Archive for September, 2004

Thursday, September 16th, 2004

I haven’t written this week as I figured no one needs to hear my whining. Every post I have saved as a draft was a pile of complaining.

But, now that I’m on the mend, I’ll explain what has been going on. Pain is a way of life for me, for almost six years I’ve had constant pain in my back, hip and left leg. I deal with it. I’ve adjusted how I live and move, I gave into using a cane and wheelchair to be mobile, I’ve accepted it.

Like I said, it is part of my life. Well, since JournalCon it has gotten worse. I had a different kind of pain in my left hip. It was no longer the normal dull meow, it was a screaming, stabbing, damnit do I have jagged metal in the place of my hip, type of pain.

For a couple days, I dealt, then it got to the point I could barely walk three steps, with my cane. Last night, I hit the wall. Nothing I was doing was helping, I couldn’t sit, it hurt, can’t stand, it hurt worse, laying down made it worse.

I ended up doing some relaxing breathing (Lamaze type breathing, actually) to work through it. The pain wasn’t getting any better, in fact, I ended up laying awake, crying for almost an hour trying to wish it away.

Eventually, exhaustion got me and I fell asleep. When I woke up, today it was even worse. Now, we don’t have insurance, Tony’s a student, I’m a housewife, we don’t have it. Nor did we have the cash upfront for a doctor’s visit and there are no doctors around that will take payments.

Off we went to the Emergency Room. Yes, I know in the long run it will cost us more but, when it comes down to having food for a couple of weeks or paying a doctor’s visit, well, you have to have food to live.

The closest hospital to us is about a 45 minute drive away, we headed up there, drove through Burger King to eat as I have not been up to cooking and we knew by the time we got out of there it would be late and we would be starving.

We got there, Tony wheeled me inside to fill out the paperwork to even be triaged, while he parked the van over in the parking deck (which is a good thing as I do not like parking decks.) I waited just over an hour to be triaged, and after they triaged me I was sent right back to a room, which in this hospital, never happens.

A nurse came in to get me settled, debating the merits of having me move to the bed vs staying in my chair. Before we decided on that the Physician’s Assistant was there. She had me stand up, while she checked out my back.

I was leaning on Tony and the nurse (mainly Tony as I know he won’t break and I really don’t want to hurt a nurse) when the PA poked down the center of my lower back. Unfortunately she was pushing on the spots of my back that no one is allowed near. If you touch this part of my back, I scream.

And, I did. There’s no stopping it, I’ve tried to control it but even nominal pressure there sends shockwaves of pain through me. She looked at my hip, then ordered xrays, pain meds, and a muscle relaxer.

I took the pills, got shipped to xray, where they twisted me in a billion different ways, not a one of them in the least bit comfortable, then left me, flat on my back on the xray table.

Now, laying like that, just hurts on a normal day, by that point I was breathing so quick I thought I was going to pass out.

Then, they had to redo the xrays as they weren’t coming out well.

After the second xray they had to start waiting a minute or two between each one as it was overheating. The one thing you don’t want to hear when you’re being xrayed is that the big, radiation thing above you is overheating. I mean, Jesus, what in the hell is causing that and am I going to end up getting a megadose of scary shit and mutating?

When they were waiting for this set to be checked, again, flat on my back on the torture table. By now, I know they could hear me breathing and know how much pain I’m in. I ended up flipping to my good side and waiting out.

Back onto the stretcher, only know the back is at straight up, it’s way in the air (xray tables are much higher than a stretcher) and one guy is pushing me back with the stretcher this high up. Of course, with the stretcher in this position, he’s having a hell of a time controlling it and I got to see several walls up close and personal.

I’m back in the room for a little while watching bad television, when the PA comes back, tells me there is nothing new on the xrays, it’s from the nerve issues, I get more pain meds, a few prescriptions and sent on my way.

I’m contacting a teaching hospital in VA to see if I can get into their program so I can see a doctor regularly, possible physical therapy, and get into their pain clinic. I can’t risk another week like this past one, I really and truly hit the final wall of pain for me and just couldn’t deal with it.

It sucks living in the US without any health insurance. Doctors demand payment upfront, specialists are outrageously expensive, medications are to the point that even with insurance many are screwed. I haven’t been taking care of my health issues due to this. I coast on over the counter drugs, and those given to me by others.

My life, no, our life has suffered for it. There are many times when we have plans and I just can’t do it. There are days when I can barely move at all due to it. I’m missing out on life because of pain and lack of insurance.

And, I don’t have it as bad as many people. I have a very supportive husband. He takes care of so much more than he should have to, in order to help me. I have chronic pain due to degenerative disc disease and the subsequent nerve damage, I have PolyCystic Ovarion Syndrome that is going untreated but, I’m not dying from lack of medical care.

Too many in the USA are. That is just sad. We’re one of the wealthiest countries in the world, yet, many people suffer in pain or die due to inadequate medical care. Government programs do not cover a lot of us who have no insurance (in fact the majority of people who don’t have insurance are ineligible for Government assistance.)

