The girls I've known since puberty

Yesterday was my third mammogram. But if you want to add the additional images, then it as also my fourth and fifth.

The facilities at Swedish are absolutely serene and lovely. If not for the painful mammograms,  you might think you were at a spa. There is a private waiting room where all the ladies are wearing those awful hospital gowns. It does level the playing field -- changes us all into the vulnerable older women we are; no social standing or careers to hide behind, just chicks with tatas.

Last year, I decided to go to this annual torture fest with a friend of mine. We made our appointments together, went shopping afterwards, had lunch and even a couple of beers. A fun time was had by all despite my friend getting called in for extra imaging. Extra imaging is what happens when they see something on your films that warrants an additional trip through the breast flopperizer. If even that doesn't clear things up, they do an ultrasound. When my friend was called in for her extra imaging, it really freaked her out. She later said that it was so good that I was there because she could have really lost it without my support.

This was the first time I got called back for extra imaging. Unfortunately, my friend got called back at the same time. We couldn't help each other through because we were both in it.

They crank these plates onto your breasts with a ratcheting knob. Imagine Nigel's amp on "This Is Spinal Tap." It goes up to 11. This mammogram machine goes to 12. I'd even say 13. Actually, the levels are more accurately described as this, uncomfortable, painful, and I'd cut a bitch. The second time I went in, the tech went to I'd cut a bitch levels. I was bruised for days afterwards.

Each time I reentered the waiting room, less women were waiting. Ostensibly, they had gotten their imaging, been cleared, and cleared out. Not me. Oh no. And the time it takes for the wizard behind the curtain to read the film is all the time it takes for me to come up with a plan.

By the time I was lying on the table awaiting my last imaging -- the ultrasound, I had a treatment plan in mind. Go ahead, cut off both boobs but try your best to keep the nipples. Please keep them innervated because what's the point of nipples that can't feel anything. Then rebuild my breasts with my belly fat, leaving my abdomen flat as a board. Any extra fat beyond that can go on my ass, because that's the place my body is flat.

The doc came in and assured me that she didn't see anything too concerning. She did the ultrasound and said that the spots were likely from recent weight loss. She did give me the okay to claim psychological stress from the day's ordeal to earn a dinner out as opposed to having to cook. She also said that if I ever have to get a needle biopsy (a relatively minor thing which causes as much discomfort as a shot), I should go home, lie on the sofa and moan every fifteen to twenty minutes to earn at least a few days of dinners out. I am just going to put that in my back pocket for another time.

Just me and my girls. And to quote Lana from Archer, "Ow. Well, now they're droopier."

Dogs heal

My uncle is very ill. The doctors say that there is a strong chance he won't make it through the week. He's my dad's last brother. It's been a roller coaster these past few weeks because he was admitted to the hospital for a pretty serious medication interaction, but the underlying problems have become overwhelming. We had hoped that as soon as the first problem cleared, the others would follow suit. That has not happened.

But this isn't about that. This is about something that I pursued that I didn't even know was possible and I think would help people in the end.

My uncle's family dog is a Jack Russell Terrier. Fonzi is a clever dog who essentially trained himself by simple observation. He learned that when Uncle would ask someone to pass him the remote, he was referring to that black thing with all the bumpy chewy things on the one side. He learned that when Uncle would ask someone to get his slippers, he meant those soft fluffy things for Uncle's feet. After a while, Uncle just started asking Fonzi for those items and the dog would fetch them. He was Uncle's constant companion at home.

The past few days, things have taken a turn for the worst and it weighed on me that my uncle and his dog might never see each other again. My aunt said that the dog would sit in Uncle's chair and that she had explained to Fonzi that Uncle was sick in the hospital -- that Fonzi must understand.

Thing is, in the past, Uncle always came home after being in the hospital. How could Fonzi possibly understand?

So I set to work. I talked to my aunt at length about bringing Fonzi to the hospital. I think she was skeptical. I begged my mother to advocate for the dog visiting but my mom doesn't really care for dogs. I don't think she sees the point of them. Her loss. And I tried to get a hold of my cousins but I initially couldn't get through. So armed with a little bit of information I started making phone calls.

I contacted the charge nurse at the hospital. We had a long conversation and I told her that I didn't think it would be long so there was an urgency to this being arranged. She told me that they had a policy for animals visiting but it was rarely used. She wasn't fully familiar with it but she promised to work with the family to make this a reality.

I called Fonzi's vet and asked if they could give him a health certificate. Unfortunately, they have to have seen the animal within 30 days so that was a no go. I luckily got my cousin on the phone at that point and told him what the process was, who he had to contact at the hospital, but it all hinged on getting the health certification. My resourceful cousin was able to find an appointment for the dog for that very afternoon and today Fonzi was in my uncle's hospital room.

I don't know if Fonzi knew what was going on. From my brother's account of the visit, Fonzi was freaked out and barking when he arrived at the hospital. It was a strange place; lots of bright lights and odd machines. He was very agitated. But when he entered Uncle's room, his behavior changed. He calmed and was let onto my uncle's bed. He licked his master's hand and Uncle was happy to see his little friend.

