Rats, Medications and Money

Good Thursday afternoon to you all. First, a BIG thank you to those who have went to the trouble to ask about me. I am feeling a tad better and my doc will more likely be changing my meds tomorrow at my appointment. The last one is obviously not going to be THE ONE for me.

I would like to introduce you to Maxine. Maxine has been part of my household now for 4 months (?). She is technically called a Blue Fancy Rat. I had read up on rats as pets and discovered one commone theme throughout all my research...they are smart and they don't bite.

I had hamsters (and everything else) as a kid and hamsters DO BITE. Maxine and her friend Gladys have not nipped me the first time. They are extremely loveable and they are smart. They love to be held and their antics are just plain fun to watch.

Their "toys" consist of anything (just about)! They love climbing. We gets lots of little cardboard boxes on my job and I take those and may little condos of them. Nothing fancy, just tape 2 or 3 together with holes they can crawl all through. Every new box to these girls is like having Christmas morning over and over and over again. Oatmeal container tunnels...Pringles tunnels...an old towel...and for sleeping and hiding purposes, I have hung a couple of dish towels from the top of their big cage. They love their "hammocks".

Not a very good photo, but here is one to show you the hammock and the cage. The cage is an old cockatiel cage. The wire needs to be kind of small so they can't squeeze out and pay special attention to places that could catch their little feet and break a leg. Anyone interested is more than welcome to comment and let me know you would like more information and I will provide more pics or any advice or encouragement I can. They are wonderful pets.

Along with a staple of "rat food" from the local "spend your cash here pet store", mine have a little oatmeal (instant of course) everyday, some carrots (from a can) and for treats they enjoy cat food, fried chicken, potatoes (cooked - never raw), and Scooby Doo cereal (dry).

They're sweet guys...truly. I would be careful with little kids that do not understand being "easy" with small animals though - a drop or too hard a squeeze could be deadly for the ratsters.

Monday through Friday, she gets up at 6 every morning. She brushes her teeth, drinks half a cup of coffee and puts on her makeup while having her first cigarette. She dresses and sits on the bed to kiss her husband goodbye. She goes to work everyday. She does her job with diligence. Looks appropriate, acts somewhat appropriate except for the occasional tears that she cannot control. She goes to the store during her lunch break when she needs to, and smiles if anyone catches her eye. She is polite to the clerk and holds the door for others coming through it.

She says all the appropriate things throughout her day, answering the phone with what she hopes is a more upbeat voice than she feels. Those are the only conversations she will have the entire day. She smiles at her boss when he comes in the office. She knows he may not come out of his office again, unless he needs her to do something, until he leaves at 5.

She speaks to the neighbors when she gets home from work. Takes care of the animals and cleans a little. She sits in front of the television until it is time to go to bed. She doesn't see it, or even hear it, but she sits there.

She takes her pills so that the dismal thoughts will be silenced long enough for her to sleep until it is time to get up and do it all again, and she wonders if this is her life forever.

She wants very much to be brave enough to make friends, she longs to have friends.

In the darkest of nights, when the world is quiet and dreaming, she wonders if the voices that tell her she gets what she deserves are real. Maybe it is true. Maybe she has been so bad that this is her punishment. A lifetime of feeling like she just doesn’t quite belong. As if there is some secret that everyone knows except her.

Women have hissy-fits.

Women have hissy-fits.

You're talking to the QUEEN of the HISSY-FIT.
We cannot help it. It is in our nature.

Along with other strictly female things:

I do not mind the labor pains. You get a baby afterward. Besides, childbirth tends to take care of that nasty little problem of modesty.

I do not mind the breast-feeding even though the boobs do wind up down around you knees afterwards.

The midnight runs to the drugstore are ok too, at least you get out of the house alone for a few minutes.

PMS...hey, at least we have an excuse to be nasty every month.

Stress incontinence. Well, at least you can still laugh.

But the hissy-fits! No reason, no excuse, no justification.

