Agony

Well, we had an interesting day.

I woke at 5 am to whimpering. Thinking something was wrong with Son I jumped out of bed.

Turns out it was Husband, and he was in our bathroom about to run a bath. He had what he thought was a pulled muscle in his upper back/shoulder/neck, and was in an incredible amount of pain. He was moaning and cursing and breathing hard. I’d never seen him like that before.

So he soaked in the warm tub for awhile, and Son woke up shortly thereafter. I kept him away from Husband but could still hear him upstairs moaning. I kept asking if he wanted to go to a doctor or the hospital and he refused. I called his sister who happened to have some muscle relaxers, and she dropped them off on her way to work.

An hour later he couldn’t take it anymore. At this point we figured it was a pinched nerve because there was no relief, no matter how he positioned his body. I was going to take him to the hospital, but he asked me to call a family friend who is a chiropractor instead.

I’m skeptical of chiropractic care. Most of the chiropractors I’ve met have seemed more like used car salesmen than doctors. I’m not saying they don’t help anyone, but they’ve surely never helped me. I went several times to this same man after I threw out my back, and I tried him again when I was pregnant and Son was camped out on my sciatic nerve. It was of no help to me at all. Zip. Zilch. Nada.

Still, Husband swears by chiropractic, so of course we go.

After one of the most disturbing car rides of my life (lots of moaning and even some tears, along with his observation that I’d never be able to handle the kind of pain he was dealing with (never mind the 8 hours of hard labor, six without an epidural, thankyouverymuch )), said friend saw Husband a half hour later. “Doc” pushed and prodded and massaged and electrically stimulated for about 45 minutes and Husband walked out of there a new man. Doc says he had two ribs that were out of place. I say he has a pinched nerve. But whatever, he feels better. $120 of not-covered-by-insurance fees later.

And thank goodness. I hated to see him in so much pain. It was really awful. Husband is a power-through-the-pain guy, and to see him in agony and not be able to help was no fun at all.

He slept most of the afternoon, and it started to bother him a bit around 4 pm. Long story short we were back at Doc’s office at 9:45pm, a sleeping Son in his PJs in the car with us. Doc offering to meet us so late was a godsend, even though he was a little surly. Now he’s telling us he doesn’t know if he can do much more, that the spot is really angry and needs to settle down. And he’s also asking for cash, as he doesn’t want to pay the credit card fees. Okay, fine. But it would have been better if you told me that before we left the house, as we have about $20 on us. I offered to write a check and mail it the next day, but the family friend opted to pay the credit card fees on the $60 of not-covered-by-insurance fees instead of letting me mail him a check. Whatever.

Sigh.

As I’m writing this Son is back sleeping in his bed, Husband is flat on his back in ours. I’m trying to get the image of my husband in agony out of my head. I want him to heal quickly.

Because he’s definitely getting poked in the eye for telling the woman who bore his child that she couldn’t handle pain.

Love Uncluttered

I spent the past two weeks pretty entrenched in family stuff. My Dad is selling his house and buying a condo on the beach. My sisters were in town, so we’ve been furniture shopping and started to sort through some of the stuff in the house, figuring out what he’ll take with him (15%), what my brothers and sisters and I will take (15%) and what will be sold at the massive garage sale we’ll have (we can all figure out this percentage, I hope).

I’ve talked in the past about the mounds and mounds of clutter and crap my stepmother amassed. My Dad lived in a house full of clutter with her for thirty-five years and never complained. The house was always relatively clean, but there was nary a surface unoccupied. And as each of us moved out of the house she took over our rooms and filled the closets and drawers with little gifts she thought the kids would like, or napkins for a future dinner party, or address books (we’ve found at least twenty, filled with the same addresses over and over and over again). There are hundreds of glasses, every kitchen gizmo and gadget you can think of (and some we still have no clue about), family heirlooms and enough serving dishes to give one to every soldier in Iraq. Well, not really. But a LOT.