I want to believe that this gave Fonzi a little bit of closure. At least he knows where Uncle is. Perhaps he doesn't know that Uncle is dying but maybe he does. Maybe he senses that this could be his last time with him.

But here is what I know in my bones. I know that if I were dying or grievously ill, I'd want my dog. I know that when I'm feeling a little sad she'll find me and curl up in my lap or in my arms. She knows the value of simply presencing me.

And I know that today, I gave my uncle a small comfort. Better than flowers, I did something from these two thousand miles away that was just as real and tangible.

I helped get him kisses from his dog.

Six nurses

This particular story might be mildly embarrassing to my cousin Grace's two kids, E and G. It shouldn't be. It really is the backdrop to some of the language we use in our house so I am obligated to put it in.

Like Grace, I'm a proponent of breastfeeding as long as the child wants to have it. I never had the weaning horrors that some people go through. And I know that I'm totally blessed to have had the opportunity and family support to allow my kids to self wean. For my kids, they nursed about 2 years, which means that they were talking some before they stopped breastfeeding. Grace's kids were at the breast a year or two longer. I applaud her patience and devotion to nursing them. (Look at me trying to be all diplomatic against the people who would judge breastfeeding kids. Oh, get over yourself if it is a problem for you. Breasts make food for babies. The perfect food for babies. So there.)

Grace and her husband Jim tell a story about a friend of theirs who breast fed their kids after the kids started speaking. Their friend's child was running around in toddler fashion, and when he became thirsty, he went up to his mother and asked, "Boob?"

From that moment on, Grace and Jim vowed never to be asked for boobs (especially in public) by a hungry child. Instead they taught their kids to refer to their milk dispensers as "nurses." That way if the child wanted to eat, she'd simply ask ,"nurse?" How sweet is that?

The age difference between Grace's two kids is about 8 years, so when G was 4 or 5, E was just starting out that wonderful phase of life:  puberty. Imagine her horror when her little brother inadvertently walked in on her taking a shower and G ran off to report to his parents that E indeed had nurses too! (okay, that last bit wasn't probably necessary to tell my story but still funny, right?)

The lesson from those two stories stuck with Hubby and me, especially when we had our son. We did not want our precious boy's first word to be "boobs." We made a decision to copy Grace and Jim's example and refer to my breasts as nurses.

It's been a word we've used ever since we became parents and it is fully entrenched in our lives. I suppose it can be confusing considering how many registered nurses we have in our family. Amongst my first cousins, I think we have a total of 10. We are a good Filipino family that way -- we make quality health care professionals -- we love our nurses.

The other day, my mother was remarking about how her brother Efren, who spent most of his adult life working in Hawaii and sending money back home for his family in the Philippines, was able to send 6 of his kids to college for their degrees in nursing.

My mom said, "Can you believe your Uncle Efren has six nurses?"

I said, "Wow, that's really impressive."

Lil'T looked absolutely flummoxed. "Uncle Efren has six nurses?!? What the hoonies???" (hoonies = heck for preschoolers)

It took me a beat to realize that Lil'T was trying to figure out how Uncle Efren had so many breasts under his shirt. How the heck did he get the bras? Must be a Costco pack. And since when did men have breasts like Holly our dog? Oh so confusing!

Maybe we ought to refer to breasts as boobs after all.

Honest Answers

I got tagged by a friend of mine to do this on Facebook and as my blog and FB are linked, I figured I'd post it here and it will eventually be posted there. Here are my answers to this MEME.

Can you fill this out without lying? You've been tagged, so now you need to answer all the questions HONESTLY. At the end, choose at least 8 people to be tagged. Don't forget to tag me!

To do this, copy this entire message, then go to “notes” under tabs on your profile page, paste these instructions in the body of the note, delete my answers, and type yours.

Next, tag 8 people (in the right hand corner of the app). Click publish (at the bottom). Have fun! :)

1.What was the last thing you put in your mouth? Clam chowder that was leftover from last night. OMG I am a good cook. It is the first time I tried making clam chowder and I just tried what I thought would fit. Granted, this isn't like figuring out how to make a souffle but it was a triumph for me.

2.Where was your profile picture taken? At home after a dinner party with my mobile phone -- a Palm Pre. Hubby is getting increasingly annoyed with the Pre because it could be faster about loading apps, etc. but I don't care. It is freakin' awesome that I can answer my email, txt, send pics, etc. I love it!

3.Can you play Guitar Hero? We don't own Guitar Hero but I have played it before. We do own the pads for DDR for our old Xbox which is very similar, except was done with your feet.

4.Name someone who made you laugh today? My good friend Marisa. She did tell me what felching (sp?) was. Before you Google or Bing that word, remember you can't unknow something that you now know. And the visual is simply not pleasant.

5.How late did you stay up last night and why? Around 1am. I was up coughing. Damned cold.