Just once, in this "man's world", (and for those of you who are younger, don't be fooled, it is still a mans world) I wish I could just have a tantrum the way men do.

But nooooooo, I get mad...I cry. I wait and wait until my last button has found it's way under some balding, tiny brained, tunnel-visioned man's fat little stubby finger then I cry. Not from hurt feelings, don't be fooled.

I'm mad!

Hot!

Angry!

Two heartbeats away from 20 to life in an 8 x 10 cell.

The tears find a path to the eyeballs in split second time. All you get then is raccoon eyes. That's why Revlon is such a lucrative business.

Women have hissy-fits...and dirty eyes.

Anybody know where I can buy some stock in Revlon?

Queen of the Hissy Fit

A Pediatric Physicians Impact on a Young Mother

Shinga recently asked readers on her blog, http://breathspakids.blogspot.com, how a member of the medical community has helped them or their loved one without pulling out a prescription pad.

This is probably not what she had in mind when she asked, but I would like to tell you how my kids’ pediatrician helped me when my first was born.

I was barely 16 when my 1st child was born. I took her religiously to her peds doc on his suggested schedule. Needless to say, I was not in very good shape myself emotionally. Married to an abuser at 15 and no support system since my pregnancy had embarrassed my family so much.

My OB, the first time I went to him with my pregnancy, was not very nice at all. His first comment to me was, "I don't know why you girls this it is okay to get knocked up at this age", and then he made me lay back while he roughly examined me. I felt he was punishing me for my 'loose ways' and if he had only known he would have understood I had already been punished enough.

This same doctor delivered my first baby and that was before epidurals were popular in our area. I had asked for a spinal block and while he was giving it I jumped a little when the needle first stuck me and he slapped my hip and yelled at me to be still. I know it was important to be still, but I didn't mean to jump and looking back, that was so ugly for him to treat a young frightened mother so horribly. That was also before husbands could go in with wives and I was all alone. My husband was made to wait in the labor room. We had no one with us. My mom had asked we not wake her up if I went in the middle of the night. This was, after all, not a grandchild she could be proud of.

My kids’ pediatrician was always so encouraging. So sweet to me. He always brought up issues I worried about and was too embarrassed or ashamed to bring up myself, such as her constant crying (colic?) And how to deal with that without losing my mind. We lived out in a cow pasture, 5 miles from the closest pay phone and no neighbors. I was 15 miles from any relatives, had no car and my husband was gone everyday from 7am until whenever he decided to come home at night after work, so it was just me and my little daughter.

Our doc never failed to tell me I was doing a great job with her. He almost always would have the nurse play these little audio tapes for me and looking back as I grew up over the years (we went to him until my kids were in their late teens and towered over the other little patients) I saw that he didn't have to treat all his moms this way, but he knew I was young and he took the extra time with me.

He didn't know it at the time, but he was the only encouragement I ever had. Ever!

Later, when my youngest was about 10 or so, and I was a good bit more mature and 'grown up', I wrote him a long letter and baked he and his wife a cake and took it to their home. He was not home, but I was able to tell his wife what he had meant to me during those scary, immature years when I was a child with a child.

To this moment, I cry when I think about what it might have been like without him. My babies are now 29 and 24. We grew up together. They have 5 babies between them. My kids are good parents as are their spouses. I am very proud of the way they have turned out in spite of having a child for a mother for part of their lives.

I know it is extremely frustrating for doc to see kids coming in with kids, and I know it must have been for mine too, but he didn't let it show. He did everything he could to encourage me to be the best mom I could be. I thank him for that.

Homeless & Forgotten

Until I can get back on an 'even keel ' here, I will post some things I have written over the past few years. I hope you enjoy, or better yet, I hope they make you think.....

Obviously I have changed any identifying factors from the article, but other than the location and her name, everything else is the same.

Big City, S.C. -- The Big City Coroner's Office said Monday that an autopsy turned up no signs of foul play in death of a 40-year-old homeless woman who found dead in a building near Big City Mall over the weekend.

Jane Doe's body was found Saturday night in a building on a Big City Road.

