I Find It Ironic That The Medical Realm Makes My Head Want To Explode

Well, I’ve had five pregnancies now and without getting too technical I can tell you that my platelet count has gone down each pregnancy. The medical term for this is pregnancy induced thrombocytopenia. Fancy schmancy for my platelets (which are supposed to be 150,000 – 400,000 and run on the low side normally) get down below the “normal” mark when I get pregnant. So it should not come as a shock to anyone when they do this again, right? Yeah, you would think…but not so.

I get a call from the Dr’s office this morning that goes something like this. Oh, but first you should know that my thoughts are in italics and my actual words are in quotation marks…they’re drastically different.

“Hi, this is Suzy (We’ll call her Suzy) from Dr. X’s office. We got the results from the blood we drew on Friday and your platelets have continued to drop” Um…duh…. “and so Dr. X has ordered you to have more blood drawn. Where do you want to have it drawn?”

“OK, what was the platelet count and what does she want drawn?”

Nurse Suzy reluctantly gives me the answers including the fact that the draw we are doing is for autoimmune diseases, there are technical names but seriously it’s all like, ‘blah, blah, blah.’

WTH…this happens EVERY time. Do we really think that it’s suddenly an autoimmune problem?

So I say, “Well, I have a really busy day today and tomorrow, can this be done later in the week?”

“No, this has to be done today, tomorrow at the latest.”

Let me just take a break here from the conversation to say that I don’t HAVE to do anything. Ok, maybe I have to breathe but that’s only if I don’t want to pass out and then die. This probably highlights some deep problem with authority or something that I have but seriously, don’t tell me I have to do anything. That’s pretty much the quickest way to make me ignore you. So now, I’m mad. Are you kidding me? Do I really have to drop everything to get a test done for a problem that we’ve dealt with five times now?

                Then Nurse Suzy asks again, “Where do you want to have it done? Here or the hospital?”

                “Your office would be easier”

                “Hmmmm, well, I’m not sure I can fit you in and I’m trying to think if any of these tests have to get to the lab within a certain amount of time…”

                THEN WHY DID YOU ASK ME????

                “Well then, you might as well send it to St. Charles”

At this point I hang up and consult with my medical counsel who says, “Just tell them ‘no.’” I almost fell out of my chair. That was not the answer I expected. Then he says, “Didn’t the hematologist do these tests before. Call back and find out if we’re duplicating tests.

So I call back and probably give the receptionist a headache when I refuse to leave a message and insist that I’ll hold for the NP. Yeah, I’m a pain like that.

After talking to the NP who says she’ll look for the prior tests she then says, “But can I get back to you though because we’re kind of busy right now.”

                GAAAAAAHHHHHHHH…..I’m not the one who made this sound so urgent that all my little platelets will keel over and die if I don’t get the test done in 30.5 seconds.

                But I say, “Sure.” See people….I have self-control and tact and I actually use it sometimes.

Turns out they can’t find any results from this particular previous test so she called back and told me that the Dr. so generously told me I can bump the test back to Wednesday.

I readily acknowledge that I have a problem with medical personnel, especially when I feel things aren’t necessary but I’m not completely unreasonable. Why must we use phrases like, “You HAVE to” and “It’s OK with me if you move your test back a day.” Is she the freaking Queen of England? Dern straight it’s OK with you. It’s either Wednesday or nothing.

This all ended with Matthew suggesting that I sign a waiver the next time I’m in the office to give him access to all my medical information. This is probably a good idea. I'm usually very serious when I say my favorite Dr. is Dr. Pepper. It is completely ironic that this is my husband's chosen profession. Maybe I should just let him do the talking from now on or I may end up getting myself sedated. 

And I'm Sure I'll See Her At Church On Sunday...

