My mother’s kick-in-the-pants, go-out-and-do-great-things-because-you’re-awesome, inspiring words of the day. So good it deserved to be made with sparkly text.
Behold, a garnet and silver stardust bracelet on elastic, made for the 8th birthday of one of my coworkers’ daughters:
My first bracelet sold since I was in college! I’m so proud. Hope she likes it! Happy birthday, Emma!
Email me or leave a comment if you want your very own pure gemstone goodness. :)
**UPDATE** From my coworker: “Emma loved the bracelet. She put in on immediately and kissed it and has not taken it off. … Dad did good and you helped. Way to go.” SO CUTE!**
This is a follow-up to a post I made recently, detailing some health issues with my dog, Pippin.
On one recent Sunday, I took Pippin to work. He’s the best in the biz.
Long story short: NO SURGERY FOR THE SMALL DOG! The ultrasound shows a nodule on his pancreas, and some of his organs were a bit enlarged, but there’s no cancer, no foreign object stuck in his gut, and absolutely no need for surgery, as the first vet had pressed so firmly into my brain.
Basically, his big tummy was full of air and food that was fermenting, which was the culprit in his gastro issues. He’s a small dog that’s getting older and the high-fiber vet food just wasn’t right for him. I put him on soft food of a different brand for a bit, but when that didn’t stop the gastrointestinal distress, we put him on the tried-and-true diet for doggy diarrhea: chicken and rice. He’s been eating it since with only one short-lived gastro issue over the weekend when we relented and gave him a bite of egg white.
No more panting all night like a cow in labor. No more shitting himself. No more tear-inducing farts that wake us up out of a dead sleep in the middle of the night.
My dog did not have cancer. My dog had to take a shit and change his diet. THANKS, VET NO. 1, FOR THE PANIC. I guess doctors of all shades can be total dipshits.
If it’s not one thing, it’s another!Ladies and gents, always remember that YOU are your own best advocate and you must be diligent when it comes to your health care. I called Walgreens’ automated service this evening to check the status of my refill orders. I’m glad I did before I got there, because I was surprised/pissed to find they were trying to charge me $160 for FOUR (1-2-3-4) Relpax pills for migraine. Thankfully the fix came easy this time: I called the pharmacy and found that, for some bizarre reason, they had run it through some random coupon program and not my insurance, causing it to be rejected. But I was assured that it will be its usual $10 when I pick it up tonight.
Sadly, this is not the first time for me or for any of you, and it will not be the last. While I know Walgreens staff are humans too, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to fix something with them. They fill the wrong med even though I use the automated system and enter the prescription number myself. They don’t send refill requests. They give me someone else’s medicine and give mine away. They’ve asked me out loud, in front of other customers, why I’m taking birth control. And they frequently run medications incorrectly so that insurance at first doesn’t cover it until I tell them, ask them, fight them, beg them to re-run it.
Not that insurance is innocent: They’ve put up more than a few fusses and tried to charge more or refuse coverage on different medications, but will pull back and charge the co-pay amount when I’ve pushed back. You never accept a first offer, and you must never be afraid to push back for what you need or when you know something is not right — and even if you don’t know for sure, you ask, question, verify. Don’t just trust that everyone is doing their job to a T; make sure of it.
Your time, money and health are yours, and they are precious. Live it and love it.
Well, here we go again.
Only three hours of sleep last night, despite my good intentions of going to bed early so I could get up way early. Was a few minutes late getting here but nobody minds because even at 915 a.m. they are running behind.
I am waiting for an ultrasound, and likely clotting panel bloodwork. I am told when I check in that the “late morning” arrival of the sonographer will be more like noon … “And he is frequently late,” the girl behind the desk adds. I ask if I can come back closer to the actual time. I’m told no, because if he shows up and I’m not here, he’ll just leave. That is not an option for us. I’m told I can just leave my little one there and pick him up when it’s over. I opt to wait. The girl behind the counter looks down at me through her overly large, somehow trendy plastic frames, then slips away to the back rooms again.
Except for a patient or two getting medication instructions or playing on their phone, I’m alone in a silent waiting room. One wall, the one to my back, is a full glass window and the morning sun already is baking me. It’s going to be a miserably hot summer if it’s already so hot before 10 a.m. He’s panting. I’ll give him some water in a cup from the car in a minute. Perhaps we’ll go for a walk under the guise of “going outside.”
After all, would you leave this little man alone for hours on end with strangers when you don’t have to?
Yep, that’s Pippin, and my 6-year-old maltese and I are at the vet for the third time in less than a week, two of them “worked-in” semi-emergency visits.
