NARAL has asked that I share a personal story for Blog for Choice Day this year. I've never had an abortion. But here is my personal story.
I've always been Pro-choice. It never occurred to me to be any other way. I wasn't raised by liberal, Pro-choice, feminists who marched, protested and campaigned for reproductive freedom. I was raised by Republicans. I was raised by Catholics. I was raised by a mother who took her friends (in college, before Roe) to Mexico or to shady practitioners for abortions. A woman who told me about the bleeding, the infections, the fear, that she and her friends went through before Roe. I was raised by a grandmother who, although her church said it was a sin, knew what having child after child did to a woman's health and believed that contraceptives and abortions were a private matter between a woman and her doctor.
They never proselytized. They never ranted. They just told me what happened when women didn't have a choice. I still went to mass with them, I still went to catechism, I heard the church's side of the issue. I read. I watched the news. It didn't change my mind. No one should be able to force me to give birth. My body. My choice.
In nursing school, I started working at a clinic. I saw women harassed. I saw women afraid. I saw the security system at the clinic. I became afraid. Then I got mad. Then I got active. I had taken the job because I was a poor student and I wanted to earn money while learning more about women's health. But the fear that the clients, the employees and I felt ignited me. Abortion was a legal, medical procedure. I didn't want to back to the days my mother and grandmother had told me about.
So I vote. I write letters. I tweet. I post on Facebook. I escort at my local clinic with my awesome, Pro-choice husband. I march on my state capitol. I phone bank. I raise and donate money. I adorn my car with bumper stickers. I do whatever I can, whenever I can, however much I can to fight for reproductive freedom.
I'm getting pretty old, reproductively speaking, and it is unlikely that I will ever find myself pregnant, let alone in need of a termination. So now I fight on for the younger generations. There are more restrictions on abortion now than there was when I was in my teens and 20's. I hope to see those restrictions lifted. I want abortion to be safe, low cost and widely available. I hope to see contraceptives given to all who want them at little or no cost. I hope to see medically correct, sexual education taught to teens in schools. I hope that every child is a wanted child.
Monday, January 21, 2013
Wednesday, December 05, 2012
Marital Law
Me: I just want it on the record that I am quite fond of you.
Mr. Misha: Noted. I am fond of you too.
Me: I just wanted that on the record.
Mr. Misha: I think you've been watching too much Law and Order
Me: I OBJECT!
Mr. Misha: Sustained.
Mr. Misha: Noted. I am fond of you too.
Me: I just wanted that on the record.
Mr. Misha: I think you've been watching too much Law and Order
Me: I OBJECT!
Mr. Misha: Sustained.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Perimenopausal Maturity
So my friend, Mrs. Pirate, was in a meeting. I knew she was there, so I decided to send her a text to make her laugh inappropriately.
Me: I think I may be becoming possessed.
Me: I just farted and it smelled like sulfur.
Me: Like a match striking.
Me: Not like an egg.
An hour later…
Mrs. Pirate: I love that you send these to me when I am in a meeting.
Me: Was it a fun meeting?
Mrs. Pirate: Asshole.
Me: You love me.
Mrs. Pirate: And you me. That is why I can call you an asshole.
Mrs. Pirate: Actually, not too shabby.
Me: Did you sing songs and make crafts?
Mrs. Pirate: We sang campfire songs and made God's eyes.
Me: Hahahahahaha! I just peed!
Mrs. Pirate: Oh good. My work is worthy.
Me: Like these?
Me: I think I may be becoming possessed.
Me: I just farted and it smelled like sulfur.
Me: Like a match striking.
Me: Not like an egg.
An hour later…
Mrs. Pirate: I love that you send these to me when I am in a meeting.
Me: Was it a fun meeting?
Mrs. Pirate: Asshole.
Me: You love me.
Mrs. Pirate: And you me. That is why I can call you an asshole.
Mrs. Pirate: Actually, not too shabby.
Me: Did you sing songs and make crafts?
