The Nurse Is In

2009-07-03T14:32:00.000-07:00

I had heard about drug-abusing,abrasive Nurse Jackie, but since I don't subscribe to HBO, I can't offer an opinion.

But since I do subscribe to the channel that broadcasts HawthoRNe, I thought I'd give it a try. After all, I'm always looking for medical shows that give an accurate picture of what nurses really do. I'm afriad I'll have to keep on looking.

It's not because they show Nurse Christina Hawthorne doing non-professional things like acting as a receptionist, or saying "the doctor will see you, now."

Au contraire, our heroine goes above and beyond her nursely duties. Even though she is the chief nursing officer, she finds time to be in every department in the hospital. In just one day. She's in the nursery,arranging lodging for a homeless new mom; she diagnoses a patient in the MRI room, by merely glancing at the results of the scan; she decides the type of surgery a patient should have, and, my favorite, she saves a patient's life by grabbing the paddles out of a doctor's hands and reviving the patient herself. Whatta woman! Think of all the money the hospital can save! She's taken the place of a radiologist, one surgeon and a social worker.
AND, she still has time to play mother confessor to the nurses who work under her.

Oh sure, some of the doctors get aggrivated with her. But, hey - she's so darn altruistic. And spunky too.

Let's see how great she is after dealing with staffing issues, quality meetings,new Medicare regulations and surprise visits by the Joint Commission. If that doesn't de-spunkify her, nothing will.

New Directions

2009-07-03T14:06:00.000-07:00

Today marks the beginning of a turn in the road for my blog. It's been an interesting journey, but now it seems like it's time to get serious - well most of the time - about a subject close to my heart, and increasingly important to just about everybody in this country: health care.

So, it begins.

But before I can get serious, I feel compelled to write about my idol, nurse extraordinaire - TV's Christina HawthoRNe.

Stay Tuned!

Things That Change and Things That Never Do

2009-05-11T15:28:00.000-07:00

If you've never been to Charleston, South Carolina, you must put it on your "bucket list." If you have the least bit of interest in history. In haunted places. Battles. The ocean. Gracious living. Tradition.I had the good fortune to live in a small town twenty minutes away from the city proper about 22 years ago. So, it seemed to make sense for my husband and me to detour a bit on our way home to Texas from North Carolina, where we were visiting our youngest daughter and her family.We, of course had to check out where we used to live. This actually involved two stops, as we had moved into a larger house about a year before we left with the expectation of making it our permanent home after my husband's retirement from the Air Force. But it didn't turn out that way. We had to go with the city that held the most promising job - and that was Houston, Texas.Our lazy, lovely little town was nearly unrecognizable! Instead of uninterrupted avenues of pine trees, we were assaulted with car washes, fast food restaurants, auto parts stores. The verdict one house number one: good. The current owners were keeping it up nicely, had a new fence and had painted the wood part an acceptable color. We moved on to the second house. Not so good here. Parts of the wood rail on the long front porch were missing, making the house's front look somewhat like a face whose mouth was missing some teeth.It was a relief to move on to Charleston, proper. On the way, we encountered new roads, some "depressed" areas that looked even worse than when we had lived there before. A few high-rises.But Charleston, itself? Still the same, wonderfully proud lady! It was no surprise to us. After all, wasn't this the city that painted the spire of St. Michael's (or is it St. Philip's? I can never keep that straight) black during the revolutionary war to camouflage it from the Brits?Even the devastation inflicted by Hugo several years back barely scarred Charleston's centuries old homes. Hurricanes were nothing new, and there were huge bolts that went through houses from front to back to strengthen them for just such an event.And the open market is still there, just as it was in Rhett Butler's day. Now, where there used to be a plethora of homegrown produce and hand-crafted tools, there is largely merchandise seen at any flea market throughout the country.But you can still get some of the good stuff, if you look hard enough. One example of this is the hand-made baskets woven on site by the Gullah-descendant woman who learned this craft from their mothers, who had in turn learned it from their mothers. What makes them so special is that the designs on the baskets are not created dye, but rather by the weaving itself. So no two are ever alike. I was given one as a parting gift when I left South Carolina years ago, and it is still proudly in evidence in my present home.Now, I am back to the area where medical research makes amazing strides on a regular basis, and the hub of space travel touches the stars every day. I'm glad there are wonderful changes going on in this world.But I'm also happy to know I can always be sure to find a few places where I can count on things staying the same.
Posted by Susan H. Miller at 12:09 PM 1 comments

Blogophobia and Related Social Diseases

2009-04-12T16:36:00.001-07:00

I'll be the first to admit it: I'm whimping out. I wanted to highlight my fellow writer and friend Kelli's latest story and probably the best way to do that is to "cut and paste" information about the piece that has already been printed. If I could do that.Without angst.