What, you thought this visit was about me?
On Friday the first vet took xrays and found a seriously bloated stomach on this little dog with what seems to be *something* in him – cancer, a foreign object, we don’t know. On sunday I gave him a bath and found his neck and chest were black and red, so off we went to the vet much closer to my house (and more importantly, open on sundays). Seems that’s a giant bruise from jugular blood draw; it happened again when Vet No. 2 drew that day and even put pressure and ice on it. That’s why his neck is shaved and looks so awful. It actually is looking better! I hate to have him punctured again today.
Four different vets have looked st his xrays, including two that are friends of mine and my mom. Many theories have been tossed out, from tumors to having eaten part of a dead rat and maybe he’s suffering from the blood thinner in rat poison (so unbelievably unlikely). All opinions seem to end with seemingly inevitable stomach surgery. I’m hoping that the ultrasound today will tell me something different, something positive.
But right now, we’re waiting and testing and wondering. I’d rather it was happening to me than to Pippin. Right now, he just wants to be held and told he’s good and have a drink of water.
I can handle that.
We just had a meeting with some of the upper brass about our revenue and numbers, which aren’t terrible. There was the usual spread of cookies, cupcakes and rugelach from Publix, and the added thrill of everyone receiving a blue ticket for a cash raffle after the meeting. When a reporter took the necessary step of asking if we’d ever see raises again, our President of Something Important began a long explanation which, after about seven words, you already know is too many to be a “yes.” So that hope is dashed for another quarter.
BUT IT GETS BETTER.
The raffle. Oh, that raffle. I have terrible luck with these things so I didn’t expect a prize. What I could not have expected is not only would the newsroom clean up — a coworker that left and came back as a part-timer won for the second time (the first was in December), a sports desker and a new reporter and wire chief took home some serious cash money (between $200 and $500 each) — but my raffle number was 620. Phil, sitting on my right, was 619 and won $100. Robert, sitting on my left, had a completely odd number series and won $100. The woman two rows ahead of us was 621 and she won $200. Even when they drew a few cash cards based on random employee ID numbers, I did not win. I was a little steamed as we walked out, having literally been surrounded by cash winners while we’re on deadline. So as we’re walking out, The President of Something Newsy — who was also the day’s gift-giver — was shaking hands and thanking people for coming. I shook his hand, and before I knew it, I was telling him “I had some bullshit luck today, and here is why.” (Yes, I used those words.) And I pointed out Phil, Scott, Andrew, Robert, the lady with No. 621. I was just expecting to get a laugh. Instead, this member of the Upper Brass pulled cash out of his pocket and tried to hand me a $20 bill as a consolation prize. I threw my hands up, being surprised and scared to take money from him. Ultimately he talked me into it, agreeing that I’d had some seriously crap luck today and I’d earned it. And I walked out of there with $20 that I feel weird about but now can’t return.
Now I’m working on a locator map for a new Greyhound station that will be my second graphic in print for this newspaper this weekend. Not bad, considering I only started official graphics training on Tuesday. However, I’ve been walking stiffly and hunched over the last few hours, my heating pad scalding the crap out of me, as I start on day one of a brand new birth control that I’ve been reminding my gyno about for over a week (and going without in the meantime). At least it was free. Thanks, Obama! Please find a way to make my uterus behave.
So what did you do at work today?
So it’s after 5 a.m. again, I need to be at work around noon (good luck to me!), and here I am screwing around on the internet. What is with this insomnia? I know a few things might be stress from work (such as not liking a new project they have me writing, or having to do the design for A1 during a high-news time as it was on Monday with the Boston Marathon). Another is this cot is not the most comfortable and it’s humid. (Good god, Florida, please stop.)
Most likely, though, is my mind. It doesn’t shut up. EVER. I lay down for sleep, I’m exhausted, the dog is snoring his tiny maltese butt off, and my brain suddenly develops Tourette’s and keeps reminding me of the reasons *why* I’m on this cot, and what happened That Night, and weren’t the explosions awful, and you totally let your friend down, and couldn’t you just hurry and find an apartment, and Jesus all the shit that goes with boxing up a life and moving from a house to your mom’s house to fully into a new place, and can you afford that anyway, and are you going to visit New Zealand before you’re 30, and holy fuck you’re going to be 30 in October, and where are all these friends that are supposed to help you celebrate a milestone year because I don’t see any around …
Yeah, that’s just me doing stream-of-consciousness and listing a few of the things on my mind right this minute.
I’m going to attempt to slay insomnia now. What do you do to get rest when rest won’t come easy?