Twinkle Little Star

Better.

Both of us are feeling much better today about the whole nursing home deal. Out of our list of four places, three declined D because they wouldn't make a profit on him, and one, our second choice, took him. He will be going there tomorrow.

I stopped by the place this afternoon. I just walked in not knowing what to expect. Well, I didn't just walk in, the doors were locked. But someone let me in and I just started walking around the place. A woman came up to me and asked me if I needed help, and I told her why I was there. She took me to the admissions director, who showed me D's room and introduced me to the nursing staff and D's roommate. His room already had the air mattress there, and just as I was leaving, the people from the wound vac company were bringing in the wound vac. She said they are trained once a quarter on the wound vac, which is good, because its a damned tricky little machine.

It looks a lot like just a regular hospital. Nothing special about it, but nothing dingy or horrifying either. There is one nurse and three CNA's for D's wing. It is hard for me to tell how many patients that would be for. I saw all older people as patients, which I would expect. D's roommate is an older man who was kind and unassuming. He was ambulatory and I didn't see a speck of medical equipment in his room so he must be pretty healthy. Upon talking with him very briefly, he seemed pretty cognizant but with some short-term memory problems. I know he was told before that he was getting a roommate, but he didn't remember that. Yes on the cable, no on the Internet access (they don't get much demand for that, she says. What? No young computer dorks come in here and want to surf the net?) She said that she thinks they could help him set up dial-up.

We can bring the kids, and we can bring the cats! She brought this up. She said that pets on a leash or in a carrier can come in and visit. They have to be up on their vaccines and you can only bring one in at a time. I thought that was interesting. Maybe I'll leave Black Cat with him!

You walk in the room and the beds are on either side of you. That is nice because then you each have your own space and your own window rather than hospital rooms were one guy gets the window and the privacy and the guy closest to the door gets curtains and everyone walking past him all day.

She showed me out and told me the code to get out. You have to type in a code to get in and out. (Oh, it is a prison!) But she said it was because sometimes the Alzheimer's patients wander off.  Guess that makes sense.

D was in such a better mood today. I think it is because the decision is made and things are getting taken care of and we visited the place so it is not so unknown. Oh, and also because his sister made a surprise visit from California. She just showed up in his room this morning. We didn't know she was coming!

Fun facts I learned from the hospital social worker and the kid's nurse (former home health nurse) in the last couple of days:

• It will cost $3000 a DAY for D's nursing home care. Medicare could pay me and two other home health CNA's to provide 3 eight hour shifts  a day (24 hour coverage) for about $5000 a MONTH. Even if they paid us a halfway decent wage, like say $15/hr., we're only talking about $8000 to $10,000 or so a month: compared to $90,000 a month. Wouldn't you like to meet the head accountant for medicare sometime for coffee?
• The reason they are afraid to offer the cheaper home health vs. the more expensive nursing home care is because they are afraid of what they call "the woodwork effect." Meaning, if they let people "enjoy" care at home instead of having to be imprisoned in a nursing home as a last resort, people would be coming out of the woodwork for services. And it's much more desirable to pay 9 times what it should cost to care for one person than to risk having to take that money and pay for 9 potential "woodworkers" in a preferable setting.
• The specialized bed that D is using costs nearly $8,000 to purchase directly from the company. Medicare only rents these beds for people for around $600 a month. Medicare only authorizes 15 months of bed rental per 5 years. (We've already used 9 months). If a patient uses his/her entire 15 months, it costs Medicare $9000. (I'll note here that this bed has a really nice gortex material cover, but essentially, it is three life rafts stuck together with three hoses stuck on each raft that shove fresh air into it.)

• Medicare will only authorize a rental of one of these beds if the person already suffers a grade 4 decubitus ulcer. You cannot get authorization to use this bed to PREVENT ulcers. By the time you have a grade 4 wound you are usually being hospitalized and are having debridment surgery at the least. The cost for ONE DAY in the Burn Center ICU unit is almost $11,000.
• A team of medicare pharmacy experts wrote 12,000 pages of regulations on the New Medicare Part D drug plan. D spent several days looking up all his medications to cross reference the best plan. (Imagine your 80 year old visually impaired grandma having to do that.) You get one shot to choose your plan and cannot change your mind for one year. However, Medicare has already changed its mind and revised several of the plans. So far there are 856 amendments to the plan, throwing thousands of people's medications off the list of covered medications they chose, and its only January.
• CMS, the administrator of Medicare, contracts with prisons and hires prisoners as their telephone customer service representatives.

But really, we are feeling better today!

Temporary. TEMPORARY. TEMP. OR. AR. Y. TEMPORARY!!!!!!

Today D and I realized one of our nightmares had come true. D is most likely going into a nursing home. Not forever. But probably for the next six weeks. A nursing home to me is scary. A nursing home to me is failure. I know it is a failure of the system more than anything else, but it feels like my failure. I cried. He cried. The chaplain came in and we all cried. It's probably not as bad as it sounds. It is probably for the best for everyone. And it is TEMPORARY. But I just didn't want to see it happen. I worked hard and sacrificed hard for years to make sure that it didn't. And so did D and his family.

Speaking of which, I have no idea how they, the in-laws, are going to react to this. I'm not sure if they are going to be relieved or mad or enjoy themselves some Schadenfreude and dance an I told you so. See? SEE? Lisa? You went off and moved out and did your own thing and had children and our son's life fell apart. (For the record, a few years ago when my mother was still alive and we talked about co-owning a home, she was very interested in finding a way for D to live with us as well, but at the time, he wasn't interested. I wish I could just go buy us an accessible ranch house we could both live in with the kids, but I can't right now.)

We were working on a plan to manage his care at home, and we thought that home health and the hospital would give us more help and time to figure it out. Today, they said he is going home tomorrow. No help, no time, just get out. He would be taking an ambulance home because he is not able to get up out of bed yet. He would be bedridden for the next four to six weeks or longer. He has a piece of equipment called a wound vacuum that attaches to his wound, and drains the fluid away from it. He still has a sore on his foot that needs to be redressed every day. He has a PICC line that he receives IV antibiotics through four times a day. We were to receive a once a day visit from home health, who could maybe do one of the IV administrations and one of the wounds, but that was about it. Although I have done his infusion and wound vac care before, I lived with him then and didn't have children. I worked all day and arranged to work most days at home. It took about 5 months to heal and it was one of the hardest, most exhausting times in my life. Besides the wound care, IV care, there is just the notion of a bedridden person being home alone for any length of time. When we did this before, he would have problems with things all hours of day and night. His wound vac would come undone, the PICC line would get clogged, the circulating air mattress would get unhooked from it's hoses. It was a 24 hour job.

There is a bunch of politicking going on. I am in a strange position because I am a paid caregiver and not technically considered family. It is actually illegal for me to knowingly leave an incapacitated person alone who could not evacuate out of his own home. We thought of how we could arrange the family and me in a 24 hour schedule, we thought of bringing his brother, Q, up from downstate and having him stay with him. We would have to get him on Family Medical Leave and we would have to help him out financially for his lost wages because he doesn't have a whole lot of money. We tried to think up all kinds of ideas and none of them were really all that realistic. I think that when someone has an acute medical crisis of this kind, you can have everyone stop their lives and pitch in, but when it is happening every six months, it is impossible for people to do that. I could do it, I guess, but it would kill me and I would not be able to take proper care of the kids. I would just be doing the bare minimum for everyone. Yes, I did put my kids above D here. Yes. For the first time probably ever, I refused to sacrifice everything for D.

