Then we had to go to Target to get a new swimsuit for Sara. ("The butt is baggy on my old one!") Nate stands there by the rack and loudly declares, "Get this one, Sara. In this one, you'll have a man in five minutes."
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Nathan Entertains Me
Then we had to go to Target to get a new swimsuit for Sara. ("The butt is baggy on my old one!") Nate stands there by the rack and loudly declares, "Get this one, Sara. In this one, you'll have a man in five minutes."
Monday, April 11, 2011
Weekend Ups and Downs
It has been an ordinary weekend, but fraught with a little extra emotional intensity, I guess. That's how my life seems to be these days. I remember when I wasn't wandering around all tied up in knots. Here I am, reaching out for a different life and wondering if it is going to bite my hand off. Must. Focus. On. Best. Case. Scenario. And no matter how it turns out, what do I need to hang onto? I CAN manage on my own. I will continue to laugh at life; I will cherish my friends; I will try new things; I will work hard in the service of others; I will take care of my health; I will love my kids. Maybe we will get a cat.
I have used this blog up to this point to say mean things about CB. When I viewed it as a break-up blog, that seemed OK. But it is time to go public with the truth about CB: he is a good person 96.4% of the time. And I didn't realize it until he pointed it out to me, but he has his own TV show in Canada. He was very modest not to tell me sooner.
I will try to portray him in a manner that is balanced and fair after this.
We spent a few hours talking on Friday; catching up on our thoughts a little, and slowly combing the tangles out of our misunderstandings. He brought me Ursa, an ultra-tough super-anti-hero in full possession of all her powers. According to CB, she looks a little like me. Hmmm... I have better tits. But her hair is perfect, not chronically higgledy-piggledy, like mine is. She also has shades, which I have not, at the moment. I read the packaging and laughed. Ursa hates all men! Except General Zod.
She is probably going to have a very busy week at work, but in the meantime, she directed her super-powers at the laundry. She's not great at folding ("Fools! Have you no minions stupid enough to crease clothing into squares for the benefit of children?!") She likes using the dryer though, because she can use her kick-ass martial arts moves to flip the "on" switch.
I have heard very little from CB over the last few days. He has a friend who makes emergency shelters out of shipping containers. They are getting one ready to ship to California on Monday, and there is a lot to do.
Friday night was poker night. Those of us who need to practice to get the game settled in our heads convened; along with Mel, who actually knows what she's doing. I've got it down, now! We just need to work on our poker faces. Let me explain: we enjoy being dweebs on occasion. We are actually getting pretty good at Texas Hold 'Em, and could maintain excellent poker faces if the stakes were even a LITTLE higher than M&Ms. The LDS ladies won't play for money, or they would have to tell their bishops. As it was, Moira discovered too late that she was absent-mindedly eating her assets.
It was this face of Corinne's that just about drowned me. As it was, the back of my nose was seared by tequila and I almost had to go to the ER.
Here, Tika looks WAY to happy about her hand.
That's better. This is the face that Sara hates. She is terrified of Tika. Three years ago, Sara went to Guadalupe for a summer school program, and was surprised at how much stricter the teachers are there. Tika is one of the strictest of the strict. Even Tika's epic Girl Scout Cookie purchase this year did not soften Sara's heart. I didn't tell Sara that Tika was coming, so the look on her face when she answered the door was priceless.
How much you wanna bet that I will be enlisted to stuff a Cabbage Patch head in Tika's mailbox or some such thing this coming week?
Mel, as always, is cooler than the rest of us, and pulls off a truly Sphinx-like expression.
Saturday was snowy, and all soccer matches were cancelled. This was great news for me, as one of the coaches had called me, looking for volunteers to arrive at 8:00 AM to shovel the pitch. I slept in, which seems to be my way of avoiding emotional turmoil. Simon and I had spoken on the phone the night before,and he is anxious for me to tell him whether I want a divorce. He is tired of stewing over it and wants to move forward. I can't say that I blame him, of course. Per the post I wrote earlier today, we are going to go ahead, but this is not a decision I have made lightly or without considerable guilt and fear. Sleep is an escape from the emotion.