Now that she’s not there my Dad’s innate need for order (I am an accountant’s daughter) has resurfaced, and with a vengeance. He cannot tolerate any new mess, any new clutter. Extra food brought into the house for the duration of my sisters’ stay is already out of the house, and my sister doesn’t leave until tomorrow. This after noon he asked us to clean up the kids’ toys, about 1/2 hour before more grandkids were showing up. We explained and he relented, but the mess really bothers him.

His new home will be very different from the one he lives in today. The furniture will be less ornate (his new bedroom and dining room sets are lovely and elegant with very clean lines), there will be surfaces uncluttered, and likely there will be empty drawers. To me a much more relaxing place to be.

But that’s not the point.

What’s so fascinating, so wonderful, so cool, is how he adapted for the woman he loved. She brought him so much joy that he learned to live with the clutter, the shopping bags, and the bills. He didn’t try to control the house or her love of stuff. I don’t think he even noticed that much; not until she was gone.

We all deserve to be loved like that, don’t we?

Important Safety Alert: Rethink Plastic!

The post scheduled for today, Self Storage Part 3 - How to Be a Smart Self Storer, will now be posted tomorrow. In my opinion this post was too important to delay. Please check back tomorrow to read the final installment in the Self Storage series.

The Today Show did a story this week focusing on the safety of the plastic containers we use to hold our water, leftover foods and even our babies’ juice and formula.

These concerns have been around for a number of years. I recall the concern about chemicals leaching into our food when we use plastic containers in the microwave. My concern was eased by the last media blitz on the subject, which debunked those allegations. “Perfectly safe,” they said.

The Today Show report brought those concerns crashing back, and then some. Their report focused on a number system on the bottom of plastic bottles and containers. The primary chemical (or group of chemicals) to make the plastic is assigned a number, and that number is stamped on the bottom of many (but not all, and that’s another big problem) bottles and containers. I believe they were originally assigned to assist with recycling efforts, but now those numbers are being associated with the safety of the plastic itself.

So, which are safe to use? That’s a matter of debate. Some scientists say a “1″ on the bottle (what you find on most of your bottled water) means it’s safe, at least for one use. According to Dr. Leo Trasande of the Mount Sinai Center for Children’s Health and the Environment (part of their School of Medicine) those bottles are difficult to wash and should never be re-used.

A “3″, “6″, or “7″ would mean it’s potentially unsafe. According to Dr. Trasande , “The bottles with the numbers 3, 6 and 7 are not safe for use across the board.”

Some bottles with the number 7 indicate that the bottle contains bisphenol A, a chemical linked to reproductive and fertility problems. Many baby bottles are sevens. And some sippy-cups. Dandy.

This story is well worth watching.

The story caused such a stir they did a follow-up the next day.

I have cupboards full of plastic plates and cups that don’t even have numbers on the bottom. They are going into the trash.

Many of Son’s sippy cups, which are mostly Munchkin brand straw cups similar to the ones pictured above, are also not numbered. I’ve sent off an e-mail to the company inquiring as to what chemicals are used in making their plastics. Son will be using glass, at least for now.  He’s old enough and his motor skills are deft enough that I don’t have a huge safety concern about glass.   At least until he reaches adolescence.

I can’t just assume these plastics are safe any longer, assume that the companies will be forthcoming, assume that the government has the issue in hand. I’d much err on the side of safety.

What’s next?  The danger of Brussel sprouts?  Well, I can hope.

I Just Figured Out Who Priscilla Presley Now Resembles

I’m glad I’m not a traditionally beautiful woman. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I thought it would be horrifying to be that pretty, to get that kind of attention. Especially in high school. I’ve even had my attractive moments (I thought I rocked it pretty well in college).

But I have an actual memory of being twelve years old and thinking to myself, “Well, I may not be gorgeous, but at least I’ll know my husband truly loves me. And I won’t be destroyed by getting wrinkles and stuff.”

Because I’ve never been a drop-dead gorgeous woman, I can’t ever know what that’s like, or how it feels to age, to “lose your looks” when your looks are so much a part of your sense of self.

Take Priscilla Presley. I’ve always thought she was a really, really beautiful woman. She’d aged gracefully, still looking very youthful into her forties and fifties.