This is what I had to say to the hospital social worker to get her to not dump him on me:

"I do not feel that I can safely care for this patient at the present time. Placing him in my care would be negligent and not in his best interests. I therefore refuse to provide for his care now and in the foreseeable future."

I have essentially just quit my job.

I lost all my income in making that statement. (My income, plus a lot more money, will be directed towards my mortal enemy, the nursing home lobby.)  But that didn't matter as much as saying "I therefore REFUSE to provide for his care..." Saying that felt like someone hitting my chest with a sledgehammer. I felt like I was just one of the many who was passing the buck. That is all we've watched all of these agencies do the last few days is try to pass him off to someone else.

Privately, I told D that if the nursing home was awful or he felt like his health was in danger, I'd come pick him up and we would come home and figure something else out. But I can't say that aloud. Since D and I are linked by the children now, there is a chance that they could play it both ways and call me natural (family) support. So if they think you are going to take care of him anyway, they will not only dump him on you but not pay you (or anyone else) anything, either.

D's parents get a bye because they are over 65. D's brother gets a bye because he works full-time and is the primary support of his family. His other sister and brothers are long distance so they get a bye. (I'm the only one who wouldn't. If they considered me family or a paid CNA.) I think that is all fine and the way it should be, and I know that his family would have very good intentions in trying to care for him anyway. Realistically, I know that I could only do part of the job and they would have to come in and help. But D and I talked about it extensively, and he felt the stress of that on everyone was too great, and also, it would be too stressful for him to cover all the gaps and everything between all the people coming and going. In a skilled nursing facility, he can concentrate on getting better and hopefully the staff will manage his care so he doesn't have to do so much of it on his own.

The social worker gave me a list of potential placements. I took them home and did a bunch of research on the Internet. Also, she gave me a list of placements that the wound vac company has certified as having trained the staff in on it. I did a bunch of cross referencing and looking at the quality reports on the net. I came up with two favorites and a short list of four. (A lot of where he goes has to do with who will take him, so we can put in our recommendations, but there is no guarantee they'll take him.) The two places I recommended are both nearby my neighborhood (and his parents and where his brother works). They both claim to do wound vac, they both have a skilled nursing and rehab facility so it isn't a place where they just warehouse the elderly, they actually do rehab with the idea of getting people back home. One claims to have young patients there as well. (Which could be sad, if they are in custodial care, but if in rehab, they might be kind of fun for D to get to know.) I have driven by both of these places and they seem okay from the outside. Their staff to patient ratios weren't terrible, either. So I'm hopeful that he can get into one of those places and that it would be bright and cheery and with good care and three square meals and good cable of course so D can watch Battlestar Galactica! And would it be too much to hope for WI-FI? Ha!

I think we might be afraid of the idea of it and the unknown more than anything else. (And I'm just pissed as hell that we are forced to do this because the health care system is as screwed up as it is.) It is probably not that much different than being in a hospital. D will probably have a roommate, which can suck when you are spending weeks in a place, but maybe because of his infection they will isolate him.

The next step will be seeing how well the wound heals. The wound care doc (who he will have to see once a week via ambulance) is sort of wait and see. But D and I think we want to get his records to Craig Hospital, which is a hospital that specializes in spinal cord injuries in Denver, Colorado. We have been there many times and they've done well for D. It is a mess of insurance crap to get there, but they always work it out with him. Many times local doctors have been at a loss as to what to do with D. They have given up and given him a death sentence sometimes. The worst thing about Craig Hospital is that they are completely arrogant and think it is their way or the highway. The best thing about Craig Hospital is that they are completely arrogant and will never give up on you until they've found an answer.

We saw the little boy with menningococcal today. A nurse was pulling him around in a little wagon in the hall and had stopped by and stood in the doorway with him so we could say 'hi'. He is just two months younger than my guys. I was playing peek-a-boo with him. He is so sad, but he is looking better everyday. I think he helped us make the decision. We both cried after we saw him. This was a family decision. We had to think of what was best for everyone in the family. I think the safest way to keep D alive right now is for him to get 24 hour nursing home care. I think the best way for me to be a mother to the kids is for him to get 24 hour nursing home care. I think the best way for him to be a father to the kids is to stay alive and get better for all of us. As much as I hate to admit it, right now, I think 24 hour nursing home care will probably be higher quality care than all of us family numskulls trying to wing it.  It is not forever. Only for a few weeks. Temporary.

But I feel like I've put him in prison. I stopped by the grocery store to buy formula and the checkout kid said, "Doing anything FUN this weekend?"

"Oh, yeah, just checking the father of my children into a nursing home," I felt like saying.

I know we will feel better about this tomorrow. I might try to go up and visit the couple of places he might go and just get a feel for the quality of care and the environment tomorrow. I think just seeing the places and getting used to the new reality will kill some of our bad perceptions of the whole idea.

I Demand My PSTNY Tee-Shirt.

This week I've ran into a lot of teacher bashing for some reason, and being a former teacher myself, I'm getting a little sick of it. Teaching is one of those professions that everyone thinks they can do, thus they think they actually know something about it. There is much of thee talk out of thee asses regarding this subject. It's mainly used as a scapegoat for What's Wrong With American Schools.

My irritation began when I read this thread on Metafilter about John Stossel's report about Belgian kids kicking the clocks of some American kids on an academic achievement test. First of all, John Stossel is a Rat Bastard. I say this not because he is a raving lunatic libertarian; everyone is entitled to their views. What bothers me about Stossel is that he somehow passes off his work as being journalism, when it is really ill-researched, illogical, opinionated crap. How does this paragraph get into a NEWS program anyway?

"This should come as no surprise once you remember that public education in the USA is a government monopoly. Don't like your public school? Tough. The school is terrible? Tough. Your taxes fund that school regardless of whether it's good or bad. That's why government monopolies routinely fail their customers. Union-dominated monopolies are even worse. "

Although most of the MeFite commenters were on target with Stossel's lousy reporting, some of their comments were very anti-teacher as well.

Then, today, my ECE teacher from Healthy Start came over, and my dad does what he always does when she comes: he disappeared. When she left, he asks, "Does she get paid to do that job?"

There are two main problems with the flack that teachers get. One is that everyone thinks that teaching is a job that takes no skill or education because, hey, how hard is it to sing songs and teach two plus two to little kids all day? The second problem is that every single failure in the American education system is blamed on "bad teachers" and how we "can't fire them."

Skill and Education

I think the problem here is that the dumb-asses who say this are too ignorant to look past the content of what you are teaching, which may be very simple, to the methods you are using to teach it. Simply, they don't think there are any. You just fill the kid's day with some numbers and some colors and some picture books and later, maybe a bit of Algebra from the textbook and that's all you have to do and kids will learn. Exposure to information is certainly a start, but there is much more to it than that.

A MeFi commenter snarked, "C'mon, do you really need a Master's Degree to teach preschool?" My answer would be yes and no. I say no in the same way that I would say that a CEO doesn't necessarily need an MBA to run a successful business. He may have picked up the information and skills experientially, he may have just intuitive good common sense about business, he may have been lucky, he may have had a great mentor, or he may have book learned on his own. But somehow, he got the skills and know how to run a successful company.

