Yes, Wear a Mask, but No, Don't Be a Dick

We have the annual festival at my church this weekend. Due to stupid, horrible COVID-19, the festival was altered, offering a limited menu via drive-thru only. And, honestly, we were lucky that we were able to have anything at all. If it were up to me, I would've shrugged and said, "eh, maybe next year". But, really, I'm not trying to pay the mortgage and utilities on a large facility like a church, so what do I know?

Festival, it is!

And just like a good steward of the church, I volunteered. Mostly, I've worked in the kitchen, putting dinners together - socially distancing and wearing PPE. We are doing everything we can to make this event as safe as possible, both for our volunteers and our guests. And I'm pretty freaked out about this disease, so if I say we're being safe, we're being safe.

Today was my first time in front of the public. And my first experience seeing how freaked out other people are. It's not as if I didn't know. I have social media, after all. But I thought we were all decent human beings at the core. We all want to be safe and healthy. And this is a church function, so it'd be reasonable to think people might be nice.

Wrong.

I was taking orders. It was hot. I was wearing a mask. I know that I was. And it was never off my face. However, I admit I can't say that the mask was properly secured at all times for 3 reasons:

A) We were outside
B) It was hot and I was sweaty
C) The mask would slide off my nose

I DO know for a fact that I would reposition the mask when I would get to a new car. And, I maintained social distance. Because, as I said above, I am freaked out about this disease and I will (selfishly) admit, I don't want to get it. So, I'm pretty sure I would do what I can to keep myself safe (even though I know I know, the mask is for other people, not me). But whatever.

When it all came out and our state shut down, I didn't leave the house for 8 whole weeks. We didn't have our weekly family dinner with my parents and siblings because we would be over the 10 people limit. When my neighbor and I walked the neighborhood, one of us was in the street and the other was on the sidewalk.

I've been playing by the damrules.

But today, someone questioned my commitment to playing by these rules. I had just left a car when a woman in the car in front of me yelled out her window that I wasn't wearing my mask and that she had taken 20 pictures of me not wearing my mask and she was going to shut us down.

I was speechless. I mean, who does this?

Look, I get it. We are living in a horrible nightmare of a time. I am afraid for everyone I know. I have mini panic attacks when my husband leaves the house and want to spray him down when he walks in the door. My kids don't see friends. I yell at my parents to stay the fuck home. And even though the lockdown is over, I don't feel safe.

So, she took these 20 pictures and showed them to one policeman who was working security. From what I heard, she showed him, he told her I wasn't breaking any rules (the guidance is "should" wear a mask, not "shall") and to have a nice day. So, what did the lady do? She took his picture, too, for not wearing a mask (he was off duty, btw).

I don't know, maybe it's my type of anxiety that won't allow me to just roll my eyes at the crazy lady and let. shit. go. (Obviously, if I'm thinking enough to write about it.) But, I wasn't breaking any rules, we were at a church function, and this woman now has 20 pictures of me sitting on her phone because it made her feel important. I wasn't even anywhere near her, so it wasn't as if she was afraid for her safety.  To add to that, she ordered food and took it home, so she must not have been too worried. She just wanted to stick her nose in someone else's business.

Was it always this way? Were there always entitled, yet ignorant people in the world, letting everyone know their every feeling at every minute? I know social media has given people a sort of power to say whatever they want to whomever they want. But I'm wondering if everyone was always like this, it is just more obvious nowadays?

Someone at the festival told me that this lady is the epitome of a Karen. And, of course, I know that term, but I decided to look it up. According to Wikipedia (the epitome of truth on the internet, I know), a Karen "demands the world exist according to her standards with little regard for others, and she is willing to risk or demean others to achieve her ends."

This woman is TOTALLY a Karen. I mean, who is she to tell me what I did wrong? She doesn't know me, doesn't know how I feel about keeping people safe. She doesn't really care about that. As long as she gets to do and say whatever she wants.

So, fuck you, Karen. I hope you feel better, you nitwit. And next time, YOU wear a mask.

(Oh, did I forget to mention she wasn't wearing a mask herself? Soooo, yeah, there's that.)

Things I've Learned About Dogs

We've had Rocco almost 2 whole weeks. I think that alone makes me a puppy expert, so I thought I'd impart my wisdom onto the world. If you are thinking about adopting a puppy, this should help make your decision. And remember, you own the puppy, the puppy does not own you.