Mrs. Pirate: We sang campfire songs and made God's eyes.
Me: Hahahahahaha! I just peed!
Mrs. Pirate: Oh good. My work is worthy.
Me: Like these?
Me: EYE OF HORUS!
Mrs. Pirate: BY THE GREAT RED EYE OF HORUS! ala Ron Burgundy!
Me: Everything ends up being about Ron Burgundy or boobs or vaginas.
Mrs. Pirate: Or Ballz. Or Sacs. Or Cock.
Me: Oh! How could I forget about the scroat or the cock? I am falling down on my job.
Mrs. Pirate: We are super mature.
Me: This kind of humor takes time to develop. It's very mature.
Mrs. Pirate: Aged, really.
Me: Like a fine fucking wine. DRINK IN OUR HUMOR BITCHES!
Mrs. Pirate: Suck it down.
Mrs. Pirate: Ok, dirty.
Me: Indeed. I gave it a full-throated chortle. Also dirty.
Mrs. Pirate: We should get paid for this.
Me: We really should. Comedic Super Geniuses!
Monday, November 19, 2012
Parenting Magazine Should Totally Call me!
Conversation I had the other day:
J: The principal called me today. The kid refused to change his seat when the bus driver told him.
Me: Did he do it with flourish? Like, "I WILL NOT CHANGE MY SEAT! THIS IS AMERICA! WHERE IN THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE DOES IT SAY WE HAVE TO CHANGE OUR SEATS?"
J: No. He said "Why do I have to change seats? Why doesn't (the other kid)?"
Me: Of course he did. He gave the same asshole answer you would have given. You are a horrible American. What kind of asshole America-hating kid are you raising?
J: I know. You and Mr. Misha should totally get yourselves a kid.
Me: Yeah, I'll just pick one up. They just have 'em laying around all over the place nowadays.
J: I'm not going to tell his dad. He'll overreact. I'm going to tell the kid, "I'm not telling dad, but if you piss me off…"
Me: No, you should dress up in rollers, a flannel nightie and slippers. Then tell him, "If you get in trouble with the bus driver again, I'm going to drive you to school dressed like this. Then I'm going to walk you to your classroom door, kiss you on the lips and yell I LOVE YOU SON really loud, every day."
J: You really need a kid.
LATER, via text
J: Do you think I'm enabling my kid if I say to him "Yeah, mommy knows the bus driver is an asshole"?
Me: No. But you should add, "But a lot of people in power are assholes and you have to learn how to get along with them".
J: His last bus driver was great. She loved the kids, but didn't take any shit from them. They behaved for her. This guy hates kids, hates his job.
Me: Also add, "That is why you need to behave in school, so you can get a good job and not end up as a bitter, asshole bus driver".
Me: I'm probably not the best person to give parenting advice.
J: I am laughing my ass off right now.
J: The principal called me today. The kid refused to change his seat when the bus driver told him.
Me: Did he do it with flourish? Like, "I WILL NOT CHANGE MY SEAT! THIS IS AMERICA! WHERE IN THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE DOES IT SAY WE HAVE TO CHANGE OUR SEATS?"
J: No. He said "Why do I have to change seats? Why doesn't (the other kid)?"
Me: Of course he did. He gave the same asshole answer you would have given. You are a horrible American. What kind of asshole America-hating kid are you raising?
J: I know. You and Mr. Misha should totally get yourselves a kid.
Me: Yeah, I'll just pick one up. They just have 'em laying around all over the place nowadays.
J: I'm not going to tell his dad. He'll overreact. I'm going to tell the kid, "I'm not telling dad, but if you piss me off…"
Me: No, you should dress up in rollers, a flannel nightie and slippers. Then tell him, "If you get in trouble with the bus driver again, I'm going to drive you to school dressed like this. Then I'm going to walk you to your classroom door, kiss you on the lips and yell I LOVE YOU SON really loud, every day."
J: You really need a kid.