I also think someone can be a good teacher without going to college. But this is because they must have picked up the skills and knowledge in some other way, have a natural talent for it, etc. Not because there are NO SKILLS NEEDED. Probably, in most every field, you could be self-taught and do great without the college degree. There are certain professions, we all might agree, that we want to REQUIRE that people be formally educated. A doctor, for example. Yeah, you could probably self-teach yourself medicine, but because the stakes are so high, we want to cover our bases and require a formal education. Also, there are certain things that are very hard to self-teach without the right environment. Surgery, for example, would be impossible to self teach. Formal education puts the student in the OR, with skilled supervision, with a relatively safe and gradual process for practicing the skill.

So I say, yes, formal education should be required for teachers because it is so important of a job I wouldn't want to risk any gaps in knowledge from a self-taught person. We are handing our kids over to these people for 6 hours a day for thirteen years. A majority of their basic education is in these people's hands. I want to make sure they at least have the basic skills and knowledge to do the job. I would like them to spend some apprenticeship time being supervised in the classroom before they are given the reins. In Stossel's report, he mentions that US kids beat the Belgians until about age ten, when our kids transfer to middle and secondary schools. (So our elementary schools are not union-based government monopolies?) I theorize that this is because elementary teacher training focuses equally on curriculum and instruction, whereas, secondary school teachers usually major in their subject areas, but take far less educational methods classes. (Special Ed teachers focus almost entirely on instruction. I learned how to teach from special ed far more than regular ed.) I'm sure that isn't the whole reason, but perhaps part of it.

This is because teaching requires more skills than singing songs or knowing two + two = four or even having a degree in chemistry to teach chemistry. I'm going to pick on my dad here because he is such an easy target and because he doesn't care if I pick on him publicly. My dad, who thinks that any moron can teach, has said the following things to me in regards to my children:

"You don't need a gate. If they fall down the steps a few times, they won't get near the steps again." (Yeah, then they'll either get a spinal cord injury and never use steps again, or be so afraid of them I'll be carrying them up and down steps until they are 18.)

"He's got a couple of teeth, can I give him some of this meat to eat" (at four months).

"Can you start potty training them now? (Six Months) But I don't want to look at one of those potty chairs. Can't they just learn on the toilet?"

Me: "But they can't even walk, dad, they have no way of getting to the toilet and going even if they knew they had to go."

"Well, you'd take them. It would be easier than changing diapers, wouldn't it?" (Oh, yeah, running two six month-olds to the toilet and undressing them before they peed and holding them over the toilet is much easier than diapering.)

"Why can't he talk yet?" (8 or 9 months.)

"They've outgrown these (board) books. You should get rid of them." (But, dad, they can't even read them or say the words in them. They haven't even seen real life examples of some of the pictures. They don't even turn the pages right. I think we can keep them for just a little bit longer.)

I try to imagine where the kids would be now if my dad was raising them. I think they still might be on their backs, in front of the TV, with poo and diaper rash all over them, massively underweight, no language skills, emotional attachment disorder, PTSD from my dad's loud nanocrises, muscles in atrophy from no physical activity, need I go on? Don't get me wrong, my dad loves the kids. He will get down on the floor with them and play with them for short periods. But he doesn't have a clue about how to raise them day to day. He does not babysit long term because he doesn't take care of their needs when he does do little short term bits. He knows nothing about child development, what they should be eating, when they should be doing what, what toys and activities are appropriate for them. Mostly I have to model for him how to interact with them. Hey, it's okay, but parenting (which is largely teaching) isn't in his skill set.

Because it is a skill, damn it. Moms, and sometimes dads, too, take a crash course when they become parents if they lack experience. Just look at the message boards and websites and books for parenting. There are millions of them and they are all teaching parents how to care for and teach their children. Teaching in schools is being a surrogate parent and more. You have to know behavior management (which goes MUCH, MUCH further than Nanny 911 and timeout), educational and child psychology, child nutrition, physical development, how the brain learns and processes information, how to get the most out of the kid's zone of proximal development, how to utilize short term and long term memory, how to evaluate what they are learning and what problems they might be having and why. The list goes on and on.

Someone said to me once that teachers were just trying intellectualize their profession so they could make more money. She was complaining about how they made up professional jargon to make themselves appear smarter. She said, "you can't just call blocks, blocks. Now they're manipulatives."

Well, I don't give a shit what you call a block, but what she didn't know was that using the word 'manipulatives' was a savvy political move made by the national association of math teachers (whose exact name escapes me). Here's what happened: For years, kids did lousy in math. Teachers and universities went out and did a bunch of research and found that pencil/paper and textbook style teaching is the WORST way to teach math concepts. This was about the same time Gardner came out with his work on multiple intelligences. Most kids learned math concepts WAY BETTER using visual -spatial and kinesthetic methods. Basically, it is a lot easier to teach a kid our base ten number system and its components (borrowing, carrying, long division, etc.) using base ten blocks. Kids who used to struggle with these concepts now powered through math because they actually understood what they were doing, not following a bunch of meaningless, rote instructions. The problem was that to outfit classrooms with blocks and other three dimensional real life objects that teach math and a bunch of other things costs a lot more than buying a few textbooks. When the teachers tried to get funding for 'blocks,' underwriters thought they were just toys--unnecessary optional items. But when they were called 'manipulatives' and the teachers never really stated that they were basically blocks, they got more funding for them. A lot of the stupid jargon from education started out this way. This is another example of people who think the teachers are just babysitters who play with blocks with kids; they actually show their own ignorance of the skills it takes to teach.

All teachers are bad, they are failing factor in American schools.

The next thing I hear all the time about teachers is how much they all suck. And if we could just fire them, or hire other professionals to do the job, all of our problems would be solved. Sure, there are some bad teachers out there, but for the most part; you don't go into teaching unless you really want to do it and care about it and want to do a good job.

Then the same people who think that it takes no skill to be a teacher are the ones who think that Schools of Education have no standards and need to make it tougher to get into and out of teacher training programs. Kind of a contradiction don't you think? I don't have a problem with tougher admissions and exit standards, but I don't think it is going to solve the problem.

My experience in teaching taught me that schools are assembly lines and teachers are the factory workers. I'm reminded of the scene in "Norma Rae" where Sally Field has to go monitor how many yards of textiles the other factory workers are producing and she has to threaten them with severely unrealistic production schedules. Then, when the products come out substandard, they get blamed. The way most teaching jobs are set up, it is impossible to be a good teacher.

When I was an undergrad, I had a dual major in elementary and special education. At the time, special education was mostly all resource room based. I taught in small rooms at the end of the hall with no more than six or eight students at a time, and usually just two or three. I felt, in these settings, that I was a good, effective teacher and that the teachers I worked with were good, effective teachers. I also worked in regular classrooms. Here, I felt that my ability to teach diminished and so did those around me. So much time was spent in classroom management, or getting materials ready for 30+ kids, or just stuff like tying shoes and zipping jackets. And the distractions and the noise ALL DAY LONG.