6.If you could move somewhere else, would you? Norway. Just watched SICKO by Michael Moore. The fjords are gorgeous.

7. Ever been kissed under fireworks? Yes. We got married on the Fourth of July. The country celebrates our anniversary with fireworks. At least that is what we tell our kids.

8. Which of your friends lives closest to you? I'm gonna say Sharon. But I haven't taken out a map. It could be Marisa. Not sure.

9. Do you believe exes can be friends? I think you can go back to friendly acquaintances. But true friends? Probably not.

10. How do you feel about Dr Pepper? It is good. It has been over a decade from the diet Dr. Pepper vaca on Kauai that Hubby and I took. We had about 4 days left on the vaca and we went to the grocery store. The "cube" of diet DP was on sale and I couldn't pass up on that price. After 3 days of drinking nothing but diet DP, Hubby and I couldn't touch it without wanting to throw up. I think we left some in the fridge of the hotel room.

11. When was the last time you cried really hard? When Uncle Nofre died last December, I wailed. I mean truly loudly wailed. I still miss him terribly.

12. Who took your profile picture? I did.

13. Who was the last person you took a picture of? Julia's dogs. Does that count as persons? If not, I've got Julia's leg in the picture.

14. Was yesterday better than today? No.

15. Can you live a day without TV? Hubby would disagree with this claim, but yes, I can live without TV.

16. Are you upset about anything? Not right this second. Oh wait, the railing on our deck fell off when it was dumping rain last night. I may have to get into it with my insurance company. But that is about it.

17. Do you think relationships are ever really worth it? Never. jk. Of course.

18. Are you a bad influence? Yeah, most likely. I could be better about cuss words and not losing my temper. I also keep a fairly messy house, as my mother would attest to, so that's not a good influence on my messy kids either. So definitely I'm a bad influence.

19. Night out or night in? In. I'm an old married lady with kids.

21. Who was the last person you visited in the hospital? My mother, last October. She's cancer free now.

22. What does the last text message in your in box say? It was a note from Julia at 8:38am. "Not so fun standing in the rain at a soccer game..."

23. How do you feel about your life right now? These are the good years. I'm living the dream.

24. Do you hate anyone? No

25. If we were to look in your face book inbox, what would we find? Emails from friends. Nothing scandalous.

27. Has anyone ever called you perfect before? Yes. By my dentist. I have beautiful teeth.

28. What song is stuck in your head? Nothing right now. Blessed silence.

29. Someone knocks on your window at 2:00 a.m., who do you want it to be? Paul Gross. I have a crush on that actor. He's on Eastwick on ABC this year. OMG yummy. He also was on Slings and Arrows, which is where I first started crushing on him. He's tall with dark wavy hair and light eyes. What can I say? I have a type.

30.Wanna have grandkids before you’re 50? My son would be in his early twenties then and while it is possible, given that he's gorgeous but (thankfully) awkward, I doubt it. Hubby always jokes that we'll be grandparents in 3 years. (The boy is 12 right now...)

31. Name something you have to do tomorrow? Pick up the boy from a campout.

32. Do you think too much or too little? Too much -- but obsessively on one thing at a time. So the last couple of days it was all Girl Scouts all the time. A couple of weeks ago, it was all dog training all the time.

33. Do you smile a lot? I think so.

34. How many hours a day do you spend on the computer? I think maybe 5 - 6.

35. If you could be anyone else for a day, who would you be? Paul Gross's mistress. jk. Martha Stewart before prison. Well, she wasn't so bad after prison either.

36. Facebook or Twitter? Facebook. I'm tweeting but not really well enough. There are some people who tweet way too much and I end up being deluged by them so I don't like checking too often.

37. Chicken or Beef? Beef. I'm sure I'm a mad cow and will likely turn into a flesh eating zombie if Zombieland is to be believed. Prepare for the zombie apocalypse.

38. Mac or PC? PC

39. Have you ever punched anyone in the face? No

40. Have you ever been punched in the face? Yes, by an old man who was a patient when I was a nurse. I wasn't familiar with him and had not heard that he was violent. He was sitting in a chair out in the hall and the nurse who was caring for him was in the breakroom giving report. He was tearing stuff up and throwing it on the floor so I bent over to pick the stuff up. I got too close and he gave me a fat lip. I was so shocked as I totally wasn't expecting it. He didn't even look angry. Who knows, maybe when I'm old I'll do crazy stuff like punching 20 year old nurses in the face too.

Diabetes

I got news last night that Uncle John will be having surgery on one of his feet as a complication of diabetes. He's battled that illness all of his life having been diagnosed as a very young adult. I'm writing asking for prayers that the vascular surgery goes well and the circulation to his feet and legs improves and that they won't have to take away more tissue than they anticipate.

It is a funny thing about diabetes. People are perfectly willing to nag and cajole -- even feel self righteous when talking to somebody with diabetes. They're easy targets. More than any disease, I think diabetes is one where people feel perfectly fine blaming the patient. "It is your fault your sugars are so out of control. Have you no will power?" "When are you going to start exercising?" The future is dire for any diabetic. Increased risk of heart attack, stroke, blindness, kidney failure, amputation, nerve damage, etc. There are so many great *reasons* to motivate somebody who loves a diabetic to be all fire and brimstone.