Big City deputies said that when they responded to an anonymous call about 8:30 Saturday night, they found Jane Doe's 's body at the former Big City building.

Investigators said that Jane Doe had been dead at least several days.

Deputies said that they believe she was homeless and seeking shelter in the empty building. Investigators said that they found her personal belongings scattered inside.

She was somebody’s friend. She was somebody’s mother.
She was somebody’s daughter, somebody’s lover.

She died all alone in a cold dark place.
When was the last time she saw a kind face?

Did she smile to those who saw her last? Did they
smile back or just wait for her to pass?

Did they turn their heads and avert their eyes,
Look left or look right or towards the sky?

Did they pretend they not to see her as they passed her on the street?
Did she ask them for money or something to eat?

Will I look away when she passes me again,
Someone else’s mom, someone else’s friend?

Digging through a garbage can for something to eat,
Sleeping in a warehouse where there was no heat.

Dying alone with no one to care.
Dying alone in such deep despair.

It could have been me it could have been you,
Or your mom or your daughter or a friend that you knew.

Will I turn my head will I walk away?
Decide right now-it happens everyday.


12/31/02

WARNING - DEPRESSING

WARNING - DEPRESSING - That is what I put in the subject line of any email I write that deals with my depression that I send to my friend so she will know if she is not having a good day, to save it and read it later.

I know people do not enjoy reading depressing posts on blogs either. I know it is a huge turn-off. Some days though I never see another soul other than my spouse and my boss (who doesn’t talk unless necessary – the boss – not the spouse) and I need to say these things to someone besides DH because he has enough on his mind:

Every time I have a “really down day”, it terrifies me that my meds are beginning to stop working. They do that...they quit about every 2-2.5 years and the depression comes back with a vengeance. It has only been a few months this time, please God don’t let them be pooping out on me already.

I am 45 and it terrifies me that I will have to live the rest of my life like this...wishing I just wouldn’t wake up one morning. Wondering when IT will hit me again. Wishing I could be normal.

DH (Dear Hubby) who just went back to work two weeks ago, found out today as of the 31st of this month he will be unemployed again. I am just in shock. Another company has taken over the contract and the new company will not be retaining him. The EXACT SAME THING THAT HAPPENED IN APRIL!?!?!

I know people consider this ranting a pity party, and I know in my heart so many people have it so much worse. One of our blogging friends comes to mind when I whine about anything and that is DREAM MOM (whose link you can see to the right of my main page). How can I complain when I “watch” her live her life with such grace?

Please don’t tell me to “pick myself up by my boot strings” because I have done that more times than I can remember and STILL had the energy to hold my 380 in my hand and imagine what it would be like to pull the trigger.

Thank you my airway friends for listening.




I am still working on the book thing I was "tagged" on. I just don't have the ability to concentrate on anything other than work right now.

Thigh Highs, Goats and Promises to God

Some of you may not know this, and no one will believe it, but I have not always been the upwardly mobile cosmopolitan girl that you see before you today.

At one time, I was a country girl. My day consisted of preparing breakfast and getting kids off to school then coming home to feed the goats (who when alone referred to me as their “Sugar Mama” since I refused to sell them or eat them or otherwise do anything more than feed and pet them) and clean out the barn. I would also throw some feed out for the chickens and give the mule some sweet feed and hay. The pigs generally ate whatever everyone else dropped.

Well, no longer am I that overall-wearing, hay chewing, hog slopping girl. I am a city woman now. A full fledged, cell phone toting, card carrying upwardly mobile woman. The overalls have been traded in for skirts, blouses and blazers. Hose, heels and pearls. I have been transformed. A finely edged white collar professional.

A friend (who truth be told was also at one time as country and backward as I) introduced me to the finery of “thigh high” stockings to replace the binding, contorting and twisting that often occurs with the dreaded “pantyhose”.

