she's got a pimple somewhere we could freak out about, too, but who gives a damn. I mean, really. How is this news?
Meanwhile, there are a ton of movies and television shows featuring funny, fat, flatulent fuckers with receding hairlines and slack jaws married to visions of womanly perfection that somehow found them to be husband- and father-material.
Look, I leer and ogle with the best of'em, but somewhere there is a line and we have lonnnnnng-since crossed it.
How many men can you think of who are out there starving themselves to skeletal states (or trying) just to be worthy of standing in front of a camera?
*crickets chirping*
Wait, I've got one!
Now, tell me... how many such women can you think of?
And don't even get me started on the older women starving themselves, injecting their lips, stretching their skin, and losing their minds trying to remain screen-worthy.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Skinny Jeans
I only know about the female concept of "skinny jeans"* because of the tv show, Sex and the City.
I remember watching that episode, thinking that this was another one of those little windows into the world of women which I might never have known about, otherwise (despite being in committed relationships for most of my adult life).
I never thought the day would come when I'd have my OWN pair of so-called "skinny jeans." In my case, they happen to be pairs of dress-pants that I bought but didn't wear much. Occasionally, I'd get the itch to wear my really cool slacks, but find myself unable/barely able to scratch it because my waist-line had expanded so much.
I was never a fat slob but I did gain weight over the years that many of these pants hung in my closet. After realizing the situation, I resolved to start wearing my coolest clothes, instead of waiting for only the coolest of occasions. They're meant to be worn, not collect dust in a dark closet.
In some cases, I thought the day might come in which I'd get back on that weight bench and trim up enough to wear my gear. Well, instead of that happening, I experienced a ton of workplace stress which resulted in my going from 205 pounds to 180 pounds. I was so busy being concerned about how that stress was affecting my body that it, understandably, never occurred to me that I might actually be able to wear those "skinny" clothes, again... not until I was getting rid of some clothes and other items for a big garage sale (pack-rat purging, in my case).
Before tossing those slacks in the trash/sell piles, I'd just noticed my smaller waist in the mirror. I decided to try on some stuff and, to my surprise, they fit just like they did the day I bought them.
Unfortunately, this also means that some of my favored articles of clothing are now a size or two too big, for me. I can still get away with them, more or less, but many of them fall off me if I go belt-less.
Anyway, as I've said, before, I'm treating non-ideal and completely accidental incidence of weight-loss like an opportunity to get and stay healthy. It just so happens I also get the benefit of wearing some clothes I'd all but given-up on, over the years.
So yeah, I've got "skinny jeans." And I can actually wear'em.
(Too bad that, for a man, "skinny" isn't a compliment. I still need to get my ass back on that weight bench.)
* - "Skinny jeans" are the jeans you can't (or can barely) wear, anymore, but that you keep anyway, to use as inspiration to lose that extra weight, hoping you'll one day be able to wear them, again.
I remember watching that episode, thinking that this was another one of those little windows into the world of women which I might never have known about, otherwise (despite being in committed relationships for most of my adult life).
I never thought the day would come when I'd have my OWN pair of so-called "skinny jeans." In my case, they happen to be pairs of dress-pants that I bought but didn't wear much. Occasionally, I'd get the itch to wear my really cool slacks, but find myself unable/barely able to scratch it because my waist-line had expanded so much.
I was never a fat slob but I did gain weight over the years that many of these pants hung in my closet. After realizing the situation, I resolved to start wearing my coolest clothes, instead of waiting for only the coolest of occasions. They're meant to be worn, not collect dust in a dark closet.
In some cases, I thought the day might come in which I'd get back on that weight bench and trim up enough to wear my gear. Well, instead of that happening, I experienced a ton of workplace stress which resulted in my going from 205 pounds to 180 pounds. I was so busy being concerned about how that stress was affecting my body that it, understandably, never occurred to me that I might actually be able to wear those "skinny" clothes, again... not until I was getting rid of some clothes and other items for a big garage sale (pack-rat purging, in my case).
Before tossing those slacks in the trash/sell piles, I'd just noticed my smaller waist in the mirror. I decided to try on some stuff and, to my surprise, they fit just like they did the day I bought them.
Unfortunately, this also means that some of my favored articles of clothing are now a size or two too big, for me. I can still get away with them, more or less, but many of them fall off me if I go belt-less.
Anyway, as I've said, before, I'm treating non-ideal and completely accidental incidence of weight-loss like an opportunity to get and stay healthy. It just so happens I also get the benefit of wearing some clothes I'd all but given-up on, over the years.
So yeah, I've got "skinny jeans." And I can actually wear'em.
(Too bad that, for a man, "skinny" isn't a compliment. I still need to get my ass back on that weight bench.)
* - "Skinny jeans" are the jeans you can't (or can barely) wear, anymore, but that you keep anyway, to use as inspiration to lose that extra weight, hoping you'll one day be able to wear them, again.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Health Before Wealth
You can't put a price on peace of-mind (and body). Well, I can't, anyway.
I've been removing unhealthy elements from my life over the past year, in-particular. The latest casualty? My employer.
I may have mentioned that I've been in poor health over the past few months. Much of that was caused by my work environment. Well, after certain i's were dotted and certain t's were crossed, I amputated that oh-so-unhealthy portion of my life... before it could infect the others any further.
Now that it's been a while, I can say with great certainty that my anxiety level is MUCH lower, I've got more patience and energy for other parts of my life, and I don't experience the chest or stomach pain anywhere near as much.
I've lost about 25 pounds, at this point, but I'm trying to turn that into a positive by taking better care of myself. I'm buying healthier food, exercising (building up to more intensive exercise), and working on managing stress effectively and safely. If nothing else, it'll keep me from having to deal with the medical professionals who seem to be infested and infecting others with ineptitude on a level that boggles the mind.
I'm doing what I can to take care of myself - mentally and physically. I hope you love yourself enough to do the same.
I've been removing unhealthy elements from my life over the past year, in-particular. The latest casualty? My employer.
I may have mentioned that I've been in poor health over the past few months. Much of that was caused by my work environment. Well, after certain i's were dotted and certain t's were crossed, I amputated that oh-so-unhealthy portion of my life... before it could infect the others any further.
Now that it's been a while, I can say with great certainty that my anxiety level is MUCH lower, I've got more patience and energy for other parts of my life, and I don't experience the chest or stomach pain anywhere near as much.
I've lost about 25 pounds, at this point, but I'm trying to turn that into a positive by taking better care of myself. I'm buying healthier food, exercising (building up to more intensive exercise), and working on managing stress effectively and safely. If nothing else, it'll keep me from having to deal with the medical professionals who seem to be infested and infecting others with ineptitude on a level that boggles the mind.
I'm doing what I can to take care of myself - mentally and physically. I hope you love yourself enough to do the same.
Friday, July 06, 2007
Health Screening
I've heard the term "health screening" before, but I never thought of it in the same sense that many of us might screen our phone calls: "Oooh, I don't want to treat them. They'll have me caught-up all day!"
Since my previous primary care physician dumped me (because I hadn't been there in a couple years or so)? I've been trying to find a new doctor.
Recently, I contacted a local facility with a few doctors on-staff and asked if they were taking new patients. I was told that they were but that I'd need to drop off my medical records with them, first, so they could look them over and then let me know if and when they'd see me.
It makes sense that they'd want to know my medical history before seeing me, but it seems strange that they'd want to use it to decide IF they'd see me.
What, if I had too many chronic illnesses or something, they'd pass on me like I'd pass on an unappetizing meal?