But it isn't really fair.

One would never scold a cancer patient for having gotten cancer. The same needs to hold true for diabetes. Consider this, for the diabetic person, they're going along on their daily life when there is an change. They're super thirsty all the time, or they pee a lot -- and then what? They go in, get checked, and then are told that for the rest of the conceivable future, they've got a deadly disease that can be managed, won't stop you in your tracks immediately, but will ultimately catch up with you. Oh, and by the way, if you're not totally on board with the lifestyle changes, everybody you know that loves you will scold you on a daily basis when you so much as think about a cupcake for dessert.

So I'm changing my attitude. I've stopped nagging. I've stopped being judgmental. Ask me my opinion, I'll give it, but I'll try not to be a pain when giving it. If you ask if you should have a cupcake versus an apple and cheese slices, I'll tell you the latter is a better choice. But I'll stop blaming you and try to be compassionate first, always. I'll have the faith that your own inner voice is telling you what you need to be doing.

Perhaps if I shut up, you'll be able to listen to yourself.

Embrace me, my sweet embraceable me....

It has been a long time since I've worked almost exclusively with women. Scratch that. I'm around women all the time. I think maybe I should say that it has been a long time since I've been in a professional capacity with female coworkers through the holiday and New Year's seasons. There is a difference.

See, we all feel obliged to make treats and share with our coworkers. This prompted people to bring in boxes of cookies and chocolates. There was even lumpia and fruitcake (probably not brought in by the same person -- unless there's a Filipina who used to live in the British isles who works there now). Anyway, right after the holidays, there were tons of chocolates and cookies that were brought in for the sake of keeping temptation out of the homes of these ladies. We've swung through the binging phase of the season directly into the self flagellation stage. It is time for the New Year's resolution.

I'm not really sure how long this phase will last, and unfortunately, I won't be working there for much longer, so my scientific observations will have to cease in 2 more shifts. But I think I can see the resolve of some people's New Year's resolutions by celery.

I propose that celery is the measure of willpower.

One of my favorite channels on YouTube (vlogbrothers) defines Peeps as a nonfood item. I kind of think that celery is a nonfood item. At least celery is a non-snackfood item.

Let me put it this way, last time I was at the nurses' station, I saw 2 women eating celery. They were putting it in their mouths, chewing and swallowing the stuff. I am thinking that it was probably meant to be a snack. But have you ever, in your entire lifetime, ever said, "Man, I'm hungry. I could go for some celery right now." Exactly my point. There is no human that thinks that way. I think there are probably some rabbits and guinea pigs who think like that, but no humans. Not if they're being honest with themselves. Celery doesn't taste good. It isn't offensive, but it doesn't taste good. And celery, I think, is a kind of oral self flagellation. It is punishment, every bite you take. It is loud, crunchy, and can stick in your teeth. There is nothing warm, inviting, smooth and comforting about eating celery.

Right now I'm telling everybody there that I'm embracing my fat. Yes, I am fat. I'm not fluffy. I'm not big boned. I AM FAT. And I'm not in love with my fat. I'd love to be rid of it. But I suppose that isn't my goal. On my goal sheet, it says that I will exercise daily. On my goal sheet, it says that I will eat smaller and more frequent meals. On my goal sheet, it says that I will give up processed foods. On my goal sheet, it says I will eliminate corn syrup (no easy task) from our diet. It doesn't say anything really about me losing weight. But if I live up to my goals, I figure something's got to give, right? And no where on my goal sheet does it say anything about eating nonfood items and trying to call them snacks. If I had to eat nonfood items, I'd probably opt to eat lotion from Bath & Bodyworks. Their stuff just smells yummy. Doesn't taste good though.

I predict the celery will make way for chocolate soon enough. When the celery disappears, it will mark the failure yet again of another year's New Year's resolution -- the breaking of the willpower. If you must have a universal endpoint, I think it is Valentines day -- chocolate will again be plentiful. That's the day I will set free my battle cry: Let the binging recommence!

You will pick up a forkful of cheesecake and answer, "So say we all!"

Christmas 2007

The Gospel according to Luke

"(T)he stingy uninspired script consists not of springy dialogue, but rather of a deadening series of pronouncements. Mary to Joseph, "I am tired." Joseph to Mary, "We will rest here for the night." There's no fire, no give and take. And the audience soon grows weary of this passionless relationship." David Sedaris from Front Row Center with Thaddeus Bristol.