Okay. I will admit it, I was skeptical of wearing these “thigh highs”. What if they fall? What if one slips down and I don’t feel it going? “Oh no!” my friend says, “they have this rubber stuff around the top and they’re tight enough that they wont fall down”. Satisfied that although I may wind up with purple legs from having the blood cut off I at least will NOT be humiliated by having them fall down around my ankles, I decide to try them.

Okay, granted most of you know where this is going by now right? I shall tell it anyway, just for clarity and as a warning to all you “good ole girls” who attempt to leave your roots and go high society.

This morning I dressed rather stylishly. I wore a rather smart looking black skirt with a split up the left side, a purple and black sweater and the perfect accessories. I also wore those wonderfully silky, black, feminine, liberating thigh highs this morning.

I walked out to my car with my head held high, secretly looking around to see if possibly a neighbor may be noticing the very polished lady next door walking to her car to go to her posh office for the day. No one was out. But that was okay. I still was feeling very posh, very....”smart”. That is...until....I got to work.

Everything was fine when I pulled into my parking spot. There were a couple of people already working at the office next to ours, maybe one of them would glance out and see this astonishing example of just how far a country girl can come. I got about half way between my car and our door when I felt it! A little tickling on my leg. Just a small feeling of something brushing along the thigh. Immediately... I knew!

I began taking smaller steps thinking maybe that will keep them up, all the while wondering whether that is the correct plan of action of if I should just break and run so as to get in the door before they fall all the way off.

I should have run. By time I got about 5 feet from our door, with my key in my hand, I was walking on the right one and the left was almost there as well. I crammed the keep into the first lock, making all kinds of promises to God if only He would see fit to let me get in and get behind my desk before my boss arrived.

Now, my female friends, let us all be honest with one another here. We are alone right? How many of you shave every day during the winter time? How many of you shave every other day in the winter time? Okay, now for those of us who can be honest....how many of you at the very best shave every couple of weeks during the winter, raise your hands. Yep. Count me in that last category. Did I mention the black skirt I am wearing has a split up one side? You know, a split that is made to show off the slender, toned side of the leg?

AS far as those promises I made to God...No one saw me before I could snatch those nasty thigh highs off! I do intend to uphold those promises, one of which was to never wear those thigh highs again. From this point forward, I will wear only pantyhose... the way God intended.

By the way, you can take the girl out of the country, but goats should stay where they belong.

Pocket Pets

I love animals! I always have said if I ever get rich, I will have a virtual Noa's Ark...a pair of everything!

I have been reading about pocket pets lately and trying to decide if I really need another addition to our zoo. I decided today I did.

I have had numerous hamsters over the years, but latley I had read that rats make better pets. They say the don't bite as much as a hamster does, and they are smarter. So today, with DH (dear husband) in tow, we made a trip to he super duper pet store, where I bought a RAT!! :)

My DH named her Maxine, you know like Maxine from the comic strip that is forever drinking coffee and smoking and growling at somebody about something.

Maxine is so very pretty. Her face is awesome. Guess I had never looked very long into the face of a rat before. Counting her tail, she is about 4.5 inches long. Beautiful perky pinkish ears. She is solid grey. They called her black at the store, but she is grey.

She is letting me hold her a good bit, but she is still not all the way tamed. I think I'm gonna find a way to hide a pet house on my desk at work and take her with me every day. I'm alone a lot of the time there and she would be great company.

Gosh I just love animals.

Comment on one of my posts......

Some time back, I wrote a post on my BLOG pertaining to the chronic pain my husband has dealt with for the past 10 years or so and our difficulty finding someone willing to treat it enough to even bother.

Recently, a doctor blogger commented on my site that he had posted his response to my post, “Drug Seeker…Maybe, Maybe Not” on his site because it turned into such a long comment. Below was the response he posted in reference to my post. His words are in BLUE. My response is in PEACH (and if that has not completely and utterly confused you, you’re one step ahead of me!).