Does that seem strange to anyone else? Am I misunderstanding a fair and necessary part of our medical care system?
Since my previous primary care physician dumped me (because I hadn't been there in a couple years or so)? I've been trying to find a new doctor.
Recently, I contacted a local facility with a few doctors on-staff and asked if they were taking new patients. I was told that they were but that I'd need to drop off my medical records with them, first, so they could look them over and then let me know if and when they'd see me.
It makes sense that they'd want to know my medical history before seeing me, but it seems strange that they'd want to use it to decide IF they'd see me.
What, if I had too many chronic illnesses or something, they'd pass on me like I'd pass on an unappetizing meal?
Does that seem strange to anyone else? Am I misunderstanding a fair and necessary part of our medical care system?
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Work Anxiety
It's amazing how much stress is due to people's work lives. Now, I don't have hard statistics ... or even soft ones, for that matter. All I have are observation and experience.
There's been a lot of stress in my life since 2007 began. I can see that a huge chunk of it is due to my workplace. I've tried adapting to the culture, but it seems that I'll never be able to adapt enough.
Why? Because, as many inconsistencies, inaccuracies, and injustices as I've tried to ignore over the past year or so, there are some that I feel that I have to speak on!
And therein lies the problem.
I've got a co-worker who (correction: former co-worker, now) whose tales are very similar to mine, although neither of us knew it at the time. She's now been fired for "fighting." She says that she let a lot of comments slide, but there were some things that she had to speak on!
And therein lies the pink slip.
I guess this is supposed to scare me. It doesn't, but it makes me anxious as all hell. And, to be really honest, it saddens me that human-beings treat each other so poorly. Relative positions of power go to people's heads and any lowly employee who dares to challenge their ideas must be made an example of.
So, now I am fighting! I'm still fighting for the hundreds of dollars in reimbursement that I expected from the work-related trip I never wanted to take. I've got a meeting with the CFO next week about that one.
While I'm glad that he responded to my request so quickly, the fact is that he's "one of them." No, I don't mean white people - although I think he is. No, I mean that I can't allow myself to hope too hard that he might be a fair-minded individual, as opposed to a group-think participant.
So, as I prepare for a meeting with a half dozen people that "out-rank" me, I find that almost every minute of every day is soaked in anxiety. And, no matter hard I try, I can't seem to dry off.
I actually found myself spontaneously meditating (or something similar), earlier, while trying to release the butterflies in my stomach. The best (productive) approach, though, seems to be finding the flaws in my opponents' arguments - looking at them as weapons and my verbal skills as fighting skills. Knowing that I've got a decent chance against my opponents (even though they're literally paying the judges), helps put my mind and my guts at-ease. Sometimes.
But I'm caught up in a cycle, now. I've complained about the "wrong" stuff, so they're putting pressure and additional work on me to stop me from complaining. Sadly, that just pisses me off and makes me complain more... and the cycle continues.
In a lot of cases, I've found that reason and rationality result in very limited success, since a lot of folks have already made up their minds about an issue before they ever hear the other side. Hopefully, that won't be the case in my upcoming verbal and professional battles, but I'm going to fight them regardless.
I know I could just quit and walk away, but I just can't take seeing or knowing that certain people are catching so much more hell and being held to a higher standard than certain other people.
And therein lies the pink slip. Maybe.
There's been a lot of stress in my life since 2007 began. I can see that a huge chunk of it is due to my workplace. I've tried adapting to the culture, but it seems that I'll never be able to adapt enough.
Why? Because, as many inconsistencies, inaccuracies, and injustices as I've tried to ignore over the past year or so, there are some that I feel that I have to speak on!
And therein lies the problem.
I've got a co-worker who (correction: former co-worker, now) whose tales are very similar to mine, although neither of us knew it at the time. She's now been fired for "fighting." She says that she let a lot of comments slide, but there were some things that she had to speak on!
And therein lies the pink slip.
I guess this is supposed to scare me. It doesn't, but it makes me anxious as all hell. And, to be really honest, it saddens me that human-beings treat each other so poorly. Relative positions of power go to people's heads and any lowly employee who dares to challenge their ideas must be made an example of.
So, now I am fighting! I'm still fighting for the hundreds of dollars in reimbursement that I expected from the work-related trip I never wanted to take. I've got a meeting with the CFO next week about that one.
While I'm glad that he responded to my request so quickly, the fact is that he's "one of them." No, I don't mean white people - although I think he is. No, I mean that I can't allow myself to hope too hard that he might be a fair-minded individual, as opposed to a group-think participant.
So, as I prepare for a meeting with a half dozen people that "out-rank" me, I find that almost every minute of every day is soaked in anxiety. And, no matter hard I try, I can't seem to dry off.
I actually found myself spontaneously meditating (or something similar), earlier, while trying to release the butterflies in my stomach. The best (productive) approach, though, seems to be finding the flaws in my opponents' arguments - looking at them as weapons and my verbal skills as fighting skills. Knowing that I've got a decent chance against my opponents (even though they're literally paying the judges), helps put my mind and my guts at-ease. Sometimes.
But I'm caught up in a cycle, now. I've complained about the "wrong" stuff, so they're putting pressure and additional work on me to stop me from complaining. Sadly, that just pisses me off and makes me complain more... and the cycle continues.
In a lot of cases, I've found that reason and rationality result in very limited success, since a lot of folks have already made up their minds about an issue before they ever hear the other side. Hopefully, that won't be the case in my upcoming verbal and professional battles, but I'm going to fight them regardless.
I know I could just quit and walk away, but I just can't take seeing or knowing that certain people are catching so much more hell and being held to a higher standard than certain other people.
And therein lies the pink slip. Maybe.
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Counseling Commentary
chele recently posted about counseling/therapy, which prompted me to drop the following lengthy commentary:
Your questions and comments are welcome.It’s funny you mention this, as I’ve been considering just this, recently. In fact, I (even more recently) said that I wasn’t gonna do it because I knew I wasn’t in the right place for what I knew was to come.
I’ve also had experiences in the past which told me the one thing that often changes people’s impressions of those they consider to be mentors, counselors, teachers, parents, etc: I realized these folks were only human - and not necessarily all that great at what they do.
I used to basically have complete faith in these people, but I’ve seen healthcare professionals who didn’t respect patients’ rights to privacy, teachers who were knowledgeable, but couldn’t teach, managers who were experienced, but couldn’t manage, and counselors who’d received some training, but who really couldn’t offer me much more than an ear to bend.
If that’s all I need, then cool, but if I want to feel like this person is going to challenge me in substantive ways AND listen to what I say, I tend to worry that I’ll end up with a dud.
That said, when weighed against the alternative, counseling may turn out to be a fine option.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
"To Serve and Protect"... and Profile
I've mentioned before that I drove to Maryland on business about three weeks, ago. The way it worked out, I decided to drive from Tallahassee to Georgia, take care of some medical issues over the course of a week, then continue to Maryland.
I drove to Maryland on a Wednesday, worked on Thursday, then drove back to Georgia on Friday.
In yesterday's post, I mentioned having been pulled over by the Carolina police, while I was on my way back to Georgia. Although I'd fallen behind schedule, I did a pretty good job of sticking with my "no speeding" policy.* Sadly, that didn't stop an officer on I-85 from pulling up behind me, then on left, then behind me, then on my right, then behind me, for about five or ten miles, then flashing his lights and pulling me over.
My offense? The little lights that illuminate the license plate weren't lit. Of course, the sun was still up, so I'm sure he had no problem reading my tag. It was just a convenient excuse to pull me over, since my headlights were on but the tag lights weren't. My tail lights were fine, by the way.