My kids participated in the Christmas pageant at our church. Their reenactment of the first Christmas was performed instead of the usual gospel reading. My daughters both dressed up as angels for the production but Lil' T didn't go up on stage. She contented herself with wearing the halo and wings. My son had the starring male role in the play -- you might be thinking Joseph or Gabriel -- sure, they had important parts too, mostly supporting though. My son was the Innkeeper. Really, the whole story arc and the dramatic heft of the play rests on that role's shoulders. Through his scant 6 lines of dialogue, he had us on pins and needles, wondering if his icy heart would melt and give the poor travelers a place to stay. His acting was stellar. I totally believed him as a money grubbing, heartless suck up who ultimately has a small shred of compassion, allowing a pregnant woman to give birth in a cave with his ox and ass sleeping nearby.

I am worried though. My son is being type cast. When he was in the third grade, he played an angry sea urchin. It was a break out role for him. He was the only child that truly acted his part. Sure, most of them were simply making statements about who they were like, "I am a star fish. I like to live in tide pools." But my son really acted like a prickly sea urchin. He shouted, "Hey, what are you doing here? There's no room in this tide pool for you. It is crowded enough as it is." Again, totally believable. But can you see how that is essentially the same part as the innkeeper in the Christmas pageant? The only difference was the costume. Instead of an outfit made of duct tape (a.k.a. duck tape -- for those who are hardware store impaired), paper cones and purple spray paint, he wore a middle eastern robe and pill box hat. I just hope that this typecasting doesn't crimp his ability to take on different roles. I mean, really, what's next down this track? Mr. Roper from Three's Company? Mr. Cunningham from Happy Days? The man from Chico & the Man? The troll from Billy Goats Gruff? I know it is still early in his career, but a mother does worry.


All I want for Christmas


A local radio station here gives out Christmas wishes in the days leading up to Christmas. I decided to try to get something for my mom this year through them -- something that I certainly couldn't afford, especially not this year. This is the entry I wrote, and yeah, it may seem a little over the top, but I wanted to win this for my mom. Oh well, I guess I'll have to fulfill this wish the old fashioned way -- earn it.

When my father retired 17 years ago, my mother treated him to an Omega watch. It was a lavish present for a man who was the son of immigrants, a veteran of 2 wars, worked most of his life as a civil servant doing pest control, sent the 4 of us kids to private school, and at one point took 2 jobs to keep us in our school uniforms. He told my mother that he would get her the matching Omega watch when she retired from her work as a clinic nurse. He promised her that he would. This past year, that retirement finally came. She did not retire on her own schedule but instead, as my parents always have done, put her kids' needs before her own and retired because of me.

In June 2007, my husband, the sole wage earner for our household, was laid off. I was an RN before I left work to raise my kids, ages 10, 6 & 2 years old. To get my license back, I needed to take an RN refresher course -- a 5 month class from a community college. Concerned about me and her grandkids, she said she would retire and come up here from Hawaii to care for my family. Also worried about how I was going to travel to and from the hospital for my clinical assignments, she shipped her only car up here for me to drive.

I always intended to give my mom her Omega watch at her retirement because my dad is unable to keep that promise.

Five years ago, our family gathered in Washington for a Christmas reunion. It was to have been the first one we had shared in over 10 years. At Christmas Eve dinner, my father announced that he expected us all to be in Hawaii for Christmas the following year. He ultimately got his wish, but not the way he had intended. That very evening, Dad died unexpectedly of a massive heart attack. We never had that Christmas all together like we planned. My brothers and I (two in WA, one in HI, and one in CA) went to Hawaii the following year to be with Mom for the 1 year anniversary of Dad's death. Every Christmas season since has been bittersweet -- a shame because Dad truly loved Christmas.

Because I don't have work yet and sadly, my husband has not found a new job, we're struggling this year. My Christmas wish is to give my mom the present my Dad had wanted to give her, the matching Omega watch. I just think that if I could give that to her, she could have Dad here with us for Christmas, even in this small way.

I know, it reads like that overly saccharin Christmas song, Christmas Shoes. My husband will turn off the radio if he hears it playing. It is such an obvious tear jerker. Last night I think he was going to throw up when I started singing it. "Sir, I wanna buy these shoes/ for my Mama, please./ It's Christmas Eve and these shoes are just her size./ Can you hurry, sir?/ Daddy says there's not much time,/ see, she's been sick for quite a while,/ and I know these shoes will make her smile,/ and I want her to be beautiful/ when Mama meets Jesus tonight..."

My hubby and I changed the final lyric a little though, "So I laid the money down. /I just had to help him out. /Then he grabbed the money and he ran,/ and I think it might be part of his plan,/ and I think I heard him stop and say/ 'another one born every day...'"

But I think the difference between my entry and that song is that my story is truthful -- real -- I mean, we lived it. And are still living it. I still get teary eyed sometimes when I go to church, remembering that on my dad's last day, we attended Christmas Eve mass. We watched the last Christmas pageant performed there for years before this year's production. I heard my dad sing, O Little Town of Bethlehem and he boasted a little, like he often did when he sang, about how good his voice sounded and how well he knew the lyrics. And then he was gone. And Christmas has really never been the same since. I kind of get a little grumpy in the days leading up to it. I hope that will change eventually, but I doubt it.

