Limbodacious

In Praise of the Family Doctor

Let's be honest.  It has been a long, long time since I required the services of a family doctor.  But I needed to assign a primary care doctor for my insurance, and I had a slight cold that didn't seem to warrant calling my gyn/onc back from an out-of-town conference, so I figured what the hell.  I can go mingle with the people with regular ailments for a day.

So I looked up several doctors and compared them by hours of operation and proximity to my house, and arbitrarily chose Dr. Old School.  I went in for my physical feeling very smug, I probably know more about my condition than this run-of-the-mill hack, I thought with more than an air of superiority. 

The office visit started as hundreds of millions of similar appointments have begun.  The nurse walked me back to the exam room and took my blood pressure and temperature.  She quizzed me briefly on the reason for my visit and went to get the doctor.  When he came in (very soon after I might add), he did something that will forever endear him to me, something so radical and yet so simple.

He took all my vitals again himself.

It is rare to find a busy doctor who will even look up from the chart as he breezes through the visit, but to find one that will actually deign to take your blood pressure, now that is really something.  And he didn't do it in a that-damn-nurse-who-can-trust-her way, he did it in a I-am-taking-personal-responsibility-for-your-health-so-it-will-get-done-right way.  It was sweet and old-fashioned while still being a progressive step away from the impersonal care we have grown accustomed to.

He told me I was a special case that they had to keep a special eye on and spoke to me in a way that was at once grandfatherly and respectful.  He offered a home remedy for my cold and an advanced new treatment for my nagging bone pain.  He gave me a referral to an ENT, the one specialist I had not found in the area, who "is a friend" and will "take care of this insurance nastiness about the hearing aids."  The longing for the old days of medicine was obvious in his voice.

The feeling I get after a really successful doctor's appointment is incredible.  It is a rush of euphoria combined with the coziness of a warm fleece blanket.  This visit in particular confirmed my ardent hope that the kind of doctors we are all looking for, ones that pay attention and care, still exist. 

However, it did shatter my belief that they don't actually know what to do with those stethoscopes.

Updates on My Mood Have Been Indefinitely Postponed, Because It Changes Too Damn Much

Job interviews appear to have undergone an extreme makeover sometime in the last two years.

The last time I interviewed for a job, I dressed nicely and chatted with one person, the supervisor of the department.  They got a feel for my qualifications and personality, and together we used this information to decide whether or not I was the right person for the position.  That’s fucking it.

This is not the case these days.  Now I get a call two months after I submit my resume, because it was in some mysterious “home office” “pre-screening process.”  After going through the archives of my email, I finally figure out what job for which I am interviewing.  I go into an HR-specific building at 6:00am or whatever ridiculous time I was scheduled for, navigate the labyrinth of a lobby for 15 minutes and even though I allowed ten extra minutes, I am late.  I am immediately directed to a computer screen by a receptionist that doesn’t even look at me.  Here I proceed to take a battery of tests.  Computer skills test.  Typing skills test.  Listening skills test.  Endurance test.  Then when I am finally completed, my worth as an individual is printed out in a neatly organized table for the receptionist’s eyes only.  I am then shuttled to another building where I wait and wait, and when I finally see another human, my eyes are bugging out of my head and I am repeatedly mumbling, “F1!  Escape!”  rain-man style.  But this is the part I am accustomed to: human contact.  I can do this part.  However, the panel of very serious-looking people are not asking me things like, “Do you prefer to work alone or in a group?” or the rest of the standard questions.  The interview is conducted interrogation style, with trick and way-too-personal questions thrown in.  “Do you regularly surf the internet?” Are they asking me if I am good at accessing the web or are they seeing if I will be checking my email at work every five minutes??  What is their motivation?  “Why didn’t you finish your Mechanical Engineering degree?”  Do they think I am a slacker with no motivation?  Stupid and flunked out?  Are they worried I will ditch them in a few months to go back to school?  Do I have to answer that?  Will it look suspicious if I don’t?  All the handy “interview tips” websites in the world couldn’t prepare me for the rigors of the Modern Interview.  Then, finally, once the tests and interrogations are over, they ask me if I have any questions, and I call up every ounce of courage in my emotional reserve to dare to ask just what the position actually entails and what it pays, since they have been guarding this nugget of information like the Ark of the Covenant.  A shadowy figure emerges and informs me, on double-secret background, of the responsibilities and salary, and it turns out I don’t want the damn job anyway.