I ran 12 miles on Saturday afternoon, and had to run all of it on the indoor track, since the snow outside was landing on my lashes and blinding me. One week until the Salt Lake City Half-Marathon. Will I be running the fucker in the snow? After Thanksgiving, I deserve to be warm! My fantasies of beating last year's time are fading: pfffffft. I was flakey and undisciplined due to de-tox related issues. Still, no lasting side effects from the long run, except for a slightly sore right hamstring and a splitting headache. Must drink more. Oh, and one of my toes on my right foot refuses to flex today. Must've pulled something tiny in there. But I'll be fine as long as it isn't freezing. It's not just the race I have to think of: if last year is any indicator, I could freeze to death while waiting for them to find my gear-bag at the finish line.
Today, I took the kids to see Rodrick Rules.
The books are actually pretty funny and my kids' copies are totally dog-eared. Here is the illustration of Rodrick's van that he uses to haul shit for his band, Loded Diper.
The kids and I laughed our butts off at the movie, but for different reasons. Grown-ups who (like me) are middle children will find a lot of spot-on commentary. Rodrick IS my brother Charles. The part where Rodrick picks up Greg from school in his van and drives home like a maniac? YES! The clothes, the hair, the muttered threats, the blackmail. Charles is nine years older; and I was small for my age, and portable. He used to love dangling me over the bannisters; or holding me over pots of boiling water while my mother admonished, "Oh, for heaven's sake, Charles." And like Rodrick, Charles occasionally came through for me. Once he shoved me down into the passenger foot-well in the station wagon and roared through the neighborhood, hunting for a bully who had been giving me a hard time; squealed up to the curb where the kid was standing and made the kid just about wet himself. The pluses and minuses of having a much-older brother...
Si got home this evening from Colorado, and we didn't even have to have "the conversation". We said enough on the phone last night. As he sometimes does, he brought me a present: a pair of pale green earrings made by his friend Maxine. I cried because he doesn't need to be nice to me; and it is probably the last present he'll give me. Tomorrow, we'll get the wheels rolling again.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Letter to My Husband
[I have actually had interesting things to post about this weekend that are fun to talk about. But the need to write about my feelings is clogging my thoughts. Best I let this go first.]
Dear Si,
Last night when you called from Colorado, you asked me if I was able to put an end to "the limbo". Limbo sucks, as I well know. I asked you if meeting with the mediators was the next step. "Yes," you said. "Then we need to set up a meeting with them." "So, you've decided?" (I was a bit relieved that the phone chose that moment to die and I had to take a sec to call you back on the kitchen phone. We need to talk to Sara about her bad habit of leaving handsets lying around and not putting them back in the cradles to recharge.) "Soooo...HAVE you decided?" "Look, I can't say these words over the phone. Can I tell you when you get home?" "Yeah, you're right. It's not right to have this part of the conversation on the phone."
Sorry. I couldn't say, "I'm sure that I want a divorce" over the phone to you. Maybe hideously angry people in a hideous disaster of a marriage could do that, but I can't. Of course, this is not a shock to you. We have been talking about this off and on for months, now.
Thanks for staying calm when I said that I don't really want to duplex the house and continue living in it together. I understand the financial wisdom of that, but I question the emotional wisdom. Thanks for agreeing that we could all go to Bryce Canyon together at Easter weekend, because I think the kids would like that. Better than if just one or the other of us took them. And I know that we are capable of making that fun for them. Plus, we both want to go, right? Thanks for understanding that this is not a choice between you and another man. This is a choice between continuing on a set path, or taking a sharp turn onto another one. Our problems have been there for years, gradually growing instead of diminishing. Even during the three weeks when I was sure that CB had forgotten all about me (Gosh! And the six weeks before that, now that I think of it!), I knew I was going to go. I could feel it, Si. I know that, if I stayed, I would never feel right. I also know that, if I go, I may end up regretting it. I will have to take my chances.
I hope you have a reasonable drive coming home today, and that the passes are clear. Hope you don't mind that I'm planning to just eat up leftovers tonight. I was going to make chicken soup, but we have a lot of food in the house already. I'll make it tomorrow. I'm taking the kids to see Roderick Rules this afternoon; we'll probably all convene at home at about the same time.