Everyone has their reasons for doing or not doing what they do. That’s quite a vague sentence but let me explain. When I was a young driver, oh heck, even now that I’m an old driver I refuse to flip someone off, even if they deserve it. I, to my recollection, have never flipped anyone off. I wish I could tell you that it was because I’m such a good Christian that I just never have the desire to do so but alas that would not be the truth. I've had the urge plenty of times but there is a fear that has kept me from gesturing rudely to anyone. This fear is (insert scary music here) that I will see that car in the parking lot of church the next Sunday. Yep, that’s what it is. Being from a small town and being the pastor’s kid from a small church can really mess with your psyche. Picture this. You’re driving along minding your own business and someone pulls out in front of you. You yell, you holler, you gesture wildly, then in your moment of victory when you are speeding past the offender you give the ol’ finger. You feel like you’ve won that is until the following Sunday when you’re running late for church. You speed into the parking lot only to discover a new car parked in the lot; the very same car that pulled out in front of you earlier in the week. Yes, I am positive that if I ever were to flip someone off this scenario would play out in my life.

This one fear has never transferred over to other areas of my life until recently. The other day I was out of bread and milk and Matt was gone on a rotation which meant that if I wanted bread and milk I would have to take all four kids to the grocery store….ALONE! (Insertion of scary music would again be appropriate) So, I did what I had to do. I loaded everyone up and headed for Miller’s. We entered, we shopped, we paid and left the store. There is something about successfully taking four kids, six and under, to the grocery store and everyone making it out alive and nothing being destroyed in the store that makes a Mama feel like super mom! I was feeling victorious!

I walked out to my van to see another van parked next to mine. It was an older model, forest green, Ford Windstar. Yep, I know what kind of car it was. The woman from the car was standing outside of her car screaming in the window at her kid. Her cart was directly in front of my car. Previously in my life I would have judged the fact that she was screaming at her kid but since I nearly popped a blood vessel in my forehead the day I stepped on a Barbie hairbrush that is no longer the case. Instead I was more annoyed that her cart was in front of my car.

But I did what any normal human being would have done and completely ignored the screaming and the cart. I took the girls around to the other side of the car and loaded them in and returned to the side next to the screaming woman so that I could load Asher into his seat. I did have to wait though because by this time her teen-aged son was done getting yelled at and had gotten out of the car to return the cart to the store. She had her door open and was S-L-O-W-L-Y getting into her car. Those of you who know me know that while pregnant with boy babies I have slight rage problems. But I was doing well….I was not screaming or yelling. I was just waiting. OK, so I was annoyed and waiting but I was waiting. As she got into her car and sat on her chuck covered seat (yeah, hospital chucks on car seats weird me out) she looked at me with my son and said, “Wait until he gets older,” to which I responded with a vague sort of nod thing. At that very moment that the nod thing was happening I opened Asher’s car door to reveal 3 little girl heads peeking out of the car. The yelling woman on the chuck covered seat in the green Ford Windstar let out a giant gasp and said, “Holy…….(I’ll let you finish that).”

Methodically I finished hooking in the children, never turning back to acknowledge chuck lady, got into my car and drove away. Now, I’m sure I could have been meaner, but I certainly could have been nicer. I probably should have said something friendly or something or made a joke, but I didn’t. I pretended that there were no chucks in my immediate vicinity and I drove off and I’m absolutely, most assuredly convinced that there will be a green Ford Windstar with a chuck on the seat in the church parking lot next Sunday…

How Does My Garden Grow?

My pastor talked about gardening today and it made me think. Basically, he was talking about how he thought he had bad soil because he hadn’t had much success growing plants in his garden. But then he was talking to a gentleman who began telling him how any soil can be good soil, you just have to dig it up, till it, work it, and sometimes add things to it until it becomes good soil. Then my pastor began relating it to our spiritual lives. Sometimes to get things to take root in our hearts we need to till it up. After all, our hearts can become hard rather quickly, at least mine can.