I have pondered over and over in my mind why the complexities of the on-line world have stimied me so badly. I mean, I belonged to the National Honor Society in school: I couldn't be that stupid.

I finally figured out that it is because of my age. I've been packing knowledge into this brain of mine for over 60 years, and I figure it's just about crammed full. New information must be shoveled in with force and made to stay.

It would be nice if I could get rid of useless pieces of information (the entire score of my high school operetta, "The Sunbonnet girl," the inscription at the bottom of the status of Liberty, "I'm a Little Teapot") to make room But I seem to have no control over this. I'd like to say that my mind is full of government secrets crucial to world piece, but I can't make even myself believe such...poppycock. Therefore, I'm just going to copy the information about Kelli's work, and hope it suffices.

"Kelli D. Meyer has posted her awared-winning horror story "Terrible Twos" on her blog @ www.Kellidmeyer.com. It's a creepy new take on zombies with a twist you won't see coming, so check it out."

While I'm confessing my technological shortcomings, I have never twittered. On purpose, any way.

POLITICS AS USUAL; THE ECONOMY

2008-10-12T13:34:00.000-07:00

I have listened to two of the three candidate debates (1 presidential, one V.P.) with great interest. More power to all of them: we all expect them to perform miracles. What they promise is pretty close to that, anyway.

The problem is that the debates leave me more confused than ever. It's obvious that I can't believe my ears, because things are taken "out of context." Also, some didn't really mean what they said: they "misspoke."

I also like the fact that politicians make "mistakes" rather than poor choices. I always thought a mistake was something you did by accident.

The newspapers and television gives me insight: their own. Which begs the question. Is there such a thing as a "neutral" newspaper, magazine, radio or television station?

And do we hear only what we want to hear? Even before the bailout - er, recovery effort - of the failing financial institutions, I was hearing our current debt would cost each taxpayer about $45,000 to pay off.

So, do we really think there'll be no tax increases in some form?

In the final analysis, I would wish our hopefuls would state what their top concerns for our country even if they don't have a solution for them all. We can't expect one, or even two persons to be experts in foreign, economic, educational, war, healthcare, education, the poor, the elderly, children, oil, the space program, agriculture, city roads, disaster planning and military policies. But perhaps they can outline for us where they will start.

And as for the policies they have discussed, gentlemen, please tell us the whole truth. Mr. Obama, just how much coverage are those insured by your health care plan going to receive? Will it be available to healthy adults who refuse to work? And won't it tempt employeers who now offer healthcare as a benefit to drop that benefit? Will it really be much less of a burden on those of us whose health care premiums have gone up to cover the losses that the uninsured rack up?

Mr. McCain, do you really believe those who have no insurance will discipline themselves to purchase it with the promise of a tax break in April? Or will they see a plasma TV they can have right now with the amount down that would pay for a month's insurance premium. After all, "If I don't feel any better, I'll just go to the hospital. They have to take care of me." True enough.

And gentlemen, everybody cheers when you tout doctors should be back in charge, without insurance making rules. Check it out, insurances do have rules. They have appeal processes that can leavae the final decision to an expert physician who has no connection with the patient or insurance company. The fact is, among the majority of honest doctors and facilities, there are also greedy ones. This is why "managed care" came into being. Also, some people who are selfish in other areas of their lives, demand needless tests and procedures. No argument, however, that the whole managed care industry needs to be revamped. It's hopelessly inefficient.

Having just about run out of steam with the above, about the only thing I have to say about Wall Street is how disgusting it is.

Also, whatever happened to personal accountability? If you can't afford something, don't buy it. And why, in heaven's name, would you think people with poor credit histories would suddenly change their priorities when it came to owning a house. It's beyond me.

Crawling off the soapbox now, and taking a walk...