See you then,
Kate
Dear Si,
Last night when you called from Colorado, you asked me if I was able to put an end to "the limbo". Limbo sucks, as I well know. I asked you if meeting with the mediators was the next step. "Yes," you said. "Then we need to set up a meeting with them." "So, you've decided?" (I was a bit relieved that the phone chose that moment to die and I had to take a sec to call you back on the kitchen phone. We need to talk to Sara about her bad habit of leaving handsets lying around and not putting them back in the cradles to recharge.) "Soooo...HAVE you decided?" "Look, I can't say these words over the phone. Can I tell you when you get home?" "Yeah, you're right. It's not right to have this part of the conversation on the phone."
Sorry. I couldn't say, "I'm sure that I want a divorce" over the phone to you. Maybe hideously angry people in a hideous disaster of a marriage could do that, but I can't. Of course, this is not a shock to you. We have been talking about this off and on for months, now.
Thanks for staying calm when I said that I don't really want to duplex the house and continue living in it together. I understand the financial wisdom of that, but I question the emotional wisdom. Thanks for agreeing that we could all go to Bryce Canyon together at Easter weekend, because I think the kids would like that. Better than if just one or the other of us took them. And I know that we are capable of making that fun for them. Plus, we both want to go, right? Thanks for understanding that this is not a choice between you and another man. This is a choice between continuing on a set path, or taking a sharp turn onto another one. Our problems have been there for years, gradually growing instead of diminishing. Even during the three weeks when I was sure that CB had forgotten all about me (Gosh! And the six weeks before that, now that I think of it!), I knew I was going to go. I could feel it, Si. I know that, if I stayed, I would never feel right. I also know that, if I go, I may end up regretting it. I will have to take my chances.
I hope you have a reasonable drive coming home today, and that the passes are clear. Hope you don't mind that I'm planning to just eat up leftovers tonight. I was going to make chicken soup, but we have a lot of food in the house already. I'll make it tomorrow. I'm taking the kids to see Roderick Rules this afternoon; we'll probably all convene at home at about the same time.
See you then,
Kate
Friday, April 8, 2011
Sleeeeepy
A cold and gloomy day. I had fun playing poker with my friends tonight, and I want to write, but I am so sleepy. Simon called from Colorado tonight; I lay down on the sofa while I was talking to him and nearly fell asleep in the middle of a conversation. A serious one, as well - about our future and what we need to do in order to separate. If it had been about the weather, tomorrow's soccer practice, how many successful contracts he has (not) managed to land for next year...it would be forgivable.
It is only 11:30, but I am off to bed.
It is only 11:30, but I am off to bed.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
What I Learned from the Radishes
What a day. We had the latest supper I think I have ever cooked, because Simon had a soccer game and I had to go down to work; we have so many new students to wrangle in the Monday/Wednesday night school this week. We sat down to supper at 8:45 or something ridiculous like that. Chipotle pork tacos and a marinated salad made from fennel and radishes. Simon has left for Colorado, hoping to get as far as Price or maybe Green River tonight, before the next snow storm hits and makes Soldier Summit a zoo.
[And, as if on cue, the wind starts howling a gale around the house.]
What else did I have going on today? Kids to the dentist at 8 AM, where they can choose to have their teeth cleaned with stuff flavored like cookie dough, cotton candy or marshmallow. The hygienists don't see the irony. Then to the rec, where I ran for just 30 minutes, but melted the rubber on the track. I kept trying to gear down to a slower pace, but it wasn't happening. I have decided to run the Salt Lake Half after all, so I am going to have to get the last 12 mile run in this weekend. Off to work, where I tried to get all the Monday/Wednesday names, applications, test papers and signatures to match up to actual people. Once I blogged about having too many Thu Thuy Phams... It was in fact the case that one lady was coming to the Tuesday/Thursday school as "Thuy Pham" and the Monday/Wednesday school as "Thu Thuy Pham". I had to tell her that she could be one person or the other, but not both.