Pain Management
I view it as a duty and privilege to adequately control pain in my patients. It is imperative that the patients take an active role in their health as well, however. Just writing a prescription is not sufficient therapy for many chronically painful conditions. If back or leg pain is present in the setting of obesity, (Obesity remark number 1 – no where on my BLOG have I ever said my husband is obese, but this was automatically assumed.) then weight loss is just as important as pharmaceuticals. Physical therapy and exercise, in most cases, are essential. (Everyone cannot afford physical therapy. He does exercise as much as is possible and in different ways that a healthy person could given his health conditions.) Maintaining functionality, including continuing employment when at all possible, is important not only for psychosocial and financial reasons but to promote structure and a positive self-image. (Exactly! Hence the need for pain medication that will enable him to try again. He has worked a full time job since he was fifteen years old. He worked full time while in college getting his engineering degree because his dad was dying and HE had to work to pay off the mortgage on his folks’ home. He is definitely not afraid of work.) The natural release of endorphins one achieves with a satisfactory family/job/exercise situation is more effective long-term than just narcing someone up and letting them get fatter, (Second reference to obesity with insinuation that he is already that way and is continuing to grow.) lazier,(Whoever once said he is lazy!?! He is a very artistic and creative man and our yard could compete with the best of them and we won’t even talk about how well he can cook and make our meals healthy yet still have plenty of flavor. Lazier!?!) and more withdrawn from society. Depression is frequently present and must be treated as well. (Yep – certainly agree with this one.)

Opioids are important, but they need to be used wisely...with the goal of maximizing potential. Pain relief should be an intermediate goal, not the ultimate goal. (NOT THE ULTIMATE GOAL !?!? If this goal is reached, that IS what will help him to reach his potential. All I can say here is I would be willing to bet the person making this comment has never lived with unrelenting pain.) The ultimate goal is return to function. Anyone can be made comfortable with medication, but if they are just a comfortable blob (Obesity reference #3…I mean when the term BLOB is used in the context of everything else that has been said in this post, I think I am pretty safe to assume using the term blob as a term of endearment for the obese.) nodding off on the couch, why bother? (Why bother? Ummmm, maybe because for that few minutes he has some relief from the pain? Is that a good enough reason for ya?)

Pain management needs to be directed by one physician, but in certain cases a multispecialty approach can be helpful (Ortho/Neuro/Psych, for example). (Yep, we’re thinking alike on this point. He does see several specialists about his health issues including the pain.) A carefully worded pain management contract, where the patient agrees to be honest about his compliance with therapy and the medications he obtains, is mandatory. (We have paid so far this year, $900 just for drug testing that the pain management office requires for anyone they are treating with the drug he is on.) Visits to the ER for breakthrough pain should be rare, not routine. (The only two times he has used an emergency room in his life were when he was 12 and was hit by a car and 4 years ago when he broke his elbow. No ER for pain relief so I hope that calms everyone with the concern of him wasting valuable time and space for “no good reason”.) It must be made clear that lost or stolen prescriptions will not be replaced, and that changes in the amounts of medications taken must be approved by the managing physician. (Goes without saying. So far he has never lost his medication.) The patient therefore is involved with the plan, and shares some responsibility for getting better. (Not losing his medication and not being robbed means he has gotten involved with the plan? Great! He is doing well then.)

The goal should be to get better, not just to feel better. (Gee! Why didn’t we think of that???? "Hey Honey, quit worrying about feeling better - just get better!!!"

What if this is a disease process that will not get better? What if it is not a back strain or leg pain or some other type of pain that can be blown off as being caused by his lazy “slobby” obese self??? By the way, without a miracle he will NOT get better. His pain is not caused by obesity or laziness or being a slob!)

As you can tell, I am very upset by that response to my post about my dear husband. I normally do not get confrontational, it goes against my nature and my personality, and even now by blogging it is not really confronting anyone, but I had to point out some things this doctor said.

I read all the whining and ugliness that went on, on another blog this week where doctors and other health care professionals (not all but most) were taking “pot shots” at fat people. I don’t take things like that very seriously because blogging is an anonymous way to vent and give our opinions on things and see how other people think.