Anyway, he pulls me over, walks up to my vehicle, and sticks his head in the passenger side window asking me about where I'm from and where I'm going. He asks where I work, suggesting that I work on or with computers, since I had two laptops in the front seat. Then, of course, I felt the need to justify my presence on the highway and explain why I own so many computers... because, by then, I already felt like a criminal, despite having done nothing illegal.
The vehicle registration had been held up but I presented my license and proof of insurance, so he seemed satisfied that the vehicle wasn't stolen or whatever.
He then asked if I'd step out of the vehicle and follow him to the back. As I did, I noticed there were two or three additional police vehicles lined up behind me. He showed me that my tag lights weren't on and then handed me a written warning which required no action on my part.
I thought that was the end of it and I could continue on my journey, but then he said, "Well, unfortunately, you're on a route that's known for transporting drugs between D.C. and Atlanta. We would like your permission to search your vehicle."
Now, this is a request, which suggests that I am free to decline. However, there are a bunch of people around me with badges, guns, and the authority to make my life very inconvenient, so, from my perspective, it was a request, punctuated with a threat. So, I consented.
If I had it to do over, again, I would have declined, because that decision affected my travel time and my health. Instead, I submitted to the request to search my vehicle and my person, raising my arms and being pat-down in front of scores of drivers - a Black man looking like a suspect from the tv show, COPS. After all, I figured, I was in South Carolina so I probably wouldn't have THAT much further to drive.
"Do you have any weapons in the vehicle?"
"No."
"Any illegal drugs or large amounts of cash?"
"I'm about the squarest guy you could've pulled over. I've got a ton of Benadryl in there, a buck in my pocket, and a buck in my wallet. So, no."**
As the sun set, I stood outside of my vehicle next to I-85, wearing a tank top and sporting a wicked cough that was getting worse, by the second. The winds and cooling temperatures made my existing cough so bad that ever time I tried to speak, I coughed about a dozen or so times.
The Black cop they assigned to stand by me while they searched every nook and cranny of my vehicle, luggage, and other possessions, asked me about my life - where I lived, where I worked, my allergies, etc. I don't know if he was trying to be kind or milk me for information, but, against the darkening sky and bright headlights of the police cruisers, his grinning silhouette was like something out of a minstrel act. His questions were friendly in a situation where I felt I had no friends. It's like he was somehow meant to be relatable but came off as somewhat offensive.
Reacting to my horrible coughing fits, the Black cop asked if I wanted to have a seat. Thinking he was talking about my vehicle, I declined, saying that I didn't want to impede or appear to be trying to impede progress. I wanted to do whatever would make this situation come to an end as quickly as possible.
After more questions from the officer and more coughing from me, he asked, again. "Are you sure you don't want to have a seat?"
"Well, I might have to take you up on that offer, this time," I said. After all, that cough wasn't getting any better out there on that cool, windy interstate.
I looked at the officer, though, and noticed that he'd turned toward his cruiser. "Oh, you're talking about getting in the back of the police car," I asked with a frown on my face. "No thanks."
That pissed me off because it was like an invitation from the spider to the fly. Hell, they pulled me over acting like my light problem was something substantive, when really it wasn't.*** They just wanted to get me in their clutches. He acted like he was just showing me the unilluminated area, when he was really preparing to search my vehicle. Who knows what would've happened once I was in the back of the police car.
And, besides all that, I'll be damned if I wanted to be made to feel any more like a criminal by being seated in the part of the police car you can't open the doors from the inside. I've been in that situation, before, when someone was searching the truck I owned during my freshmen year in college. They weren't in any rush to let me back out, even when it'd been established that I hadn't stolen that vehicle, either!
Finally, they finished and, trying to view this as one of the inconveniences that law-abiding citizens have to suffer, sometimes, in order to keep us all safe, I responded with humor. "Pretty boring, huh?"
"Nah. It's kinda interesting seeing stuff from people's lives."
Maybe he meant nothing by it, but something about that answer combined with the lack of contrition on his part that left a bad taste in my mouth. Maybe this is how they get through an unpleasant job, but it felt like a violation of my privacy. The fact that they found nothing wrong and didn't bother to apologize for the inconvenience didn't help.
I called my loved-ones to let them know that and why I'd be even later, then I pulled back onto what was now a very dark road. I'd guess that the whole episode took about an hour.
Not long after that, I realized that I wasn't in South Carolina, yet. I hadn't made it out of North Carolina and, ultimately, I wouldn't make it home until about 1am, the next morning.
After the shitty directions I got for leaving Maryland, getting lost and taking forever to find my way back, then getting pulled over by these "servers and protectors" and continuing on my journey, I spent about 20 hours on the road.
When I finally got to my parents' exit, in Georgia, I stopped at a local Wal-Mart for some drugs because what I thought were allergy symptoms were really the effects of a "bug" I caught from the people at the Maryland office, during a training I never wanted to go to. I only agreed because of a combination of pressure from management plus the potential to make it work out in my favor - the opportunity to gain access to more in-network medical providers, for instance.
I spent the next week sick as a dog with a temperature that got as high as 102.x. After the first couple of days, I saw a doctor who said that I probably caught it from my Maryland co-workers and then exascerbated the sickness and symptoms by standing on the side of the freeway while my vehicle was searched.
I welcome your questions, comments, and criticism.
* - It's both a safety concern and a financial one. Damned if I'm trying to give up two or three hundred dollars to my local county or PODUNK County, USA.
** - It was true. I only had about $15 on me when I went through the toll area I'd been told about by the co-workers who gave me directions to avoid D.C. traffic on my way out of Maryland. They failed to mention, though, that the toll was at least twelve dollars.
*** - Of course, this is assuming that one of the cops didn't unscrew the lights, himself.
I drove to Maryland on a Wednesday, worked on Thursday, then drove back to Georgia on Friday.
In yesterday's post, I mentioned having been pulled over by the Carolina police, while I was on my way back to Georgia. Although I'd fallen behind schedule, I did a pretty good job of sticking with my "no speeding" policy.* Sadly, that didn't stop an officer on I-85 from pulling up behind me, then on left, then behind me, then on my right, then behind me, for about five or ten miles, then flashing his lights and pulling me over.
My offense? The little lights that illuminate the license plate weren't lit. Of course, the sun was still up, so I'm sure he had no problem reading my tag. It was just a convenient excuse to pull me over, since my headlights were on but the tag lights weren't. My tail lights were fine, by the way.
Anyway, he pulls me over, walks up to my vehicle, and sticks his head in the passenger side window asking me about where I'm from and where I'm going. He asks where I work, suggesting that I work on or with computers, since I had two laptops in the front seat. Then, of course, I felt the need to justify my presence on the highway and explain why I own so many computers... because, by then, I already felt like a criminal, despite having done nothing illegal.
The vehicle registration had been held up but I presented my license and proof of insurance, so he seemed satisfied that the vehicle wasn't stolen or whatever.
He then asked if I'd step out of the vehicle and follow him to the back. As I did, I noticed there were two or three additional police vehicles lined up behind me. He showed me that my tag lights weren't on and then handed me a written warning which required no action on my part.
I thought that was the end of it and I could continue on my journey, but then he said, "Well, unfortunately, you're on a route that's known for transporting drugs between D.C. and Atlanta. We would like your permission to search your vehicle."
Now, this is a request, which suggests that I am free to decline. However, there are a bunch of people around me with badges, guns, and the authority to make my life very inconvenient, so, from my perspective, it was a request, punctuated with a threat. So, I consented.