She’s on Dancing With the Stars this season, and I’m having a difficult time looking at her. In an effort to stave off aging she’s obviously had a great deal of plastic surgery. I always have a hard time looking at people who’ve done extensive work like hers. Instead of looking younger they look mis-shapen. I don’t think that’s better.

Priscilla, sweetheart, there’s nothing wrong with being sixty-two. No one expects you to look twenty-one, or even thirty. I hope you’re happy with the work you’ve gotten done, but it just makes me sad.

Now looking at you I feel the same way I feel when looking at your good friend Michael Jackson.

As long as you’re happy…

Will the Real Baby Daddy Please Swab Up

There are home pregnancy tests, home HIV tests and home drug tests. There are home ovulation tests, diabetes tests and cholesterol tests.

Home medical testing is a booming market, and so it shouldn’t come as a surprise that you can now answer the Who’s your baby daddy? question without leaving home. Just go down to the Rite Aid and drop $20 per possible Daddy. A cheek swab and another fistful of dollars for the lab later and you have your answer.

Maury Povich and Judge Hatchett must be shaking in their Manolo Blahnicks.

My first reaction to this news was a serious eye roll, followed by the usual lamentations about the deterioration of the family and it’s effects on society. Blah, blah,blah. I just couldn’t imagine someone getting pregnant and not knowing who fathered the child.

And then I remembered my Mom.

When I was thirteen someone broke into our apartment and raped her. I was on a sleepover at a friend’s house, but my sister was asleep in the bedroom next door. My mother did not resist; she was thinking only of my sister’s safety.

The next day she brought a huge Siberian husky home, and a few weeks later she found out she was pregnant. She didn’t know if the baby was her fiance’s or her rapist’s. She had enough issues, and didn’t feel that she could take on raising the child of her rapist. She couldn’t take the chance that it was his.

So she had an abortion. While I’ve always supported her decision, I’ve always felt a profound sadness when I think of the loss of my little brother or sister. I’m sure the experience has led to my own feelings about abortion.

Yeah, this test would have been good to have.

And people make errors in judgment. I thought back to a certain get-rid-of-the-new-guy-and-get-back-with-the-old-guy indiscretion in my youth where I could have been faced with this possibility if not for my at-least-two-and-sometimes-three-methods-of-birth-control-at-all-times policy.

So amidst all of the drama of uncertainty and irresponsible promiscuity that makes it’s way onto the public stages of Maury and Jerry and all the rest, I hope these tests can give some terrorized, ravaged, brave women, and some other regretful, now-making-better-choices ordinary women, some private peace of mind.

Is Your Decision Not to Vaccinate Your Child More Important Than the Population’s Health at Large?

Nothing like a little controversy on a spring afternoon…

When I was a little girl I remember standing in a long line in the elementary school gymnasium, waiting to get my state-mandated immunizations. They wouldn’t let me in school without it, and I’m sure it never entered my parents’ minds to even consider not getting us immunized.

I also remember kids getting mumps, and measles, and other diseases you rarely see today.

When I was pregnant with Son I became more aware of the concern about a possible link between autism and immunizations, and the concerns are still there. The Thimerisol used as a preservative in many vaccines was such a cause for concern and received so much bad press it’s no longer used as an ingredient in vaccines today. The link between vaccines and autism has been the subject of many scientific studies; they just can’t seem to find any science linking it. But the passion behind the “anecdotal evidence” is hard to ignore, or dismiss, especially when you are a new mother thinking about allowing these vaccines to be injected into your child. Which left me confused.

Are the vaccines worse than the diseases they supposedly protect from? The vast, vast majority of children suffer no ill effects, and many of the typical diseases that were still around when I was a kid have been mostly eradicated due to the great majority of children being vaccinated. I’ll bet the parents of many autistic children, and children who may have had other suspected or proven vaccination-related issues, would say yes, the vaccines are worse. They may regret their decision to vaccinate. And who can blame them?