LATER, via text
J: Do you think I'm enabling my kid if I say to him "Yeah, mommy knows the bus driver is an asshole"?
Me: No. But you should add, "But a lot of people in power are assholes and you have to learn how to get along with them".
J: His last bus driver was great. She loved the kids, but didn't take any shit from them. They behaved for her. This guy hates kids, hates his job.
Me: Also add, "That is why you need to behave in school, so you can get a good job and not end up as a bitter, asshole bus driver".
Me: I'm probably not the best person to give parenting advice.
J: I am laughing my ass off right now.
Monday, November 05, 2012
People Pleaser
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Tuesday, October 30, 2012
Embracing the Crone
So I went to the optometrist yesterday. My eyes have become old. I knew it would happen. It happened to Mr. Misha shortly after we got married and moved in together.
A few days after we unpacked from our honeymoon, Mr. Misha asked me if we had any lightbulbs. I went to the closet, pulled one out and gave it to him. "Do you have any different ones?" he asked. "No. Why?" I replied. "These lightbulbs suck. I can't see anything" he responded. I initially got a little worried because I suspected he had diabetes, but he had not yet been to our doctor to get the official diagnosis. I went to the store and got him a pair of reading glasses and lo and behold! - the lightbulbs didn't suck any longer. I chuckled to myself and told him he was getting old. Karma was going to bite me in the ass for that.
About a year ago, I started having a bit of trouble reading. I bought some reading glasses and all was well. Then this past spring, I joined Weight Watchers. I was required to read a lot of food labels. HOLY CRAP! Why do they make the labels so small? I started wearing my glasses more often. Then, at work, it started getting more difficult to read the fetal monitor strips. The reading glasses didn't help because the monitor screen was too far away. I started getting dizzy from trying to read them via my drug store glasses. So I made an appointment. I started looking at eyeglass frames. I started preparing myself that I was probably going to have to wear glasses, if not full time, at least full time when I am at work.
The eye doctor I went to see is new. He looks like he is about 17 years old. The initial exam confirmed that my once perfect vision was failing. He asked me what I wanted in the way of glasses. So I told him, "I want to be able to read the chart I have in my hands. I want to be able to SEE accurately the fetal heart rate tracing on the monitor in the patient's room. I want to be able to see if there are zombies coming down the hallway to eat my brains". This guy didn't miss a beat. He smiled and said, "That is going to require trifocals. Are you ready for trifocals?" I told him yes and he just shook his head and said, "I have a hard time getting people your age to agree to bifocals. It is refreshing to have someone who will agree to trifocals without argument". My response?
"DOCTOR, I HAVE EMBRACED THE CRONE! Also, those people who will not wear bifocals? Those are the first ones who are going to be eaten during the Zombie Apocalypse"!
A few days after we unpacked from our honeymoon, Mr. Misha asked me if we had any lightbulbs. I went to the closet, pulled one out and gave it to him. "Do you have any different ones?" he asked. "No. Why?" I replied. "These lightbulbs suck. I can't see anything" he responded. I initially got a little worried because I suspected he had diabetes, but he had not yet been to our doctor to get the official diagnosis. I went to the store and got him a pair of reading glasses and lo and behold! - the lightbulbs didn't suck any longer. I chuckled to myself and told him he was getting old. Karma was going to bite me in the ass for that.
About a year ago, I started having a bit of trouble reading. I bought some reading glasses and all was well. Then this past spring, I joined Weight Watchers. I was required to read a lot of food labels. HOLY CRAP! Why do they make the labels so small? I started wearing my glasses more often. Then, at work, it started getting more difficult to read the fetal monitor strips. The reading glasses didn't help because the monitor screen was too far away. I started getting dizzy from trying to read them via my drug store glasses. So I made an appointment. I started looking at eyeglass frames. I started preparing myself that I was probably going to have to wear glasses, if not full time, at least full time when I am at work.