Yeah, right.

So, here are some things to keep in mind:

1. The liquid on your floor is almost always pee.
2. This is true even if you had just taken your dog outside to pee.
3. Twice within 30 minutes.
4. Puppies have the most energy at 5:30. A.M. 
5. Just like with infants, mothers are somehow the only people who hear when the puppy awakes at 5:30. A.M.
6. Puppies do not allow you to make coffee in the morning.
7. If you try, you will get pee on your floor.
8. Puppies think your hands (feet, clothing, hair) are their own personal chew toy.
9. What's considered "playful" by puppies is actually "painful" by humans.
10. Everyone in the world will want to pet your puppy. Even in this COVID-19 world. 
11. My sister says I am not allowed to Lysol a puppy.
12. Until you housetrain your puppy, you will clean up pee and (ugh, sometimes) poop no less than 5 times a day.
13. Cats are not the only assholes who pee all over the house. Go figure.
14. You will take a million and one pictures of the puppy, in various positions:
• Sleeping
• Sleeping upside down
• Sleeping on its side
• Laying down
• Sitting
• Sitting in your lap
• Eating
• Slow-motion video running (that never works out because he's too fast)
• Playing with your children
• Biting your husband (that one is pretty funny)
15. The cuter the pose, the faster they move from it when you sloooowly reach for your phone. It's like they know.
16. There is a thing I like to call "puppy psycho time", but is actually called "the zoomies", that happens every day around 8 in the evening. No idea what prompts it. 
17. There is also a thing called the "puppy pass-out" that happens right after "puppy psycho time".
18. The person who cleans up after the puppy and, more importantly, feeds the puppy becomes that puppy's "person". 
19. That's me. I'm the Person. 
20. I will not apologize for being the puppy's Person. As soon as one of these assholes I live with wants to take over these duties, they are more than welcome to become the Person. Until then, bugger off.

Oh and one last thing: A puppy who loves belly rubs is the single greatest creature on the planet.

I hope this information has helped as you make your decision to adopt or not. And if you have any questions about how to clean up dog urine, don't call me. I've already had my fill for the day.

So We Got a Dog

As you already know, I am a cat person. Our sweet sweet crazy Zoe went to kitty heaven last March. Since then, we have enjoyed new carpeting and no responsibilities, but also missed the joy a pet can bring. The boys have been asking for a dog for years and since we're in the middle of a pandemic and home all the time, we figured why not?

Meet Rocco. He's 50% Labradoodle, 50% Goldendoodle, and 100% adorable. At 8 weeks, he's a fluffy bundle of energy and joy, with a side of chill. I fell in love with him the moment we met.

#dogmom

But, boy, is he different than a cat. With a cat, you need to give him food, water, and a place to do his business (hopefully, not on your carpet). And then you can basically fuck off for all he needs you.

Not dogs. Dogs are like children. And not necessarily the good part of children. Instead, dogs are the not sleeping, not listening, constantly chasing after them so they don't make a mess/break something/hurt themselves part of children. But, he's damcute, so I will deal. And, just like any child stage, I know this is only for a short time.

We've had him 5 (whole) days. In those 5 days, he has ridden in a car every day, sniffed his doggie cousins, met the neighbors, been manhandled by small children and bullied by big dogs, visited the vet, and been hugged by every single person he's come into contact with. He has that way about him.

The first 4 days were kind of magical if you can believe that. He slept through the night, only had accidents because his owners were stupid, and was basically the chillest dog on the planet. But then something happened on night 4.

He became a toddler.

Now, he doesn't sleep nearly as much, he chews everything, including, but not limited to:

• Appendages
• Hair
• Clothing
• Furniture
• Blankets
• Carpeting
• Shoes
• Shoes
• Shoes
• Mulch
• Grass
• Leaves
• Dead bird carcasses
• Dog. treats. that. he. has. thrown. up.

Last night, he ran around in circles for 10 full minutes. Scared the crap out of me. Especially because he tried to do it underneath the armchair. 

Honestly, I have never had a dog, so I don't even know if this is normal. I'm new to training, I'm new to grooming, I'm new to what type of sniffing means what. I mean, who put me in charge of a dog? I love him so much and would never let anything happen to him, but dang. He is a pain in the ass. To quote my mother, "If he wasn't so cute, he'd be dead."