Earthquake drill in the afternoon. One of the few perks of my executive status is that I get to climb out from under my desk and roam around the building checking for broken glass or hissing radiators or crocodiles rising from the sewers and stuff like that. Meanwhile my colleagues remain jammed under their desks. "Kate! can we get out, now?" "No! Stay crammed under that desk until I give the 'all clear'! There might be danger. I just have to check that the coffee pot is all right. Hold on - I need my mug." "KATE!" These drills are an eye-rolling good time. Our boss takes disaster preparedness of all kinds very seriously. She made Angie walk all the way around the building to check for "damage"; when Angie got back, our boss asked her if she had noticed anything amiss. "No, 'cuz it's all... PRETEND..."
Girls on the Run in the afternoon. Let me say that we are having a few motivational issues. I suppose that there are appropriate things to say to girls who won't even try to run, preferring to stroll arm in arm while gossiping. I have never been appropriate, so I run at them with both hands formed into lobster claws that administer real pinches if they come into contact with a girl's back. This results in screaming and sprinting. Even better results are to be had by telling the girls that they can pinch the stuffing out of me if they can catch me. I'll tell you what I want, though. This would be the bomb, if I knew where to get one. The fun I would have...
Then it was off to the store to get the groceries I wanted for supper tonight and...finally we segue to the radishes. I was in the produce section picking up a bunch of radishes, and I was thinking (not for the first time) about the mind-blowing beauty of some of our root vegetables. Think of it! Buried deep beneath the ground is the bright orange of the carrot; the gentle purple of the turnip; the miraculous radish with its pristine white wrapped in dusty red. Don't even get me started on beets. I'll get all rapturous and never get to the fucking point. Which is...uh...
Oh, yeah...which is that I am happy. A while back, there was a Kate who would often pick up a radish and and see it as beautiful. She went away, and has finally returned.
Okay, why has she returned? The eyes of the reader narrow suspiciously. Hold on, despite the late hour, I need to fortify myself with a little Moose Tracks ice cream before I confess.
I made it to Day 21 in the 60-Day Detox, and I was prepared to go the distance. But CB wanted to talk with me and I allowed this conversation to happen. I did sit in my truck, pondering the correct course of action for about 45 minutes, but then there he was (for the first time in about six weeks), telling me (if I had to boil it down) that he was looking for a place to live, that he wants to be with me and he wants to know if I still want to be with him. There was a lot more in this conversation, but that was the executive summary.
I know. I KNOW! This is total destruction of the 60-Day Detox by way of the 6th Commandment: "No Backsliding". There is part of me that would have felt momentarily empowered by politely refusing to have this discussion and driving away. But. In the moment of decision I knew that I would regret driving away after the elation had worn off. And if I had, I don't think there would have been another chance to put things right. Now, I will still have the potential for LOTS and LOTS of regret. But also the potential to try and build a relationship with this man for whom my feelings have not faded ONE BIT in all this time. Despite the facts that he wanted me to try polyamory; that I cried all over Mario's sweater vest; that I gave away the Scotch and returned the packet watch; that I called him 2,500 bad names. I love this guy and I wait for his smile. And that makes me a fucking SAP! And a weakling! And if my friends are disgusted with me, remember that I will be roundly punished for this love in many, many ways: Simon; my children; my mom and my sister; my extended family; his extended family; my friends; my coworkers; my money; my kitchen; my CD collection... the list goes on and on. I get to start Thursday by telling my couselor, who already thinks I'm channeling the Bronte sisters. All of them.
Can I say two things, though?
One. I am trying to keep myself protected, and in doing so protect him, too. For the next little while, I need to be ready for him to change his mind, and he needs to feel like he can change it. This, I gleaned from Maria, who is NOT channeling any of the Bronte sisters. So, I'm straddling the fence, trying to discern whether I can tip one way into a different life; or the other way back into Detox. I don't plan to start from day one. If I am careful, I might be able to pick up at Day 21, where I left off. 'Cause I haven't got time for the pain. Someone should write a song about that.
And here's another thought about why I seem fated for this weakness: look at the business I'm in. My world is populated by people who have to keep trying over and over again to get what they need from life. I laughed at Utah Senator Howard Stephenson when he said that he did not approve of adult education because he didn't believe in second chances. Second chances? If only it were that simple! What about all the missing first chances? And what about, as with many of us, as many chances as we require: to try, and hesitate; to try again and drop the ball; to fuck up, and finally succeed. To emerge from all that effort with either a new life, or at least a new outlook and a little empathy for everyone else's complications. This means that I may or may not be done writing blogs titled things like, "OUCHOUCHOUCH!" or "Eighth Day of this Hell!" But driving away was a cop-out, and there is a part of me that is glad I will stay and chance it.