Am I crazy, or does this seem like a highly inefficient way to run a business?  I mean, I know it is really an employer’s market right now, but Jesus, do they have to remind you at every turn just what a huge favor they are doing you by allowing you the opportunity, nay, the privilege, to jump through their hoops, probably in vain?  Combine that mentality with my long unemployment, and you see why employers treat me like spoiled milk.  I just want to shake them, and tell them, "HEY!  I am a really good employee and anybody would be lucky to have me if they would just give me a fucking chance!"

<INSERT PRIMAL SCREAM>

And then, then when I was just about to give up and accept a life of poverty, I met The Rockingest Power-Suited Boss Woman Ever.  After the particularly grueling three-hour warm up of my umpteenth interview, she was the last person I met with, so by the time I met her my eyes were already starting to glaze over.  Her first comment was, "Don't worry, they saved the easiest for last," which made me smile with relief.  She asked me some standard questions, but she made the atmosphere that of a friendly chat. 

About five minutes in, I realized it.  I was talking to a cancer survivor.*  I could tell she knew it, too.  I regarded her short, curly hair, and the fact that she was, like me, sporting the sleeveless turtleneck which is both entirely inappropriate for the weather and out of style, but it is the only professional way to conceal a Hickman scar.   Likewise, she probably noticed my beaded hippie bracelet that conspicuously didn't match my outfit, the mysterious year-long gap on my resume, and my masked discomfort upon rising out of my seat.  But the outward signs were not what gave our common disease away.  It was just a feeling, a look, a simultaneous realization that this is a woman whose smile belies the heaviness of her heart.  I don't understand it, and definitely can't explain it. 

We had a pleasant talk, and as she walked me to the elevator she shared a humorous warning not to get on the "Teal" shuttle instead of the "Green" one, and why she didn't understand why they chose such similar colors in the first place.  I pressed the call button, and after looking around for nosy eavesdroppers she told me, "We have a lot of applicants scheduled, but I am the boss and I want to hire you."  I was (understandably) shocked and speechless at this statement, so she leaned in further and said,  "I know how it is.  I'll give you a chance."

I shit you not.

I was so disoriented in my elation that I rode around on the Teal shuttle for fifteen minutes before I noticed my mistake.  When I (finally) got home, there was a message on my answering machine saying, "Hi, this is Joe from Children's Hospital... I just spoke to J. and she wanted me to extend you an offer."  He sounded a little confused just saying it, wondering as the words came out of his mouth why the Big Boss Woman had made the executive decision to hire someone before meeting all the applicants.  I felt very smug, like I was part of an underground conspiracy... The Cancer Chicks Who Took Over the World, Or at Least the Fourth Floor of the Children's Hospital.

Even though she'll never read this... thank you, so much, not just for giving me a job, but for really listening to me, for seeing a human being beyond the test scores and unflattering resume, for being kind instead of the industry-standard cold and aloof, for giving me the opportunity to move past this painful chapter of my life.  Thank you for looking deep enough into me to see the tiniest part of yourself.

* God, I really hate the whole "survivor" rhetoric, but there exists no alternative.  Can we come up with a new word please?

A Word of Appreciation, to Wash Away That Bad Taste the Last Post Left You With

Cooper is in the doggy hospital having a surgery that is eerily similar to one I had a few months back (although in my case, the precipitating event was not swallowing a chunk of rawhide).  The poor little guy.  It's been a rough couple of days, but it could have been worse...

Thank you to my mom, who was reduced to a blubbering mess over her daughter's dog's health, and who made all my phone calls for me so I had one less thing to worry about.

Thank you to my mom's husband, who in one day morphed from relative stranger to caring friend, who drove out of his way in the middle of the workday to get me something to eat (when no one asked him to).