When I was in graduate school, I majored in special education of children with severe and multiple disabilities as they called it then. By this time, inclusion was in full force. I worked in the regular classroom alongside the regular teachers. The regular teachers HATED inclusion. At first I thought they were just being prejudice and wanted my kids out of their classroom. Then, although I couldn't say it aloud, I started hating inclusion as well. Why? because you couldn't get a damned thing accomplished. Neither you or the other teacher had any time to coordinate and meet with each other to plan for all of the regular kids and make accommodations for the disabled kids with all those students with different needs in the class. She was working to generalize things, I was working to specialize things. We were working at opposing forces.

I really, really supported (and still support) the philosophy of inclusion, though. Kid's with disabilities should not be segregated down the hall away from their peers. Separate and different but "equal" education was not happening and it wasn't right. It's segregation. Then it occurred to me that special ed teachers can't get there from here. Meaning special ed should not be moving into the regular classroom model, the regular classroom model should be moving to the special ed model. Small classes with no more than ten or so students, different needs all addressed. Different kids in the class who are accepted for who they are and help each other out. No need to conform and assembly line everything just to get through the day safely. I realized that in the typical 30+ kid classroom, I was becoming a lousy teacher because I was being put into an impossible situation. All teachers are.

It's like this: Imagine our successful CEO running his company. MBA or no, we see him as a skillful, intelligent, respectable, productive, goal oriented, effective guy at his job. Now, let's take away his secretary and his support staff. Then, let's give him very little equipment and supplies to work on. No computer paper. The fax machine is down. The phone works inconsistently. He ends up buy supplies out of his own money on the weekend. Expense account, schmence account. Then, let's make him buy whatever product comes through the door. He cannot pick and choose his blueberries as it were, he has to take every blueberry, no sending back for the top stuff. No matter what its condition, he works them into his blueberry icecream product. Then, let's throw him some new territory, say he is now responsible for supplying blueberries to the United States AND Canada AND Greenland, AND Mexico, but we are not going to give him any additional capital or resources to manage that. And, just for kicks, let's give him 40 little puppy dogs to supervise everyday, along with getting his usual work done. This way, he can no longer go to the bathroom when he wants, step outside and take a minute of air, or get a drink if he's thirsty, except for his 20 minute lunch period spent in a dingy, smelly lounge with the torn, smoky garage sale couch and the broken door to the only bathroom he is allowed to use right there off the room. Then, remember he has to do all his power point presentations, websites, sales calls, bookkeeping, shopping, etc by himself, so he is required to work 16 hour days. Oh, and we want him to coach the puppy dog relay team as well in his free(?) time. And, when he does have any free time, he cannot publicly drink or smoke or hold his husband's hand or even get a traffic ticket, because he is supposed to be a role model for everyone. Now, let's compensate that guy with oh, about $30,000 and expect him to also raise his kids and pay the mortgage. And don't forget to have the public disrespect him every chance they get.

Now, make a wild guess. Is he as good of CEO as he used to be? Is his company doing as well? Might he look like a failure from the outside? Might he burn out? Is he still a successful business man?

The main reason I quit teaching (with much guilt) is because I knew I couldn't be a success at it under the conditions I was given to work in. And this is not because I don't care or was a bad teacher. I actually love teaching the kids now and am looking at having one or two more kids come in during the day. Any teacher out there who can handle it, who is doing it, and god bless 'em if they manage to be good at it, is probably making as much difference in people's lives as those firemen did on 9/11 and then were exalted to well deserved hero status.

Teachers need LESS STUDENTS, more resources, more support, and MORE RESPECT to save our schools. I also have a whole 'nother rant on school curriculum, but haven't you read enough already?

Guess what? I actually (for once) half proofread this entry! I knew if I didn't, I would get some comment like, "You think you are a good teacher yet you can't even make your subject and predicate agree? And your use of apostrophes! You SUCK!! Don't ever teach my kids!!!"

You May Be 10,001

I just happened to look at my stats and and I've reached exactly 10,000 hits since starting on typepad in July. That's no Naked Ovary or Dooce, of course, but a nice little milestone, especially with essentially no site pimping.

Not Fit for Human Consumption

I had a really bad day today. Nothing horrible happened, but I've been sick with this Paxil flu for over a week now and I think I hit critical mass with the stress of it and D coming home and getting all that taken care of. My dad and I got in a fight because he took off and ran and errand when he told me he was going to take me and the kids to their little class. So I didn't know where he was or when he was coming back and it was too late to take the train. Then he comes home and was going off on how if I would have been ready earlier, he wouldn't have had to come back home to get me. Sorry, dad, my ESP was not working this morning and it didn't tell me you wanted me to be ready a half hour earlier so you could run an errand. I was very short tempered, and things like the dog barking, the cat getting up in my face, the fact that I can't sleep or eat well, the kids doing what kids do, and crawling away and squirming when I was trying to diaper them, where the hell is my dad? etc. I knew when I start to feel internally angry at the kids that I need to take a break for a few minutes, but I couldn't because I had to run around and get them dressed and fed, they were crying to be fed so they would squirm around and not let me diaper them. I was about to just feed them naked so they would calm down. So I ended up, yes, bursting into uncontrollable tears for no reason as I shoveled food into the kids mouths. They were cute. They looked at me with such concern and didn't know what to think. I was all "waa waa, sniff sniff, it's okay kids, snif, mommies get sad, too sometimes, sniff."

Turns out, my dad had an EMERGENCY! Because he woke up this morning with THE GOUT! I don't know what the gout is, he's had it before, I think it is some kind of grumpy old man's disease. So he had to get a prescription filled RIGHT NOW! Not after the 45 minute class. RIGHT NOW! Because it was an EMERGENCY! But it wasn't such an EMERGENCY that he could have told me earlier that he didn't feel well and didn't feel like going so could I take the train. He went. Sometimes I feel like I'm surrounded by a bunch of pansy asses who can't handle anything. When I get sick, I don't get to take a break or make the world stop because I have an EMERGENCY! I have to feed kids and hire D an attendant and find the rabies certificate for my cat who bit Robert that was apparently an EMERGENCY that required a trip to the ER. I never have emergencies. I'm not allowed. I'm not even allowed a sick day. Whine whine whine.

I was a little remotely worried about Aaron because he developed a fever last night and D and I have been following a patient who is also in the burn center. A child with menningococcal infection. The baby is going to be okay, but you get these remote, irrational worries like that the sink you touched in the ICU hallway was touched by the mother who touched her baby and then you went out and touched your child. I was going in and checking on Aaron every couple of hours, examining his skin for rashes and checking his fever. By about 3 am, his fever broke and he seemed fine. He woke up for a few minutes when I was checking on him and he was smiley and content. I held him for a few minutes while he buried his face in my shoulder and drifted back to sleep. The fever might have just been from his molars coming in.  I felt so sorry for the little baby in the ICU, though...and the mother. We would hear him crying while he was getting his scars debrided. Poor thing. Now that was an EMERGENCY!

Even though I dragged myself through the day feeling like I was dragging a few feet behind myself like when the starship enterprise goes into warp speed, a couple of good things happened.