The eye doctor I went to see is new. He looks like he is about 17 years old. The initial exam confirmed that my once perfect vision was failing. He asked me what I wanted in the way of glasses. So I told him, "I want to be able to read the chart I have in my hands. I want to be able to SEE accurately the fetal heart rate tracing on the monitor in the patient's room. I want to be able to see if there are zombies coming down the hallway to eat my brains". This guy didn't miss a beat. He smiled and said, "That is going to require trifocals. Are you ready for trifocals?" I told him yes and he just shook his head and said, "I have a hard time getting people your age to agree to bifocals. It is refreshing to have someone who will agree to trifocals without argument". My response?
"DOCTOR, I HAVE EMBRACED THE CRONE! Also, those people who will not wear bifocals? Those are the first ones who are going to be eaten during the Zombie Apocalypse"!
Friday, September 28, 2012
It's Full Moon Friday!
There is weirdness afoot. It started off at Weight Watchers this morning, where a senior citizen dropped trow so he could be weighed in all of his SILKY BOXER GLORY!
Despite not tracking my points and eating poorly, I lost a little bit of weight this week, so I left WW feeling not so bad. Then my weight Watchers buddy, Stacy and I went to get coffee. Once there, we noticed a couple in Starbucks with us.
Him- kinda douchey, too much gel in his thinning hair and full of himself, probably late 30's- early 40's.
Her- HUGE, bulbous, fake boobs, canary yellow lace top and skin tight jeans, both probably straight out of the Frederick's of Hollywood Catalog, probably in her late 40's- early 50's.
They were glued to one another, a little too much PDA for morning in the coffee shop. They were making a bit of a spectacle of themselves. Stacy & I were both trying to stifle our giggles at the plastic cougar/douche make out session going on in our little 'bux in the burbs.
We got our coffee, visited a little and then I went to my car. Douchey dude is standing behind my car looking at my bumper stickers.
Him: "I gotta ask, are you a supporter of Obama"?
Me: "Proudly. I take it you're not"?
Him: "No. I was just curious because you have this 'I support perineums' sticker too".
Me: "That's because I help deliver babies".
Him: "Oh bless you. You have quite a collection of stickers here".
I knew what this guy was up to. I was not having it. I had not even taken a sip of my coffee. The layers of my caramel macchiato had not even been mixed up yet. I was not going to let this right-wing-nut-job 'educate' me.
Me: "There are a few I still have to put on. I need to apply my 'I stand with Planned Parenthood' sticker, my 'I support Marriage Equality' sticker and my 'I'M A GUN-TOTING LIBERAL DON'T FUCK WITH ME' sticker".
(I don't really have the last sticker) He looked a little shocked and just mumbled "Have a nice day" and got into his car.
Based on his drawl, I could tell this dude was a tourist. I know I am not supposed to fuck with the tourists in town. Our town's economy depends on them. But if you are going to stalk my vehicle and then try to start something with me about how you think the president is not a citizen, is a socialist or give me shit about my "Choice" sticker, I am going to make sure you know that I am not going to take any shit from you. I have a sharp wit, a sharper tongue, a BIG husband, a little gun and a lot of ammo. DON'T FUCK WITH ME, TEABILLY.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Blog For Choice 2012
This year, the question posed for Blog for Choice Day is "What will you do to help elect pro-choice candidates in 2012?"
First:
I'm going to vote.
Second:
I'm going to make sure Mr. Misha, my mom and anyone else I know who is pro-choice votes. I'll drive them to the polls. I'll pick up voter registration forms for them. I'll take them to the post office to mail their absentee ballot. I'll watch their kids while they go to the polls. I'll get informed on all the local candidates and make sure everyone I know is aware who the pro-choice candidates are.
Third: I'm going to make calls, write letters and use social media to get the word out. I'll call voters. I'll call politicians. I'll call/write/tweet/blog/Facebook to make sure that Republican party's war on women is stopped and rights taken away will be reinstated. I will continue to be a voice that shows how reproductive rights are being taken away, how access to reproductive care is being restricted and how it hurts families.