Thank you to my dad, who called me obsessively to check on Cooper's care, who told me not to make any "big decisions" about Cooper based on finances, because he would help if we needed it.

Thank you to my friends, who understood how important my dogs are to me, and who listened patiently even though they couldn't personally relate to the sadness I was feeling.

Thank you to the cute young receptionist at the Vet #3's office, who bent (broke) the rules and put me on a payment plan instead of demanding the entire balance at once, and who let me "sleep it off" in an unused room.

Thank you to Boyfriend, who finally said, "Thank you for doing all of this," and who brought me takeout Chinese when I really needed it.

Thank you to Louise, who has to be tired of listening to me bitch all the time, yet always lends an ear and offers to beat up Boyfriend when he is bad.

Thank you to Hank, who peed on Vet #2 when she charged me $82 just to tell me she couldn't help me.

Thank you to my friends in the computer, who always send kind emails and comments, and who remind me that someone cares when I feel most alone.

Thank you to the Universe, because even this shitty week could have been much, much worse without the beautiful people in my life.

A Totally Scattered, Disconnected, and Not to Mention Late Father's Day Tribute - Now with Anecdotes!

I hit the jackpot when it came to dads.  The most common complaint that I hear with regards to fathers is that dad is too distant, or doesn't show enough affection.  My dad is totally on the other end of the spectrum, he is the most open and loving man I know. 

He is also pretty amazing.  The thing I admire the most about him is that as a 35-year-old man with a lot to lose, he voluntarily checked himself into the rehab facility at the hospital where he was currently employed.  That takes a lot of guts and humility.  And what's even more amazing is that he never fell off the wagon, he said he was going to get clean and he just got clean.  If you ask him why, he'll tell you that he did it for his daughter.  (And then his daughter will get all misty-eyed and have to excuse herself.)  I look at how far he has come, and I am very proud of him.  He now owns his own business, and has bounced back from a difficult divorce to a great marriage.  He is also the Most Awesome Stepdad Ever.

During his struggle with alcohol and drugs, he was told almost constantly by his family that he was a degenerate, worthless, etc etc.  I think part of that has always stayed with him, and he really thinks he is not a good father.  I think in the back of his mind, he doesn't see himself measuring up.

So he overcompensates in strange areas.  Being a car guy, he views my transportation as his Singular Charge in Life.  Ignoring the fact that I am myself a licensed mechanic, he constantly hounds me with questions like, "Are you due for an oil change?", "What's that scratch on your fender from?", and "JESUS CHRIST, are you calling me from the CAR??  Call me back when you're parked!!!!"

But I know what he really means is, "I want to keep you safe from all the dangers of the world."  So I know my diagnosis of cancer has been especially hard on him.  This is something that he can't fix, that no amount of love poured onto me can change.  And I think the huge fear that plagues him is that he somehow caused it.  Which, by the way, he didn't, and I tell him that all the time, but some irrational fears can't be helped with reason.

I don't devote enough time to my dad.  I help him out at his new business a lot, but our ritual Thursday night dinners have fallen by the wayside.  This is, of course, because I am now All Grown Up and Can't Be Bothered.  I am too busy living in sin with Boyfriend and taking care of my own life and health.  I know that it hurts him to have the Protector part of his role taken away little by little, the more that I grow and become independent.

But all things considered, my dad and I have a great relationship.  We are always able to talk to each other.  And for that, I am truly thankful.  I know that sometimes fathers are not fully appreciated until they're gone.  I am blessed to have a dad that tells me all the time how much I mean to him and how much he loves me, and who is always trying to help me in whatever way he can. 

So now, with that lengthy explanation, I leave you with a few cute stories to enjoy for this belated Father's Day tribute, about my sappy daddy.

#1.  My dad and my mom* both worked at the same hospital.  He was a courier, bringing all the medical supplies the different wards needed.  My mom was the pharmacy tech, so their paths crossed pretty often.  One day my mom was looking through all the prescriptions my dad had dropped off to be filled.  Mixed in with the bunch was one with her name on it, a prescription for a date with him.  How friggin cute is THAT?

