quick story

Maggots, spider legs, grubs and beetle backs

i was *starving* half to death. i got up at 6:30 a.m. but still managed to miss the fancy breakfast spread that preceded my second full day of lecture after lecture of impenetrable insider speculation on the future of radio-frequency identification tagging of pharmaceutical products--ie, wireless bugs placed somewhere in the packaging of your physician-prescribed medication, eg, your hypertension medicine, your HiV cocktail, your mood stabilizer, or your erectile dysfunction drug. According to industry, the bugs allow the medication to be tracked from manufacturer through wholesaler to distribution centers and from there to hospital or retail pharmacies. And then on to me and you. As they tell it, electronically tracking drugs through the supply chain will lead to substantial cost economies, labor efficiencies, and the big buzz--say it together now--improved medication safety. Nicely done.

it made my hair hurt.  So i left early, before lunch. My return ticket had me on the Amtrak 2:05 out of union Station, Wash DC, but i scatted out of the conference at 11:00, cabbed hard across town, and shucked and jived up to the ticket-exchange counter with one 40-lb suitcase, one 20-lb laptop computer bag, two briefcases filled with 5-lb each of vendor literature, and one 75-lb purse.  i caught the 12:05 baby! :-) but didn't have time to catch that bite to eat. :-(   

so now i'm hungry and faced with a 3-hour train ride where the only food is Amtrak food. What to do, what to do... yup, i toddled 5 cars up to the cafe car, and--i have *no* idea what overtook me--i ordered a tuna sandwich.

it came encased in a robotically-sealed 50-gauge plastic wrapper. the main ingredient--the tuna--was brown, and there were multicolored hunks of whathaveyou throughout. i plowed ahead and chose not to examine the wrapper for an expiration date or for an ingredient list. instead, i bit right in.

my mind involuntarily flashed to the TV show "Fear Factor" with its bugs and vomitus and excrement that the producers force complete morons to eat, and i put the sandwich down. But i was soooo hungry, so i picked it up again. but it was soooo bad, so i put it down again.

i'm still struggling with the upset digestive system.  if i have to, i'll go to the doctor for something. At this point, i don't care who knows.

Missed diagnosis

There's a reason I’m the medical editor and not the practitioner. I witnessed a medical emergency the other day while I was in Boston. It was at the 8 am opening session. I got there a few minutes late, and it was a full house, but I found a singleton seat about 5 rows from the back of the grand ballroom.

I was paying attention, kind of, and then the noise started up. I scanned the back of the room, and I could only see him over the heads of the audience seated around me--a sea of maybe 1000 health care clinicians.  An old guy, sorta overweight, grey suit and hair, was lurching/hopping/shuffling across the back row in the room while making a sound that I had previously not heard from a human being—a sort of high-pitched barking and wheezing that you might expect from a seal with croup. So, not being interested in the opening didactic, my attention stayed on the back of the room. The guy hopped and honked and HEEEZED! his way along the back row while those around me politely focused on the speaker.

Well-considered medical editor em diagnosis? epileptic fit.  Any minute I expected someone from this overflowing sea of clinicians to step up and give the man a fat shot of Depakote or something. It's my professional opinion that a fat shot of something good can be a big help in most any unpleasant situation.

He humpty-danced himself my way and then pulled upright not far from me, and there I saw a woman clutched below him, and he seemed to be riding her like a cowboy.

How odd. But odder still, no one appeared to be paying any attention to this strange tableau, except me of course, bored em.

Heimlich maneuver successfully accomplished, the patient smiled and hugged the man.

These people are way too calm. Wonder if they're on anything.

Soggy blogging

How the heck can a New Jerseyan complain about being in sunny Orlando, Floridia, in early Spring? By the way, hi Diann! *waves madly* Well leave it to me to complain about just about anything, but I really truly didn't want to leave today.

That beautiful yet deeply consternating (is that a word?) river that I live on is acting out again, and if I may remind you, WE HAD OUR 100-YEAR FLOOD IN SEPTEMBER! It's up to its tricks again, however. NOAA (National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration) predicts that come Sunday at about 3 am it will crest at the same level as it did in September, which put it inside everyone's home. Yes, I tried to slide out of going, but I was met with a complete lack of understanding.

me, Friday: "Boss, I'm seeing a problem develop..." *presents NOAA graph showing trajectory of river rise*

Boss: "OK em, no problem, just leave today and get there early."

me: "But it's going to storm like hell and flood again."