Isn’t it time that something is done about it? From this one ER visit, with xrays, a couple of pills, and a few prescriptions, that was probably well over 1000 dollars in medical bills. We’ll be paying on that for years.

Shouldn’t basic health care be a right? We’re spending how many billions of fucking dollars in Iraq, yet, we can’t spend money to help USA citizens to have some basic fucking health care? We can send money all over the world for this and that, while people suffer here?

Something is wrong when we can spend billions of dollars to kill people but, very little to help our own citizens life healthy lives. Something is wrong when we can spend money to put people in jail for small marijuana violations but, not help our citizens. Something is wrong when politicians are spending extreme amounts of money to be elected, while the citizens they supposedly serve can’t go to the doctor.

Something is wrong when we spend millions and millions of dollars on unneccesary bullshit, everyday, while people are hungry, in pain, and on the streets.

Somewhere, the USA got off track. We’re more worried about killing people and updating our damn terrorist threat level than taking care of the people living here. We’re fighting over who served what time in the military over THIRTY FUCKING YEARS AGO, instead of worrying about people who are here, now.

And, it is wrong with both sides. We argue over a fucking ribbon in a picture or whether or not he was injured or not. We argue over whether all citizens should have the same rights (hello, duh, of course we should) to marry the person they love.

We argue over every damn thing instead of seeing the big picture. And it is ruining us. It’s killing our country, it is splitting us into groups that hate and name call and treat one another like shit.

It is just fucking wrong. I’m tired of it. I’m tired of arguing over dumb, petty things instead of working for the good. I’m tired of hurting. I’m tired of fucking politicians playing us for idiots. I’m fed up with it all. I’m sick to death of the people making the decisions for all us coming from families who never have to worry about whether or not they can go to the doctor or eat. Or worry about the school their child is attending as they can just ship their kids to a good, well financed private school.

I’m tired of being told that vouchers are the answers to school problems, even though those vouchers wouldn’t be enough for the lower middle class or poorer families to send their children to private schools.

I’m tired of hearing the President saying stupid shit about things he can’t even pronounce. I don’t want to hear that God speaks through him, damnit. We’re supposedly a country without a state religion, yet, our elected officials keep forgetting that. If you or I were to announce publically that God was speaking to us, or through us, we’d be carted off to the funny farm. Bush does it and he’s praised for it.

I’m tired of being told (by politicians) that they know where we’re coming from while they are standing there in a suit that is worth more than my car. I’m tired of the majority of politicians being white, Christian men.

Fuck it, I’m tired of all of it. I do what I can; I vote, I write my elected officials, I work the polls some years, I write letters to the editor. I do all the things I can.

Yet, it isn’t enough. Obviously, it isn’t enough as I’m still sitting here in dismay over where the USA is going and how things are run. I’d run for local office but, damn, I’m a woman, I’m young(ish), I don’t have a perfect background and the biggie, I don’t have money or a family name to carry me.

I don’t know what to do, other than keep on keeping on, with what I can do. And hoping and praying that my fellow Americans wake up and realize how fast this handbasket is heading to hell.

Fucking Crickets

Tuesday, September 7th, 2004

(As I am still trying to beat Blogger into submission, here are links to my last two entries:Babies Send in the Clowns)

While lying (laying, whatever grammar nazis) in bed this evening with Tony, I heard a noise. You know it, the sound of a cricket chirping its’ ass off. I figured it was outside since my head was about 2 feet from the window.

No problem, outside is their domain. They can have the woods and the grass and the trees, I have the house. Eventually, even I couldn’t remain slothful so I drug myself out of bed to do something or the other. As I opened the bedroom door, I heard it.

That son-0f-a-bitch was not outside. Oh, no, as the opening in the doorway became larger, the sound became louder and louder.

There was a fucking cricket in my house. Now, I’m not afraid of them, they don’t bite or sting, they just make me want to stick my fingers in my ears and sing “la la la la la, I can’t hear you” like I’m a four year old parent abusing child.

I crept down the hallway, very slowly in hopes of figuring out where that dastardly noise was coming from. Aha! The green menace was in the bathroom.

I stepped into the bathroom, flipped on the light.

Chirp! Chirp!

It wasn’t coming from the bathroom. That bastard was in the kitchen. I moved as stealthily as a fat, gimpy woman can, down the hall, towards the kitchen. I was so quiet that I could hear the little bastard breathing.

Until, I actually stepped in the kitchen.

Nothing. Not a sound could be heard in the entire house. The fucker is playing with me.

I went about my business, shuffling about in hopes that the cricket would start again so I could hunt it down and send it outside. My tasks finished, I headed back towards the bedroom.

Step, step, clunk, step, step, clunk.

As I stepped past the bathroom.

Chirp! Chirp!

The little bastard started again. And, now it sounded like he was in the living room. I flipped around, waving my cane like a samurai sword and headed back to finish him off.

As the doorjam between the kitchen and living room met my foot, it got quiet. He could sense my presence. I stood still, not even daring to breath in hopes of throwing the cricket off.


Back down the hall towards the bedroom I clumped again. Fuck it! It’s just a cricket, I can ignore it.