If I had it to do over, again, I would have declined, because that decision affected my travel time and my health. Instead, I submitted to the request to search my vehicle and my person, raising my arms and being pat-down in front of scores of drivers - a Black man looking like a suspect from the tv show, COPS. After all, I figured, I was in South Carolina so I probably wouldn't have THAT much further to drive.
"Do you have any weapons in the vehicle?"
"No."
"Any illegal drugs or large amounts of cash?"
"I'm about the squarest guy you could've pulled over. I've got a ton of Benadryl in there, a buck in my pocket, and a buck in my wallet. So, no."**
As the sun set, I stood outside of my vehicle next to I-85, wearing a tank top and sporting a wicked cough that was getting worse, by the second. The winds and cooling temperatures made my existing cough so bad that ever time I tried to speak, I coughed about a dozen or so times.
The Black cop they assigned to stand by me while they searched every nook and cranny of my vehicle, luggage, and other possessions, asked me about my life - where I lived, where I worked, my allergies, etc. I don't know if he was trying to be kind or milk me for information, but, against the darkening sky and bright headlights of the police cruisers, his grinning silhouette was like something out of a minstrel act. His questions were friendly in a situation where I felt I had no friends. It's like he was somehow meant to be relatable but came off as somewhat offensive.
Reacting to my horrible coughing fits, the Black cop asked if I wanted to have a seat. Thinking he was talking about my vehicle, I declined, saying that I didn't want to impede or appear to be trying to impede progress. I wanted to do whatever would make this situation come to an end as quickly as possible.
After more questions from the officer and more coughing from me, he asked, again. "Are you sure you don't want to have a seat?"
"Well, I might have to take you up on that offer, this time," I said. After all, that cough wasn't getting any better out there on that cool, windy interstate.
I looked at the officer, though, and noticed that he'd turned toward his cruiser. "Oh, you're talking about getting in the back of the police car," I asked with a frown on my face. "No thanks."
That pissed me off because it was like an invitation from the spider to the fly. Hell, they pulled me over acting like my light problem was something substantive, when really it wasn't.*** They just wanted to get me in their clutches. He acted like he was just showing me the unilluminated area, when he was really preparing to search my vehicle. Who knows what would've happened once I was in the back of the police car.
And, besides all that, I'll be damned if I wanted to be made to feel any more like a criminal by being seated in the part of the police car you can't open the doors from the inside. I've been in that situation, before, when someone was searching the truck I owned during my freshmen year in college. They weren't in any rush to let me back out, even when it'd been established that I hadn't stolen that vehicle, either!
Finally, they finished and, trying to view this as one of the inconveniences that law-abiding citizens have to suffer, sometimes, in order to keep us all safe, I responded with humor. "Pretty boring, huh?"
"Nah. It's kinda interesting seeing stuff from people's lives."
Maybe he meant nothing by it, but something about that answer combined with the lack of contrition on his part that left a bad taste in my mouth. Maybe this is how they get through an unpleasant job, but it felt like a violation of my privacy. The fact that they found nothing wrong and didn't bother to apologize for the inconvenience didn't help.
I called my loved-ones to let them know that and why I'd be even later, then I pulled back onto what was now a very dark road. I'd guess that the whole episode took about an hour.
Not long after that, I realized that I wasn't in South Carolina, yet. I hadn't made it out of North Carolina and, ultimately, I wouldn't make it home until about 1am, the next morning.
After the shitty directions I got for leaving Maryland, getting lost and taking forever to find my way back, then getting pulled over by these "servers and protectors" and continuing on my journey, I spent about 20 hours on the road.
When I finally got to my parents' exit, in Georgia, I stopped at a local Wal-Mart for some drugs because what I thought were allergy symptoms were really the effects of a "bug" I caught from the people at the Maryland office, during a training I never wanted to go to. I only agreed because of a combination of pressure from management plus the potential to make it work out in my favor - the opportunity to gain access to more in-network medical providers, for instance.
I spent the next week sick as a dog with a temperature that got as high as 102.x. After the first couple of days, I saw a doctor who said that I probably caught it from my Maryland co-workers and then exascerbated the sickness and symptoms by standing on the side of the freeway while my vehicle was searched.
THE END
I welcome your questions, comments, and criticism.
* - It's both a safety concern and a financial one. Damned if I'm trying to give up two or three hundred dollars to my local county or PODUNK County, USA.
** - It was true. I only had about $15 on me when I went through the toll area I'd been told about by the co-workers who gave me directions to avoid D.C. traffic on my way out of Maryland. They failed to mention, though, that the toll was at least twelve dollars.
*** - Of course, this is assuming that one of the cops didn't unscrew the lights, himself.
Monday, April 09, 2007
The Mystery of Medical Care
Today, I stopped by my workplace, to handle any higher-priority issues that may have collected during my absence. My plan was to take care of a couple of things, then try to find a new primary care physician (and maybe even get some input on why I'm still feeling the way that I do).
I went to my insurance company's website to find a list of participating providers. I was told that internal medicine is a good way to narrow down your search preferences since these doctors know a bit more than your average "general practitioner" and are probably less likely to send me to a specialist every time I need something.
Don't get me wrong. Specialists are fine, but it'd be nice if the person who called him- or herself my doctor can actually do a little doctoring instead of a lotta referring. I've gotten quite enough of that, already.
Anyway, I'm complaining this time because I'm amazed anyone ever gets any health care, at all, considering what I went through just to FIND a physician. Don't worry, it's nowhere near as bad as some of my horror stories.
It's just that the whole thing can be so laborious and inefficient. I went to the address on the insurance company's website just to end up in a suite where no one seemed to work. I mean, I could hear somebody back there, but no one ever showed up at the receptionist's desk.
I eventually found a sign that said the doctor I sought was in suite 200 instead of 100. Fine.
I go there to find a swarm of people waiting at the windows or waiting to be seen. The windows had the names of several physicians next to them. Sadly, the only window with a "closed" sign was also the one that had the name of, not only the main physician I sought but, half the doctors I found on the website.
I waited in another line, asked if someone could help me, since the first line was closed, and was greeted by a very nice young lady. She was all ready to sign me up, but first I wanted to know if any of the doctors from my list were taking new patients.
That, apparently, was asking too much. It seemed to take quite a bit to find out which doctors were taking new patients. Dr. R. was taking new patients, but no one seemed to know about the other two.
Oh well. I was told to see another young lady who'd help me find out about Dr. R.
She was trying to sign me up, asking for my driver's license and whatnot and I interrupted her, just like I did one of her predecessors, saying, "Well first, do you have access to the doctor's schedule? If she's seeing new patients, but can't fit them in for six months, there's no point in my filling out a bunch of forms. That'd be a waste of your time and mine."
She took a look and found that it'd take a month or more before the doctor would be able to see me. She eventually was told by someone "off-camera" that the other two doctors weren't seeing any new patients. Somehow, that seemed like b.s.
I mean, moments earlier, someone actually told me to check the website to find out which doctors were accepting new patients.
"Even though I'm right here in your facility, I need to leave and get on the internet to find out if you're even taking new patients?"
Ultimately, it seemed that, even if these nice folks could've accommodated me, I'd have ended up another number in a sea of patients waiting to receive misinformation and sub-par customer service.
Who KNOWS what the actual medical care would've been like?!
I had another experience, recently, that showed me that first impressions aren't always indicative of what the 3rd or 4th impressions will be like. But still, it seemed that I'd have to deal with quite a bit of incompetence before I could possibly make my way through to the sweet, knowledgeable, HIPAA-compliant cream filling.