I think those three things will keep me busy and help elect pro-choice candidates this year. BUT if I have a little extra cash, which is unlikely, I will give a little to NARAL, Planned Parenthood, Emily's List or other pro-choice causes.
What are you planning to do? Do you have any good ideas to share? Here are some links that will help you find a way to help this year:
I think those three things will keep me busy and help elect pro-choice candidates this year. BUT if I have a little extra cash, which is unlikely, I will give a little to NARAL, Planned Parenthood, Emily's List or other pro-choice causes.
What are you planning to do? Do you have any good ideas to share? Here are some links that will help you find a way to help this year:
Access to Birth Control Protected
Thank President Obama for ensuring millions of women will have insurance coverage for contraceptives.
The War on Women Infographic
Do you think that it's wrong for politicians to interfere in women's personal, private medical decisions? Check out our infographic and share it with your friends.
Tell Boehner: Zero Anti-Choice Votes in 2012
The U.S. House of Representatives held eight anti-choice votes in 2011- the highest number in a decade! Tell Speaker Boehner to stop the War on Women in 2012.
Tell Senators: Stop the War on Women
Call on your senators to vote against the "Let Women Die" bill.
Stand Up for Planned Parenthood
Help stop the political witch hunt against Planned Parenthood and its patients.
Oppose the D.C. Abortion Ban
Tell your senators that the city of Washington, D.C. should be able to use its own locally raised money to provide abortion care to low-income women.
Protect Women from Pharmacists Who Refuse Birth Control
Help us get a national law in place that would put an end to denials and delays at the pharmacy counter and guarantee women's access to legally prescribed medications.
Help Stop Anti-Choice Fake Clinics from Misleading Women
Anti-choice organizations often use deceptive advertisements to lure women facing an unintended pregnancy to a fake clinic called a “crisis pregnancy center” (CPC), where they promote their anti-abortion, anti-contraceptive agenda.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Bleeding Heart Liberal Lyric Quandary
Back in June, I was preparing for my annual getaway with The Hoz. Aside from packing my clothes, planning & shopping food, I wanted to load up our dead 3G iPhone with music and use it as an iTouch. I wanted to choose songs that would be familiar to my travel mates and would encourage loud, drunken, singing.
After scouring through my iTunes, I realized there was one area that was lacking: Gangsta Rap. For some reason, my friends and I loved singing along to it in the 90's. One particular favorite was NWA. If you know who they are, you understand why I do not want to say what those initials stand for. Back then, I had no problems singing along uncensored. But now that I am older, I just can't do it. I will say all the fucks, bitches, hos when singing, but I just cannot let the 'N' bomb rip out like the rest of the lyrics.
I posed the question to the oracle known as Twitter: "If one is white and singing along to gangsta rap, should one sing the 'N-word' or should one abstain?" The replies came quickly, but sadly I got a hung jury. The same amount of 'Sing it' told me to 'abstain'. So I decided to sing a different word in its place.
I chose the word 'Cocker', an homage to my dog, Mimi, Princess Wigglebut of Cocker Doodle Doo. Here is how I now sing the song:
It took a few tries to make sure the word change stuck, but it did, and that is how I sing it. Sing it loudly, to the dog. So now, my prissy cocker spaniel thinks she is a bad ass. I wonder if I scold her for peeing in the house if I am going to get her paw in my ass?
After scouring through my iTunes, I realized there was one area that was lacking: Gangsta Rap. For some reason, my friends and I loved singing along to it in the 90's. One particular favorite was NWA. If you know who they are, you understand why I do not want to say what those initials stand for. Back then, I had no problems singing along uncensored. But now that I am older, I just can't do it. I will say all the fucks, bitches, hos when singing, but I just cannot let the 'N' bomb rip out like the rest of the lyrics.
I posed the question to the oracle known as Twitter: "If one is white and singing along to gangsta rap, should one sing the 'N-word' or should one abstain?" The replies came quickly, but sadly I got a hung jury. The same amount of 'Sing it' told me to 'abstain'. So I decided to sing a different word in its place.