My mistake though. The radio station had a cap for their prizes -- $600 per person. Had I known that, I would have asked for a new camera or something like that. And some of the stories they shared were shockingly more tragic than ours. And I thought ours was pretty bad. All in all, our Christmas was great just having Mom here. And even though money was tight, the kids had a great one.

Eat and get gas

What Christmas blog would be complete without a full recapping of what we ate for the Christmas feast? There was no figgy pudding or Christmas goose. I have not yet tried the scary Turducken phenomenon. My brother the chef has done it, and says it is fabulous. I think I'll wait for him to prepare it for me.

In previous years we've had the traditional Thanksgiving redux and we've also gone totally the other way with steak fajitas. But in our defense, the fajitas had red and green bell peppers in them.

This year, our decision on what to make was made by the upper management at Safeway. Prime rib roast went on sale for $4.99/pound. For those of you who have no frame of reference on that, it usually goes for at least $9.99/lb, often more.

I decided to make potatoes au gratin with leeks, oyster mushrooms & guyere cheese. It is a recipe I got way back in the day from Bon Apetit Magazine. I liked it but the kids didn't. They've got some kind of mental block against mushrooms. I blame their father.

The problem with choosing to make the roast and the potatoes was that there is only one oven in this house. The roast prepared in the oven takes about 3 hours at 200 degrees F. The potatoes cook at 400 for 1 hour 20 minutes. You see the conflict. So I decided to grill the roast using the indirect heat method. It was the perfect solution.

After a quick call to my brother the chef, I asked my husband to prepare the briquets. And like the Jews at the first Hanukkah, we were left with too little fuel to keep the fire lit. We only had 1/2 a chimney starter of charcoal. And in our own Christmas miracle, my husband found another 1/2 a chimney full of charcoal still in the grill. Thank goodness for poor housekeeping. Cleaning out the grill after the season was a chore that fell by the wayside. Amazingly, that one chimney full of charcoal was able to cook the roast for over an hour and imparted the most wonderful smoky flavor to the meat. Does that count as a miracle?

Since it was a special occasion, I decided to use our wedding china.

I do question my sanity looking back at it. Why add the stress of using the wedding china for dinner on Christmas day? As if Christmas isn't stressful enough. The meal is cooked by loving hands that will turn decidedly unloving, should you chip the wedding china. I actually have planned for that eventuality and got 13 place settings. I know that seems unlucky, but I think of it this way. I have 12 place settings and 1 replacement for each piece. My anxiety was sensed by my husband who while clearing the table and bringing the china to the kitchen sink mimicked the sound of a large truck backing up and in a loud voice said, "Beep! Beep! China in transit. Beep! Beep!" Then when he almost dropped a Tupperware container on the plates, looking at my barely contained freak out, he changed his mantra to, "Beep! Beep! China in danger. Beep! Beep!"

Oh, I suppose you all would like to know what we had for dessert. Mom and I made binbingka cassava and jello mochi. Both desserts almost didn't make it to the end of the meal. We had prepared them early and by the time we set the table for dinner, most of it had disappeared down the gullets of my family.

The meal was fabulous and festive. My son really had a fun time with his Christmas present from Uncle Dwight. It is a remote control fart machine. So yes, my table was set with my finest china. I had a brand new gold table cloth and deep red table runner both imported from Italy. The kids were drinking out of stemware instead of plastic tumblers. We even used cloth napkins instead of paper. And all the while, we had the sound of farting coming from under the table with giggle filled accusations flying. That's classy.

Ah, memories. Mele Kalikimaka!

You can call me Flo

I took my final today. I never thought I'd take another final back when I finished my degree. But here I am, another final under my belt, seriously considering taking a few more to get an advanced degree.

This has been an amazing few months. I surprised myself because I went kicking and screaming back into the arms of nursing. I didn't want to go. I liked what I was doing and was content to have nursing as the safety net I didn't have to deploy. But that all changed when my husband started a new chapter in his life -- leaving IBM. It's been a tough road, but I think it has made us stronger. I think we both had fallen into complacency, which is never a good thing career wise. I graduated the first time during a nursing surplus. There is nothing quite like society telling you that even though there was a shortage when you chose this profession, you've unluckily graduated just in time for experienced RN's being laid off and joining the labor pool. Good luck finding a job. Yeah, those were the days. But I guess that is what the profession is all about. Like rabbits and coyotes, we come in cycles. Sometimes a glut, and sometimes a shortage. But be sure to watch because the next curve is right around the corner.

Right now there is a shortage. And according to some of our lecturers, there will be a shortage for some time. One of the statistics we were told is that by 2010 there will be 200,000 RN full time positions unfilled. The silver tsunami is on its way -- baby boomers are getting older. Johnson & Johnson made a huge advertising drive to get more people to consider the nursing profession. Elsewhere in the country, the backlog for nursing students is because there aren't enough masters prepared nursing instructors. Here in Washington, we've got people on waiting lists for ADN programs not for lack of advanced degree nurses (we've got plenty of them apparently), but because hospitals here are overburdened with students.