SEWARD'S ICEBOX

2008-08-26T09:36:00.000-07:00

I find myself in imminent danger of sounding like PBS travel special. This is perhaps understandable, since I have just returned from a 10-day cruise to Alaska. Of the beauty, the majesty, the crisp, clear air - it's all been said. My own vocabulary ran out of superlatives by the time we docked in Juneau and disintregated into your basic "wow". Until new adjectives come upon the scene, I'm not even going to try to describe the glories of our 50th state.

Still, while the tourist in me was taking it all in, the writer part was seeing stories everywhere the tourist went. In Ketichican, I watched seaplanes launch and land constantly as they go about their daily business. Where were they all going, and what were they doing there?

In the carefully perserved home of the most famous local madam, open for tours, there is a poignant portrait of a baby hung over the sink in the ornate bathroom. How, in this "house of ill-repute", did this come to be there?

As the excursion train wends its way upwards though the mountains high above Sitka, I see flannel-shirted men from a hundred years ago gain each foot of track at the expense of brutal labor and sheer will. Later, they are all gathered around the campfire, grateful for the warmth and company and coffee; thinking about home.

Even before, there are gold miners risking life and limb as they make their way back to town along the now almost indecipherable path hewn out of the mountain side. They are carrying their treasures on the back of often ill-fed and overworked horses. There is a span of trail known as Dead Horse Pass, and it is painful to watch them stumble and fall into the ravine, sometimes taking their oewners with them. It is a huge price to pay to get rick quick.

But not all stories belong in the past. It seems nobody was actually born in Alaska. They come for many reasons. Some are running away from something or someone; others are running to. Many readily volunteer their tales. Either way, it's pretty clear that they are there because they want to be.

And lastly, there are my fellow cruisers. What a diverse group they are! The crew comes from all over the world.

Our chief waiter dreams of taking some schooling that will some day allow him to open his own restaurant. The Maitre d' was born in Jordan, but now lives in Poland.

Ages of the guests range from very old to stroller-bound. Some appear well-to-do; others make you wonder how they scraped together the money for even the cheapest stateroom.

One lady, elegant and beautiful,sits in her wheelchair awaiting her companion to take her off ship on an excursion. The is wearing a white,gauzy dress with a straw hat covering her matching snowy hair. I comment to her that she looks like she is on her way to tea. And indeed she is - at an elegant old hotel in Victoria, B.C.

Our tablemates are a mother and son from California. This is a repeat trip for the mother: her first trip was with her husband, who died two years ago.

A rather shapeless woman of indeterminate age sways alone to the music at the disembarkation from our last port,but with great abandon.

And me? This trip is to commemorate my 40th anniversary. My husband and I, remembering the early days when a big day was charging the gas, driving to a free-to-the-public historical museum and splitting a hamburger, smile at the good fortune that has brought us on this wonderful journey.

But there is yet another story waiting to be explored. I have an early memory of my parents sitting in matching armchairs by the fireplace in the chilly Ohio evening. They are each reading books from the library about a place they have always wanted to go: Alaska.

Wasted Time

2008-05-12T11:04:00.000-07:00

Mothers' Day 2008 has come and gone. Mine was full of toddler hugs, daughters who got 6 active children, collectively, dressed and into the car to spend the day with me, a spouse who cooked a great dinner, some lovely presents and sweet memories to add to my stockpile.

My sister-in-law's Mothers' Day was quite different. Because her only son was buried the day before.

He was my newphew: a caring son who wanted to someday take his mother on a wonderful trip; his father's best friend; a doting uncle who really enjoyed his nieces and nephew. A jokester. A lover of the outdoors. My nephew, but he could have been your nephew, brother, son, uncle. Everyone has someone like him in the family. Someone who has somehow gotten lost along the way of life's journey.

Only 36 years old, he had run off the road late at night and flipped the car he was driving several times. With no seatbelt, the car had rolled over on him. The theory is he had blacked out. His younger sister related this had happened once before after the near-fatal head injury he had suffered only months before. He had been alone, and died instantly.

His father stood at his funeral, tears running down his face, reminding us all to keep our children close by. He told us it wasn't right for parents to bury their child: it should have been he burying his parents.

But if this hadn't already broken our hearts, the poem read by his older sister after that surely did.

It was one my nephew had come across in the last months of his life, and he felt it described the way he was feeling about his life - the life he so wanted to change.