But this analogy didn’t stop there for me. I began thinking about the gardens that Matt and I use. We have two gardens, one behind our house that we dug and tilled ourselves, and another one at his grandparents’ house. This garden has been used for years and years and is extremely fertile. The first year we planted the garden behind our house it really didn’t do too well but the first year we planted at his grandparents’ house we got a bumper crop. Now that it’s been 5 years or so the garden behind our house has done much better. Last year we had so many green beans that we are still eating from the ones I canned. And of course the garden at his grandparents’ house is still doing well. As I was thinking about our natural gardens God made a connection for me. Matt’s grandparents’, by tilling and planting and working their garden, have made it not only beneficial for themselves but for their grandchildren. They have also “worked” their hearts and left a Godly heritage for their children and grandchildren. My parents and Matt’s parents have also left Godly and fertile soil for their children to plant in.

I think sometimes we get so wrapped up in ourselves…what works for me, how it affects me, whether I want to or not, that we forget we’re planting a garden for our children. My children will either benefit or be hindered by my “garden.”

Let’s face it, tilling, planting, weeding, etc. can be work but the end is extremely worth it and once we have invested in the first few years of work we really don’t have to work that hard anymore. The ground has been loosened; the old plants that we’ve tilled back into the ground have added nutrients. We don’t have to go back in and scrape all the grass off the top. Also, from experience, I know that the more you weed one year, the less you have to do the next. I want my life to be like that. I want to let God work in my heart not only for my benefit but so that I leave a heritage of fertile, soft soil for my children.

The next time I’m tempted to stuff that emotion or that anger. The next time I’m tempted to ignore the problem and hope it goes away, I hope to take a step back and look. If I deal with it now will my kids not have to? If I learn to trust God and His work in my heart, I am leaving that experience to my children because they will see the process and remember. Pulling a weed now is always easier than pulling it later.

Water boarding

I always half jokingly refer to bath time in our home as water boarding, but seriously, either my children are overly sensitive or I should go to work for the CIA and TSA and maybe even the IRS as an advanced interrogator. I am trying to work on not being so angry but it seems that I am just not capable of getting through bath time without a fit. Let me give you an anecdotal tour of bath time in the Widmer home.

Usually the three girls get into the bathtub together. This will soon be coming to an end as Elaina is beginning to fill the entire bathtub up all on her own. This leaves the other girls to find random spots where they can fit. Once they are all squished, tetris style into the tub then we must add the Barbies. I believe we have no less than fourteen hundred mermaid Barbies and their accessories (dolphins, seahorses, etc) that must join the tub at bath time. I mean, obviously, you can't play with mermaid Barbies without water. My children really don't know how good they have it. My mother NEVER let me take a Barbie into the water. It might have something to do with the massive amounts of plastic hair that must be removed from the tub and drain after the bath is over, but I digress. So, now we have a tub full of girls and Barbies. This is now play time. During play time I must listen to them yell and scream at each other that they are not playing right, or not to get them wet (Um, you're in the TUB), or that they want the one Barbie that the other child is playing with. Then someone takes a big cup of water and sets it on the edge of the tub and then "accidentally" dumps it over the edge all over the bath mat. Next comes the need to pee or poop. Usually during bath time two of my children have to go to the bathroom even though they all just went before they got in the tub. When getting onto the toilet from the tub it is a dire emergency so that they cannot possibly dry anything off before sitting on the toilet. The result is a massive puddle from the tub to the toilet and a massively slippery toilet especially if you didn't realize that it was wet (trust me). Right about this time, I am completely and totally frustrated with the situation so it's time to wash them and get them out. Evelyn goes first since she has to use special soaps that do not bother her baby eczema. She never wants to go first and usually flails like a fish that Jillian has caught with her pishen hoe. Overall though, she is my easiest one to wash. There is only a minimal amount of whining that occurs here and is most of the time very tolerable. Next comes Jill. Jill has ear tubes so she must wear earplugs in the bath. We start washing Jillian's hair and she starts screaming that it hurts. I don't know how washing hair can hurt. I try to be very gentle, but when you get me really mad I figure if she's gonna scream no matter how gentle I am, I might as well give her a reason to scream. Then her earplugs fall out. I don't know how. Maybe it's the screaming. Maybe she just has an uncanny ability to push earplugs from her ears without using her hands. It's a gift. Anyway, then she's done and it's time to move to Elaina. Elaina is completely capable of washing herself except for most days she "doesn't feel like it." This is convenient because I always feel like washing her....yeah, that's it. Oh and she gets water in her eyes and then she "CAN'T SEE!" I did not know that water caused blindness, did you?