But I wanted to show you the picture of most of my classmates. Alan was late and I didn't get him in the shot. (Sorry, Alan.) But here we are. These are amazing women, every last one of them. And I'm proud to have met them, have studied with them, led some of them to victory twice in Jeopardy (mmm... chocolate), and most importantly, made friends with them. Remember these faces. If you are ever in need of medical care, hope you see one of these people looking at you. You'll be in competent and caring hands.

Why making a bed matters

As part of our preparation for an upcoming clinical in Medical/Surgical nursing, my class has been assigned a group of videos on clinical nursing skills. I've been wading through stuff like how to take vital signs and how to administer injections. In between those items, there's how to fix a bed and how to give a bath.

I remember bristling at learning those skills back when I was a 20 year old nursing student and I felt those hackles rising in me again viewing these videos.

See, I guess I have a chip on my shoulder about nursing. We're expected to make nursing diagnoses and decide on nursing interventions. We're expected to assess for and recognize potential complications of any disease process. In medical/surgical nursing, we're expected to know the potential complications of dozens of disease processes and surgical procedures. And still, what the profession is known for is bed baths and bed pans.

It is funny. My mom is totally shocked at the amount of sheer information I'm processing these days. Like her amazement at how big my Medical/Surgical book is.

I asked her, "So Mom, was your Med/Surg book this big?"

Her reply, "No. Back then we weren't trying to be doctors."

I don't think I am trying to be a doctor. Or that we as nurses are trying to be doctors. I'm just trying to be a good nurse. I mean, who really ever wants to be sick, in pain, or simply be in the hospital? We nurses diagnose and treat people's reactions -- physical and emotional -- to illness and disease. We nurses try to make our patients' experiences more bearable, let our patients feel more empowered, and at the core, more like themselves. Sometimes that means giving a pain med, or advocating for more pain med. Sometimes it means frequent assessments and vigilance to recognize potential complications. And yeah, sometimes that means changing a bed for a patient so they can feel more comfortable in a decidedly uncomfortable hospital room. And sometimes it means giving somebody a bedpan -- all without making a face, without conveying that it is uncomfortable for both the patient and the nurse, but at the same time respecting that discomfort.

An aside: If you ever have the privilege to watch Taylor's Video Guide to Clinical Nursing Skills Student Set on CD-ROM, you must catch my absolute favorite scene. It is on CD 2 under the heading, "Preparing a Sterile Field: Pre-packaged Kits." The scene is an elderly gentleman being faced with the prospect of having an indwelling catheter inserted. Sadly, we don't get to watch the insertion (at least not on that video) but right before the end, the instructor says something to the effect of, "Now let's begin the catheterization." She says this in the absolute most cheery Doris Day voice. But right at the end of the scene, she takes a look directly at the patient with an inscrutable expression -- reminding me of Dana Delaney in Exit to Eden. I don't know why, but it just makes me laugh each time I see it.

The first life I saved was my own kid's

I know you're all just itching to find out what happened on our summer vacation next, but I have to let you know about this one. My youngest just had her 2nd birthday so I brought her in for her well child check. (She's 36.5 inches tall and 30#.) She had a routine blood test to see if she was anemic and bummer -- she is. So while I was off at school, my husband picked up the iron prescription for her. (School is great, btw. Most of the students are in the same boat as me, returning to nursing after getting the kids out of diapers and into school buses.) Instead of writing out what happened, the following is the email I sent to the store's corporate offices. And hopefully, by the time of this posting, I will have printed it out and sent it to the local store directly.

This email is just to let you know of a potentially dangerous medication error that your pharmacy failed to catch and could have been lethal for my child if I had not caught it myself.

Yesterday my husband went in to pick up a prescription for my daughter from the (name of the pharmacy and city) location. It was Ferrous Sulfate drops 75mg/0.6ml. The label read "give 2.4 milliliters by mouth daily." I am an RN. When I got home, I was surprised to see such a large dose being prescribed. I checked on the internet to see what the usual dose is, and also looked at the box the drops came in. For severe anemia, the dose is 4-6 mg/kg daily. My daughter weighs 13.6kg. Even at the maximum dose (81mg), it does not come near the 300mg that had been prescribed. I also verified these numbers in the current Davis's Drug Guide for Nurses 10th edition.

Here is where the ball was dropped.

I called the pharmacist after having checked these numbers on the internet telling her that I thought that the dose was far too high. I was telling her about the situation, that the prescription said that I should give 4 droppers of the iron. The first thing she had commented was that she should have included a larger dropper so I wouldn't have to refill the same dropper 4 times. Then I asked her about the dose. She said that she had questioned that large a dose as well, but told me that in cases of severe anemia, doses that large are appropriate. I told her that I didn't think that was right and she suggested that I call the doctor to verify the dose.

I did speak to the MD today and he said that his computer was supposed to calculate the dose based on my daughter's weight, but unfortunately, it did not. He was very apologetic and said that in fact the computer had prescribed a whopping 5mls which would most certainly have caused her injury. The clinic has just adopted this computer system so I can understand some of the confusion.