[And, as if on cue, the wind starts howling a gale around the house.]
What else did I have going on today? Kids to the dentist at 8 AM, where they can choose to have their teeth cleaned with stuff flavored like cookie dough, cotton candy or marshmallow. The hygienists don't see the irony. Then to the rec, where I ran for just 30 minutes, but melted the rubber on the track. I kept trying to gear down to a slower pace, but it wasn't happening. I have decided to run the Salt Lake Half after all, so I am going to have to get the last 12 mile run in this weekend. Off to work, where I tried to get all the Monday/Wednesday names, applications, test papers and signatures to match up to actual people. Once I blogged about having too many Thu Thuy Phams... It was in fact the case that one lady was coming to the Tuesday/Thursday school as "Thuy Pham" and the Monday/Wednesday school as "Thu Thuy Pham". I had to tell her that she could be one person or the other, but not both.
Earthquake drill in the afternoon. One of the few perks of my executive status is that I get to climb out from under my desk and roam around the building checking for broken glass or hissing radiators or crocodiles rising from the sewers and stuff like that. Meanwhile my colleagues remain jammed under their desks. "Kate! can we get out, now?" "No! Stay crammed under that desk until I give the 'all clear'! There might be danger. I just have to check that the coffee pot is all right. Hold on - I need my mug." "KATE!" These drills are an eye-rolling good time. Our boss takes disaster preparedness of all kinds very seriously. She made Angie walk all the way around the building to check for "damage"; when Angie got back, our boss asked her if she had noticed anything amiss. "No, 'cuz it's all... PRETEND..."
Girls on the Run in the afternoon. Let me say that we are having a few motivational issues. I suppose that there are appropriate things to say to girls who won't even try to run, preferring to stroll arm in arm while gossiping. I have never been appropriate, so I run at them with both hands formed into lobster claws that administer real pinches if they come into contact with a girl's back. This results in screaming and sprinting. Even better results are to be had by telling the girls that they can pinch the stuffing out of me if they can catch me. I'll tell you what I want, though. This would be the bomb, if I knew where to get one. The fun I would have...
Oh, yeah...which is that I am happy. A while back, there was a Kate who would often pick up a radish and and see it as beautiful. She went away, and has finally returned.
Okay, why has she returned? The eyes of the reader narrow suspiciously. Hold on, despite the late hour, I need to fortify myself with a little Moose Tracks ice cream before I confess.
I made it to Day 21 in the 60-Day Detox, and I was prepared to go the distance. But CB wanted to talk with me and I allowed this conversation to happen. I did sit in my truck, pondering the correct course of action for about 45 minutes, but then there he was (for the first time in about six weeks), telling me (if I had to boil it down) that he was looking for a place to live, that he wants to be with me and he wants to know if I still want to be with him. There was a lot more in this conversation, but that was the executive summary.
I know. I KNOW! This is total destruction of the 60-Day Detox by way of the 6th Commandment: "No Backsliding". There is part of me that would have felt momentarily empowered by politely refusing to have this discussion and driving away. But. In the moment of decision I knew that I would regret driving away after the elation had worn off. And if I had, I don't think there would have been another chance to put things right. Now, I will still have the potential for LOTS and LOTS of regret. But also the potential to try and build a relationship with this man for whom my feelings have not faded ONE BIT in all this time. Despite the facts that he wanted me to try polyamory; that I cried all over Mario's sweater vest; that I gave away the Scotch and returned the packet watch; that I called him 2,500 bad names. I love this guy and I wait for his smile. And that makes me a fucking SAP! And a weakling! And if my friends are disgusted with me, remember that I will be roundly punished for this love in many, many ways: Simon; my children; my mom and my sister; my extended family; his extended family; my friends; my coworkers; my money; my kitchen; my CD collection... the list goes on and on. I get to start Thursday by telling my couselor, who already thinks I'm channeling the Bronte sisters. All of them.
