Fail

Remember how I was going to go running at 5:15 this morning? About that. Easier said than done when a 4 year old wakes you up to chat. Four times.

What's sad is how flipping freaked out I was the first time. When my daughter wears her hair down, she looks like the girl from The Ring if it's all in her face. It didn't help that she was hissing, "I need to potty," which sounds a hell of a lot like, "I need bodies," when you're dead asleep at 2 a.m.

So, I got her her bodies (or plopped her down on the toilet - can't remember which one because I was tired), put her to bed and went to sleep.

So she did what any rational person would do and woke me a half hour later to inform me that there were now tigers in her room. Darned tigers. They visit way too often. The tigers and the puppies in the wall seem to be our most frequent nocturnal visitors, at least in Evelyn's room. Rags has Death Gerbils. I like the tigers better. Less weird.

So I staggered back to her bedroom, demanded the tigers hie themselves off somewhere else and put her back to bed and staggered right back.  My husband was on my pillow so of course I had to roll him off. A few more grunts, a snort and all was peaceful again.

Another half hour goes by. At 3 a.m., she serenades me with, "Let It Go" from Frozen. After we watched the movie at least 6 or 7 times on the way to India and back and I was stupid enough to buy her the soundtrack, I kind of really absolutely loathe that song. Just a little. Mostly because it gets stuck in my head while I'm at work. Disney and Medicare don't exactly go together.  

3:30 a.m. and Evelyn shows up again, this time to ask how I'm doing. Which apparently startled my husband, who was lying close enough that when he jerked in surprise, he slammed his knee into my bottom, nearly sending me into the headboard. It's inappropriate to tell a four year old your ass hurts (in fact, it's inappropriate to say ass to a 4 year old one way or the other), so I didn't say that. I put her back to bed instead.

By the time my alarm went off at 5:15 a.m., I'm not sure I could've gotten out of bed even if the chick from The Ring, the tigers, puppies, Death Hamsters and Elsa had climbed in, too. So I reset it to 6 a.m. and slept in instead. Ta-dah!

Why I shouldn’t go running at 7 a.m.

I got up at 6:30 this morning and was out at the park on a two hour trail run (waddle?) by 7. My husband tells me I shouldn’t do that, because the energy I get from doing so results in conversations like this, which happened as we were eating dinner:

Me: Hmmm, taking a bite of fresh cherry makes this brie taste that much more stinky. Yet compelling. Like watching the Kardashians.

Husband: Wait, what?

Me: Yep. Hey, do you think if I worked out enough my ass would be as strong as a nutcracker? If that happens, you’d better be careful when I make candied pecans.

Husband: Are you saying that you’d have a buttcracker?

Me: Maybe. Hey. That reminds me, I need to do laundry.

Husband: Andi, how the hell did you get from cherries to Kardashians to buttcrackers to laundry all in under two minutes?

Me: I’m just that awesome.

Husband: Please never run in the morning again. 

Me: I wonder what will happen when I get up tomorrow at 5:15 to run?

Do-gooder

Believe it or not, sometimes I have my moments when I step outside of my own little life and think about other people not in my immediate family or circle of friends. No, really.

So, I've been thinking about ways I can be useful. It's hard to figure out where to start. People everywhere live shit lives, much of it part of a system of government that doesn't work for them, socio-economic challenges, cultural norms, scarcity of food and other issues. What I have trouble understanding, though, is that as Americans, we feel it's obvious that these issues prevent people (women, minorities, people of other religious backgrounds) from receiving things as simple and basic as food and shelter. But a lot of us look at those as problems that only affect other countries, like we've got it all taken care of at home. As though democracy and capitalism are great bastions of government and commerce that fix everything.

But what about here? There's only so much you can do by "pulling yourself up by your bootstraps" if no one gives a rat's ass that you've got three jobs but still struggle to feed your children or yourself. Or that a lot of people are one illness away from bankruptcy and that several generations of your family have lived in poverty, so that's just what you've come to expect of yourself and your kids.