So, after all that driving around, waiting in line, and inquiry, I'm half-way down my list and still haven't found a doctor.
The trouble I have just as a single guy, with no kids, leaves me in awe of people who take care of this kind of thing for themselves and a whole herd o' young'uns... or even just one.
Much respect, parents. How do you do it?!
I didn't even know to ask most of these questions, back in the day. Now that I know the questions, I'm having a helluva time trying to get some answers.
I went to my insurance company's website to find a list of participating providers. I was told that internal medicine is a good way to narrow down your search preferences since these doctors know a bit more than your average "general practitioner" and are probably less likely to send me to a specialist every time I need something.
Don't get me wrong. Specialists are fine, but it'd be nice if the person who called him- or herself my doctor can actually do a little doctoring instead of a lotta referring. I've gotten quite enough of that, already.
Anyway, I'm complaining this time because I'm amazed anyone ever gets any health care, at all, considering what I went through just to FIND a physician. Don't worry, it's nowhere near as bad as some of my horror stories.
It's just that the whole thing can be so laborious and inefficient. I went to the address on the insurance company's website just to end up in a suite where no one seemed to work. I mean, I could hear somebody back there, but no one ever showed up at the receptionist's desk.
I eventually found a sign that said the doctor I sought was in suite 200 instead of 100. Fine.
I go there to find a swarm of people waiting at the windows or waiting to be seen. The windows had the names of several physicians next to them. Sadly, the only window with a "closed" sign was also the one that had the name of, not only the main physician I sought but, half the doctors I found on the website.
I waited in another line, asked if someone could help me, since the first line was closed, and was greeted by a very nice young lady. She was all ready to sign me up, but first I wanted to know if any of the doctors from my list were taking new patients.
That, apparently, was asking too much. It seemed to take quite a bit to find out which doctors were taking new patients. Dr. R. was taking new patients, but no one seemed to know about the other two.
Oh well. I was told to see another young lady who'd help me find out about Dr. R.
She was trying to sign me up, asking for my driver's license and whatnot and I interrupted her, just like I did one of her predecessors, saying, "Well first, do you have access to the doctor's schedule? If she's seeing new patients, but can't fit them in for six months, there's no point in my filling out a bunch of forms. That'd be a waste of your time and mine."
She took a look and found that it'd take a month or more before the doctor would be able to see me. She eventually was told by someone "off-camera" that the other two doctors weren't seeing any new patients. Somehow, that seemed like b.s.
I mean, moments earlier, someone actually told me to check the website to find out which doctors were accepting new patients.
"Even though I'm right here in your facility, I need to leave and get on the internet to find out if you're even taking new patients?"
Ultimately, it seemed that, even if these nice folks could've accommodated me, I'd have ended up another number in a sea of patients waiting to receive misinformation and sub-par customer service.
Who KNOWS what the actual medical care would've been like?!
I had another experience, recently, that showed me that first impressions aren't always indicative of what the 3rd or 4th impressions will be like. But still, it seemed that I'd have to deal with quite a bit of incompetence before I could possibly make my way through to the sweet, knowledgeable, HIPAA-compliant cream filling.
So, after all that driving around, waiting in line, and inquiry, I'm half-way down my list and still haven't found a doctor.
The trouble I have just as a single guy, with no kids, leaves me in awe of people who take care of this kind of thing for themselves and a whole herd o' young'uns... or even just one.
Much respect, parents. How do you do it?!
I didn't even know to ask most of these questions, back in the day. Now that I know the questions, I'm having a helluva time trying to get some answers.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
The Light's Lie
See the light at the end of the tunnel? Me, too.
But the light lies.At one point during my journey back from Maryland, last week, I had to cross the Chesapeake Bay. The bridge I crossed connected to the tunnel in the picture, which was under the Chesapeake.
But once I emerged from the tunnel, I realized there was a five-mile series of three bridges and two tunnels to traverse before I'd make it beyond the Bay.
Below is as much of it a I could capture in a photograph.
But once I emerged from the tunnel, I realized there was a five-mile series of three bridges and two tunnels to traverse before I'd make it beyond the Bay.
Below is as much of it a I could capture in a photograph.
Click to enlarge.
I'm not at my best under water or in the air, so making my way beyond the Chesapeake a week, ago, was mildly analogous to my journey through this illness. I made beyond a very rough period, but recent events, combined with my weak limbs and dizzy head, tell me that it's still not over, yet... even after seeing the light, at the end of the tunnel.I guess the best I can do is be aware of the light's lie, while using its promise as motivation and inspiration, to get me closer to my short-term and ultimate goals.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
"I'm not special."
Back before Michael Richards' self-destruction, there was an episode of Seinfeld that really stuck with me. I don't recall all of the details, but I think Richards' character, Kramer, had some type of dental work done, which caused a temporary speech impediment. That, combined with what I think was another of the character's fashion faux paus, lead to certain people thinking that he was "special," if you know what I mean. Every little thing he did was a marvel and they were all too eager to help him with other tasks, big and small.
That's what I experienced this past weekend.
On Saturday, the intense coughing associated with my illness was at its peak. Speaking was all but impossible so I pretty much gave it up for the next day and a half. People at the stores and restaurants I visited were usually barely interested in helping me... until they saw that I was typing my requests on my Treo and giving them the "thumbs-up" sign to reply in the affirmative or to thank them.
In a lot of cases, I could see the moment realization dawned on their faces. Their eyes would go from a glazed-over expression to one of full attention on me and whatever I needed. It was like they were happy for me, trying to be "a big boy" and take care of my shopping and dining needs all by myself.
A server at a local IHoP went from speaking to me normally, to mouthing all of her words and using exaggerated gestures to point out things like her name-tag. Apparently, she thought I was hearing-impaired and incapable of speech.
A middle-aged Wal-Mart associate near the pharmacy area seemed so pleased to help me out, often checking on me to make sure someone was taking care of my requests. Usually, I'd be forced to respond with a thumbs-up which just cemented the impression that my vocabulary was limited to a handful of hand gestures. Later, she pulled back her blond hair to reveal a hearing aid, which I believe was a way of showing how much alike we were. Of course, that confirmed my fears and my conscience wouldn't allow me to respond to her extreme sincerity with anything short of whatever full disclosure I was capable of expressing.
I basically mouthed the word "I," performed a talking gesture with my hand, pointed to my throat, balled up my fist and twisted it, while performing silent coughing movements. I think she got the point that I was capable of speech, but that it hurt too much and caused me to cough incessantly.
There were plenty of other incidents where people who were completely uninterested in me or who seemed to be attracted to me changed their tunes (more or less) after seeing something wasn't quite right with me.
I expected most to respond like a guy in Best Buy did, a couple of days, ago. After I let him know I was sick and didn't want to pass it along to him, he went well out of his way to keep his distance from me. Fair enough, if a bit out-putting.
To my surprise, most folks seemed more interested in showing support for me (possibly because they thought my ailment was something less contagious, like being speech- or hearing-impaired).
It was hard not to be simultaneously moved by their altruism and amused by their assumptions.
It's been an interesting, if very trying, series of days.
That's what I experienced this past weekend.
On Saturday, the intense coughing associated with my illness was at its peak. Speaking was all but impossible so I pretty much gave it up for the next day and a half. People at the stores and restaurants I visited were usually barely interested in helping me... until they saw that I was typing my requests on my Treo and giving them the "thumbs-up" sign to reply in the affirmative or to thank them.
In a lot of cases, I could see the moment realization dawned on their faces. Their eyes would go from a glazed-over expression to one of full attention on me and whatever I needed. It was like they were happy for me, trying to be "a big boy" and take care of my shopping and dining needs all by myself.