Juuuuuust kidding, all you PETA people. I love animals more than humans most days.

I'm kind of excited to see how he learns, though. Zoe acted so much like a dog, I feel like a part of this is familiar. So, we'll keep him. And learn to love to redirect his bad habits every 5 minutes and clean up pee and poop every 10 minutes (because his owners are stupid). 

Welcome to the family, pup-a-lump!

"But those weren't my plans." (AKA, when your teenager gets his own life)

So, tonight is New Year's Eve. Every year, since the boys were little, we've hosted a small get together with friends. We spend the evening, in our PJs, eating nothing but cheese and playing cards, while our children run wild in the basement. It's been nice.

But now, my oldest is in high school. And apparently wants his own life.

Back story, one of our closest friends has a son our son's age. And, although they moved a while ago, we have (and the boys have) always been close friends, spending NYE and other evenings together. But, this year, the 15-year-old decided he has other plans.

A few days ago, he asked if he could go to a party. At first, I said no. I am not ready to unleash him into the wild of NYE, I didn't want to figure out how to get him there and home, and his friend was going to be at our house. So, I told him no, we already had plans.

His response: "But those weren't my plans."

This got me thinking. Yes, it's true, he's getting older and has started making his own decisions. And I suppose I have to let him, even though I think I do a much better job. I mean, I would've chosen his friend over the party, obviously. But OK. I get that he doesn't see this friend as often as he sees his other friends and I can kinda-sorta see why he'd want to go to this party. But, we had plans. And he broke them. And when I had to tell my friend, she was rightfully annoyed that, two days before the holiday, her son had to make other plans.

In the end, it all worked out. Her son had been invited to several parties, so switching gears was easier than we'd thought. But she had mentioned to me that it's the end of an era. And I guess I'm sad about that.

2020 is just around the corner. This coming year, my son will be 16. He'll be getting his learner's permit and probably getting a job and a girlfriend and we'll see him less and less. And, even though he refuses to boil his own damn water for pasta (he once said "never mind" when he asked for pasta and I asked him to get the water going), he is going to start doing things for himself.

Mark my words.

I don't really do the resolutions thing. Mine have always been too wide-reaching (e.g. "be better") and I never ever stick to them (apparently, "better" is just too hard to achieve). But this year, I resolve to let my son grow up. He's going to be leaving my house in 3 years; it's time he learns some real independence. Not the "I wanna do what I wanna do" kind of independence, but the "I can survive outside of my mother's house" kind of independence. So, he's going to:

• Do his own laundry (actually, he already does that)
• Change his sheets
• Boil his own damn water for pasta if he wants pasta
• Clean. his. own. bathroom!

Now that I think about it, it's going to be a great year for me. Not for him, for sure, but hey, we can't have everything.

Happy New Year to me (and all of you, of course)!

Healthcare Industry: Get Your Shit Together

About 2 years ago, I went to the doctor. I had been having one pesky little issue (that I had been having on and off for a few years by then), and while the doctor told me (again) I was fine, I asked him to make sure... medically. I wanted to make sure he wasn't just treating a symptom of something else. So, he agreed. And said (and I quote): "Just remember you asked for this."

Now I know what he meant.

He ordered a CT scan. This test, of course, found all kinds of things unrelated to my one symptom. There were spots on my kidneys and liver and hip. That meant more tests: an ultrasound for the kidney, an MRI for the liver, a PET scan for the hip. Honestly, I had so much radiation running through me, I glowed in the dark.

The children were highly entertained.

The tests were whatever they were. I saw a urologist for the kidneys (more tests; everything was fine). The MRI found the liver to be fine, too. But then came the PET scan. The thing on the hip was nothing, but they found a spot on my neck. My doctor who ordered these tests is a specialist. Because this was out of his realm, he suggested I see my PCP to then find another specialist.

More appointments, more doctors.

My PCP sent me to an ENT. This guy took a biopsy of my neck (thyroid, really); results were inconclusive. But then he said that thyroid cancer grows slowly and even if it was cancer, it probably could wait another 6 months before we tested it again.

Aaaand here begins my rant.