Being the eternal peacemaker that I am, I even wrote a comment on that situation and how we can’t take things like that very seriously. This response however makes me rethink how I was viewing the hostility I read in those comments. This response leads me to believe, the doctor who wrote it automatically assumed several things about my husband…that he is obese, that he is a slob, that he is lazy. How could one make that assumption? How can he assume that he does not take an active role in his own health situations?

Until you have lived this life where pain is a 24/7 companion, you just can’t truly know what it is like. They cannot teach this in a textbook and it come with the true understanding of what it does to your life and the people closest to you.

I just could not keep my mouth shut on this one.

While we are on the subject of my husband, I will let you know he did go back to work last week. It is not exactly what he wanted and was accustomed to financially, but it is less stress and it is something not terribly physically demanding. I appreciate the kind words from those of you who have written about him.

UPDATE!!!! I appreciate the posts I have had on this particular post, but as of this moment I am not allowing posts on this subject, and I am removing the ones already there since there has been such provaction. I had some very angry responses and some which were barely veiled threats against another poster and I just cannot let my BLOG be used for hostility against ANYONE.

I have no problem with discussing a subject and in the real world I know I cannot force anyone to "play nice", but here on my little BLOG I can stop the insanity.

Suffice to say, this is a "hot bed" topic to all who are close to the situation and tempers can run high when people feel they are not being listened to or that they feel that are being talked down to.

S.I.M.D.

Lunch Breaks and Hammer-Heads

Surgeon in My Dreams is going to have to start knitting during her lunch breaks. She can no longer leave the office and go on her adventures.

Today, she was late leaving for lunch since she was helping run cable for a computer in the office. She ran down to the Burger King and picked up a Cherry Icee (which by the way is white!! What is the fun of a Cherry Icee if it is white?) and a burger. She was almost back to work, when a van comes across 5 empty lanes of traffic just to drive in her lane…with her still in it.

Well, Surgeon in My Dreams has never been in a traffic accident before (knocking on wood) so this is quite a new experience for her. Surgeon in My Dreams has already pulled over onto the curb to her right trying to get out of the crazy persons way, so she is nearly stopped and is fully expecting the nut case to do the same.

But no!!! This hammer head is going to run! Surgeon in My Dreams begins flashing her lights and yelling to “stop, stop” (no matter that the windows were up and no one other than the dust bunnies who live in her car could hear her). But the crazy person continues to drive away, picking up speed no less.

Surgeon in My Dreams forgets it is NOT 1996 and she is NOT still a cop (not to mention she does NOT have a gun) and she takes off after her assailant. After about a three mile excursion, this freakoid pulls into a driveway in a neighborhood like Surgeon in My Dreams used to visit a lot back in 1996 when she WAS a cop.

As the van door opens, a lady steps out, looks at Surgeon in My Dreams, who by then is already getting out of her car to view the damage for the first time, (complete in her dress and heels) and says , “What?”. When Surgeon in My Dreams politely informs the lady that she had just hit her, the lady say “No I didn’t”.

Now granted, Surgeon in My Dreams has been working all week and it is Friday and she is nearly brain dead, but she believes she would remember if a big van had not hit her car.

The lady goes in her house and brings her husband outside who asks me the same thing, “What?” Now Surgeon in My Dreams is beginning to get the idea this family may be a couple biscuits short of a panful, so she explains very slowly while pointing to her crumpled car (which by the way is the very first car she had ever picked out and bought all by herself) that “the lady ran into me and then took off like nothing had happened.”

At this point, the husband of the crazy lady said “she probably didn’t know she hit you”. I could only hope at this point this couple had not procreated.

While waiting on the trooper, (what, were they all at Krispy Kreme), the husband asks me would I just take their insurance information and forget about the trooper. After deciding I could take the husband if I had to, I answered no. We were definitely waiting on the trooper.

So, 45 minutes after my adrenaline induced phone call to 911, the trooper finally got there. By now I have a true adrenaline surge going on in my body. I learned about this phenomenon, the Fight or Flight, at the police department.