So as a new parent I was very afraid. But in the end I decided to go with the odds and have Son vaccinated, though I spread out the timing a bit. That probably did nothing but make me feel like I was doing something to mitigate the risk, but whatever. Apparently I’m not above a little self-delusion.

Every day I searched for signs that he was having “ill affects”. I willed him to make eye contact, which he did. And when it became obvious that he was having some speech delays I was terrified. We put him in speech therapy and enrolled him in school two mornings a week, and we prayed. We’re lucky that he was done with speech therapy at age 3, and I recently had him evaluated and the results were all typical for his age. Thank you, G-d. We are blessed.

Still, I’ve wondered if there is truly a link. I have friends who have chosen not to immunize, and I’ve always understood and supported their choices. I still do. It’s such a personal decision.

Recently I heard about the twelve children in San Diego who contracted measles, which can be a fatal disease, especially in the very young or immuno-suppressed. Nine of the twelve had not been vaccinated. Three were too young, and six had parents opposed to the vaccinations. On the Today Show the other morning they ran a story about this, and asked the question, “Is your decision not to vaccinate your child more important than the population’s health at large?”

That’s quite a question.

Vaccines are not 100% effective. Children who have been vaccinated can still contract the disease. The more unvaccinated people there are, the more risk of transmission.

So, where does your right to decide for your child end and your responsibility for the public health begin?

I don’t know. I just don’t know.

I’m reminded of a story I read many years ago, while still in high school. Now I want to warn you, this is one of the most depressing stories I’ve ever heard, but what can I tell you, I was reminded.

I don’t recall all of the details, but it involved people hiding in an underground bunker hiding from oppressive forces (Nazi’s?) * searching for them. A woman was holding her very young infant, and the baby’s cries were putting the entire hidden group in great danger of discovery. The mother put her hand over the child’s mouth, and eventually the soldiers moved on. Everyone survived, except the baby.

That story has haunted me ever since. What a horrible, horrible decision to make. What a horrible, horrible action to take. What a horrible, horrible thing to live with. There was just no way to win.

Can we win? Isn’t parenting just making the best decision you can, and praying for a good outcome? The decisions I make as a parent, even decisions that seem to be only related to my family, can have far reaching effects.

What do you think? Did you/will you have your children immunized? Does the population at large factor into your decision?

*  Edited to add that Husband says I didn’t read it, but that it was a scene in an episode on M*A*S*H, and the oppressive forces were the North Koreans.

What A Pain in the Ass - or - Have Sharpie, Will Travel

If I ever have to have surgery under general anesthesia, I will bring a Sharpie marker to the hospital with me.

I will write on every available body surface to make sure the surgeon knows which body part is to be his or her focus.

I will write helpful notes on my cheeks, both facial and ass, to make sure the surgeon does not make a mistake (Husband may have to help with the ass, which is a surface so large he could helpfully write detailed instructions and a nicely worded thank you note, just to save paper) and operate on the wrong body part.

Why?

I don’t want to end up like this poor woman, who went in for a leg operation and ended up with a new anus.

Enough said.

Zero Tolerance for…Skittles?

Husband sent me an e-mail just now, and here’s what it said:

Maybe you or Deb (my sister) can find out exactly what school this was and get me an e-mail address so I can tell them what I really think of them.

I feel a real dickish moment coming on.

At the very least - maybe you can write about the absurdity of this whole thing.

Personally - I would like to ask them why they didn’t just shoot the kid onthe spot and then execute his whole family.

After reading the article, I wholeheartedly agree.

Michael Sheridan, a student at New Haven’s Sheridan Middle School, was suspended from school for one day, barred from attending an honors student dinner and stripped of his title as class vice president. His transgression?

He bought a bag of candy from another student.

The horror!

As part of it’s wellness policy, the New Haven school system banned candy sales as fundraisers in 2003. There is no candy allowed in the schools. Okay, a bit stringent, but I can support that.

The student who sold the candy also was suspended.

Nothing like killing an ant with an uzi, New Haven.