First off, don't tell someone that you might have cancer, but oh, don't worry, it can sit in your body for a while longer. I decided this man was not going to be my doctor.

I saw an endocrinologist. She told me she could see the lump right away, just by looking at me. We did another biopsy; it, again, was inconclusive. She suggested I see a surgeon anyway because it was a big nodule that shouldn't be there.

So, I saw a surgeon. He seemed nice enough, agreed I needed the surgery to remove the left lobe of my thyroid. He happened to be the inventor/director of this robotic technology that would make the incision under my arm instead of across my neck. And I was vain enough to agree to that surgery.

That'll teach me.

Surgery was a year ago December (there was a little bit of cancer). Since then, I have had nothing but problems. Arm numbness, neck pain (remember when I threw out my back/neck moving my sister?) and a host of other things. I had a few follow-ups with the surgeon; he, of course, said my symptoms had nothing to do with my surgery. I was all, I'm not going to sue you, dude. I just want to know if this is normal. And forever.

Bloodwork showed I needed thyroid meds, so I went on them. I never got an answer from the surgeon about my arm, so he sent me to a neurologist. I didn't have nerve damage, which was good, but also didn't solve that problem. He suggested physical therapy.

In the meantime, I was having horrible womanly issues. I called my OB/GYN first. She said it wasn't her problem, it sounded like my thyroid. I called the endocrinologist; the nurse told me she had never heard of the thyroid affecting that part of a woman. (FYI, a quick Google search found the correlation in 2 seconds, but whatever). After a lot of back and forth, and a lot of them telling me it was not their problem, I made my endocrinologist up my thyroid med dosage.

After a few months, I started having bad side effects: dizziness, lightheadedness, heart palpitations. I went back to my PCP for a physical. I just wanted to know if this was all normal... rather, if this was my new normal.

My physical was fine. And yet, I still wasn't. I went back to the PCP, who ordered me to wear a 24-hour halter monitor. The monitor found something, so a cardiologist called me to see him. I, of course, had to wait 2 months to get in. Do you know what waiting does to someone who might have a heart problem who also definitely has anxiety?

While waiting, my symptoms were bad enough that I had to do something. I saw the endocrinologist again last week. I just couldn't believe this wasn't all related to my thyroid. Heart palpitations are one of the top symptoms of hyperthyroidism, how could it not by the thyroid? She told me that my levels were normal, so it wasn't my thyroid. And that I must have a heart problem. Basically, she said: it's not my problem, see someone else.

(Sidenote:. In all my life, I (thank God) have been relatively healthy, up until now. Cholesterol has been good, I have low blood pressure, low heart rate. Nothing to suggest a heart problem in all this time. Isn't it a funny coincidence that my "heart problem" started the moment my thyroid stopped working?)

Anyway, against her advice, I stopped taking my thyroid meds. And, (not) surprisingly, the heart palpitations stopped. Lightheadedness was still there, but it was not as bad. Funny how that happened.

So, yesterday, I finally saw the cardiologist. And, guess what? My heart is fine. And guess what else? It's not his problem, see someone else.

And here I am. I still don't know what's wrong with me. I feel better being off the meds, but I still have the lightheadedness, which only amps up my anxiety. And I need the meds to keep my thyroid working, so we still have to solve that problem. But who is going to solve it when no one takes responsibility?

Here lies my problem. Where is my patient advocate? Who is finally going to accept responsibility for my care and get me the help I need? Why aren't any one of my eight (8!) doctors helping?

When I was bleeding so much I thought I might bleed to death, why wasn't anyone helping? Why couldn't I call an advocate-type person, one who knows medical jargon, but isn't affiliated with a doctor's office, get me to the right people? It happens in cancer care, why not elsewhere? And my problem is small, relatively speaking. What happens to people with chronic diseases?

I feel like your PCP is supposed to be that person, to an extent. And I love mine, I really do. But, is he not doing his job? Why didn't he follow up with me after he ordered the halter? Why isn't he following up with me about any of the problems I've seen him about just this year? I get that he has hundreds or thousands of patients and can't possibly have time to do this for each and every patient, but how else is this supposed to work?

I know, I'm supposed to be my own advocate. But, how are you supposed to advocate for yourself when you don't even know what you need?