A server at a local IHoP went from speaking to me normally, to mouthing all of her words and using exaggerated gestures to point out things like her name-tag. Apparently, she thought I was hearing-impaired and incapable of speech.
A middle-aged Wal-Mart associate near the pharmacy area seemed so pleased to help me out, often checking on me to make sure someone was taking care of my requests. Usually, I'd be forced to respond with a thumbs-up which just cemented the impression that my vocabulary was limited to a handful of hand gestures. Later, she pulled back her blond hair to reveal a hearing aid, which I believe was a way of showing how much alike we were. Of course, that confirmed my fears and my conscience wouldn't allow me to respond to her extreme sincerity with anything short of whatever full disclosure I was capable of expressing.
I basically mouthed the word "I," performed a talking gesture with my hand, pointed to my throat, balled up my fist and twisted it, while performing silent coughing movements. I think she got the point that I was capable of speech, but that it hurt too much and caused me to cough incessantly.
There were plenty of other incidents where people who were completely uninterested in me or who seemed to be attracted to me changed their tunes (more or less) after seeing something wasn't quite right with me.
I expected most to respond like a guy in Best Buy did, a couple of days, ago. After I let him know I was sick and didn't want to pass it along to him, he went well out of his way to keep his distance from me. Fair enough, if a bit out-putting.
To my surprise, most folks seemed more interested in showing support for me (possibly because they thought my ailment was something less contagious, like being speech- or hearing-impaired).
It was hard not to be simultaneously moved by their altruism and amused by their assumptions.
It's been an interesting, if very trying, series of days.
Monday, April 02, 2007
Reinforcing Our Own Stereotypes
The past couple of weeks have been incredibly eventful, but before diving into that, I thought I'd post about something that happened 15 minutes, ago.
I've got the flu or something. Among my symptoms is a terrible, terrible "rolling" cough. I saying "rolling" because it's never just one cough. There are usually four to six of coughs rolled up into one. It really hurts my already painful throat, but it really hurts my head.
I seem to have the worst kind of sinus congestion. When I cough, I feel intense pressure through the top of my head and all the veins therein.
TheraFlu addresses multiple symptoms, at once, with surprisingly high doses of medication, so I've been taking it consistently since Saturday. After my last coughing fit, though, I thought it was time to get something specifically for the sinus issue.
Because of the late/early hour, I drove to Wal-Mart, instead of a drug store, to find the maximum strength sinus remedies. Unfortunately, those medications are inaccessible during the pharmacy's off-hours.
I asked someone if she knew where a 24-hour pharmacy was and she told me about a CVS location a few miles away.
I told the CVS pharmacist that I needed the strongest sinus medication they had available. She asked if I had post-nasal drip or congestion or what. I told her that I've got the flu or something and that my head feels like something's going to pop whenever I cough. She said it sounds like I've got some kind of infection and should seek medical attention.
That's really great information, except I wasn't going to see a doctor at 4am. My immediate needs required a sinus remedy, as far as I could tell. She said that I could try something like a TheraFlu, which I told her I've been taking, already.
I told her I've been taking TheraFlu and my fever's been bouncing up and down since Saturday. She, again, said I've got some kind of infection. I, again, asked about sinus remedies (because, again, that was my most urgent concern, right then). She said that's all they have available, in the aisle.
I asked what she'd recommend. She said I could walk down the aisle and pick something that addresses my symptoms.
At this point, she seemed to be giving me the brush-off so I said, "I'm specifically asking for maximum dosage sinus remedies, but I seem to be bothering you so,..."
She responded, "No. I wasn't going to say that. Can I finish?"
She went on to say that TheraFlu is a multi-symptom remedy and once I told her I'd been taking that, she knew there was nothing stronger that she could recommend.
"So, you're saying TheraFlu's as strong as it gets? Okay. That's what I needed to know, but you didn't say that."
So, at this point, she's not too fond of me and I'm not too fond of her. Oh well.
I compared a couple of sinus meds from a couple of products and asked if there was a one-to-one ratio between the dosage of one drug versus that of another. She said, "They're different drugs."
See, this is the kind of thing that'd been bugging me about my interactions with her, from the start. I already know that they're different $#^$#ing drugs. What I did NOT know was whether 35mg of THIS was more, less or equally effective as 10mg of THAT.
In the end, she basically said I'd get no more relief from one than the other. I should've asked if it was okay to take different kinds of sinus medication on top of each other, but I decided not to because of the quality of our interaction up until that point.
Again, because of her attitude, I was less aggressive about my medical care than I would've been.
I'll go ahead and add that she's Black (and for those that don't know, so am I) and part of what I was thinking was, "See, this is one reason why people think Black women have stank attitudes... because so many Black women DO have stank attitudes."
I recognize that stereotypes are unfair and judging the few by the many isn't much better. But I can't help thinking that, while we're so vociferously condemning the way others judge us, we ought to also consider our own collective culpability.
If I'd gone in there expecting the pharmacist to have an attitude because she's Black, that would've been one thing. But I had no expectations from her besides those associated with her profession.
Some believe that each of us represents no one but ourselves. To some degree, I agree. I hate being lumped in with a bunch of thuggish, ruggish bones, at the drop of a hat. I hate that I can't coo over babies the way I'd like because folks don't respond well to that kind of behavior from a man. But, at the same time, I recognize that this response is due to the fact that there ARE so many male predators and Black thugs.
No, this doesn't mean there aren't non-Black thugs any more than it means there aren't female predators.*
That pharmacist was trying to be helpful, but her communicative shortcomings were having the opposite effect. Pointing that out to her brought out the 'tude, which only made things worse... on the small and the mid-range scale.
Anyway, I'm probably just rambling, at this point, so I'll shut up, now. Feel free to tell me how right or wrong I am, if you like. I'll be more than happy to reciprocate.
* - I hate that I even have to waste web-real estate on these kinds of statements, but history tells me they do NOT "go without saying." So, for the record, I'm aware that there are folks that are going to think the worst about Blacks, no matter how many decent ones they encounter before that one bad apple.
I've got the flu or something. Among my symptoms is a terrible, terrible "rolling" cough. I saying "rolling" because it's never just one cough. There are usually four to six of coughs rolled up into one. It really hurts my already painful throat, but it really hurts my head.
I seem to have the worst kind of sinus congestion. When I cough, I feel intense pressure through the top of my head and all the veins therein.
TheraFlu addresses multiple symptoms, at once, with surprisingly high doses of medication, so I've been taking it consistently since Saturday. After my last coughing fit, though, I thought it was time to get something specifically for the sinus issue.
Because of the late/early hour, I drove to Wal-Mart, instead of a drug store, to find the maximum strength sinus remedies. Unfortunately, those medications are inaccessible during the pharmacy's off-hours.
I asked someone if she knew where a 24-hour pharmacy was and she told me about a CVS location a few miles away.
I told the CVS pharmacist that I needed the strongest sinus medication they had available. She asked if I had post-nasal drip or congestion or what. I told her that I've got the flu or something and that my head feels like something's going to pop whenever I cough. She said it sounds like I've got some kind of infection and should seek medical attention.
That's really great information, except I wasn't going to see a doctor at 4am. My immediate needs required a sinus remedy, as far as I could tell. She said that I could try something like a TheraFlu, which I told her I've been taking, already.
I told her I've been taking TheraFlu and my fever's been bouncing up and down since Saturday. She, again, said I've got some kind of infection. I, again, asked about sinus remedies (because, again, that was my most urgent concern, right then). She said that's all they have available, in the aisle.