Boss: "What's the problem? You'll be in Orlando!"

me: "Well, it's a problem only in as much as it's going to wash away my children and my elderly mother who watches them while I'm away and my home."

Boss: "Ha ha! You can pick them up on the Florida beach!" *shrugs* "What do you want, em, I should cancel the meetings?"

me: "No... I guess I'll take a wait and see approach..."      

And now, I can not STAND it that I am unable to check the river level every 10-15 minutes, consult with my neighbors who are doing same, and in general keep a very close eye on things. Kids and elderly mother are stowed safely, but I still just need to be there, to stand guard or something.   

2 things (Big stupid feet)

Why is it that when there’s one particular move that can be classified as wrong!, I will make it?

1. While showering yesterday, I managed to knock the razor off the ledge as I shampooed my hair. The tub was full of swirling suds but I could see that the little click-on razor blade had been knocked off the razor when it hit the tub. “Don’t let the razor go down the drain!” I told myself but just as the thought formed in my head, I made a wrong move--I felt the crunch of something underfoot and then the circle of the drain enveloped my heel. I dropped down to my knees in the tub just in time to see the razor blade disappear around the crook of the drain. CRrrAP!

2. While lunching with co-workers on Friday, we were gassing about the changes afoot in our company since we were acquired 5 weeks ago—who’s gone and what they’re doing now, and who might be next. So I chimed in with “It looks like they had the decency to tell Editor Buddy Boy off-site, because he’s not been back since Monday.” The suddenly ashen appearance of Associate Editor Buddy Boy on my right clued me in to my misstep. Dammit, I thought it was common knowledge.

Sometimes it’s the little things

/rant

It bothers me when someone says, “send me an email so I can send you the email” and then they rattle off an email address at 80 mph. Yup, you are the Alpha dog, but God forbid you should do the heavy lifting and write down my email address so you can SEND ME THE DAMN EMAIL. Similarly, I am bugged by the passive-aggressive schmucks who rattle off a phone number, also at 80 mph, plus it’s all in one clump. I hear phone numbers in groups, people: 3-3-4. Would it kill you to slow down! And use pauses—that’s what the damn dashes are for.

/rant

Gag

It's easy to make me laugh. Take the lowly whoopie cushion, for example. I've had at least 8 whoopie cushions in my life, and to this day, they never fail to get me laughing like a fool. I ordered my first off the back of a comic book when I was 8, along with some other superior items of comic ingenuity such as garlic-flavored gum and the old fly-in-the-ice-cube gag. I believe my mother ultimately retired that whoopie cushion with her sewing scissors after a few short hours of blappy torment.

And so the level of my humor was pegged at an impressive height early on.

I bought another whoopie cushion only a week or so ago. Did you know that advances in engineering have resulted in an improved whoopie cushion? It's true. It is now *self-inflating.* No more peeling those wet, spitty flaps apart with your fingers to blow the thing up. Nope, it automatically re-inflates. Genius. Now who (besides my tormented Mother) doesn't laugh when hearing the prolonged, trembling rip of a whoopie cushion?

No one. But let me tell you what's *not* funny. To be trapped in Evil Creep Skeevy One's car on the way to our meeting today when he talked over the high-pitched/low rumbling frrRRAP! that escaped his skinny shovel-assed buttocks, like "she won't notice if I keep talking." It was at that point in our trip today that I stopped breathing.

Gag.

Stupid tricky job

There have been a few editorial misfires on em's watch over here at Big Med Pub Co. The short list:

1. Ran a Table of Contents in the April issue that in no way reflected the actual content of the magazine.

2. Ran an article in Aug on osteoporosis. Then ran it again in Dec.

3. Kindly printed the answers to the continuing medical education test at the end of the article.

4. Deleted a 25-page paper.

Missing some pronouns? Hmm, wonder how that happened.... Okay, okay, I! I! I! I! Phew, I feel better now.

Representative em

I'm practicing my self-restraint this morning. Yes, I drive like a terrorist, self-medicate prn, and mouth off loudly to whatever thick-necked boulder-fisted thug gets on my nerves, but that's not what's worrying. I'm working from home today (which means I can visit my blogs--yay!) in preparation for a meeting with Big-Time Med Ed Exec at Major Pharmaceuticals Corporation, Inc, and I'm worried that my OCD/Tourette's syndrome might kick in in the middle of my meeting, and I'll suddenly bark out something horribly, horribly inappropriate.