No more had my ass hit my chair that I heard a roar of a chirp from somewhere else in the house. I have gone back with the broom poking into corners. I flipped on lights, sat as still as a mouse.

The menace is nowhere to be found. I know he’s there. I can hear him right now, above the sound of the computer and air conditioner. Yet, I know as soon as I head out to find it, the sound will cease.

I have not conceded defeat. Oh, no. I will win. As God as my witness, I will not allow a creature that weighs less than an ounce and is less than an inch in length (unless this is some gigantic cricket-like creature) beat me. I will win.

And, when I do, you will hear my victory song no matter where you are. I will be victorious!

Or, I’ll buy ear plugs and learn to live like that for the next 3 months.

Send in the Clowns…

Saturday, September 4th, 2004

My parents are evil. No, hear me out before you think it’s the typical whining. Let me set the stage for you:

My Mom was 17 when I was born, Dad was 21. I was a doted on, spoiled child. They took me everywhere with them. I was a lucky little girl.

When I was just a couple of years old, before any of my siblings were even born, my parents took me to a parade. I don’t know how many of you remember circus parades but, I do. When the circus came to town they would have a huge parade with elephants, acrobats, lions, dancing girls, and clowns.

And, we would go to the parades. Mom, Dad, and little tiny Suzy. This time, the one of which I am speaking of, it was still cold in Niagara Falls. The parents still wanted to go to see the circus parade, so they packed the three of us into the car and headed to the parade route.

We sat on the side of the road, me in the middle of them, watching the animals roar or giggle or whatever that certain type of animal did.

“Elephant, Mama.”

“Pretty Lady, Daddy.”

Ohhs, and ahhs abounded from my little 2 year old self, I mean this was big stuff there were women in beautiful, flowing dresses, men in sparkly outfits, animals as far as the eyes could see.

I was enthralled. I clapped and hoorayed. My little 2 year old self, blond haired, green eyed and just bubbly as small children are. I jumped from Mom to Dad and back again overflowing with excitement at the wonder that was in front of me.

Then, then, I screamed. An earth shattering, blood curdling, that child is being hurt horribly scream. I jump from Daddy’s lap across the car, begging Mom to save me.

In the window of the car, talking to me, was this giant, horrific, huge lipped, happy faced, pale as the dead, clown.

Y’all, I lost my shit over a clown. I screamed, I cried, I begged them to take me out of there. The clown beat feet the hell out of there, back to the street, surely to relive the horror of making a 2 year old shiver in fear over and over again.

My parents, loving parents that they are, calmed me down, got me a drink, assured me I would be fine.

Then, those bastards, drove to the END OF THE PARADE ROUTE. They parked again and waited. The animals, oh, the people, the sparkley clothes. I was happy again.

“Elephant, Mama.”

“Pretty Lady, Daddy.”

I was not aware of the impending doom. They had saved me from the grease painted being. I clapped and ahhed and ohhed.

Until, around the corner came a bright wig. No biggie, look at the bear, Mama.

My Daddy (that traitor) motioned someone towards the car. I paid no attention there were twirling women to be seen. I grinned and clapped, then looked over to my Daddy.

The fucking clown was back. My parents, the ones who had vowed to protect me from all pain and harm they could, had set me up. Those bastards had taken me around to see the horrible thing again.

I screamed bloody murder and threw myself to the floor. This scream (so I’m told) could be heard all the way in Virginia where my Granny and Papa lived. I freaked out.

And, they, my loving parents LAUGHED. Instead of comforting me, they guffawed until tears were streaming down their faces. Unalduterated glee filled their eyes as they rolled on the ground, holding their sides in pain from the laughter.

Now, obviously, I don’t conciously remember this. I’ve heard the story time and again as they get some hideous evil glee at sharing my pain with anyone who will listen.

The torture has not stopped since that day. On our wedding day, following our reception when Tony opened the door for me to settle into the passenger seat as we left, there was a clown doll in the passenger seat. One with curly hair that looked like me.

In the driver’s seat was another clown doll, with long brown hair. Across the backseat (belted in!) were 4 slightly smaller clown dolls. All of them handmade with loving care by my Aunt Rosie.

I was 23 when I got married, 21 years after my freakout of that hideous creature they were still torturing me with them. On my wedding day, y’all, my wedding day. When we got to the hotel where we were staying for our wedding night, Tony walked me to the back of the car so I could see what was hanging off the back of the car.

Not beer cans, oh no, there were fucking clown heads! Little plastic clown heads, damnit. I’ll never hear the end of this, never. I’m 29 and they still pick on me about this.

I mean come on, I may have gotten over it, had they just let me be scared one time. But, no, not my parents, they had to let me see the clown again so they could laugh their asses off at me.

Fucking clowns.


Thursday, September 2nd, 2004

Oh, yes, SnobbyWhoreCondotcom is now open for your viewing pleasure. Keli, of Perpeptual Blonde made the above graphic.

You can go here to register and login here to post.

Anyone can join the portal unless you’re an assmunch, which, really you know if you’re an assmunch.