My very first car chase at The Big Police Department, ended up outside my jurisdiction so I was pulled off the chase and the next jurisdiction took over. They got to catch the driver and fight with him, thereby releasing the adrenaline that their body had automatically produced. When there is no physical “release” of this adrenaline, the surge does different things to different people. Me personally, the night of my first car chase, I pulled over and threw up in a Holiday Inn parking lot. Then I got a serious migraine which lasted about 2 hours.

Well, the very nice, young (geez, had he even graduated from high school yet?) trooper wrote out a few tickets, (turns out her license was suspended in addition to everything else), complimented me on my audacity to follow her, and then warned me how dangerous it could have been. He ended by telling me to have a nice day.

I finally found my way out of the neighborhood and back to the office. Of course my boss was completely sympathetic and earnest and made no jokes about my little afternoon lunch break. NOT!!

The Icee was good though. You know if you wait till they’re melted, they taste almost like having an old fashioned snow cone does when you ask for extra syrup.

©

Frogs Don’t Bounce

It is strange what we remember. I could not tell you what I had for dinner two days ago, but I remember clearly an incident that happened 16 years ago.

My son was in junior high, (middle school for those under 40) and I was in the long “pick up” line waiting to pick him up after school.

I could see clearly from about midway through the line that he was upset. When I got up to the point where the kids were allowed to walk off the curb to their awaiting ride, he rushed into my mini-van and promptly burst into tears.

My son was 11 and he was a tender hearted child when it came to certain things, animals being one of them, but he did NOT cry in front of other kids! Today, he was wailing as if his heart was broken.

When he was finally able to stop long enough to speak, he explained to me that one of the older kids had found a frog on the sidewalk and was throwing it up in the air and watching it hit the ground. The frog was bleeding and barely alive.

My kids were brought up with animals of all types. They were taught to have the utmost respect and kindness for all living creatures. We lived in the country and my kids have watched their mother pull over "a many a time" to help a turtle get safely across the road. They have seen me stop at a house where there was a dog chained to a tree and had somehow gotten his neck stuck through a rubber, disc shaped object and remove the thing from his head. They were NOT accustomed to seeing an animal mistreated.

As he finished telling me this horrid story, his tears and the wailing started all over again. By now we were far enough away that I could safely pull over and hug and kiss him (that was another thing you did not do in front of the other kids !!).

I cannot remember doctors' appointments without writing them down. I barely remember kids and grandkids birthdays, but I remember that incident as clearly as if it were yesterday – the pain of seeing my baby witness cruelty to an animal.

That memory is as fresh today as it was 16 years ago.

Abandoned Babies and Daniel’s Law

The state of South Carolina passed a law in 2000 known as Daniel’s Law.

This law provides that a mother, or a person designated by her, can leave her baby without fear of prosecution with someone at a hospital, church, synagogue, fire department or outpatient medical facility.

Daniel's Law is intended to save babies. It is not intended to hurt or punish anyone. It provides a safe option for mother and baby.

A person who abandons a newborn cannot be prosecuted for abandonment if he or she takes the unharmed baby to an employee at a hospital or hospital outpatient facility.The law applies to infants up to 30 days old.The person leaving the child does not have to reveal his or her identity.The person leaving the child will be asked to provide medical information about the baby's parents, and if possible the name of the baby's parents. This will help the medical personnel treat the baby for any health problems.The hospital will provide medical care and contact DSS.DSS will have legal custody of the child.

Last month, a woman in South Carolina took a newborn child to a medical center and handed him over to a nurse there. She informed the nurse that the baby belonged to a friend of hers who asked her to do this. The friend provided the nurse with the mothers’ name.

Several days later, when the results of a blood test came back positive for both marijuana and cocaine, the mother was arrested and charged with unlawful child neglect.