#2.  My mom and I went on vacation one time without my dad.  I don't remember why exactly, but that's just how it worked out I guess (I was pretty young).  When we got back, my dad had made me a little picture book about how he and our dog missed me so much.  On one page there was a stick-person and stick-dog with a big frowny faces, then on the next page, it showed me coming back and they had HUGE smiles bursting off their faces.  It was so nice, especially since he was terrible at art and would usually never draw pictures with me.

#3.  My dad and the woman who would be his (second) wife went on their first date on his birthday.  She got him a special cookie that had "Happy Birthday" written on it in icing, a very nice gesture seeing as how it was their very first date.  Before they left, he put it in the fridge.

He refused to eat the cookie, because it was so special to him.  Every so often he would get it out, look at it and smile.  Then put it right back.  Four months later, when he was moving out of his apartment to move in with his then-girlfriend, I came over to help him pack.  I cleaned out the fridge and found the cookie, still perfectly wrapped in its original wax paper.  I told him, "You know, you're going to have to throw this away now."

I could see how sad he was to let go of this tangible reminder of his first date with the woman he now loved so much.  We took a picture of it with his Polaroid camera, so he could look at it whenever he wanted.  It softened the blow, but he was still so upset over throwing away the beautiful cookie.

So how adorable is my dad?  Don't you just love him??

* Totally unrelated: Have you ever noticed that kids of divorced parents always say "my mom" and "my dad," and kids of together parents just say "mom" and "dad"?  Why is that anyway??

Memorial Day

To the 445th Airlift Wing. 

I'm sorry I'm not there with you.  I miss you, and I hope you are safe.

-Me

Darkest Before Dawn, Or, Just When You Think I Hate Everyone...

Fall on your knees and worship this man.

This is my gyn/onc, please allow me to tell you why he rocks. 

1.  He is this total rock star of a doctor in these parts, big fish in a small pond for sure, but he makes a point of always being available personally for his patients, appointment or not. 

2.  He is aggressive with treatments, but always considers the patient's quality of life.  He recommends new techniques, but nothing so new that you would be a guinea pig and have harmful side effects.  He knows how to find the perfect balance.

3.  He talks to me like an intelligent adult.  He is brutally honest, and doesn't sugarcoat anything for a second, yet somehow remains unfailingly optimistic and hopeful. 

4.  He runs his "practice" in the Cancer Center of the hospital.  This offers the convenience and flexibility of a clinic, combined with the individual attention and continuity of a private practice.

5.  And then, there's this...

Today I went to him in the throws of a full-on panic attack.  I barged into his office and explained between snotty-nosed tears that I didn't know how I was going to get chemo, how I was going to die just because I was poor.  (Overdramatic?  A tad.)  He smiled and told me he had already taken care of it.  He said he talked to the hospital and they were willing to take up the expense of my care for three months.  Jubilant, I asked him what I had to do, he said nothing, he took care of all the paperwork.  He even arranged for someone to take my cast off.

I flung myself onto him and gave him what was probably a quite unexpected bear hug.  Before I left, I stopped by the billing lady's office just to see if there was anything I could do to help, like donate a kidney or sell my soul.  (Although, I'm not entirely sure my soul is still on the market.  I think I sold it last year to stop my toilet from overflowing.)  I never thought a billing lady would move me to tears of joy.

"Well, I think you misunderstood, Dr. Awesome is just giving it to you, his practice will eat the expense."  Seeing my jaw drop, she added, "Don't you worry, he makes plenty of money here.  He just wants to see you get better.  This whole insurance thing has really made him sick, he wants to help."

I was speechless.  He is just giving me chemo, blood work, etc, for free.  No strings attached.  I have to keep repeating it until it seems real.  And the most touching part is he so strongly didn't want me to feel bad about it, that he won't even take the credit for his kind act.

Thank you, Dr. Awesome.  You are the Best Human on Earth.

On Boyfriend

Rrrrrrrrring....

Boyfriend:  Hello?

Me:  Are you going to leave me for someone else?

Boyfriend:  No, I am going to stay with you.  Is that all?

