The Doctor is Out

Healthcare in this country is a complete travesty. It truly has become an oxymoron. There is not much about “care” or “health” left, but more of a bureaucratic exercise in herding the masses through a dizzying maze of red tape and flaming hoops to get us absolutely nowhere with no care whatsoever. This has been my experience, unfortunately. There is so much injustice in this world and I feel blessed to live in a country where there are hospitals in every town and the plague, polio, tuberculosis and other ailments of the past have become eradicated, more or less, but the ridiculousness of getting in to see a doctor for a mere “well visit” has become an event resulting in futility. It seems that the only way I can get to a doctor is to become so very ill that it is absolutely necessary for me to have emergency care, where it is against the law for them to turn me away. Of course, I then receive a sizeable bill in the mail weeks later when insurance denies coverage of the visit. All of it is wrong. All wrong. On all levels. Wrong, wrong, wrong. In the definition of the word “insurance” are the words, “guarantee of compensation” and “provision of protection,” but frankly, all I get is a bunch of dropped calls, astronomical bills, letters of mumbo jumbo and when the moment of truth comes, where all seems to be settled, I am so close to seeing the doctor that I can smell the antiseptic, the crinkly white paper gets pulled right out from underneath my lily white …well, you know. Can life be more comical? Really?

If I hear the words, “You are no longer eligible” from one more insurance phone operator Gestapo one more time, I think I may go completely postal and become one of those ranting, raving people who show up at a call center demanding rights and compensation, only to be thrown in a padded wagon by the men in the white jackets. Hey, but in that case, at least I would get to see a doctor! How can I no longer be eligible when absolutely NOTHING has changed since when they said I was, in fact, eligible? Why this keeps occurring over and over and over and over again astounds me utterly.

I don’t pretend to know everything about the politics that surround nationalized or socialized care versus private care or if those are even the proper terms. In fact, I know very little. I do understand that there are abuses to the system and health care providers, doctors, nurses, technicians, and all the rest deserve the highest salaries for the services they render. My mother was a nurse for twenty some odd years. I have friends who are nurses and I have acquaintances with a doctor or two. They work hard and do not deserve to have their services belittled, their knowledge taken for granted, and they should be given their due for their work. Should the system be so difficult, however? Should it be so ridiculously expensive? Accidents happen to the best of us, more often than not, we are paying insurance, yet still, somehow unprepared. What middle-class American has $60,000 stashed away in the event that they need their appendix out? Or gallbladder? Or worse? More often than not, the insurance companies that we pay to protect us in these cases, end up as more of a hindrance, giving us headaches on top of it all refusing to pay for any reason under the sun. I am not asking for a tutorial in healthcare and insurance so if you see errors in my logic (which I am sure most will), please refrain from enlightening me. Bottom line? Every hard working American citizen especially those of us who sacrifice to stay home and take care of our husbands and children should not be penalized and given second rate (or what seems like fifth or sixth rate) handouts masked as “care.” My response to all of this? Those immortal words, “It’s just not fair!”
Well, I was always told that life isn’t fair. Let the battle rage on.

Your Turn

I have two sets of children- the ones I have to deal with alone and the ones they become when their father is home.

The children I deal with on a daily basis can be cute and sweet, but let’s face reality. Kids are kids and they aren’t going to be perfect all the time. Sometimes it seems I get the less than perfect children when I am alone with them. I know they love me and their acting up with me just shows that they know I love them unconditionally and they are comfortable with me, their mother. That is as it should be, but sometimes, I want to be to the unfamiliar one that they run to all excited because they haven’t seen me in days. I want to be the one for whom they are scrupulously well behaved. I want to be the fun parent and I do try to be, but when I am home alone with a one year old and a three year old for days and days on end without break excepting the hours between midnight and four in the morning, give or take, it starts to wear on a mother’s nerves! Things that crack up any other outside observer become increasingly annoying. The cute little comments that come out of my daughter’s mouth at nine at night when she is supposed to be in bed are no longer funny. My son’s screeching that sounds to me what I can only imagine a pterodactyl might have sounded, is no lounger amusing, but penetratingly shrill and needs to cease before it begins!

We are running into the tenth day of Daddy’s Trip. He was home briefly last night and has a day trip today, but should be home tonight to stay for six days and it’s a good thing. I am getting worn down and I need to see the other set of children. My husband’s set of children. They are funny and sweet and crack me up. Why? Because when Daddy is home and they act up, he gets to deal with it!

Here’s to holding my breathe until nightfall…

Does a Rose WITHOUT a Name Smell as Sweet?

Naming a character for a novel, or play, or short story, or anything for that matter, seems to me to be quite difficult as names mean so many things and carry a lot with them. What about a book where the characters are left unnamed? Is that possible? Sure. It would be wordy as the characters would have to be identified somehow, but with no true name given.... hmmm.