Now I HATE what this mother put her baby through by abusing drugs while she was pregnant. I abhor it. I am a former foster parent and I KNOW how these babies suffer from withdrawal, however, what did this teach other young mothers-to-be out there??? To what fate did we subject newborns in the future? Now instead of being taken and given up to a facility where the baby will be safe and warm and taken care of and loved, we will continue to find them in dumpsters and ponds and other places where desperate “mothers” decide to “throw them away” because they are fearful of jail. They will suffer and live their few hours on this earth alone, hungry and cold.

I do not pretend to know all the answers, but am I the only person who thinks we just defeated the ENTIRE FRIGGING PURPOSE of this law!?!?!

If a Woman Stays with a Batterer, She Deserves to be Hit

(and other incredibly stupid things people say!)

Have you ever made that comment, or heard someone else say this when reading about a wife being abused or murdered by her husband or significant other? If so, have I got news for you.

Most women do not enjoy being hit. Most women do not enjoy being belittled. Most women do not enjoy being forced to do things in the bedroom that they are not comfortable with or that they feel are degrading.

Most women do not enjoy being called names. Most women do not enjoy not being free to see her family and friends. Most women do not enjoy.....

Friends, I could go on and on. For me, the name calling was worse than the slapping and pushing and hitting. The “oink oink” sounds made at me when I walked through the room did more damage to me than the bruises that eventually went away.

For those of you who say, “Why do women stay with men who hit them?” there are several answers.

Some women made youthful mistakes and married way too young and have no education and MickeyD’s just won’t pay the bills.

Some women have been “beaten down” to the point, both physically and mentally, that they think they are stupid and useless and would never survive. They feel they deserve no better.

Some women were brought up in abuse, and in turn “seek out” (unconsciously) men who will mistreat them. They think it is normal. I imagine that sounds farfetched and hard to believe, but I didn’t “get it” until I was in my late 30’s. I thought everyone lived the way I did.

Some women stay for “religious” reasons. Thinking that the abuse is their lot in life, or that divorce would be “wrong” in God’s eyes.

Some stay “for the kids”.

Some stay because “he” tells them he will kill them if they try to leave.

Some stay 24 years and never reported it the first time, because they know it would be twice as bad when the police leave.

I told two people, years ago. One was his father, and I had the “proof” on my face when I told him. The other was my (much) older sister. They didn’t want to get involved. More “proof” that I didn’t deserve any better.

There are lots of reasons why women stay. None of them include enjoying it...or deserving it.

One Thin Mint Chocolate Cookie

This is NOT funny !!

One. I had one left. One Thin Mint Chocolate Cookie!!

Over a week ago, I bought a small package of Thin Mint Chocolate Cookies. Maybe a 9 ounce package. I have been stretching that little package out now for over a week. Not because they’re expensive or hard to find or anything, but because I have this little weight problem you see.

I work in an office with two men. Goober Number 1 and Goober Number 2. We have a communal refrigerator that we all keep our lunches, snacks and soda in. Up until this minute, it was a good plan.

I’d been thinking about this One Thin Mint Chocolate Cookie all day long. I know, I know....that’s not a healthy thing to do, to obsess about a Thin Mint Chocolate Cookie all day. (I never claimed to be of a sound mind.) But, I have been thinking about that One Thin Mint Chocolate Cookie all day. I even checked in on it at lunchtime when I nuked my lunch plate. It was fine. Sitting there in its package all nice and cool and yummy looking.

So it gets to be 3:30 in the afternoon and I figure, “Ok. I deserve a break. Been working hard. Got a lot done. Very productive day. I think I’ll go get my One Thin Mint Chocolate Cookie!!”

Low and behold...what do I find. NOTHING! No Thin Mint Chocolate Cookie. No package that said Thin Mint Chocolate Cookie was in just 3 hours ago. Gone! Vanished! Poof! Here my mouth was all set for One Thin Mint Chocolate Cookie and it was gone.

I rarely curse, because the White Trash Academy For the Arts I attended taught us only people who lack a proper vocabulary to express themselves in other, more appropriate ways, curse.

We all share, we bring food products into the office knowing sharing will take place. But my gosh man...who does not know the “Last One” rule!?!

This shit just ain’t funny.

My Word Cloud