Me:  Yes, have a good day at work!

I initiate these conversations more often than I'd like to admit.  Since I was diagnosed, I have noticed a a toxic combination of reckless paranoia coupled with an overwhelming need for constant validation.  (Very sexy to men, by the way, I definitely recommend trying it.)  I figure that if I ask him important things like that out of the blue, he will accidentally blurt out some horrible crime against humanity (a.k.a. "me") he has committed. 

So far, he hasn't.  Maybe he is just cool under fire.  I have to love him for putting up with my non-stop nagging and interrogation.  But someday, I will break him and find out the horrible secret he has been hiding while masquerading as the perfect boyfriend.

Um, did I mention the paranoia?

It is terribly embarrassing to admit that of all the things I could be worrying about, roughly 89% of my time is spent worrying about my boyfriend dumping me.  I daydream all possible horrific scenarios in which this could happen.  Everywhere we go, I see ruthless, non-cancerous bitches just waiting for me to turn my back so they can steal him.

This is something I was never really afraid of before.  Is it because he is "the one"?  Or because I am hormonal, over-medicated, and delusional?  Either way it sucks, sucks, and sucks some more.

Totally Gushy, Weepy, Nausea-Inducing Post

Here is a short list of things that always make me cry:

1.  Talking to my grandma, knowing she doesn't remember who I am. (Alzheimer's)

2.  "Tears in Heaven" by Eric Clapton

3.  Finding out a chemo regimen has failed.

4.  The scene in "Cast Away" where Tom Hanks realizes Wilson has drifted out to sea. 

And a new addition to the list...

5.  This post from Louise.

And not just because it says some very kind things about me at a time I desperately need to hear them.  It is just spot on. 

In my own experiences, I have found that Today's Woman is being pressured to turn away from her femininity.  I lived mostly in what we might call a "man's world."  Military.  Factories.  Engineering school.  And to get ahead, actually just to keep up, I had to deny everything in myself that was emotional, vulnerable, and silly.  The women I encountered and I played this back-and-forth game where I thought they resented me, and they thought I looked down on them. 

So when everything that made me anatomically a women malfunctioned, the irony was not lost on me.  But I sucked it up and headed into the project that would show me how tough I really was.  Or wasn't.  It took a few months of clinging to my independent, stubborn ways before I finally realized I needed a friend. 

The thing is, women just need other women.  Not just when we have cancer, or are infertile, or going through a divorce or insert-your-life-crisis-here.  I felt so stupid for going through life like some kind of robot trying to "get ahead," and now that all of that had fallen apart I had no one to talk to.  No one who could understand the issues I was faced with.

I never thought I'd say it, but thank god for the internet.  I was shocked to find out how many women were out there, looking for the same thing I was.  And not only were they willing to give me a few answers and compare experiences, they were willing to be my friends (I won't name names because I'm sure friends of mine would rather remain anonymous...ha).  And I finally saw that even though we were far away, or had totally different personalities, or weren't going through the same things, that we had something to offer each other.  Something that cannot be summed up by a link in the "Friends" column.

So to Womankind... I say thank you.  Thank you for saying my shoes are cute, even though you don't know me.  Thank you for pulling strings to get me a same-day doctor's appointment because I sounded worried.  Thank you for listening to me whine, and for hating the same things I hate.  Thank you for making a joke.  Thank you for being kind and offering your friendship.  Thank you for helping me see there are things to be thankful for, at a time when I thought there were none.

Don't Judge a Book by the Unruly Barking Dogs on Its Cover

You know that neighbor you have, the one with the dogs that bark insanely at every passing person, dog, or gust of wind?  Well, that's me.  While I love my dogs to bits, I am mindful that everyone else does not love the noise they are almost constantly making.

Today was one of those perfect early-spring days... warm, sunny, dog-walking weather.  So, we were out for our walk and apparently, so was everyone else.  I. Was. Mortified.  Every ten feet my dogs erupted into a cacophony of barks and growls while my neigbors looked down on me with unmasked disdain. 