I would like to share it here in the hope it might succeed for your someone. It is called "Wasted Time" and it was written by Dave LeFave

The time that I've wasted is my biggest regret,
Spent in thes places I will never forget.
Just sitting and thinking about the things that I've done,
The crying, the laughing, the hurt and the fun.

Now it's just me and my hard-driven guilt
Behind a wall of emptiness I allowed to be built.
I'm trapped in my body, justs wanting to run
Back to my youth with its laughter and fun.

But the chase is over and there's no place to hide.
Everything is gone, including my pride.
With reality suddenly right in my face
I'm aacared, alone and stuck in this place.

Now memories of the past flash through my head
And the pain is obvious by the tears that I shed.
I ask myself why and where I went wrong.
I guess I was weak when I should have been strong.

Living for the drugs and the wings I had grown,
My feelings were lost, afraid to be shown.
As I look at my past it's so easy to see
The fear I had, afraid to be me.

I'd pretend to be rugged, so fast and so cool
When actually lost like a blinded old fool.
I'm getting too old for this tiresome game
Of acting real hard with no sense of shame.

It's time that I chanhe and get on with my life,
Fulfilling my dreams for a family and wife.
What my future will hold I really don't know,
But the years that I've wasted are starting to show.

I just live for the day when I'll get a new start
And the dreams I still hold deep in my heart.
I hope I can make it, I at least have to try
Because I'm heading toward death, and I don't want to die.

***************************************************
It's funny how, as teens and young adults, we think our parents, aunts and uncles are hopelessly out of touch with what's cool, rad, or whatever term is being used at the time. We think they are clueless as to what is really important. But as we grow older, we learn that the important things have to do with family, peace of mind and the simple joys of life.

May my nephew rest in peace. May he have been given the serenity he so wanted in his lifetime.

ONE WEEK

2008-02-24T18:23:00.000-08:00

It never ceases to amaze me how the road of life comes at you in a series of bumps, detours and, occasionally, a beautiful vista within sight. Truly, nobody could - or would - make up some of this stuff. When I have friends or family who are going through a particularly bad time, the best advice I can give them is that things won't always be this way. Yes, they can get worse. But they can also get better. To people who can't see the light at the end of the tunnel, this can give some hope. We've all known people in our lives who have committed suicide. I so often think of a 30ish friend of mine when I see a beautiful day, or discover something wonderful exploring new places or even see my kitten do something that makes me laugh. I so want to say, "Oh, Peter, why didn't you hold on?"

I guess it is life itself - the preciousness of it - that possesses me today. I'm pretty sure this is because within the last week, I nearly lost one daughter to violence and was given the priceless gift of a grandchild by another; my emotions running from stark terror to absolute joy, with a good dose of gratitude in both cases.

One daughter was involved in a bank robbery, shielding one of her young employees with her own body, while an assult rifle was shoved into her back. She and the others came out of it unharmed, physically, but certainly not unscathed. As she sorts through her feelings, I am amazed and saddened to hear of how many of my friends have had family members or close friends involved in similar violent situations. Are none of us immune?

Six days later, my youngest gave birth to her first child, making my husband and me grandparents for the seventh time. Some people have asked me if the novelty had worn off for us, and I can truthfully say no. Seven healthy, loved, beautiful little people. How lucky we are!

But even little Kylie has a link to violence. Her dad, returned home from his second deployment to Iraq, had become especially close to one of his junior officers. Theirs was the battalion that lost proportionally the most soldiers in their particular area. This young man, Kyle, was one of them. His mother has already seen her son's little namesake, and cried what is hoped are some healing tears. This particular little mite, this miracle of life after all the death must be helping her father, too.

And four days later, these two daughters reunited as the older sister and her family travelled across Texas to share in the joy of a new baby in the family. Two people, one who has learned that life can be precaraious, and the other having no idea, have come together to reaffirm just how special it is to be alive.

A Christmas Memory

2007-12-02T17:08:00.000-08:00

CHRISTMAS PAST
By Susan H.Miller

Christmas is a time of nostalgia. For those of us fortunate enough to have happy

memories, Christmas Past plays in our minds like vignettes from “A Christmas Carol.”

I can remember one Christmas long, long ago creeping down the stairs before dawn. My

father is carrying my little brother, while my sister and I follow behind. Mother, loaded

down with muffs and mittens, brings up the rear. We are whispering for no other reason

than that it is a magical day. We are careful not to steal a look into the living room,

where Santa has certainly come. My mother is wise enough to know that one look would

ruin her chances of getting us to mass – body and mind – on time.