Can I say two things, though?
One. I am trying to keep myself protected, and in doing so protect him, too. For the next little while, I need to be ready for him to change his mind, and he needs to feel like he can change it. This, I gleaned from Maria, who is NOT channeling any of the Bronte sisters. So, I'm straddling the fence, trying to discern whether I can tip one way into a different life; or the other way back into Detox. I don't plan to start from day one. If I am careful, I might be able to pick up at Day 21, where I left off. 'Cause I haven't got time for the pain. Someone should write a song about that.
And here's another thought about why I seem fated for this weakness: look at the business I'm in. My world is populated by people who have to keep trying over and over again to get what they need from life. I laughed at Utah Senator Howard Stephenson when he said that he did not approve of adult education because he didn't believe in second chances. Second chances? If only it were that simple! What about all the missing first chances? And what about, as with many of us, as many chances as we require: to try, and hesitate; to try again and drop the ball; to fuck up, and finally succeed. To emerge from all that effort with either a new life, or at least a new outlook and a little empathy for everyone else's complications. This means that I may or may not be done writing blogs titled things like, "OUCHOUCHOUCH!" or "Eighth Day of this Hell!" But driving away was a cop-out, and there is a part of me that is glad I will stay and chance it.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Speech and its Consequences
Boy, Howdy! I have a lot to blog about! I should have taken some time yesterday; but my day was insane, and then it was over. I will have to write yet more tonight, I think.
My friend Luz had a blog called "She Flies with Her Own Wings". This one should be called something like, "She blogs with a tuna sandwich in one hand".
Yesterday was the dreaded annual fundraising luncheon. As I predicted, Laura Guerrero brought the house down.
Here she is, being nervous and doing last-minute pronunciation mark-ups instead of eating. The student speaker is almost always too nervous to eat. Sometimes, depending on the speaker, I am also too nervous to eat. Not this time. I know this lady.
And, who wouldn't be nervous? There was quite a crowd. If you were giving your first-ever speech? And if it were in a language that you were just learning?
And of course, she totally nailed it. Great microphone control as well. We had done a sound-check before the guests arrived, but seven-foot-something Mark Eaton spoke right before she did, so she had to grab the thing and pull it back down.
OK, Laura, you can relax now. Even if you don't bother with the chicken salad, you really ought to try this chocolate cake... Here she is relaxing afterward with Team Guerrero-Cortez. Then the reporters attacked, so Laura is the darling of the Spanish-speaking media today.
And the speech with negative consequences?
*****
FUCK YOU! Yes F U C K YOU for making me feel this way. For reminding me every single day how you colonized my people, this land, the ethnic-biological make up of my skin and the skin of others who claim superiority. FUCK YOU! Fuck your institutions of higher learning that are fucking with my HEAD, my intellect, and the vivid experience of my lived reality. FUCK YOU for posing myself doubt, politics, bureaucracy in the ivory tower. THIS IS WHY I choose to continue to connect top MY community, to my BARRIO, the GHETTONESS YOU CREATED and has resulted in my anguish and resistance against YOU. FUCK You white supremacy and white privilege. FUCK YOU male patriarchy and machismo. You are MONSANTO, NAFTA, FREE TRADE, WHITENESS, RACISM, RAPIST of CULTURE, patriarch embodied in western literature, western foods colonizing and patenting biodiversity and humanness. EUGENICS, westerns Eurocentric through and SCIENCE. FUCK YOU, and please note, I have chosen to fight you, until the day I die, because I’ve had it. And even if you have kidnapped me and you are holding me captive in graduate school (YOUR INSTITUTION) I will fight you, even if all I can spit at you with my sharp tongue and fire blood is FUCK YOU!
no oppologies here, just ANGER
***
This is a Facebook rant by one of the graduate students in the College of Education at the U. The reverse racism there is so bad that my white coworker who is enrolled in the program actually feels physically unsafe. She got tired of feeling like she needed to apologize for being Czech. She tried to point out that there are many kinds of oppression; and that her family experienced WW II, Communism and then the Velvet Revolution. Let's just say that didn't go down well. Discussing political oppression would actually require knowledge of history. Screaming about racism is so much more gratifying, and any ignoramus can do it.