"Thank you for coming all this way editor em. Now please tell me about the med ed capabilities of your group."

*Giggles hysterically, face contorting with the effort to stop*
*Mutters curses*
"Well, we... FUCK! Pardon me. We perform a STRIDENT!! no, stringent editorial TANGO!! I, uh, mean process that rigorously follows all pertinent OIG, ACPE, and ACCME continuing education guidelines. Which is to say, we work hard. Work with you hard. No, wait, we hardly work hard with you! EEE-RECK-SHUN!! oh dear god."
*Coughs, yelps*
"We ensure BIAS!! I mean balance. And scientific rigor and independence. But you can tell us what to change..er, what I mean is, conduct a scientific review of the data...."
*Yawns, burps, faints*

MMmph! MMMmmpphhh!!!

Would someone get this damn job OFFA me!! I can't breathe!!!

Quick story update--

1. Job is horrendous. 'nuf said.

2. Joey turned 6 today. He is the sweetest guy ever. We had a little party for him at home last night. He had a blast, even though all the party guests consisted of Katie's teenage girlfriends. Strike that, maybe because all the guests were teenage girls. ;-) (Wish some families with little boys would move into the nabe, tho...)

3. Sam told me the other evening that school was out the following day. I fell for it hook line and sinker. But that's the last time she'll be able to use that particular riff on me. Probably.

4. I may have gone too far in a letter I sent recently to my ex-husband. It's probably not good to call someone 'repellent,' 'repulsive,' and 'repugnant' all in one paragraph. Very poor form. Stylistically.

Oh boy am I in trouble. Again.

Daughter Sam has been lobbying me hard for a kitty for months and months now. I delayed and put it off and dragged my feet. But when Christmas rolled around, I thought I'd get her one and make her happy for once. But then I couldn't find one, because it's not exactly kitten season around here. I called all around--pet stores, shelters, animal rescue groups and finally found an animal rescue group with a homeless "kitten" (it was more like a teenager) on Dec 21. I rushed over to adopt it into a loving home with a cozy fireplace, but apparently, there's an application process. I had to provide a full family history, 3 references, the name and contact info for our vet, and the facts surrounding what happened to my last 5 pets. I failed the test.

Next-door neighbor Lori came through with a lead on another place that had homeless kitties, and I charged over there on Dec 23 and was met with--another application. I fought back the flop sweat and filled it out again, and didn't hear anything, so I figured I wasn't going to be permitted to adopt a homeless kitty (for $75). But then they called last night while Sam was at her Dad's to tell me I could have the cat--yay!! I went right over, and naturally I couldn't take the one and leave her sister, so I came home with 2 cats--Sam was gonna be so surprised!! :-) And I can't keep a surprise to save my life, so when Sam called me last night to say hi, I blabbed all. She was so excited!!

Silly cats immediately disappeared upstairs and I didn't hear from them again until the middle of the night, when one of them kept prowling around upstairs, yowling. We all made it through the night however, and when kitty #1 and I came downstairs to grab a fast mug of coffee for the ride to work, kitty #1 discovered the bird. The $600 bird. Kitty #1 refused to be distracted from this prized plaything. She slunk around the room with her eyes glued on that parrot and quickly jumped up on the Bay window were the cage sits. The bird did not like this one bit. I thought she was going to hurt herself, or maybe flap that cage right up to the ceiling she was pumping her wings so hard. I shooed the cat away, and instantly she slipped back, slinking along low to the ground and quick, and got back up near the cage.

Needless to say, I wasn't going to go to work and leave the bird to fend for herself. I decided to work from home so I could explain to the cat that $600 parrots are not for hunting. It didn't work--I couldn't even take a quick bathroom break without the fur and feathers flying.

So I took the cats back where I got them. Sam is gonna be so upset. :-(

And just to cap off the day, I big fat error showed up in a work thing that needed to be mistake-free. Now the bosses (the bosses who aren't my children) are upset with me too. Oddly, being home protecting a pet bird, instead of in my office, earned me no points with this crew. ;-)

CrrrAP.