We go out into the still and silent early morning, pile into the Pontiac, and make our way

through the darkened streets to church. But wait! There are lights in the windows; and as

we open the door, we see that the purple ribbons and Advent Wreath are gone. They are

replaced by giant, fragrant Christmas trees, feathery green wreaths with bright red

ribbons and poinsettias covering the altar. The majestic organ begins to play, and it is if

time has been suspended until just this moment.

Out in the trunk of our car, the turkey waits for us. This is an ongoing family joke. Every

year on Christmas Eve, My mother de-feathers the fresh turkey and places it in the

roasting pan. Then, lacking refrigerator room, the roaster is placed in the car, where the

Ohio winter serves nicely as a natural cooler. Mother likes to say the turkey goes to

church every Christmas. And, of course, she is right.

On to another Christmas morning when I am about eight years old. Mother unthinkingly

has sent me down to the basement storage cabinet for some canned vegetables for dinner

and I see, hanging on the clothesline, a beautiful ballerina dress! I pretend not to have

seen it, because, young as I am, I know it is meant to be a surprise. And sure enough, it is

presented to me moments later. I take in every inch of it –the pink bodice with

sparkling green sequins and the white cloud which is the skirt. It is the most beautiful

dress I have ever seen! .In the background, I see my mother’s Aunt Florence. It is she

who created this wonder, using an old-fashioned treadle sewing machine, and lovingly

sewing on each sequin by hand. Aunt Florence is a widow and has no children. So, she

loves every child she touches. How could she have known how much I wanted a dress

like this? It is the most wonderful Christmas gift I have ever known. It is not until years

later that I learn the real gift is her presence in my life.

Fast forward to my first Christmas with my new husband. We exchange the few gifts we

could fit into our budget on Christmas Eve, then drive into the city to gaze at the brightly

lit buildings while we listen to the car radio. We lack nothing in this world. The next

day would be my first attempt at a holiday dinner, with all his family coming. The food

would be served from a buffet table, which in reality is our ironing board covered with

festive wrapping paper. Everyone would be complementary about the food, as if it is the

best holiday dinner they have ever had.

My next “visit” comes five years later. We are celebrating our first Christmas with our

baby daughter. She is so tiny – only two months old. Her eyes catch the lights on the

tree, and she gives a bubbly smile, but she doesn’t really understand what’s going on.

Her father and I know, though. The world is brighter just because she is in it.

The Spirit of Christmas Past and I are flying faster now. We are in a rented furnished

place a thousand miles away from home. My husband, who is in the Air Force, has been

sent here for flight training. I have hand sewn a stuffed-animal pillow for our little girl,

and it is her favorite present. She sleeps with it until she is a teenager, when the fabric

has completely disintegrated. We have no ornaments nor Christmas decorations. But we

buy a tree, and adorn it with a popcorn garland and whatever might serve as a tree

adornment.

The next year, we are in California, but duty calls, and my husband is gone from

Christmas Eve until New Years Day. I’m trying to be a good Air Force Wife, but it’s not

easy. If only I could have known that a very special gift is already on its way that day

That present is our second daughter, born 8 ½ months later.

My mother dies one December 20th, and Christmas is hard to think about. But there are

three children who don’t quite understand. I remember the year my grandmother died on

Christmas Eve. That year there was Christmas anyway for us children. Can I do less?

I keep seeing my mother’s face each Christmas morning as she sat in a chair with all her

unopened presents around her. “Why don’t you open your gifts?” we asked every year,

puzzled at her seeming lack of interest. . She never gave a clear answer on that, but I

figured it out eventually. Her joy came from watching the pleasure everyone else got

from opening their gifts.

The Spirit of Christmas Past is almost through with me; but before he leaves, we make

one more stop. It is last Christmas Eve, and all my children with their families have

come to Mass with my husband and me. The little girls, mindful of their new velvet

Christmas dresses and patent leathers, are behaving, as my mother would say, like “little

ladies.” As we file into the pew, my son-in-law and I both spy a serviceman in uniform

seated just a few rows in front of us. Instinctively, we both shift our positions to block

him from the view of my youngest daughter. She, too, has married a military officer, and

he is in Iraq this Christmas.