If I could say anything to the writer of this rant, it would be;
1. I agree with you about some if it. But screaming, "Fuck you!" at it doesn't make it go away. I wish I could just scream, "Fuck you!" at a BUNCH of stuff and make it go away. If only.
2. No one is holding you hostage in graduate school. Last time I checked, all you have to do to get sprung from that prison cell is to stop paying tuition.
3. My co-worker is so disgusted that she has decided to leave the university. She has been offered a full ride at University of Arizona, Flagstaff. One of the best linguistics programs in the country. She will have a fantastic time down there, since her primary interest is language revitalization. We were poring over her Navajo textbook late last night. And so I will lose her at the end of June. First, Anne, now Martina.
Question is, dear ranter, did this strike a death-blow to Monsanto?
Monday, April 4, 2011
Doctor Unapproachable
It is 1:39 AM. I slept all day today, so I have no idea why I am tired; but I know that as soon as my head hits the pillow, I will be asleep.
Saturday was pretty good! I felt fairly happy. Got household chores done, made a job offer, called a bunch of students for the new term, went out to dinner. The girl I saw in the mirror was smokin' HOT!
Today? Forget it. Thought about CB all day... when I was awake. That's why it was nice to stay asleep.
I remember altering my view of "progress" a couple years ago, when I was sick. I learned not to compare today with yesterday. Better to compare today with last week; in which case, I am doing better.
I had my appointment with Dr. Perfect the other day. The verdict on why Leftie hurts? I'm finally getting some feeling back on that side and I'm not used to it. For real? We spent a little time bullshitting each other, then I asked him about depression (although I hesitate to call what I have depression - can't I just be sad?) in cancer survivors. I asked whether he has had patients over the years who have struggled with depression a long while after the immediate problem has cleared up. I was hoping he would say, "Yes. Happens all the time."
He looked stumped! It was kind of funny to see him at a loss. "Well, could be. But people don't talk to me much about how they feel. I mean psychologically."
He is a very intimidating person in some ways. Friendly and polite, yes. Kindly, no. A little too handsome. A little too suave. He does not invite confidences. He has a softer side, but it is well varnished over.
I remember when I was in the hospital...for...the mastectomy I guess. One of those times. I was WAY drugged up when he stopped in on his rounds. He POPPED in the door and cried, "HI THERE, MS. KATE!" Scared the hell out of me! I hollered ("AIGH!!") and jumped, which hurt; which made me holler again. Which made him holler. He learned his lesson about popping out at me, though. The next time I was an in-patient, I remember he did his rounds very late at night. I was trying to sleep, but not succeeding because... well, my chest hurt and hospitals are just not all that restful, y'know? I was lying there in jthe light from the street outside when he tiptoed in.
"Hey, Doc."
He whispered, "Hey, Ms. Kate. Still awake?"
"Does anyone really sleep in the hospital? You're here late."
"Yeah, I went up to the U. to swim laps in the pool."
"Ah. That's why I smell chlorine."
He didn't turn the light on: just checked to make sure that the bandages were in the right place, and that I hadn't been disobedient and removed the goddamn pressure stockings. I called him a TED Hose Nazi once. He didn't think it was funny.
"Do you like the new bra I got you for your lingerie collection?"
This was a long-running joke between us - I would always wake up with a new, hospital issue bra.
"Sexy! Thanks!"
"Look!" He pointed out a tiny bit of embroidery. "It even has a flower!"
I guess I'm trying to say that he can be a regular human; but it's important not to be too deferential.
He has occasionally told me that I am one of his favorite patients because I tell him what I really think. This might be because my dad was a doctor, so I know that when he's done being Mr. Hot-Shot Plastic Surgeon, he goes home and watches reality TV shows or trims his nose hairs or something.
In this case, though, he was nonplussed.
"Do you need me to refer you to someone for counseling?"
"No, I'm seeing someone, thank you."
"I could write you a prescription for something...."
"Thanks, but no. I really don't want to do that."
"Well, that's good." He looked relieved. "Too many people popping 'Sandy candy' as it is."