Once we have made it through the girls then it is Asher's turn. This is must less eventful. I have to tell you though, that every time I give him a bath I am amazed at how early boys discover their "man parts". And why on earth must they be pinched!? I think that should hurt. All I know is that it's a good thing that the good Lord did not give the male species big boobs as well or they would never get anything done.

When all is said and done the children are clean. I have a headache and very wet socks, but the children are clean. Someday, I know I will look back at fondness at some of these situations just as my mom now looks back with fondness at my brother's "fun baths" (this is where you fill the bath up as full as you can and sit in it and play but don't actually use any soap). Until then, I will be content to know that it is, at the very least, decent blogging material.

Eloquence vs Ebonics

Anyone who knows me knows that I am a grammar guru.  Misuse of you're/your, they're/there/their, to/two/too, and spelling tomorrow with an "A," all are enough to make me go batty.  I don't always get it right.  I have my share of grammatical errors and misspoken moments, but I try my best to speak and write correctly.  I feel that if you speak well and write well most people will think you're smarter than you actually are.  I had no idea how this had trickled down to my children until recently.

The other day Elaina was telling me a story.  This is not unusual.  Elaina tells me lots of stories.  She is actually about as good with her useless facts as is her Uncle T....but I digress.  Anyway, she said to me, "I paid attention the whole time he was speaking."  SPEAKING.  Most kids I know would have said, "I paid attention the whole time he was talking."  Actually, most adults I know would have used "talking" instead of "speaking."  I was slightly impressed at my 5 year old's command of the English language.  She is also my mini guru.  Since she started Kindergarten she has been correcting her sisters' verb tenses on a regular basis.  Fun for her, not so much for the younger two girls.

Then, two weeks ago, during the first bout of vomiting to invade my home, Evelyn says, "Mommy, my tummy doesn't feel so well."  WELL.  Again, most people would have said, "My tummy doesn't feel so good."  Heck, I probably would have said "good" too!  At this point, I am convinced that my children are destined to become some great orators, or literary masters, or something equally impressive.  But alas, my delusions of grandeur were cut short.

On Thursday I took Jillian to the Doctor.  She was having snot issues and we needed some modern medicine.  Of course she becomes instantly shy when the Doc enters the room, refusing to utter a single word until she says this sentence, " I be frowwin' up!"  Be.  BE!!!  She not only feels the need to tell the Doc that she had the stomach flu a week before, but she uses the word "be."  And then it hits me.  I have a child who speaks Ebonics.  Imagine if you will a teeny little girl who sounds like she's been a 3 pack a day smoker for 40 years.  That's my Jilly.  On top of that she has yet to "get" the art of speaking the complicated English language.  At that moment in the doctor's office, all of her special "Jilly" phrases run through my head.  (Now you must imagine her gravely voice when reading these.) Like when she says, "Youuu don't teeeell me," or "Where my cuuuuup," or "Hey, you don't say dat."  Then there is the ever popular, "We be going upstairs."  And of course, my personal favorite, "Where my pishin' hoe?"  The pishin' hoe obviously is her fishing pole...yeah, obviously...

Well, so we may not win the "Family masters of the English language" award. (not that it exists) but I have to say, I love Jillybonics just as much as I love the fact that my other two use the words "speak" and "well."  And someday soon enough I will have to teach Jillian the proper way to say fishing pole. For now, however, it's hysterically funny when she asks people about their pishin' hoes :).

Finally, my dear friends, please remember..."Alot" is not a word, you can't use "have" and "of" interchangeably , and when you say, "Your dumb," what you're really saying is, "I'm dumb."