Funnily enough, I write marketing materials for the healthcare industry. I know enough about all kinds of conditions to be dangerous – or *this close* to becoming a doctor myself. I'm constantly talking about a "multidisciplinary approach to medicine" and "patient-centered care". And I'm calling bullshit on my bullshit. There is no multidisciplinary approach. There is no time. Doctors don't even look at their patient files before they see a patient. How do these people, who have the tremendous responsibility of a person's life, get away with this? My company expects the respect of people's time; I could never go into a meeting not even the slightest bit prepared. Isn't this the same thing, more important even?

All of this is to say: healthcare industry, get your shit together.

A Step-by-Step Guide to Helping Your Sister Move

My sister has lived in Dallas for the past 11 years. But, we got lucky this past fall when her husband accepted a new job... it meant they were coming home!

While my BIL began the job in November, she stayed back in Dallas to sell the house, pack up their stuff and move it all here. After the house sold, I offered to fly down there, spend the last week packing up the rest of their stuff and driving it back home.

I know, I'm a great sister, aren't I?

Anyhoo, I flew down there last Sunday. And you all know how much I love to fly – that alone should earn me bonus "great sister" points! Since I never eat before a plane ride and took my happy pills, I was starving and sleepy by the time I got down there. So, even though the Golden Globes were on and I love me some awards shows, Sunday was spent scarfing down food and falling asleep in front of the TV. The real work began on Monday.

Here's my step-by-step guide to helping your sister (brother, friend, etc.) move:

1. Wrap tiny breakables in paper.
(Sidenote: My sister had all the supercool accoutrements for moving: big rolls of bubble wrap (it took everything I had not to pop every damn one of those); packing paper; boxes of all kinds – small, medium, large, extra large, mirror/picture... it was amazeballs.)
2. Fill small box full of tiny breakables in paper.
3. Test weight of said box by bending at waist and lifting (potentially heavy) box.
4. Throw out back.
5. See stars.
6. Lay down on floor.
7. Get better and pack more boxes.
8. Wake up with stiff neck that makes you want to vomit.
9. Make sister go to Wal-Mart at 6am to buy heating pad.
10. Sit with heating pad for rest of day while sister packs alone.

I mean, good grief. She was probably wondering why she bothered with me at all!

Even though I was completely useless to her, I'm glad I went. She didn't have to drive 2 days all on her own and it gave us something to talk about at family dinner last night.

You're welcome, Mar.

The Crud

As you all know, school is back. And with that comes The Crud. You all know The Crud. The runny nose, sneezing, post-nasal drip that makes your throat hurt and you spend 20 minutes hacking/choking as you furiously rummage through your purse for a cough drop... while you're in a room full of people... who are all trying to listen to a speaker.

Oh, is that just me? Yesterday?

Anyway, The Crud first started with the 12-year-old within the first week of school. Typically, it takes about a month or so for The Crud to enter our house, so it was a little surprising to see that little bastard so fast.

I blame middle school.

His runny nose/cough lasted only a few days and then we were in the clear... until last weekend when I got it and the 9-year-old got it. And, somehow, my mother.

That's a wicked Crud.

So, since Saturday, we've been weathering the storm. Most of my colds start and end the same way. I spend the first day sneezing my life away (did you know your heart stops every time you sneeze? I could be dead by now!). I've been "bless you"ed enough times this week that I'm a sure thing for heaven. The rest of the days alternate between runny/stuffy nose and sore throat. It ends within a week or so and then we go about our lives.

Can I admit that, when I was young, I actually enjoyed the occasional cold? I'd gather a box of tissues, a glass of orange juice and a blanket and veg in front of the TV. It was kinda nice to pamper myself while I practically sneezed up a lung.

But, nowadays, ain't nobody got time to be sick. I have to manage the lives of little people. And work. And, you know, life. And, for whatever reason, illnesses take longer now that I'm old. The 9-year-old got through it in 2-3 days while I'm still sneezing. I mean, what the? Sneezing is only supposed to be day 1! I'm supposed be done by now! I shouldn't have gone through an entire box of Kleenex 5 days in!

But, I suppose I can look on the bright side. To quote the great "Sixteen Candles":

"They'll feel some massive guilt. It could be highly profitable."

It's not working yet, but I'll hold my breath... it might stop the sneezing.