After a blissful hundred feet of uninterrupted doggie-walking, a man passed me on rollerblades with his dog.  Dogs explode into barking fits.  Then, a little while later, he passed me again.  Dogs go insane.  It didn't take me too long to realize I was being followed.  Well, not followed exactly.  He was making laps around me.  I thought, how rude.  He can see how he is upsetting my dogs and the stress it is causing me, but he keeps doing it.  Then he stopped.  He was ten feet ahead of me, clearly waiting on me.  I started doing that thing in my head where I search the area for weapons of opportunity if he tries to attack me. 

I passed by him, keeping my eyes straight ahead, trying to act like he wasn't there even though the dogs were growling and pulling towards him.  He was walking up to me.  "Ummm, miss?"  Shit, ignore him. Ignore him.  "I couldn't help but notice that your dogs seem to be barking a lot and..."  Thanks, asshole.  I hadn't noticed.  "...well, I'm a dog trainer, and I could help you if you wanted."  Oh shit, I'M the asshole!

This man, this total stranger, went on my walk with me pointing out how to keep the dogs under control.  He walked with me for a half hour, a half hour he could have been doing something like spending time with his own well-behaved dog.  Where all the other people I had passed saw an incompetent girl with annoying dogs, he saw a overwhelmed girl trying her best to be both a good neighbor and a good dog owner.  He saw an opportunity to use his particular skill set to help someone.  And I saw a creepy stalker guy and desperately tried to avoid him.  I really am an asshole.

It is encouraging to know that this kind of person exists in the world, even in my own neighborhood.  I hope that, given the chance, I will help the person everyone is scoffing at, too. 

This blog entry is dedicated to the nicest guy on my block... you rock.

Mama Mia!

Despite my best efforts, my boyfriend has found this site.  He said that I sounded very negative (Ummm, hi, have we met?) and that I was too hard on the people I write about.  I told him I am only harsh and belittling on the internet, stupid, now get your goddamn laundry off the couch.

Love you honey.

His comment did remind me that while I have had a difficult year and a half, there have been some redeeming moments and wonderfully kind people.  One of the most surprising people in the latter category is my mother.

My pre-cancer relationship with my mother was, ummm, rocky.  From ages 0 to 18, she was your typical condescending, never-present, guilt-tripping mother.  From ages 18 to 20, I was your typical self-righteous, unforgiving, done-me-wrong daughter.  At age 20 we mutually decided to scrap the whole relationship up to that point and call it a do-over.  Because it was at this age that I realized I actually needed her. 

During chemo, radiation, and the general unpleasant-ness that a cancer diagnosis brings, it is hard to keep up on the daily routine tasks that you never thought about before.  On my bad days, I couldn't even think about switching insurance companies, needing new bras, decorating the house, or buying groceries... and thanks to my mom, I never had to.  And what is even more amazing than her doing all these things, is that she has never asked to be thanked, congratulated, or praised in return.  She has willingly embraced a role as my little helper, and never makes me feel guilty, smothered, or robbed of my independence.

There are a few specific things she has done that move me almost to tears as I recall them.  Sending $50 checks in the mail (so I can't put up a fight) and never mentioning them.  Discreetly handing me a bag when she comes over, and later when I look, it contains cute picture frames that perfectly match the newly-redecorated bedroom.  Taking care of my terror of a 6-month-old puppy for 10 days when I had to go out of town, and calling me nightly to tell me what cute thing he did that day.  Asking me out for a girls' shopping trip where we shop separately, but she buys the whole kit and kaboodle at the checkout.  Sending me cards in the mail weekly with interesting or pertinent newspaper articles enclosed.

I never knew that my mom, the bane of my existence for so long, was capable of these unselfish acts of caring.  I finally have the opportunity to get to know this beautiful person in my life.  And suddenly those silly arguments that kept us apart for so long seem just... well, silly.

Of course, my mom is only one of many people whose kindness to me during this hard time has been immeasurable.  And there are many more moms, dads, husbands, siblings, and friends taking care of their loved ones everywhere without the slightest griping.  To those people, YAY FOR YOU!  Go get an ice cream sundae and pat yourself on the back.