It makes a great deal of sense to obliterate a child’s sense of accomplishment for having worked hard to attain honors because of a relatively minor transgression. And why on earth wouldn’t we want to spit on children who have the character and gall to wade through the rampant apathy and self-absorption of the middle school biosphere, get involved in their community and learn about the democratic process by taking on the office of Student Government Vice President?

Why indeed.

It certainly wouldn’t have made sense to give him detention, or to have him, in his role as Vice-President, make a presentation to the student body about nutrition.

No, it’s much more important to teach them how to rebel against unfair and overdone punishment, to seethe with injustice.

And why did the nefarious candy dealer get less punishment than the user-addict? Perhaps he’s supplying the school board….?

(By the way honey, the name of the school was right in the article, babe. But I’m sure your ire made your eyes skip over that part. Love ya!)

Update March 15, 2008

Both students’ suspensions have been expunged and the buyer has been reinstated to the Student Council. Apparently the school administration failed to notify the parents of this rule in writing.

I don’t think the school needed to undo all of the punishment. I just thought the punishment should fit the crime.

Making My Bed

Making my bed is something I don’t necessarily like to do. It’s actually a bit of a pain.It’s not as simple as just straightening the covers. It also involves replacing my ‘headboard’, which is three large, square purple velvet cushions I got on clearance at Pottery Barn. Then I need to arrange the rest of the six king pillows (yes, six) to lean against the ‘headboard’, and artfully place the four throw pillows. Finally, the purple velvet bedspread must be folded neatly and placed, just so, at the foot of the bed.

I make my bed every morning, unless I’m washing the sheets that day. I have to. I have to because if I leave my bedroom messy, then my day will be messy. Putting my bed in order in the morning helps me keep my life in order. Simplistic, but true.

My mother always used to tell me that she could tell how I was inside by how neat or messy my bedroom was. Given all of the internal struggles inherent in adolescence I’ll bet you can guess how rarely my room was clean. If you think about the teenagers you know I think you’ll find the correlation exists not just for me.

The same connection between the state of my emotions and my environment still exists today. But I’ve learned a few things since high school. I now know that having my environment neat helps keep me calm. Having mess outside just exacerbates the mess inside. When my home is neat I feel happier, calmer, more effective, more powerful and even sexier.

I still hate to clean. Hate it. And there are still times when I feel the weight of the world on my shoulders; when I do let my emotions get the better of me, and I let the mess start seeping down the stairs.

The first step in getting things back on track, to clean up the mess on the inside, is to clean up the mess on the outside.

I just wish the first step was bake some brownies. That can be step two, I suppose.

Concierge Doctor Plans - Not Frugal But Perhaps Money Well Spent

A few years ago I started hearing about so-called Concierge doctors. These doctors limit the number of patients in their practice and charge membership fees (for goodness sake!) for the privilege of being their patient. The knowledge was floating around the periphery of my brain, but aside from the initial internal outrage at the gall of those doctors I really didn’t give it much thought.

Then, about four years ago, Husband started feeling poorly, and he wasn’t feeling better several months later. He didn’t have his own doctor, having not darkened one’s doorstep in over ten years. Since my own doctor wasn’t nearby I started calling around trying to find a doctor for him; at least once his 40 lb weight loss and debilitating fatigue finally got to him.

It was an exercise in frustration. After at least fifteen calls the only doctor I could find that could see him within two months was in a Concierge practice. When the receptionist explained to me that the doctor would be happy to see Husband the next day, but first there would be a $3000 membership fee to join the practice my eyeballs very nearly popped straight out of my head. Three thousand dollars? Before the doctor even saw him? Outrageous! I wound up calling my doctor and making the trek with Husband the next day (we found out he was diabetic, with a blood sugar level of over 400 that day!).

The next few months were spent getting Husband every test imaginable and getting his diabetes under control. We’ve had lots of interesting (read: awful) experiences with doctors along the way, and I’m sure I’ll blog about them at some point.

I honestly had not given the subject of concierge medicine much thought since then. Until last week.

