quick story

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.

mmmm, authentic clam chowder

I flew up to Boston,Massachusetts, this morning in that little crop duster that goes out of Trenton/Mercer Airport. The steward again filled the dual role of steward/pilot, and he did a serviceable job--the ride was swift and smooth but LOUD, as I believe the plane is powered by a gross of Briggs and Stratton lawnmower engines piled somewhere in the bowels of the aircraft.

I knocked out in record time—2-3 minutes after the wheels lifted off the tarmacadam. I am good at sleeping on planes--like a baby in a car seat. In fact, it’s my super power, well, that and folding laundry (I am *exceptional* at folding, especially jeans--you have to yank that sickle-shaped part of the crotch out if you want the pant legs to fall all nice and smooth).

I’m in a bit of pain, however. As my head bobbed contentedly and my jaw slackened, my neck folded in on itself and soon the leading edge of me was no longer my chin, but my larynx, kind of like the neck of a Flamingo.

Oy, only 2 days and 800 miles from the em armamentarium of powerful pain medication.

       

What i did on my summer vacation

Whoa, it's been  a long time since i blogged. So long that i have forgotten my typepad password. eesh. ok, just got that mystery solved via an email from the lovely people at typepad.  So where've  i been? What've i been up to? Well, lots and not much...  i accomplished some fairly major (for me) stuff, while at the same time cleaving solidly to my routinized rut. and now, for those who are interested, here's what i did:
1. i bought a second house, an investment property, with a neighbor.
2. i went to Fort Lauderdale on business.
3. i prepped primed and painted the living room.
4. i went to San Diego on business and took katie and naomi along. never again.
5. i prepped primed and painted the woodwork in the living room.
6. i lost the memory stick that held the only recording of our big-deal drug-industry honcho roundtable panel discussion that we were to also publish.
7. i was deposed by the corporate lawyers. again.
8. i prepped primed and painted the dining room.
9. i went out on some dates. again. to no avail. again.
10. i went to North Carolina on business.
11. i prepped primed and painted 2 bedrooms.
12. i was burglarized. again.
13. i found a tenant.
14. i prepped primed and painted the kitchen.
15. i went to Boston on business.
16. i had a civil moment with the malignancy who is my ex-husband.
17. i prepped primed and painted the back room.
18. i went to Washington DC on business.
19. i got a security system installed on my home.
20. i went to Chicago on business.

Long story short, i got pretty good at painting in between the day job travails but now that the house is done, i never want to do another home-renovation project again. ever.

So. Dipping my toe back in...

Running in New Orleans

I say we all sell our houses and chip in on one of those awesome wrought-iron-balconied, 10-foot-high-windows-with-wooden-shutters, paint-chipping-off-like-great-big-scabs, gothic-fortress homes in the French Quarter in New Orleans. So beautiful, in a down on your luck yet charming kind of way.

I took advantage of a civilized morning report time of 10:00 a.m. by running through the quieted city in the early morning hours. It was 8:00 a.m. and already pushing 90 degrees with 95% humidity, the kind of humidity that instantly fogs up your glasses when you exit the comfort of your air-conditioned hotel, a level of humidity that makes it feel like there's an extra 200 pounds of gravity to contend with. That's alright, I like it hot. Jogging through the French Quarter on a Sunday morning wasn't the best idea, however. Revelers from all over the US and abroad had left their marks in the nooks and crannies of these narrow streets. Slippery chunky splats still remained to be hosed off the sidewalks and streets, and the cacaphony of fetid smells was almost too much--urine superseded by rank garbage superseded by vomit again superseded by urine. Blech. Nevertheless, New Orleans is fabulous--gorgeous architecture, divine food, friendly locals, zany characters, and talented performers. Beautifully ripe.

A NYC sideshow

I was most pleased to accompany 2 renown bloggers to New York City this past weekend (with a kid or 2 belonging to me). We strolled around Greenwich Village for a bit and then relocated for a longer meander around the Times Square district. I showed off my shopping skills by unnecessarily causing us all to go through every sporting goods store along the way in search of softball uniform socks and slide pads.

Soon, ice cream was required, and following a 10-block search for an ice cream shop that suited Katie, we settled on Ice Cream Dee-Lite. And following 15 minutes of careful consideration and several samples in tiny paper jiggers, we all had our favorite flavor in hand.

Outside, Barbarella demonstrated her finely-tuned juggling skills by lofting her mango gelato into the air and bopping it from hand to hand several times. It was when she sought to include me in the game that the double scoop of ice cream landed tragically on the sidewalk. Hey! I wasn't ready! We worked on our act again at dinnertime that night, when a cheeseburger was shot from its Kaiser roll. We're still perfecting that one too... 