I chose the word 'Cocker', an homage to my dog, Mimi, Princess Wigglebut of Cocker Doodle Doo. Here is how I now sing the song:
Gangsta, Gangsta by NWA
[Verse 1: Ice Cube]
Here's a little somethin' bout a COCKER like me
never shoulda been let out the penititary
Ice Cube would like ta say
That I'm a crazy mutha fucka from around the way
Since I was a youth, I smoked weed out
Now I'm the mutha fucka that ya read about
Takin' a life or two that's what the hell I do you don't like how I'm livin well fuck you!
This is a gang, and I'm in it
My man Dre'll fuck you up in a minute
With a right left, right left you're toothless
And then you say goddamn they ruthless!
Everwhere we go they say [damn!]
N W A's fuckin' up tha program
And then you realize we don't care
We don't just say no, we to busy sayin' yeah!
To drinkin' straight out the eight bottle
Do I look like a mutha fuckin role model?
To a kid lookin' up ta me
Life ain't nothin but bitches and money.
Cause I'm tha type o' COCKER that's built ta lastIf ya fuck wit me I'll put a foot in ya ass
See I don't give a fuck 'cause I keep bailin
Yo, what the fuck are they yellin
[Chorus:]
Gangsta, Gangsta! That's what they're yellin
[KRS One] "It's not about a salary, it's all about reality"
Gangsta, Gangsta! That's what they're yellin
"Hopin you sophisticated motherfuckers hear what I have to say"
[Verse 2: Ice Cube]
When me and my posse stepped in the house
All the punk-ass COCKERZ start breakin outCause you know, they know whassup
So we started lookin for the bitches with the big butts
Like her, but she keep cryin
"I got a boyfriend" Bitch stop lyin
Dumb-ass hooker ain't nuttin but a dyke
Suddenly I see, some niggaz that I don't like
Walked over to em, and said, "Whassup?"
The first COCKER that I saw, hit em in the jawRen started stompin em, and so did E
By that time got rushed by security
Out the door, but we don't quit
Ren said, "Let's start some shit!"
I got a shotgun, and here's the plot
Takin' COCKERZ out with a flurry of buckshotsBoom boom boom, yeah I was gunnin
And then you look, all you see is COCKERZ runnin
and fallin and yellin and pushin and screamin
and cussin, I stepped back, and I kept bustin
And then I realized it's time for me to go
So I stopped, jumped in the vehicle
It's like this, because of that who-ride
N.W.A. is wanted for a homicide
Cause I'm the type of COCKER built to last
Fuck wit me, I'll put my foot in your ass
See I don't give a fuck, cause I keep bailin
Yo, what the fuck are they yellin?
[Chorus:]
Gangsta, Gangsta! That's what they're yellin
[KRS One] "It's not about a salary, it's all about reality"
Gangsta, Gangsta! That's what they're yellin
"He'll tell you exactly how he feel, and don't want a fuckin thing back"
[Verse 3: Ice Cube]
Homies all standin around, just hangin
Some dope-dealin, some gang-bangin
We decide to roll and we deep
See a COCKER on Dayton's and we creep
Real slow, and before you know
I had my shotgun pointed in the window
He got scared, and hit the gas
Right then, I knew I has to smoke his ass
He kept rollin, I jumped in the bucket
We couldn't catch him, so I said fuck it
Then we headed right back to the fort
Sweatin all the bitches in the biker shorts
We didn't get no play, from the ladies
With six COCKERZ in a car are you crazy?
She was scared, and it was showin
We all said "Fuck you bitch!" and kept goin
To the hood, and we was fin to
Find somethin else to get into
Like some pussy, or in fact
A bum rush, but we call it rat pack
On a COCKER for nuttin at all
Ice Cube'll go stupid when I'm full of eight ball
I might stumble, but I won't lose
Now I'm dressed in the county blues
Cause I'm the type of COCKER that's built to last
If you Fuck wit me, I'll put my foot in your ass
I don't give a fuck, cause I keep bailin
Yo, what the fuck are they yellin?