The church is filled completely with smiling people of all ages, shrugging off dark winter

coats to reveal bright reds, greens and golds. There is a respectful silence, as we await

the beginning of the service. Then, all of a sudden, our 5 year old Tori glances down to

her neckline and sees the manufacturer’s label there. She announces to nobody in

particular that her dress is on backwards! This not only sends a ripple of repressed

laughter through the family, but it has also tickled the pew behind us. So, as mass begins,

there are two full rows of people trying to suppress their mirth.

As Christmas present enfolds, I can’t help thinking, despite all the grim condemnations of

the holiday as being “too commercial” and “godless,” that there’s room for hope.

Because more than the parties and good food, more than the bright lights, even more

than the lovely presents people were kind enough to give me, what I remember most are

the warm and wonderful memories of family over the years. God has been good to me.

Christmas sweaters and CD’s wear out, but any time I want, I can pull out the memory of

coming from work to find that my youngest had emptied the figures out of

the nativity scene and turned it into a Barbie singles bar; the time Mother forgot to serve

the vegetable she’d made for Christmas dinner; the smiles of grandparents and aunts and

uncles long gone, and, yes even the joy a little girl gave several people simply by wearing

her dress backwards..

What I Do Know

2007-10-03T16:05:00.000-07:00

Pardon me while I adjust my soapbox. This month's dissertation is serious. (I'm not all sarcasml, you know.)

I listen to and read all about what politicians- currently in office, and hopefuls- have to say about healthcare. As a nurse working well before "managed care", at the beginning of it and still in the game, with some considerable time on both the insurance and the hospital side, gives me some credence, I feel.

First off, to those who think the doctors should be able to do what they want without any outside input, I'f like to remind people why we got managed care in the first place. Duh, because we were bleeding money.

So, OK, things are a mess, today. WHO should we blame? The doctors? Insurance companies? Consumers? Legislators? Hospitals? Answer: ALL of The Above.

DOCTORS I'd like to believe that most doctors want to do what's right for their patients. And I've met some terrific, smart, compassionate ones. But....there are those who do unnecessary surgeries, tests etc or refer patients to entities that they have financial interests in. Some do not practice efficient medicine. For example, a patient could go home today, but the doctor hasn't written the order, and can't or won't be reached by the nurse trying to get that order. I've been told the doctor has to see x number of patients that day because "the insurance company says." Can anyone possibly be buying this? Or, is it really that the doctor needs to see that many in order to keep up his/her lifestyle. Lots of things get blamed on the insurance company. It's not unheard of for doctors to send requests for absolutely stupid surgeries or treatments for the express purpose of having insurance deny so they won't have to be the heavies. I believe doctors should have a decent income consistent with their education, long hours and responsibilities, but not millions and millions...

INSURANCE COMPANIES Insurance companies actually have to "credential" physicians and organizations before they accept them. At least there's some accountability. And they do use guidelines developed by medical experts. Negative decisions can be reviewed and overturned by a neutral party. But companies are only as good as their employees, and navigating the process can be frustrating and confusion. Also, some upper management can make processes so hard that the consumer wants to give up sometimes. Also, if your policy is thru an employer, READ it. Some things may not be covered . PERIOD. So, no matter how much you need a kidney transplant, if your employer did not buy that coverage, you're out of luck. P.S. If you think insurance is expensive, try getting care without it!
HOSPITALS I kinds feel sorry for them. In order to stay in business, most must contract with managed care/insurance companies for greatly discounted rates. At the same time, they must treat the uninsured AND find a safe place for them to go when they're discharged. Which happens more than you think.... They must be, and they are, learning to be more efficient. I'll insert nurses here: they MUST learn the importance of efficient nursing - including prompt follow-through on orders for tests, consults, etc. At the same time, I see more, and more work and paperwork piled on nurses.....

LEGISLATORS GET a clue! Do something with our crazy sue-crazed climate so there'll be less paperwork, and fewer tests that doctors feel they must order to protect themselves. Realize that "tax credits" will not encourage the poor to buy health insurance:they would rather have food on the table and a car that runs. Revamp Medicaid so that there is no loophole that allows children born in this country of foreign students, etc can not be covered while their parents are allowed to fly back and forth to their own countries for a holiday. And make Medicaid recipients more responsible for knowing what the rules are: they get away with stuff that our private insurers would never allow us to do.