Just a bit of mop up

I'm trying hard not to burble and babble on and on endlessly about this flood thing, but just a couple of quick stories. I will return to my regularly scheduled programming tomorrow.

1. Access to the neighborhood was restricted for several days, even well after the flood waters had receded, and nobody was allowed to go home to check out the damage let alone begin cleaning up, which let me tell you made for restive refugees; it was also the source of much mayor-heckling. The Trenton Police Department had every point of access covered and blanketed the neighborhood with mounted patrols and squad cars. I got in on Tuesday. It was easy.  Good thing I'm not a looter. Or am I? I did end up with a suspiciously abundant amount of firewood. . . . 

2.  I've begun replacing lost items in the basement. Had to replace the furnace, which was installed in 1955. This furnace was the size of a Volkswagen. The new furnace, which is the size of a carry-on suitcase, is alarmingly clean and sparkly. New washer/dryer came today--yay! I've got 2 tons of dirty laundry. I"ll get to it later. . .   

3. My employer is generous when it comes to travel, so we stay in 5-star hotels. In Orlando, where I was during the evacuation and most of the actual flooding, I stayed at The Peabody, a deluxe hotel that is known for its ducks--every day at midday the concierge rolls out a red carpet, and 4 ducks waddle across the main lobby and into the lobby fountain, where they splash about until, on cue,  they waddle back down the red carpet and return to their personal suite.  The rooms are spacious and well-appointed--in fact, I somehow ended up with a large suite that included a living room and wet bar; also a TV in the bathroom, so you can watch soaps while soaping up--nice. When I got back to Trenton and realized that we would not be able to go home, we rented hotel rooms. Cheap hotel rooms. Hey, I'm happy to be extravagant with accommodations, when it's not my money. So we stayed at a series of totally crap discount chains. The rooms were nasty and dingy. And there was no mini bar. :-( Joey however *loved* being in these hotels. As we checked out one morning, I was mushing everyone to hurry up and get your personal belongings together, and Joey asked. "Where are we going?" We're checking out Joey, "What!? and leave this paradise?!!" He was totally serious.

4. The boy has his own way of doing things. I called to him from the yard, "Joey, come outside and get some fresh air! C'mon and get your sneaks on and get outside!" Eventually, he came outside, but instead of sneakers, he put a pair of yellow rubber gloves on his feet.

Oh concierge, where's my red carpet?         

Next up--2 fun facts: Barbarella is an expert juggler, and Greavsie does not appear to have an I've-been-in-way-too-may-boutiques!! boiling point. :-)

Fly the friendly skies

I almost didn’t get on the plane to Boston.

Instead of driving 50 miles to Philadelphia International Airport for my flight to Boston, I found out I could fly out of Trenton/Mercer Airport, 2 miles from home. Problem was the plane was the size of a Chrysler minivan and it had propellers. Do they even make spare parts for planes with propellers anymore?? They do, but apparently they do not make mufflers for them anymore—I was deafened by the roaring engines the entire way up the coast—ears ringing for an hour afterward deafened, like being at a Ramones show. But at a Ramones show you’re not rendered green and queasy. Well, not unless you’re immoderate with things.

A young man gave us the usual talking to about the use of personal electronics and emergency exits etc, and then he went and took his seat in the cockpit. I wondered not so casually if the steward knew how to steer and land the plane too.

We took off with a total of 3 passengers on board, and 1 of them was a pilot just hooking a ride up north. How can this possibly be profitable? Maybe because the copilot is actually a steward. It was a foggy and cloudy morning, so I was a bit disappointed because I wanted to spy my house from above. Once we climbed to cruising altitude, the pilot (age approximately 15) turned around from the cockpit and started to talk to me! “Nice flight, eh?” Not if you don’t keep your eyes on the job of flying this plane, young fellow. I thought there was supposed to be barricades at the doors to the cockpits, but this was a gingham curtain, pulled back and hooked at the wall. Terrorist schmerrorist.

But guys, the views from this noisy little crop-duster as we shot up the coast were so beautiful. Instead of being 38,000 feet up in the upper stratosphere on your typical 747, we zipped along at an altitude that allowed me to see all kinds of cool things. The Jersey shore stretched out in a straight line to the south. Then we went further out to sea, and I could make out the surface of the ocean: it looked a lot like a microscopic view of aging skin—smooth but with patterns of lines and wrinkles. Every once in a while I’d see a ship below, leaving a long wake on the flat ocean surface. Wondered where they were off to. As we got farther north, we passed some islands that looked like big apostrophes in the middle of the ocean. Wondered who lived way out there. Once we got nearer to Massachusetts, we came inland, and the fall foliage of New England was at its peak. Calico-looking swirls of red, orange, yellow, and purple were interspersed with great big sections of still-green forest—just lovely.