I asked what she'd recommend. She said I could walk down the aisle and pick something that addresses my symptoms.
At this point, she seemed to be giving me the brush-off so I said, "I'm specifically asking for maximum dosage sinus remedies, but I seem to be bothering you so,..."
She responded, "No. I wasn't going to say that. Can I finish?"
She went on to say that TheraFlu is a multi-symptom remedy and once I told her I'd been taking that, she knew there was nothing stronger that she could recommend.
"So, you're saying TheraFlu's as strong as it gets? Okay. That's what I needed to know, but you didn't say that."
So, at this point, she's not too fond of me and I'm not too fond of her. Oh well.
I compared a couple of sinus meds from a couple of products and asked if there was a one-to-one ratio between the dosage of one drug versus that of another. She said, "They're different drugs."
See, this is the kind of thing that'd been bugging me about my interactions with her, from the start. I already know that they're different $#^$#ing drugs. What I did NOT know was whether 35mg of THIS was more, less or equally effective as 10mg of THAT.
In the end, she basically said I'd get no more relief from one than the other. I should've asked if it was okay to take different kinds of sinus medication on top of each other, but I decided not to because of the quality of our interaction up until that point.
Again, because of her attitude, I was less aggressive about my medical care than I would've been.
I'll go ahead and add that she's Black (and for those that don't know, so am I) and part of what I was thinking was, "See, this is one reason why people think Black women have stank attitudes... because so many Black women DO have stank attitudes."
I recognize that stereotypes are unfair and judging the few by the many isn't much better. But I can't help thinking that, while we're so vociferously condemning the way others judge us, we ought to also consider our own collective culpability.
If I'd gone in there expecting the pharmacist to have an attitude because she's Black, that would've been one thing. But I had no expectations from her besides those associated with her profession.
Some believe that each of us represents no one but ourselves. To some degree, I agree. I hate being lumped in with a bunch of thuggish, ruggish bones, at the drop of a hat. I hate that I can't coo over babies the way I'd like because folks don't respond well to that kind of behavior from a man. But, at the same time, I recognize that this response is due to the fact that there ARE so many male predators and Black thugs.
No, this doesn't mean there aren't non-Black thugs any more than it means there aren't female predators.*
That pharmacist was trying to be helpful, but her communicative shortcomings were having the opposite effect. Pointing that out to her brought out the 'tude, which only made things worse... on the small and the mid-range scale.
Anyway, I'm probably just rambling, at this point, so I'll shut up, now. Feel free to tell me how right or wrong I am, if you like. I'll be more than happy to reciprocate.
* - I hate that I even have to waste web-real estate on these kinds of statements, but history tells me they do NOT "go without saying." So, for the record, I'm aware that there are folks that are going to think the worst about Blacks, no matter how many decent ones they encounter before that one bad apple.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Medical Madness
Short version: I went to set up an appointment with doctor regarding my back problems, but, after waiting about a half-hour, I was told that, not only wouldn't he see me then, he was never going to do so, again. Why? Because I hadn't been there in a couple of years. Later, they gave me my medical records (at my request) without ever verifying my identity or having me sign for them.
The lack of professionalism and discretion in this industry astounds me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Long version: I've been experiencing back problems for the past month or more, so I finally agreed to go see my primary care physician. Most people I've spoken with on the subject, including some medical professionals, seem convinced that a muscle relaxant would do the trick. So, when I walked into my doctor's office, a quick consultation for a written prescription was all I was looking for. I didn't expect them to be able to fit me in that day, but I could at least set up an appointment.
Sadly, things didn't start off so well, as the person behind the counter was lacking in communication skills:
At one point, she asked, "What's your doctor's name?"
With some embarrassment, I responded, "Y'know, it's been so long I don't remember, but it's the guy who's name is on the building."
"He hasn't been here since 2004," she said.
I was a bit surprised by this, but I figured they must have other physicians on-staff for her to have asked me which one was my doctor. I was cool with seeing one of them, instead.
Later, I referred to her earlier statement about Dr. W having left the facility in 2004. She said, "I never said that he left this facility. I said that you haven't been here since 2004."
I think what happened earlier was that she was telling her co-worker that I hadn't been there since 2004. However, she never turned toward that person so I naturally assumed that "he" referred to the last person either of us had mentioned - namely, Dr. W.
Anyway, we got past that and she told me to sign in and someone would call my name. I did. About 20-30 minutes later, they called my name and told me that Dr. W's not accepting new patients and since I hadn't been there in so long, he's not going to treat me. Period.
Basically, he was dumping me.
Now, there are a lot of things I don't know or understand about the medical field or medical insurance, but this sure seemed strange, to me. Still, I decided to cut my losses and move along.
The young lady behind the counter went on to say that he could provide me with a referral to see another physician, but I turned that down. As far as I'm concerned, a referral is just him telling me about his buddy down the street that he wants to hook up with some business. Since I've also noticed that physicians (and their staff) don't bother to check whether they're referring you to someone who accepts your insurance, often resulting in wasted time and confusion, I saw no reason to accept the referral.
After politely declining her offer, I asked, "What I would have to do to get my medical records?"
She yelled to her co-worker, "He wants his records!"
I corrected her, saying, "No. I just want to know what's involved in the process so I can decide what to do, right now."
She responded, "Yeah. She does that, though, that's why I told her."
She completely missed the fact that I was asking for information, not action.
So, I waited on the co-worker to respond to me. Instead, she walked to the rear of the office, out-of-sight, and stayed away for close to five minutes. When she returned and still hadn't come over to me, I got her attention saying, "Hi. I'm not asking for my records, right now. I just want to know what's involved in getting them."
She said, "Oh. You don't want them?"
"Well, I might choose to get them, but first I want to know what's involved." If I had to fill out a ton of paperwork and wait on them to do a bunch of stuff, I'd just wait to do it another day. I'd already been away from work longer than I planned, without having been treated.
She told me that I don't have that much information in my file, so she'd just copy a few pages and hand them to me. And that's just what she did.
Within five minutes or so, she handed me an envelope with all my medical records. While that is what I wanted, here's the thing:
I could've been Shifty McShady up in there and they just handed my original records over to some guy who claimed to be west3man. You get me?
If I walked over there, this evening, while different people were on-staff, and asked for my original medical records, they couldn't produce them and they couldn't prove who they'd given them to.
Maybe I'm better-off being free of such an establishment, but I doubt their lack of professionalism and discretion was so unique. I'm disheartened by the fact that I didn't receive the prescription I needed and by the fact that I was unceremoniously disposed of like so much medical waste.
I drove around, some more, trying to find physicians that had love for my sorry-ass medical coverage (the fees are fine, but there are too few participating providers). Ultimately, I had no success and temporarily settled for a quick consultation with a pharmacist at the Publix grocery store near my job. I grabbed some over-the-counter stuff and hoped for the best.
Meanwhile, my back is so messed-up that, when we went to check on my girlfriend's hospitalized father, the family and staff spent an appreciated, but inordinate amount of time looking after me!
I look forward to leaving this job and hooking up with better insurance coverage, but I'm not too optimistic about the quality of service that I (or any of us) are likely to get.
The lack of professionalism and discretion in this industry astounds me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Long version: I've been experiencing back problems for the past month or more, so I finally agreed to go see my primary care physician. Most people I've spoken with on the subject, including some medical professionals, seem convinced that a muscle relaxant would do the trick. So, when I walked into my doctor's office, a quick consultation for a written prescription was all I was looking for. I didn't expect them to be able to fit me in that day, but I could at least set up an appointment.