We agreed that I would see him in July for a graft procedure; but until then, I'm good, unless my mammo comes back lumpy.
After he left, his nurse Patty came to stand beside me while I got dressed.
"His patients don't talk to him much. But I can tell you what I see. It's you tough girls that end up with this problem. All through the treatments and the surgeries, you say, 'I'm good! I'm fine!' Then you crash a couple years later. He doesn't see it, but it is a pattern." Wow. Patty thinks I'm a tough girl. Pffft.
You would think I would know by now: talk to the nurses. They are the ones who know.
Saturday was pretty good! I felt fairly happy. Got household chores done, made a job offer, called a bunch of students for the new term, went out to dinner. The girl I saw in the mirror was smokin' HOT!
Today? Forget it. Thought about CB all day... when I was awake. That's why it was nice to stay asleep.
I remember altering my view of "progress" a couple years ago, when I was sick. I learned not to compare today with yesterday. Better to compare today with last week; in which case, I am doing better.
I had my appointment with Dr. Perfect the other day. The verdict on why Leftie hurts? I'm finally getting some feeling back on that side and I'm not used to it. For real? We spent a little time bullshitting each other, then I asked him about depression (although I hesitate to call what I have depression - can't I just be sad?) in cancer survivors. I asked whether he has had patients over the years who have struggled with depression a long while after the immediate problem has cleared up. I was hoping he would say, "Yes. Happens all the time."
He looked stumped! It was kind of funny to see him at a loss. "Well, could be. But people don't talk to me much about how they feel. I mean psychologically."
He is a very intimidating person in some ways. Friendly and polite, yes. Kindly, no. A little too handsome. A little too suave. He does not invite confidences. He has a softer side, but it is well varnished over.
I remember when I was in the hospital...for...the mastectomy I guess. One of those times. I was WAY drugged up when he stopped in on his rounds. He POPPED in the door and cried, "HI THERE, MS. KATE!" Scared the hell out of me! I hollered ("AIGH!!") and jumped, which hurt; which made me holler again. Which made him holler. He learned his lesson about popping out at me, though. The next time I was an in-patient, I remember he did his rounds very late at night. I was trying to sleep, but not succeeding because... well, my chest hurt and hospitals are just not all that restful, y'know? I was lying there in jthe light from the street outside when he tiptoed in.
"Hey, Doc."
He whispered, "Hey, Ms. Kate. Still awake?"
"Does anyone really sleep in the hospital? You're here late."
"Yeah, I went up to the U. to swim laps in the pool."
"Ah. That's why I smell chlorine."
He didn't turn the light on: just checked to make sure that the bandages were in the right place, and that I hadn't been disobedient and removed the goddamn pressure stockings. I called him a TED Hose Nazi once. He didn't think it was funny.
"Do you like the new bra I got you for your lingerie collection?"
This was a long-running joke between us - I would always wake up with a new, hospital issue bra.
"Sexy! Thanks!"
"Look!" He pointed out a tiny bit of embroidery. "It even has a flower!"
I guess I'm trying to say that he can be a regular human; but it's important not to be too deferential.
He has occasionally told me that I am one of his favorite patients because I tell him what I really think. This might be because my dad was a doctor, so I know that when he's done being Mr. Hot-Shot Plastic Surgeon, he goes home and watches reality TV shows or trims his nose hairs or something.
In this case, though, he was nonplussed.
"Do you need me to refer you to someone for counseling?"
"No, I'm seeing someone, thank you."
"I could write you a prescription for something...."
"Thanks, but no. I really don't want to do that."
"Well, that's good." He looked relieved. "Too many people popping 'Sandy candy' as it is."
We agreed that I would see him in July for a graft procedure; but until then, I'm good, unless my mammo comes back lumpy.
After he left, his nurse Patty came to stand beside me while I got dressed.
"His patients don't talk to him much. But I can tell you what I see. It's you tough girls that end up with this problem. All through the treatments and the surgeries, you say, 'I'm good! I'm fine!' Then you crash a couple years later. He doesn't see it, but it is a pattern." Wow. Patty thinks I'm a tough girl. Pffft.
You would think I would know by now: talk to the nurses. They are the ones who know.
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