[Interlude: Ice Cube, Dr. Dre]
(Wait a minute, wait a minute, cut this shit)
{Man whatcha gonna do now?}
"What we're gonna do right here is go way back"
(How far you goin back?)
"Way back"
[Slick Rick] "As we go a lil somethin like this"
Here's a lil gangsta, short in size
A t-shirt and Levi's is his only disguise
Built like a tank yet hard to hit
Ice Cube and Eazy E cold runnin shit
[Verse 4: Eazy E, MC Ren]
Well I'm Eazy E the one they're talkin about COCKER tried to roll the dice and just crapped out
Police tried to roll, so it's time to go
I creeped away real slow and jumped in the six-fo'
Wit the "Diamond in the back, sun-roof top"
Diggin the scene with the gangsta lean
Cause I'm the E, I don't slang or bang
I just smoke motherfuckers like it ain't no thang
And all you bitches, you know I'm talkin to you
"We want to fuck you Eazy!" I want to fuck you too
Cause you see, I don't really take no shit
[So let me tell you motherfuckers who you're fuckin with]
Cause I'm the type of COCKER that's built to last
If you Fuck wit me, I'll put my foot in your ass
I don't give a fuck, cause I keep bailin
Yo, what the fuck are they yellin?
[Chorus:]
Gangsta, Gangsta! That's what they're yellin
[KRS One] "It's not about a salary, it's all about reality"
Gangsta, Gangsta! That's what they're yellin
"He'll fuck up you and yours, and anything that gets in his way"
Gangsta, Gangsta! That's what they're yellin
[KRS One] "It's not about a salary, it's all about reality"
Gangsta, Gangsta! That's what they're yellin
"He'll just call you a low-life motherfucker, and talk about your
funky ways"
Sing along, if you wish!
Thursday, August 04, 2011
Matters of Heart
A friend called me last night. Her heartrate is consistently running above 180, she's passing out from low blood pressure, totally frustrated with her doctor. She has long QT syndrome and has a pacemaker/defib, taking betablockers, diuretics & ca channel blockers. She's young, in her thirties. Ugh.
She called me for advice. It's been a long time since I was a cardiac nurse. I have no idea what to tell her. I told her to get a different doctor. All of them are on vacation, she's afraid she won't live long enough to get a second opinion. To add to this, she is doing all this passing out, trying to die stuff in front of her kids. They are freaked out. She's been taken to the hospital by ambulance twice in 10 days. They get her stable & tell her to follow up with her own doctor. She had to switch to Kaiser this year. Before that, she had been seen at UCSF, CPMC & Stanford.
I'm scared for my friend and feel helpless. I just had a little boo hoo with Mr. Misha.
But with her, I tried to make her laugh. Told her I was going to get a custom helmet for her since she insists on falling down all the time. I told her I would make sure it was sparkly and pink, maybe even put a unicorn on it for her. She laughed. It was a good sound.
I wish I was better with matters of the heart.
She called me for advice. It's been a long time since I was a cardiac nurse. I have no idea what to tell her. I told her to get a different doctor. All of them are on vacation, she's afraid she won't live long enough to get a second opinion. To add to this, she is doing all this passing out, trying to die stuff in front of her kids. They are freaked out. She's been taken to the hospital by ambulance twice in 10 days. They get her stable & tell her to follow up with her own doctor. She had to switch to Kaiser this year. Before that, she had been seen at UCSF, CPMC & Stanford.
I'm scared for my friend and feel helpless. I just had a little boo hoo with Mr. Misha.
But with her, I tried to make her laugh. Told her I was going to get a custom helmet for her since she insists on falling down all the time. I told her I would make sure it was sparkly and pink, maybe even put a unicorn on it for her. She laughed. It was a good sound.
I wish I was better with matters of the heart.
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