Husband’s grandmother, G-d bless her, turns 95 next week. Mama’s got all her marbles and then some, but has some issues with her sight, blood pressure, hearing… all a pretty normal part of living ninety-five years. She tells me that her parts are wearing out; I tell her they’ve still got a lot of wear. After all, she still regularly beats me at rummy, makes a mean Pasta Fagioli, and can gossip up a storm.

When I heard her doctor was switching over to a concierge set-up my initial reaction was negative. It seems to me to be flirting pretty boldly with double-billing, and on a fixed income the new $1500 a year membership fee seemed ridiculous for her to pay if she didn’t have to. After all, there are plenty of doctors around.

She went to hear about it with her son and daughter-in-law, who practically forced her to sign up. I saw her immediately afterwards, when she was contemplating calling and canceling the transaction. Based on my own preconceptions I was privately hoping she would.

Then I started reading the brochure, and I started thinking about it.

Mama has had a lot of problems with doctors. Well, not really the doctors. The doctors are usually pretty good, or at least have good intentions. But they are hampered by the current state of health insurance in this country, which makes it nearly impossible for doctors to see enough patients to pay their student loans, malpractice insurance and earn a living without having to resort to fast-food-like service. And some of it is because of office personnel who inexplicably think we owe them something because…I don’t know why. Because we pay their salaries? Either way her care has suffered, and she’s been hospitalized unnecessarily more than once and avoided a stroke due to an overdose of medication by the hair on her chinny chin chin.

My mother-in-law found her this new doctor a few years ago and everything has been pretty smooth since. Sure, there are screw-ups with labwork and appointment times occasionally, but much, much better than before.

This doctor has decided to join an already-existing concierge-type network plan. For her $1500 annual fee she’ll get a much more comprehensive than normal yearly physical, a personalized wellness plan, a CD of all her medical records, VIP access at Cleveland Clinic and concierge service at any of their member facilities, travel services and more.

All of which is good, though some of it is simple marketingspeak. The real benefit, the real reason to do it, is the access to the physician.

Appointments will be available either same-day or next-day with no waiting. And they will last, theoretically, as long as Mama needs. The doctor is available 24/7, and if she tells her that she needs to go to the hospital she’ll meet her there (if you’ve ever spent hours waiting in an Emergency Room you may think the $1500 cost is worth it for that alone).

How can she do it? She’ll be limiting herself to 400 patients (200 less than the plan normally requires), down from about (I’m guessing) 2000 now. That means she’ll be able to actually manage all of Mama’s care, be familiar with what’s going on with her, help her make decisions that are right for her. Mama is 95; she just wants help making the little things that keep coming up (like a recent onset of vertigo) and making her chronic ailments more comfortable until The Big Thing comes along.

Why not make it less stressful? Why not spend $125 a month to give her easier access, so that she can get care and answers right away? Why not? As I said to her, “Mama, why not spend your money to make yourself more comfortable? What better thing are you going to spend your money on?” She lives with my mother-in-law and doesn’t have many expenses. And even if she could not afford it we would all chip in to get her this kind of service with a doctor she already trusts. She’ll always have all of the creature comforts she needs. And if she’s not wasting money on prescriptions she shouldn’t be taking and wasting time and money waiting and schlepping and… well, I’m obviously a convert.

Surprised the heck out of me.

I’m not sure I’d feel the same way about some of the other fee-for service or retainer-type concierge set-ups ($15000 a year? Come on!). This plan is much more.

And this isn’t insurance. It doesn’t cover procedures or prescriptions or any other gaps in coverage on her policy.

The annual fee may be paid through employer Section 125 plans, and is compatible with flexible spending accounts (FSAs), medical savings accounts (MSAs), and health reimbursement accounts (HRAs). The fee may also be paid through the newly established health savings accounts (HSAs).

I don’t think these plans are right for everyone, by far. For Husband and I it would be $250 a month, which is about $249 a month over what we could afford to spend on it. But if you’ve got the money, or if you’ve got a chronic or acute illness, what great peace of mind you can have for a measly $125 a month. And, in Mama’s case, her kids will rest easier, and all of us will worry a little bit less.

We want her around as long as possible, but we want her comfortable, and happy.