We did get to the kids class. My dad and I didn't speak all the way there, but by the time we got there and got the kids going, we were OK. My dad was the only man there, of course. He stuck out like a fish out of water. He really didn't know what to do and at those kind of things you just have to get into it and go with the flow. The leader this week was a different girl from last week, and by different I mean she was like on CRACK or something. She was just a bit TOO  enthusiastic for me (and Naim) to handle. She didn't just ever let us go do our own thing for a few minutes, it was planned activity after planned activity. Exhausting. Last week, they would do a little two minute activity and then give the kids ten minutes and then do another. Also, this week seemed like I had dropped my kids into a gigantic commercial for Gymboree. Every other goddamn word out of this woman's mouth was "Here at GYMBOREE!!!" Then they have their little clown mascot, Gymbo, who I don't think even made an appearance last week, but this week, he was everywhere. It is just a doll, which is fine, but she was all "This is how Gymbo Goes up high, goes up high, goes up high....Here at GYMBOREEEEEE!!!" It was a little much for me. I just want to let my kids crawl around on the soft equipment and play with other kids. I don't need all the product placement. But the kids like the class. They like it when other kids come up and talk to them. It has a lot of space for them to run around in, which we are lacking here at home. Aaron  gleefully walked (with me holding his hands) all over the whole place. It is the farthest he has ever traveled as a biped. Naim still doesn't see any reason not to crawl, but the place does encourage Naim to stand up against stuff and cruise around.

We stopped at Wendy's afterward and went in, because my father has a phobia of fast food drive-thrus, or something. We put the kids in high chairs and just gave them each a spoon still in the wrapper. That fully entertained them for a full twenty minutes.

In the afternoon, their nurse came and weighed them. If you remember, last month they had dropped plum off the growth chart, weighing in at 18 lbs. and something each. Well, all I have done since then is feed them. Seriously. They eat at 8 am, 10:30, 12:30 pm, 3:30, 6, and 8. My life revolves around their high chairs. I've added lots of protein. Cottaged cheese, yogurt, crackers and peanut butter, cream cheese, trying to add meats, but that isn't going so well. I added some more veggies and cereal as well. Along with formula, still at 26 ounces per day, juice, and whole milk in a cup for snacks. They get offered approximately 1000 calories a day. Isn't that crazy? And they eat most all of that per day. I'm supposed to be able to live on 1500 calories per day. It's amazing what they can eat and burn.

So the verdict? They both gained two pounds and about a half an inch. They are now at 21 lbs and a few ounces and it is time to get new forward facing car seats! The two pounds moved them up from under the 3rd percentile to around the 25Th. Yeah! I can handle that. That made me feel better after seeing some gargantuan 13 and 14 month olds at gymboree.

So things are moving along. I did not call D today because I decided I was in such a foul mood, that I was not suitable for human exposure. My Paxil flu comes and goes in waves. There are still quite strong waves of hot/cold chills, nausea, the funky poops, drowsiness and dizziness...but I think (hope) they might be coming less frequently now.

An MLK Day Conversation

In this whole Paxil induced emotional and relationship check-up I'm doing lately, I'm sorting through some of my differences with the Barones. Looking at what they accuse me of, what I accuse them of, trying to sort it out. One of my crimes is supposedly putting 'being right' ahead of relationships. And this accusation has confused me, because I would consider myself more of a moral relativist, or at the very least a value pluralist, whereas the Barones I would consider more moral absolutists. So "being right" is not that important to me because--what the hell is right? I try not to judge others views and acknowledge that I will never be fully aware of the context of their decisions and beliefs. However expressing my opinion is perhaps very important to me. But have I held back my opinions for the sake of relationships? Oh, lemme tell ya, that would be a BIG HELL YEAH. For nearly twelve years. A hem.

Then D and I had a little tense conversation on the phone tonight. We were talking about a list of potential attendants that we received from the state. The attendants have all worked for the state before and are looking for more work. This means that they have a "provider number" and that they have been background checked and are legal to work in the US. Hiring someone off of this list would save D and I time and hassle, as the training, paperwork, and background checking would mostly already be done. The only downfall of this list is that it looks a bit outdated, with people who put their names on it as far back as September. There are about 40 people listed in no particular order. The list states their name, phone number, provider number, and date which they asked to be on the list.

We have our yearly paperwork done, and now D has to have a meeting with the social worker, but other than that, I'm ready to get started making some calls. D has had much more experience hiring people than I have, so he's giving me some pointers. All of the sudden, this happens:

D: So I guess I would start by calling the white people.

Me: Um, Whaaa?

D: I don't mean that like it sounds. I know that sounds bad. I mean I would start with the people with white sounding names.

Me: I can't believe you just said that.

Pause...

Me: D, these people are all legal to work in the US, they have to be if they are on the list. (We've had a bit of a problem with getting prospective applicants that cannot work for the state because of their immigration status.)

D: I know. But I need to be able to communicate with my attendant. I don't mean that I care if they are white or not. But I need them to speak English. I can't do Spanish like you do.

(Side note: Here is the thing. My Spanish SUCKS. It is terrible and I wish it were better. But I have noticed that I'm not as afraid as other people to try to communicate with people who speak other languages and I am actually pretty good at it. It is certainly NOT because of my language skills. I think it is because I am hearing impaired. I'm used to struggling patiently through conversations with people and finding ways to communicate. It doesn't make me uncomfortable, and I think that is 75% of the problem with people who get all gripey about those who don't speak English. I think they get nervous and insecure around them and then blame them for their own insecurities. In any case, though, I do understand and think it is OK that D wants to hire an attendant that he has a good rapport with and can communicate well with.)

Me: Well, fine. I have no problem with that. But you can't just discriminate against someone because they have a Hispanic name! Lots of people with Hispanic names speak perfectly good English. You at least have to get on the phone with them before deciding that. (I go in to my 'this is too absurd' crazy laugh) God I feel like I'm in that hijacked plane where they killed the passengers with Jewish sounding names!

D: Don't make it like I'm all evil! I'm just saying this is where I start. I'm not saying I wouldn't hire a Hispanic person. I'd just start with the white people to make it more efficient. What? Would you just start at the top of the page?

Me: No, I'd start with the most recent and work my way backwards. And if I couldn't do that, yeah, I guess I'd start at the top. At least it would be random.

D: Don't get all on me like this. I can do this. I don't see anything wrong with it. I know I want someone who speaks good English and that is the most efficient way to find someone. I can do this.

Me: Yeah, you can because you are small potatoes and no one will know. But what if you were HR in a huge company and you automatically threw out all the resumes from people named Hernandez and Perez? You'd be in a heap of trouble. Because no one will know doesn't make it right.

D: I have a limited amount of time to get stuff done, and this is one of my shortcuts. I can do this. Don't get all high and mighty holier than thou civil rights on me.

Me: Sigh. I'm not. Its just, coming from you. I guess you have not been in the workforce enough to know how much it SUCKS when you lose opportunities over stupid little stuff that has nothing to do with anything. You know that if you or I had something tagged on our resume that marked us as disabled, HR is throwing us in the trashcan without even looking at our credentials. I'm going at it from that angle. I certainly don't want to put Hispanics at the bottom arbitrarily. If you do that, and everyone else does that, then it really screws with their opportunities. But, hell, D, it IS fucking Martin Luther King Day for God's sake. If I'm high and mighty, I'm high and mighty.

D: I don't want to get in to this. If this is going to be a big deal. I'll just hire someone myself.