Sadly, things didn't start off so well, as the person behind the counter was lacking in communication skills:
At one point, she asked, "What's your doctor's name?"
With some embarrassment, I responded, "Y'know, it's been so long I don't remember, but it's the guy who's name is on the building."
"He hasn't been here since 2004," she said.
I was a bit surprised by this, but I figured they must have other physicians on-staff for her to have asked me which one was my doctor. I was cool with seeing one of them, instead.
Later, I referred to her earlier statement about Dr. W having left the facility in 2004. She said, "I never said that he left this facility. I said that you haven't been here since 2004."
I think what happened earlier was that she was telling her co-worker that I hadn't been there since 2004. However, she never turned toward that person so I naturally assumed that "he" referred to the last person either of us had mentioned - namely, Dr. W.
Anyway, we got past that and she told me to sign in and someone would call my name. I did. About 20-30 minutes later, they called my name and told me that Dr. W's not accepting new patients and since I hadn't been there in so long, he's not going to treat me. Period.
Basically, he was dumping me.
Now, there are a lot of things I don't know or understand about the medical field or medical insurance, but this sure seemed strange, to me. Still, I decided to cut my losses and move along.
The young lady behind the counter went on to say that he could provide me with a referral to see another physician, but I turned that down. As far as I'm concerned, a referral is just him telling me about his buddy down the street that he wants to hook up with some business. Since I've also noticed that physicians (and their staff) don't bother to check whether they're referring you to someone who accepts your insurance, often resulting in wasted time and confusion, I saw no reason to accept the referral.
After politely declining her offer, I asked, "What I would have to do to get my medical records?"
She yelled to her co-worker, "He wants his records!"
I corrected her, saying, "No. I just want to know what's involved in the process so I can decide what to do, right now."
She responded, "Yeah. She does that, though, that's why I told her."
She completely missed the fact that I was asking for information, not action.
So, I waited on the co-worker to respond to me. Instead, she walked to the rear of the office, out-of-sight, and stayed away for close to five minutes. When she returned and still hadn't come over to me, I got her attention saying, "Hi. I'm not asking for my records, right now. I just want to know what's involved in getting them."
She said, "Oh. You don't want them?"
"Well, I might choose to get them, but first I want to know what's involved." If I had to fill out a ton of paperwork and wait on them to do a bunch of stuff, I'd just wait to do it another day. I'd already been away from work longer than I planned, without having been treated.
She told me that I don't have that much information in my file, so she'd just copy a few pages and hand them to me. And that's just what she did.
Within five minutes or so, she handed me an envelope with all my medical records. While that is what I wanted, here's the thing:
THEY NEVER ASKED ME FOR IDENTIFICATION AND THEY NEVER HAD ME SIGN ANYTHING.
I could've been Shifty McShady up in there and they just handed my original records over to some guy who claimed to be west3man. You get me?
If I walked over there, this evening, while different people were on-staff, and asked for my original medical records, they couldn't produce them and they couldn't prove who they'd given them to.
Maybe I'm better-off being free of such an establishment, but I doubt their lack of professionalism and discretion was so unique. I'm disheartened by the fact that I didn't receive the prescription I needed and by the fact that I was unceremoniously disposed of like so much medical waste.
I drove around, some more, trying to find physicians that had love for my sorry-ass medical coverage (the fees are fine, but there are too few participating providers). Ultimately, I had no success and temporarily settled for a quick consultation with a pharmacist at the Publix grocery store near my job. I grabbed some over-the-counter stuff and hoped for the best.
Meanwhile, my back is so messed-up that, when we went to check on my girlfriend's hospitalized father, the family and staff spent an appreciated, but inordinate amount of time looking after me!
I look forward to leaving this job and hooking up with better insurance coverage, but I'm not too optimistic about the quality of service that I (or any of us) are likely to get.
Friday, March 09, 2007
Hug Them
Just the other day, my lady got some very good news about a loved-one. She was pleased for and proud of him. Today, she finds out that he's battling a life-threatening ailment that has yet to be identified.
As we all know, sad times can strike without warning. Go grab, call, or find your loved one(s) and give'em a big ol' hug because you never know what tomorrow will bring.
Luckily, my girlfriend's family member knows how much she loves him, but times like these are good reminders of how much we should appreciate and express our appreciation for those we care for.
Hopefully, things will turn out well and he'll fully recover, but any positive vibes or well-wishes or prayers would be welcome - whether you choose to do so on- or offline.
Take care.
As we all know, sad times can strike without warning. Go grab, call, or find your loved one(s) and give'em a big ol' hug because you never know what tomorrow will bring.
Luckily, my girlfriend's family member knows how much she loves him, but times like these are good reminders of how much we should appreciate and express our appreciation for those we care for.
Hopefully, things will turn out well and he'll fully recover, but any positive vibes or well-wishes or prayers would be welcome - whether you choose to do so on- or offline.
Take care.
Friday, March 02, 2007
Job Requirement: Penis
sourc: NPR
In Largo, Florida, the city manager was fired after it was revealed that he was likely to have a sex change. Supposedly, they're only firing him because he kept it a secret, but that's b.s., in my book.
They think it's icky, so they want him out. Sadly, according to the NPR segment, there's no legal protection for employment dismissal on such grounds.
I've heard some interesting theories on how such a case could be argued, though, if the former city manager decides to appeal.
I'm sorry these close-minded people had the power to affect his life in this way.
In Largo, Florida, the city manager was fired after it was revealed that he was likely to have a sex change. Supposedly, they're only firing him because he kept it a secret, but that's b.s., in my book.
They think it's icky, so they want him out. Sadly, according to the NPR segment, there's no legal protection for employment dismissal on such grounds.
I've heard some interesting theories on how such a case could be argued, though, if the former city manager decides to appeal.
I'm sorry these close-minded people had the power to affect his life in this way.
Friday, February 23, 2007
Inbreeding in the 21st Century!
In November, NPR aired a segment about the a Syrian village whose inhabitants continue their 100-year-old tradition of intermarrying. Their population of 5,000 includes 800 living with extreme birth defects.
You can read and listen to the story here.
I'm all for respecting other people's cultures and traditions, but this story completely blew me away. I've read fiction that depicted modern-day inbreeding, but to be faced with a real-world example was disheartening and infuriating, to be honest.
Near the end of the segment, a resident claims that the many blind, deformed, and pain-ridden residents are that way because that's part of God's plan. He concluded by asking (I'm paraphrasing), "What do you want us to do, stop marrying?"
My response: "YES! Stop $#@%ing your damned sisters, mothers and first cousins! I understand that you're an impoverished people, but are property and business interests worth condemning your offspring to very short, very painful lives?"
I'm still amazed every time I think of this podcast, but at least one among them is "taking the unprecedented step of asking the outside world for help" (a detail I missed the first time, around).
You can read and listen to the story here.
I'm all for respecting other people's cultures and traditions, but this story completely blew me away. I've read fiction that depicted modern-day inbreeding, but to be faced with a real-world example was disheartening and infuriating, to be honest.
Near the end of the segment, a resident claims that the many blind, deformed, and pain-ridden residents are that way because that's part of God's plan. He concluded by asking (I'm paraphrasing), "What do you want us to do, stop marrying?"
My response: "YES! Stop $#@%ing your damned sisters, mothers and first cousins! I understand that you're an impoverished people, but are property and business interests worth condemning your offspring to very short, very painful lives?"
I'm still amazed every time I think of this podcast, but at least one among them is "taking the unprecedented step of asking the outside world for help" (a detail I missed the first time, around).
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