And now, the moral of the story: slow down, go through life at a lower altitude, pay attention to the scenery, and focus on something other than your queasiness.

A Mother's prerogative

Mother and daughter headed off to the big city (OK, Philadelphia), daughter’s hopes ramped up to a full 10. We arrived at the Philadelphia Marriott at the main Market Street entrance. My outstretched arm directed Katie to step into the big brass and glass revolving door, and there she stood, waiting for something to happen. “Honey, you have to walk and push the door so it swings open on the inside over there.” Yup, not accustomed to the ways of the big city.

My Katie is 11, and like 99% of 11-year-old girls, she wants to be a famous model and/or actress when she grows up. I, on the other hand, want her to work hard in school and then build a good career. But I’m also an indulgent Mom, so it was her dream that brought us to Philadelphia for the weekend. Back in August, she had been picked by a talent scouting outfit to attend a program in Philadelphia at the end of September. An all-expenses-paid whirlwind of meetings with big-time fashion and Hollywood execs? Hell no, this program cost big bucks. Despite the potential for rip-off, however, I remain convinced that it delivered what it said it would deliver.

Over the course of the weekend, she listened to speakers from all facets of the modeling/acting industry and she attended workshops to learn the finer points of strutting down the runway, acting, and print modeling. And at the close of the weekend came the auditions--with entertainment industry agents from LA, NY, and Chicago. Yup, the chance to be discovered.

Can I just say without sounding too much like the goofy mom that I am that she is a lovely, lovely young lady—tall, blonde, perfectly formed--beautiful. And can I also say, Damn there are a lot of tall, blonde, and perfectly formed young ladies on the East Coast! So no, we didn’t get any call backs from the agents, but we had a fabulous weekend together in the big city—swank hotel, dinner at the Hard Rock Café, shopping on Market Street. Fabulous!

Going home on Sunday, I went through the big brass revolving door and Katie, tired and a bit disappointed, filed in right behind me, into the same wedge-shaped door-compartment. We shuffled together clumsily till it opened to the outside. “Oh sorry Mom, did I walk up the back of your heel and make your shoe come off?” and then she had a good laugh at her mom’s expense. And that’s fine by me. :-)

Showering in an unfamiliar environment--mishaps #1 and 2

1. As I said, this is a fancy hotel, as evidenced by the extra touches in the bathroom--piles of gorgeous fluffy snow white towels, a big fluffy terry robe, jacuzzi-outfitted tub, and 2 shower heads in the shower, one to go high, one to go low. But I think someone fiddled with the connection between the lower shower head and the water pipe, because when i turned this second shower head on, it spurted the water straight up in an arc that cleared the shower curtain rod and doused first the ceiling and then the bathroom floor. And the button to turn it off was no where near as easy to figure out as the button to turn it on. Now I need more towels...

2. Confounded by the water raining down onto the bathroom floor from the ceiling instead of gently showering down on me inside the shower compartment, I conditioned my hair and then shampooed it. It's going to be a bad hair day.

On the road this week

Just arrived in San Diego, Calif. Drove along the harbor in the cab on my way to the hotel. Such nice sailboats. But how do the boat owners get out to their boats when they're moored out in the middle of the harbor? Some have skiffs, but the skiffs are tied up alongside the sailboats, and the saildboats appear to be empty. Maybe the question should be how do they get out to get their skiffs to get on their boats? It's a conundrum.

This is a nice hotel. For one thing, my room has a full-service bathroom..;-) It's also got a good Internet hook-up and a mini-bar. What else does a person need, right? Well, for one thing, good shopping, and I've already sussed that out and have identified 2 new pairs of retro Puma sneakers at the local shops that I'll be keeping my eye on. There's also a Levi's store that has some fabulous jeans--both the old school 501s and the newer goofy styles that you kids seem to favor. We don't have Levi's stores back east--think this may be where they originated...

I think I should be pretty safe out here, as I don't have access to a car. But you know the last time I was out here, I was running along the bay, and I tripped and measured my length on the sidewalk (as my mother would say). The gore and blood streamed down from my knees into my socks. Finished my run though, but I got a look or two. Maybe it was the non-retro running shoes I was wearing, maybe not.

Anyway, I've got little to report today, but maybe tomorrow will be better. I'll be in the company of evil creepy skeevy one, and that frequently leads to a good solid quick story. ;-)

Bye!