ALL OF US We need to stop acting like our healthcare has nothing to do with us. The days of "doctor knows best" are over! Stop thinking, I don't care how much it costs; my insurance will pay for it. Stop being taken in by the drug ads on TV. My insurance company recently denied a medication for a similar generic one, with the understanding that if the generic didn't work, the doctor could write a explanation and request the first one. Sounded sensible to me. If your insurance company requests a second opinion, be thankful. At least consider it might not be a bad idea. If the doctor suggests an expensive test, medicine, surgery, ask if there are alternatives. Check your bills (A piece of equipment was paid for twice by my insurance. I'm going to let them know. Also, if you have skin cancer (and I'm sorry if you do) don't insist on being sent to the premier cancer center in the country. Save your request for something really rare.
I'm getting off my soapbox now. Hope somebody will comment....

What I Don't Know..Either

2007-10-03T15:35:00.001-07:00

There's two somethings new within the last month here in the 'spring. They are both solid objects, each bigger than a breadbox. (If the last makes no sense to you, you are under 50)

At least I know what one item is: it is a complete traffic light. This differentiates it from our only other traffic light, which is in the center of town. It only flashes red, so that all vehicles must stop and the courthouse before continuing on their merry or other ways. The new light has red, green and yellow. As if that weren't enough, it also has a green arrow. Now, I do understand that the new traffic light is to regulate traffic coming from an intersecting street. What I don't understand is the arrow light. It appears to be that its only function is to allow a quicker turn into the gas station, as that is the only current destination where the arrow points. On second thought, far be it from me to underrate the need to make a quick turn for gas rather than wait for the stream of traffic a town of 691 people to go through the intersection.

You'll be as relieved as I was to know that the superfluous traffic sign poles from last month's post have been remover - ostensibly from another road crew at some later date. On a possibly related note, I understand that TXDOT is running out of money.

The second object is even harder to understand. It belongs to our neighbors, and nobody I've polled seems to know what it is. This isn't the first mystery phenomenon to appear on said neighbors' lot: two years ago, a sort of pit appeared beside their house. Rumor had it that a swimming pool was to be built there. That never happened. Then it became, briefly, a volleyball court, and finally a parking area for boat trailers, etc.

The new entity is even, as Alice would say, curiouser. 12 house windows are joined together in an oblong formataion supported by wooden boards. This is between the house and the gaping canyon. Is it a greenhouse? Solar energy attractor? Glass House? Object d' art? We don't know.
If anyone else would like to hazard a guess, please, please do so.

What I Do Know

2007-09-16T11:37:00.000-07:00

This'll be shorter than my prior entry .
I have learned that one advantage of getting older (and they are darn few) is that one's ability to be embarrassed is diminished markedly. An example of this occurred some time back. I had just entered the lobby of the building where I was employed, when I tripped over absolutely nothing and went down like a wounded buffalo. As two kind gentlemen hauled me to my feet, I couldn't help noticing that the skirt of my conservative gray suit had hiked up nearly to my as...k your mother for fifty cents.

Of course, my rescuers got on the same elevator with me. I waited for my face to flame, for tears of humiliation to start. But, to my amazement, neither of these things occurred. What did occur to me was that this was not the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened to me ; not even in the top three! Life would, indeed, go on.

In case you're wondering what some of my more memorable faux pas are, well you'll just have to wait.

What I Don't Know

2007-09-16T11:19:00.000-07:00

The older I get the more I realize I don't know a lot. For instance, in the past week I learned I don't understand why San Jacinto County replaced all the road signs on Route 150 from my house to downtown 'spring. Now I am smart enough to know signs may be replaced for the following reasons: 1) street name spelled wrong (happened to us once in South Carolina) 2) signs have been spraypainted with people-offending obcenities 3) signs have been peppered by buckshot and are no longer readible 4) speed limit had been altered to read 200 mph 5) signs had become seriously faded. However, none of these applied. No matter. Each new sign was placed approximately 2 feet from its predecessor. Interestingly enough, the old poles remain. This puzzles me even more than the signs, themselves. I mean, maybe that was a matter of convicts not having enough to do, or something. But why leave the poles? At some point is there a plan to somehow string all those poles together with barbed wire to keep the bad guys out?
One suggestion, though. Could the sign installer crew please take down the first sign before putting up the second? I was quite taken back at first, thinking there was something seriously wrong with my vision.