Me: No way, I've GOT to do it now.

D: Fine. I'm going to get off the phone now. Love you.

Me: Love you.

Both: Goodbye.

Okay, two things here. First, D is a guy who is sick in the hospital with not a real good next several weeks to look forward to. He is nervous about coming home (which turns out, could be as early as the weekend) and he and I have to get a lot of support set up to handle a lot of stuff. He will be coming home bedridden, on IV therapy, and with a wound vac. We will be doing a lot in the next few days to try to get everything together for him to come home with all of the supports he needs. He is trying to get things happening as soon as possible.  That said, he was being a total dumbass and there is no way in GOD'S GREEN EARTH that I wasn't going to call him on that one. I predict that he will stew on this for a few days and then later on, when the stress is somewhat relieved, he will come around and see how wrong he was. He will probably kick himself a bit, and move on and not do it again. D does not have quite the background I do on oppression and civil rights issues, he has hired black, asian, white, male, female, and gay attendants before. I think this Hispanic/language/whatever mind block he is having right now is something he needs to work through. But in general, I believe that he does understand and support equity in hiring practices. (And if he doesn't, I'll verbally bitch slap him around some more.)

Second, notice here that in spite of the fact that I strongly disagreed with what he was saying, and I got on his ass about it, it doesn't mean the relationship is ending. I do not consider speaking up and getting in a bit of a tiff with him as me sacrificing the relationship to be right. I knew that the strength of the relationship depended on me speaking up and disagreeing with him on this point. Just because you disagree with someone and don't just go along with them to keep the peace, doesn't mean you don't value the relationship. It would seem to me that a relationship is not that strong if you have to smile and make nice all the time to avoid conflict or a disagreement. That isn't a true relationship, its an untrustworthy sham. A lie of convenience with pretty window dressing.

So, this example is defining for me more clearly one of the differences between me and the "Barones." I do not think that a relationship has to be built on politeness and agreement at all costs. I'm not ditching the relationship to prove I'm right, I'm allowing it to grow and change. Am I sometimes tactless? Hell, yes. And this is a legitimate problem of mine that I need to work on. (And I have to pat myself on the back here for working on this lately. There was an incident the other day involving a cat bite that I deserve the frakin' medal of honor for not immediately exploding with hysterical laughter. I mentally slapped myself silly into being polite and concerned. I reigned in my joyous snark and saved my Kitty High Fivery until AFTER I found out that the poor ex-marine survivalist victim was going to be all right. And I believe that I honestly squeaked out some sincere empathy and politeness there. I done me proud! Um. I think I just lost my medal of honor writing that sentence, though.) But I'm not going to go through life swallowing my principles just to make nice with someone.

So, Okay. I think I understand this now. It is a difference in the way we deal with people. I trust that people can handle their own selves about disagreements. The Barones are more likely to help the person save face and not make them feel uncomfortable about an issue. They'd more likely let it slide. Which is better? I don't know. I suppose the master sage at this would know perfectly when to do either at the right time with the right person.

***************

Okay, totally unrelated but since you are likely getting as sick as I am about this whole in-law issue of mine, I'll leave you with this:

Funniest line I read today in bloggedyworld:

If you work at Planned Parenthood and get pregnant on accident, a lot of people will make fun of you.

That's from American Family's "About" section. The rest of the blog ain't bad in the laughs department, either.

On preview, there is just some excellent, thought provoking posts about racism/classism on that site. Go there. Now. It's better than anything I can write here on the subject.

More on Paxil Withdrawal

Okay, this withdrawing from Paxil sucks choda.

No doctor ever told me it would be like this. But now I search the Internet on "paxil withdrawal" and I find that tons of people have experienced the exact thing I am going through. (Here is just one article of many I found about this.) I took my last dose last Thursday and I'm not having anymore of it in the house. I tried to withdrawal back in the summer and when I hit this point, I gave up and got back on it. Not this time.

Okay, I feel like I have the flu, minus the snot. I'm dizzy, off balance, drowsy, nauseous, I have headaches, diarrhea, and a just overwhelming feeling of wooziness.

Also, every time I go to sleep, my mind in my dreams seems to be doing inventory of every relationship, every emotional state, every feeling I have about everything. It is very meta in a way. I'm not actually necessarily feeling emotional; like I'm not bursting into tears for no reason, I'm just observing from afar. I'm doing a little evaluation and assessment of my emotional self. I actually wouldn't mind this so much if I wasn't going through the physical symptoms. I find myself being very pragmatic and solution oriented about things.

For example, I've been mentally checking up on all my relationships. Like, if this person died tomorrow, are we okay? (Is that morbid?) But I'm glad that it seems like with everyone except one notable exception (I bet you can take a wild guess...) I'm okay with everyone. Some could use some work, like my sister and I. And some could use a touching of the basis, like ex-boyfriends K and N, but I'm feeling good about them all. (I'm one of those people who keeps people forever. I'm not only still friends with everyone I've ever dated, I'm friends with their wives and kids, too.)

The notable exception, of course, is the "Barones," the in-laws as it were. The answer there, which I've always known, is that I have to forgive them. It is a bit of a challenge, because I know that anything I do won't be reciprocated, and that nothing in their behavior is going to change, and I will still have to deal with what I consider their unacceptable behavior. But I have to forgive them. I have asked for their forgiveness for my faults and sins, and just things I do that I know rub them the wrong way, but with the exception of Frank, it hasn't mattered. Despite my snarkiness about them, I'm not angry at them. I mean, I'm not wishing daggers in their eyes and feeling my hairs raise on the back of my neck at the mere thought of them. It's more that I'm eternally annoyed by them. I'm impatient with their neverending crap. I'm tired to the point of exhaustion by them. It is more that I have a disappointment, hurt feeling about feeling that they can't be trusted and that they are so constantly disrespectful to D and I. For years I could blow it off as having nothing to do with me and as it being D's problem. But, although D and my relationship in and of itself has not changed, having kids together linked us in the eyes of the Barones in a new way. Or something. And, now, suddenly, things that used to be just directed at him are more directed towards us as a unit. And of course, I committed the major sin of directing my attention to something else (motherhood) instead of my apparent ROLE IN LIFE of waiting on D hand and foot. (I never did this, it was just what I was SUPPOSED to be doing, apparently.)

My forgiveness of them will probably end up only being for my advantage. And for D. I doubt I would even have the opportunity to present the possibility that there might be something for me to forgive them for to them, for that would implicate them as doing something imperfect. (They are, of course, the perfect family.) I'm not being snarky there, that is one of the differences we share. I take it as a given that people have faults and people are different and will have conflicts. Their invented reality is that we must pretend to be perfect and then note others imperfections out of earshot if only to make ourselves more perfect. For example, I know what my sister and father like and dislike about me and vice versa, and we deal with each other on those terms. In D's family, you don't admit to these things. Its all very covert and dishonest.

But anyway, I need to forgive them. I'm not sure how to do this yet. Yeah, I'll probably need to write on it a bit. Or have a paxil inspired dream about it. I'm going to give myself a few weeks to ponder this out, and then I need to move on from it. I feel like I have to wash their toxins out of me. They suck my energy and I just don't want to expend it anymore. I have painstakingly tried not to interfere with D's relationship with them. I still wonder what to do about the kids. I won't deny them access because I don't think that is being a good role model for the kids. But the people who want to see them, see them. The people who don't, don't. That in and of itself doesn't bother me. It's no big deal except on Christmas and such; when my family is split because the (pseudo?)grandkids weren't invited. This doesn't even bother me all that much. I just wonder if it will be hard on the kids later on.