Thankfully a very dangerous situation was avoided because of the luck that my daughter's mother is a nurse. But I worry that there are many children out there whose mothers or fathers are not nurses, pharmacists, doctors and the like. I am so thankful that my husband didn't take it upon himself to administer the iron before I got home yesterday.

As allied health professionals, we are the last line of defense for med errors. In hospital and in clinic, it is the RN or LPN who plays this role, but in our communities, it is the Pharmacist. I think that the pharmacist must have reduced the prescription to half of what had been prescribed but still not within a safe range. I think she must not have called my daughter's doctor to verify the dose. I think that asking the parent of the child to call the doctor could be a dangerous and irresponsible action. A lay person might have thought that because the pharmacist had already checked the dose, had even adjusted it, that it was not essential to call the doctor, that the problem had been solved.

Thank-you for your attention to this matter. Perhaps you might want to do an audit of the ferrous sulfate prescriptions received from the (name of my daughter's doctor's) clinic considering how grievous this error could have been. Please contact me with the resolution to this matter.

Tess Haddon, BSN, RN

So anyway, no babies were harmed in this incident and my kid is fine. FYI. If a person receives about 10mg/kg of iron, they will have symptoms of iron overdose, like bloody diarrhea, abdominal cramps, and basically pretty nasty stuff. You would need to bring the child into the emergency room and get an IV medication that binds with the iron so she can pee it out. But that doesn't mean she would be out of the woods after treatment. She could develop scarring on her intestines which might lead to a blocked intestine which would be another life threating event. She could get liver failure which would be a life threating event. The dose as prescribed, was about 20mg/kg.

My brother was a pharmacist before he became a dentist. He said that while pharmacists have some limited prescriptive authority (like changing a brand name med for its generic counterpart), it does not include changing a dose all together, as this pharmacist clearly had. And yes, the doctor is at fault as well because he should have verified that the correct prescription had been ordered. I think I am more apt to forgive him because when it was brought to his attention, he was apologetic and absolutely mortified that it had happened. The pharmacist, however, was not.

I have shined up my chest badge that reads, "SuperMommy," knowing full well that I deserve it, at least for today.

*UPDATE* I received a follow up phone call from the pharmacy a full 6 days after the prescription was filled. The pharmacist had finally contacted the prescribing physician and verified that she should be receiving 0.3mls after all. All the refills at the dangerously high dosage have been cancelled.

Back to School Shopping

This coming fall, I will be going to an RN Refresher course. After having been out of nursing for the past 10 years, I'm getting my license back. Thankfully, this state requires you take a refresher course if you've been out of practice for over 3 years. I'm glad for this opportunity because frankly, I'm terrified to go back without some kind of refresher. Things just have changed, that's all. They don't still use leeches, do they?

I have to say though, I am nervous about going back to school. I'm guessing there are a lot of people in the same boat as I am. My sweet husband has no worries about that. He says that even though I'm older, I'm still smart. Bummer though, I think that this time through, I'll have to get reading glasses.

But along with the granny reading glasses, I get to buy all new nursing stuff. Over the past couple of days, my doorstep has been receiving cool new gear. One day, 3 of my textbooks arrived. Okay, that was a bummer. I had forgotten how heavy these bastards are. I figure I can work out just by carrying my books around. "How much do you press, Tess?" "Oh, I've worked my way up from RN Drug reference book to the full Med/Surg textbook." The next day I got 2 sets of scrubs. I got some that look a little more updated, but still in that lovely ceil blue. I had never *heard* of ceil blue before shopping for nursing clothes. Lastly, I got my stethoscope.

I was excited to get my stethoscope because my last one had been stolen when I last worked. My mom had bought me a lavender Littman Classic II for Christmas. I had a tag with my name on it and everything, but it walked. So I was shopping, and while I loathe most things pink, I did buy a pink stethoscope. See, 3M was donating $5 for each of these pink stethoscopes sold for breast cancer research, and the stethoscope costs the same as all the other colors, so why not? I ended up getting it engraved with "Tess Haddon, RN" just in case.

My son was very excited to see my stethoscope and had a suggestion on its use.

"Mom, before you go use that on people, can I go listen to a tree?"

A lot of what he says to me just leaves me bewildered. And I think it will be that way for the rest of our lives together.

"No, Mom, you can hear the sap going up the tree. For real."

"What does it sound like?" I asked.

"I can't exactly describe it..."

"Does it sound like sucking on a straw?" I made a slurping sound.

"No. Just go listen to one, Mom. We did it in school."

I rolled my eyes at him. Another crazy idea. But now, after having shut him down, I'm feeling like a jerk. Turns out that it is possible to hear sap go up a tree trunk during Spring. You're supposed to pick a thin barked tree and listen very quietly. You'll be able to hear the sap going up the trunk to the branches and leaves.

I suspect that I'll be listening to our trees with my Breast Cancer Awareness Littman Classic II S.E. Stethoscope this coming Spring. I'll have my son show me how.