So many iconic figures in literature are unnamed and it fascinates me:

The Man with the Yellow Hat... Curious George
Frankenstein's Creation... Frankenstein
The Woman at the Well... The Holy Bible
Sam's Friend... Green Eggs and Ham

Can anyone think of any others?

The Juggler

It’s a dreary, drizzly Saturday morning and I have refused to let the children get out of bed with an, “It’s too early to be up! See, the sun isn’t even out yet,” knowing full well that it’s raining and, no, the sun does not come out on rainy days. They don’t know that and they need sleep. The oldest is in and out of bed until past nine on even a good day and the youngest likes to wake up at four. Needless to say, no one is heeding what they seem to take as my unsolicited advice and I am taking a much-needed early morning Mommy Needs Peace and Coffee Moment. So, let it be.

In our house when anyone gets up, sometimes even before, even if it is go to the bathroom at four or five in the morning, Sebastian assumes it is time for breakfast and his potty break outside. He wanders around and around and whimpers until he is fed and taken out. Since, it’s just me while Andrew is gone, obviously I have a system. Sebastian comes first in the morning routine while the kids are in bed. I took him out in the grey wet morning air this morning. The fresh cool air is nice in the morning and it’s so quiet outside and I had a thought. Motherhood is all about juggling. We are jugglers and damage control coordinators.

I know other mothers and the story is as old as sliced bread: Husband comes home from work, takes a look around and asks the dreaded question that is likely to set anyone who has had little sleep, dealt with little people all day long who have very little command of the English language and respond in opposite ways than is usually appropriate to any given direction, situation, etc. He asks, “What have you been doing all day?”
Every mother is full aware when the kids are still in pajamas at five o’clock, the sink is full of dishes, hair is still uncombed and perhaps even teeth have been left unbrushed. Why, he asks… Why? Because mothers need to juggle and handle damage control. Sometimes, all the time, maybe less often when the children get older? At least, this is how I feel on any given day. Juggler and Damage Control Coordinator to the rescue!

My husband travels and is gone for sometimes a week or more at any given time and he knows better than to ask anything even remotely sounding like that sort of question. I am sure that when he opens the door when he comes home he is probably fully prepared to walk into any kind of crazy situation that might be occurring. Especially because of his erratic travel schedule, we juggle and there always seems to be damage control. I can even hear my mother’s voice in my head at times saying, “This is only a season.” Logically, I know that, but when you are in the thick of it, it’s tough. Any mother out there has been there and will agree.

Maybe I say all this because it’s Easter weekend and it’s a “Family Time” and one major component of our nuclear family is absent and so I am feeling, full force, The Juggler taking over. Today we do our Easter Fun and instead of dying eggs this year, my mother in law gave us a cake pan with bunny shaped craters for the batter, so we will make and decorate little bunny cakes. Very cute! Tomorrow afternoon? Easter egg hunt along with baskets. I am preparing for sugar filled days, which means I will have to scrape my daughter down from the ceiling. So until the festivities begin and The Juggler swings into action, I sit in the dim morning light and type this, sipping my creamy coffee basking in the brief, but very necessary serenity before it all begins…

The American Way

We have been treading water lately. There is so much going on and so little time to do it all in, but that is always how the story of life seems to go. 

We have a lot of swirling changes and we seem to find ourselves exiting and entering perpetually revolving doors, but again, such is the spice of life, or so "they" say. Who "they" are, I have not figured out as of yet, but don't worry. When I do find out, I will definitely let everyone in on the little secret. 

We have a new addition, two of them, actually. No, there are no wee ones incubating. We have treated ourselves to a new media cabinet and a new fifty inch television. It really was past due. For our entire life together, my husband and I, and now our family have had the same television that I had gotten for my college dorm room. We affectionally referred to it as "the Euro t.v." as it was petite and not fashionably new and super-sized as most American things tend to be. Goodbye, our teeny tiny t.v. You have served us well! Sometime between now and Friday (Isn't that always the way when things are being delivered?), our new television shall arrive and be settled in to serve us in our entertainment ventures upon our new media stand that we rushed out to purchase and had strapped to the roof of Frank the Tank just as it started to rain. As we drove out of the parking lot with the rhythmic thumping of a stray cord flapping on the roof along with the tapping of the rain, I couldn't help but mention to my husband that perhaps he should double check his tie job as I could just envision us standing on the side of the highway with a brand new piece of obliterated furniture being driven over in the rain by trucks on Route 95. I have a very vivid imagination and can be slightly paranoid. He gave his assurances and we made it home, furniture in tact in time to set up and see rain delay the opening Red Sox game. It's all fine and dandy to me. Maybe the new t.v. will be here in time for the re-scheduled game tomorrow. My husband deserves it. He works very hard and it's high time he got his new toys. I am sure not upset about seeing Ina up close and personal making her raspberry pavlova. Nor will my daughter be sorry to see Curious George life size. Yes, we all win with this one. 

Here's to super-sizing! It's the American way!