But I suppose not, because my kids will learn about chosen families as well. Legal grandparents may not end up being as cherished as their church grandparents. Legal aunts and uncles might only be names to them, but perhaps their "Godparents" will mean more. The important thing is that they have people in their lives who love and cherish them no matter how they got here or who their mother is.

But I still need to forgive the Barones. For me, and for D, and so the kids can know that you can rise above those who hurt you because you have your own peace in your heart.

Going to bed, now. Feeling swooshy and wooshy.

Damned frakin' Paxil anyway.

I'm Blaming the Paxil Withdrawal for This

Prompted by fellow insomniac, Kerri, we decided to use one of those "where have you been" maps to plot "where have you been done." Okay. We are bored and immature. But as you can see...I've pretty much worked my way across the midwest and have taken care of the west coast.

create your own personalized map of the USA

Uninsured Baby On Board!!!

When Heather Armstrong's (aka Dooce's) husband stopped working so they could actually live off of the ad profits from Heather's blog, my first thought was, "What the hell are they going to do for health insurance?"

Then I shrugged it off and thought, oh, healthy young people don't have to worry about that. They'll get something. Turns out I was wrong. You can read all the gory details here and here, on her husband's site. A cornea transplant of his eight years ago, a 4 day stint in the hospital for her almost two years ago, and an MRI that showed their daughter was healthy all got them denied.

Scary.

Scary.

Chills inducing Scary.

I'm so scared right now because my children received no medical card this month. I'm completely freaked out by this. My children are on the State Children's Health Insurance Program right now. It is a sliding scale premium program for children who qualify for no other insurance. I pay premiums, I follow the rules of the HMO, my children should be insured.

Right?

I'm about to tell you Stupid Bureaucratic Bullshit Story #15,439,540.

You have to re-apply for SCHIP every year. You basically have to get a bunch of forms together and prove your income, residency, and prove a negative by showing documentation that your children cannot get any other insurance. Okay. My children were born in December, so in November I inquired about what I needed to do to re-apply before their insurance ran out. I didn't want any gaps.

In November, they said that I had to wait for a letter to come telling me to re-apply. I asked if I could get the application anyway ahead of time. No, it will be sent to you.

So I wait.

And wait.

And wait.

I call again in December. Can't help me. I have to wait until I get an official letter and application telling me to re-apply.

December 23rd. A letter comes telling me that Naim will no longer be insured after December 30th. If I disagree, I can call a number and appeal. No application comes with it.

I immediately call a number. The guy says he will send me an application for Naim. But not Aaron. Because I have not received a notice that Aaron's insurance will end. Then he says that I have to get the application in by December 30th, or I will lose coverage for Naim. I'm still supposed to wait for a notice regarding Aaron.

I ask if there is any way to go to a local office and get an application and fill it out right there. Like Today. In case the application he is going to send me doesn't get to me from the state capital by the 30th.

Yes, he says, that will be better. You do that, and then I won't send you an application. I thought this might help me get Aaron's application done as well.

I walk a good distance to this office, kid's in tow. On Friday, December 23rd. Two days before Christmas. When I get to the building, the door is locked. I walk around the building and find my way down to a underground parking garage. I try to go into the elevator, but it doesn't work. Shit. Shit. Shit. A woman with two small children comes up behind me. She is in the same predicament as me. She needs to re-apply for health insurance and the Salem office told her to come to this building. We commiserate for a minute, and finally, a security guard comes around and asks us what we are doing. We tell him our situation and he leaves. We wait.

Several minutes later, he comes back and accompanies us up the elevator. He tells us to go check with a receptionist and points to a door. We go in the door, and there is no obvious reception area. The place is a ghost town. We wander through this office wondering what to do, and then the lady with me sees a woman behind a glass booth. We walk up to her and she won't open the sliding glass. The other mom asks for an application and she yells through the glass that they are over on this table. We go over to a low, round coffee table and find all kinds off paperwork and different applications scattered everywhere. Most of them are in Spanish. Both of us spend several minutes sifting and guessing through all these papers. "Is this it?" No, that's food stamps. "Is this it?" "Do you think we can fill out a Spanish application in English?"

Finally, I find what I think is the application. We only found two. But she needs two and I need two, for both of our children, so we decide that we will take one each and maybe we can make a copy.

When I get home, I find out that I have, in fact, not gotten the application itself but a packet of supplemental forms that go  with the main application. Thankfully, the guy from Salem sent me a packet that arrived Tuesday, December 27th. I still have gotten no notice about Aaron's coverage. I make a copy for him and fill them out and get all the other required documentation together. I'm worried that I am unable to prove that they cannot be insured through D.

I walk back to the office building. This time, it is very busy with lots of moms and kids rushing to fill out end of the month paper work. The main door is unlocked and I walk in and try to figure out what to do. I go over to the glassed in booth from before. (Remember, I can read no signs.) I speak loudly to the woman through the glass. Where do I go to turn in a SCHIP application? I can't hear her. I can't very well see her. I say, "I'm deaf-blind, ma'am. I can't understand you." She opens the glass sliding window. "PLEASE don't lean against this counter! Go wait in line over there." I'm not really sure where over there is, but I notice a bunch of mom's standing behind an apparent line on the floor waiting. I figure this is the line. I wait, and wait, and wait. I have a limited amount of time because my kids are with the babysitter and I have to get back. I wait, and finally it seems to me that people are cutting in front of me. I'm not sure where I am in the line sequence anymore. I grab a moment when a woman has left the counter where too people are waiting on the other moms, hoping no one will get mad that I cut in front of them. I say, I'm not sure if I'm next but I'm visually and hearing impaired and I just need to turn in an application.

"You need to take a number."

What? Christ. I hate take a number systems. I can't tell you how many times I've waited in lines not knowing I was supposed to take a number. I didn't see the signs, or hear the calls or whatever.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know. I can't see the signs. I've been waiting a long time and I have to get back to my kids. Would you mind if I could just drop this off--"

"No, you have to take a number over there and get back behind the line."

"Over where? Can you tell me where the numbers are?"

"Over THERE. NEXT! Number 81!"

I go off to where she waved me to. And I try to find a number. I can't find it. I go up to a mom standing nearby and ask her if she knows where the numbers are.

"No habla ingles."

Shit. "Uh, Donde es los numeros? Uh, por favor, el numero para mi?"

She got me. Thank god. She went and actually GOT me a number, rather than saying "over there" in Spanish.  More than that, when she handed it to me she said "nine three." Gracias.

So I wait again, anxious that I will miss and not hear my number being called. I tried to stand on the very edge of the line to be as close to the number caller as possible without crossing the magic line.

Finally, after a very long wait, I turn in Naim's application. She won't let me turn in Aaron's copy. She does let me write a note on Naim's about Aaron. She says that I should hear something within 45 days.

So it is January. And I have received no insurance card for them. I called Salem today, and they said they have received my application and I should hear something within 45 days.

