Friday, September 17, 2010

I Fall to Pieces


My tooth broke. While I was eating salad, Just popped in two, The dentist said that it didn’t break down to the nerve, so I probably won’t need a root canal, but I will need a crown.


Then my whole entire diabetes control system went to hell. Evidently, there are some nice new insulins out there that do not cause peaks and valleys. According to my nurse practitioner, I am ignorant and living in the Stone Age because “nobody uses NPH anymore.” Duh. Why do people keep prescribing it and selling it to me?

That is the problem with being a state insured patient-- I was on indigent care for two years and on the state program for patients with pre-existing conditions for another two. Obviously, my pathetic insurance situation did not warrant good medical care. With these clinics, it’s all about the numbers-- get ‘em in, count ‘em and get ‘em out. We have to be counted so they can get their grants.


I then asked said nurse practitioner to take a look at a boil which had been treated two weeks ago, but was not healing. She gave me a five minute lecture about priorities-- how she could only give me 20 minutes of her time and did I want to get my diabetes under control or waste her time looking at something she couldn’t even treat?


Don’t worry. I am firing her skinny little ass as soon as I get my diabetes under control.


I practically had to beg her to check it. She was dismissive, but sent me to a surgeon for a consultation.


Like I said... I will be firing her.


My 3 p.m. consultation turned into a 22-hour ordeal.

I was promptly snatched up and hauled to the operating room, where I was hooked up to numerous machines, knocked out and opened up. I spent the night being poked and prodded and measured and medicated.

My husband went pale. I could see that he was really scared.

I don’t know if I was scared. I was still royally ticked off at the attitude of the nurse practitioner. Does anyone ever get to see a real doctor anymore?


Anyway, I am home now. The surgeon checked me this morning and said I am doing well. Antibiotics. Lots of water. Keep the blood sugar under control-- I will do my best in my Stone Age way.


The tooth will have to wait three weeks, said the surgeon. Gotta love a man who won’t allow the dentist near me.


Sunday, September 5, 2010

Born to be Wild

It’s Bike Week in Ignacio. So, of course, I got in my little car and drove down there to see the show.


Mark doesn’t do biker stuff. He says he was born to be mild. He once asked me if he bored me. I howled. No. Dumb men bore me. He asked when I had ever dated a dumb man. I once had a boyfriend who believed that Corning Ware purchased at the big expensive department store was of superior quality than Corning Ware purchased at KMart. Duh. I think the poor man still believes that.

I once dated a very pretty man who used the word ‘exasperate’ when he meant ‘exacerbate.’ In the end, which came quickly, his continued dumbness just exacerbated the problem, which exasperated me and I quit answering the phone for a while.

I also dated a man so dumb that he thought my sister would be a better match for him. I told him to go for it; I figured that if it worked out for them they deserved one another. She laughed out loud when he asked her out, told him she wouldn’t be caught dead in his old car. So he came back to me and I just shook my head-- I never accept being second choice.

Mark is the first man who can keep up to me intellectually. I love that we can discuss books and ideas.


So, patient man that he is, he sent me off with, “Have fun with the bikers, honey. Don’t run off with one; come home to me.”


I drove into town with bikers in front of me and bikers behind me. Traffic was slow, but it was, in effect, a parade. So I enjoyed the entrance and cruised with the bikers. Cut off on a side street to park.

I was remembering my first rally--thirty years ago-- the Vetter Rally in Colorado Springs. That one was fully enclosed. Three days of rally complete with contests and concerts. The “Best Biker Dog” Award was won by a Siamese cat in a leather jacket and a little helmet that had openings for his ears. He won by sitting regally on the bike’s gas tank while his human drove the obstacle course.

Ignacio Bike Week is nothing like that. Open, out in the street and in your face. Strutting and posing.


One of the events that I had to see was the “Biker Bull Riding.” These guys and gals are macho to the max, but they get on that bull and get tossed in the air in no time. It all ends in a melee called “The Ring of Fear.” About six brave, or foolish, souls get into with a bull that has colored ribbons taped to its horns-- the object is to grab a ribbon for a cash prize. Meanwhile there is a rope suspended 50 feet into the air from a crane and the rope had money entwined into it-- so the contestants are trying to climb it and grab whatever bills they can get. Total mayhem and funnier than hell.


It was fun. And exhausting. And I came home to my mild man, who was happy when I called to tell him I was home safe.

I love him for that.

Tuesday, August 31, 2010

(There ain't no cure for the) Summertime Blues

I am a little spooked as I will be losing my therapist after tomorrow’s appointment.

So much is right with my life, but I still don’t have a job and it stresses me. I search the want ads daily, and there is not much there that is appropriate for me. I cannot drive a truck, lift 50 pounds on a regular basis or function as a line cook.

I am a trained librarian-- a good librarian. But none of the libraries in the area will even give me a chance.


I wonder if it is my age. Or that I am fat-- something I have been working on with slow but steady progress.

People have encouraged me to volunteer at a library, but my experience has shown that most libraries do not hire talent that they can get for free. Been there, done that, didn’t get hired. So I keep searching for any job that can use my talents and hoping that while on the perpetual diet I will one day cross the line to “acceptably chubby” and someone will hire me.


Or I’ll hit the Lotto. Oh yeah... gotta buy a ticket for that, huh?


Meanwhile there are wedding “thank you” notes to finish and photos to edit and organize. I did say that there is a lot that is right in my life and one of those things is my recent marriage to Mark. He is a wonderful man. Not perfect, but just right for me.


It is a two-trailer-marriage. He lives a backyard away from me, as the hummingbird flies. And we do have hummingbirds. We live in a beautiful valley, mountains on both sides, a river to the east of the highway, the narrow-gauge railroad tracks next to the river.

We are so different. He wakes up at 5:00 a.m. I am sloth until 7:30 or so. He has two knickknacks and one plant. I have all my Santos and Kachinas, along with a small jungle and a kitchen garden. He listens to classical and jazz; mostly rock & roll, folk and the blues here. But we are both extremely private people. We admit to needing our time alone, whether to write or think-- or in my case, to watch Dog, the Bounty Hunter. Mark has no concept of Dog; I don’t think that Mark has watched TV since Garry Moore was on the air. Dog is one of my guilty pleasures, especially the episode where he knocked on my former neighbors’ door and they stood there horrified. Good. Their constant domestic violence and drug dealing horrified the rest of us for so long that they deserved a good “Dog scare.”


If you had told me two years ago that I would be living in my own home in the mountains, hauling my drinking water in from the grocery by the gallon, bear proofing my trash and marrying an older and unconventional man-- I would have laughed my head off.

I was a girl with rules. I did not date men with dogs. Dogs, yuck. I would not even date writers or lawyers-- both too professionally competitive. He’s a writer. I was a city girl with city water and an Asian market down the street. Now I am becoming a country girl who is learning to keep the water supply replenished and maintain a long term grocery list for the few times per year that I might get to a city with ethnic markets.


So I am adaptable. Maybe I should consider becoming something other than a librarian. I really did love that work. It seems a shame to have to give it up and start over. It will take some long and hard thought.


Meanwhile, I will learn not to be so stressed over it. Somehow.