Meanwhile, I cannot make an appointment with the pediatrician to get their one year immunizations. They will not let me come in without an insurance card.  If anything should warrant them needing medical attention, I am forced to go to the ER. If anything catastrophic should happen to them, well, I don't want to think about it. I meet all the requirements for SCHIP. Nothing has substantially changed from last year. I cannot think of any good reason why you cannot reapply early so you do not have a gap in coverage?

As I was standing and waiting in line, I was thinking, if worse comes to worse, I could get them this basic coverage through Blue Cross. It is very expensive and has a high deductible and doesn't cover a lot, but I could do it if I had too.

Then I hear that Heather's healthy daughter Leta cannot get underwritten because she had an MRI just as a precaution because she was a late walker and it turned out to show NO PROBLEMS. What about my kids? They are very healthy. I thought. But then, they were 5 weeks early, they are still under the 5th percentile in weight and height, Aaron had jaundice, Naim had a consultation with the feeding clinic, they have both had vision and hearing screenings because of me...if Leta was denied for an MRI, my kids are going to be denied.

Soapbox Alert:

It makes no sense for certain resources in our society to be for profit and free market. For the public good, health care is one of them. People do not shop around for the lowest priced triple bypass surgery. They don't buy extra colon scans if the market for the scopes that do the scans are having a supply surplus price reduction. Health care does not work in the usual competition based, for profit , supply and demand free market. Insurance only works for the healthy, and those who say screw the sick don't understand the concepts of hidden costs and public health. Those who are against universal, non profit health care don't get that they are being scammed by the insurance lobby.

My good friend, Nik is a Swedish national who lives in Canada. He used to work for IBM Canada. When working there, he was offered Blue Cross. If he selected Blue Cross, his universal health insurance allottment went to BC, and he paid an additional...get ready...$8 dollars Canadian for it per month. (Compare that to the $400 I paid for group BC when I worked at a major university or the $900 a healthy friend of mine pays for an individual plan.) Then he lost that job. Automatically, his insurance is uninterrupted and he gets the usual state insurance. Then, he surfed around for a bit trying to figure out what to do (he is blind, btw, and covers his two children, whose insurance was also never interrupted.). He went into a trial training program doing computer work for the RMCP, decided he didn't like it and went into a new business training program and started his own business. All while remaining covered. After some time, he decided to do the business as a side project and got a job at Bank of Canada, where again, he has the option of private health insurance for a very low price. The difference for him between private BC and universal state health is basically the difference between preferred provider plan and an HMO. He has never had long wait periods or problems with his medical care. His tax rate is about 35 to 40%. Yes, higher than some. Just think of the freedom you would have and the peice of mind. People in the US just don't realize what they are losing and the price they are paying. They don't get that they are being lied to.

Here. Read this.

AAAAAAnywaay...An Update

De-lurking comments have been kind of fun. A reader asked for an update on D. I'll give you a quick one.

Be warned, I'm going to butcher the spelling of many medical terms.

D's infection seems to be rooted in a ulcer on his butt. The ulcer was caused by his ischials, which are the two butt bones you sit on. Several years ago, he developed a very bad case of osteomyelitis, or bone infection, with a hard to fight, resistant infection called MRSA. He spent several months trying to fight it, but it appears that the infection has been slowly eating away at his ischial bones. It started in his coccyx bone (the very end of your tailbone) and he had part of that bone removed back then. They amputated his foot last summer to prevent this infection from spreading. Since you can't amputate your pelvic region, they treat it with IV vancomyecin, a powerful antibiotic, and they are going to do surgery on his ischial bones tomorrow. Part of the pressure sore problem is that the ischials have decayed to such a shape that is jagged and is poking through his skin from underneath. These kinds of wounds are really frustrating because you can't see them on the surface until they break through and are really bad. And they can't be prevented because how can you prevent your jagged butt bone from rubbing on the underside of your skin?

So the plan is to shave down those ischials tomorrow and get rid of some of the infected bone and smooth them out. Then, he will complete probably six weeks of vanco. This may be done partly at home. I did the infusion therapy before, and am prepared to do it again; or the nurses may do it. At some point when I have not spent the whole night writing the crap like the previous post, I will tell you all the ways I developed to do IV therapy without using my vision. I was pretty crafty, I might say.  I'm not totally sure at this point how long they will keep him in or if he will move to the rehab hospital or what after the surgery. But that is the plan for now.

So I went today and we had a good visit. My dad and I took the kids to Red Robin to eat. I'm not a fan of Red Robin, but my dad is and its a pretty low key place to take two toddlers. We put them in high chairs and pulled them up to the table and I fed them some snacks while we ate. Gosh, they looked like little adults!

Then we went to the hospital and I went to visit D while the kids took naps in the waiting room with my dad. In the Burn ICU, the kids can't go, but they did work on a special project for him:

"Multimedia for Dad" (2006)

Finger-paint, Crayon & Sharpie on Poster Board; Digital Photography on Inkjet Paper

Artists: Aaron Ferris, Naim Ferris & Mom

Here you see the Museum Curator (aka Mom) carefully framing and hanging the piece with Johnson & Johnson's Medical Gauze Tape in a select location with specialized artistic lighting in le Musuem de Icu.

And here is the inspiration, the muse for this wonderful work of art as he contemplates the artists' concept and design; marveling at their creative use of color and method of slamming the crayon into the paper to create a mood of spontaneity and whimsy, with undertones of rhythm and symmetry.

And finally, we are treated to a rare photograph of one of the camera shy artists, who, caught unexpectedly at this moment we find him rebelling against convention as he protests the wearing of pants.

Artists. So temperamental.

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I'll share with you a typical story about my dad. Last night, I fell asleep early (about 8) and my father decided at some point to fix the light fixture in his room. To do this, he turned off the circuit breaker which cut the electricity in my room as well. He turned his room back on, but never flicked the switch for my room. I have a signaling system for the deaf in my room that alerts me of phone calls, alarm clock, the baby monitor, etc. When he cut the electricity, my signaling system got all reset and didn't signal for anything. So I was planning on getting up and taking the kids to their class, but I never woke up! My dad comes home from his cardiac rehab class to find me still sleeping (as well as the kids.)

He gets all mad, I'm not up, AND he found cat poop in his room, AND he caught the dog running upstairs to eat all the cat food. He is so busy having his little nanocrisis that I am having a hard time deciphering what the hell is going on. Well, it ends up, the cat pooped in his room because HE shut the door to her litter box all night. The dog ate the cat food because HE didn't shut the baby gate that morning. And of course, I didn't get up, because HE forgot to turn my electricity back on. So...three mistakes...all HIS mistakes. But do you know whose fault it all was in his mind?

The cat's. See, the cat pooped and that was her fault for not holding it all night. The dog ate the cat food and that is the cat's fault because she eats. And the electricity is the cat's fault because I went to bed early because I was tired because I took an allergy medication because I'm occasionally a tad allergic to cats and had I been awake, I would have realized the electricity was off in my room and this is all the cat's fault because she exists.

So, we missed the class, I cleaned the cat poop up, opened her door to her litter, refilled her dish, let the dog out so she could shit out all  the cat food she ate, put the baby gate up, and reset my clocks. Problems solved. His nanocrisis was over in about 5 minutes. Welcome home, Dad.