You get used to living in the world and breathing side by side with other people and pretending that, well, if you have enough, surely everyone else does, too. And if they don't, they just aren't doing it right, aren't working hard enough. But how do you fix that?

I can give people money. I'm not rich, but I have a small amount to spare. I can give time, but what does that mean? I'm constantly running like a chicken with my head cut off to manage my own life and my kids', but it's not so bad I couldn't coordinate helping in a soup kitchen, local food pantry or even a health clinic. But that solves only an immediate need. In many situations, it doesn't even satisfy someone's needs for a full day.

So is legislation the answer? The client of our current government blows goats as far as doing really anything about anything. But legislation is what I know. It's what I do every day - disagree with what the government tells us to do in proposed law, try to get them to change it, then operationalize what our government finalizes. Is there an opportunity to help that way? It's definitely worth the research to find out.

Adventures in Testing

Yesterday was a full day. 8:30 blood work, wait.

10 a.m. gastroenterologist and surgeons, wait.

12 p.m. diabetes class, wait.

2 p.m., MRI, which took until about 4:30. Go home.

The diabetes class was certainly the most interesting. I had no idea that transplant patients so frequently developed diabetes after transplant, even if temporarily. The educators gave fantastic information and we got a chance to play with needles. And by "play," I mean get over my discomfort. One of the requirements was that we all give ourselves a shot in the abdomen to ensure all the caregivers and patients had a chance to practice on human skin. It was remarkably easy.

The class reminded me that all of this is actually happening. When the call comes, whenever it comes and if it comes, I will be completely responsible for my mom, up to and including potentially giving her injections. Honestly, I think the injections, should she need them, will be the easiest part.

The worst part of the day was seeing a young guy in our class who was all alone. I felt so bad for him. I'm not the patient, but I can't imagine going through half the shit my mom is by myself. Waiting by myself in a cold, empty room before I had surgery when I lost the baby was bad enough, but at least my husband got there in time to hold my hand before I was on the operating table, and my best friend was there to hold my kids' hands the night I didn't come home.

I hope he had a mom or a dad or a girlfriend or friend who will hold his hand. Everyone needs someone, but sometimes you don't know how much until the shit hits the fan.

True Stupidity?

My brain will never be whole again. My mom and sister are here for mom's latest round of medical testing and made me watch True Tori with them.

I often say things like, "I'm pretty sure X made me lose brain cells." I'm not just pretty sure this time. I'm damn sure, and there's nothing pretty about it. In fact, I wish I'd lost more brain cells because then I might be able to erase the memory of such an abomination.

Anyway, tomorrow will be interesting in a long, drawn out, wait-in-a-waiting-room kinda way. But, hey, it's the first time both mom and my sister have visited me at the same time in years and I only wish that they (my sister especially) could stay longer.

I wish I could just give over a portion of my liver so my mom didn't have to wait. I mean, if I had to choose an organ to give away, I'd rather give something that can grow back. I spoke about it with her surgeon, but a live donation carries a far higher risk of death. For the donor, not the recipient.

So, wait in the waiting room we shall. Hopefully there will be no True Tori.

How to Become a Better Person

If you don't know me, you might not already know that I'm a terrible human being. Well, maybe I'm not terrible so much as not awesome. Anyway, toward the beginning of the year, as most people do, I was thinking about all the stuff I wanted to do this year. How do I become a better person? What about losing weight (what? I am female - apparently biologically I'm always supposed to want to lose weight)? Giving more of my time/money/skillset to charity? How's about more money? I like money.

During my random ramblings online one night, I ran across this helpful article from Cracked.com. Technically, Cracked is an entertainment site, but I often run across gems like this. It's full of "motherfuckers" and "asses," because that's what Cracked is like; however, a lot of it felt right. For me anyway.

Action breeds action, which breeds satisfaction alongside ambition for more action (because action feels good). Or, more boiled down: sustained happiness is hard work in the best of circumstances.At the worst of times, it's a tough slog out of a hell hole. You're welcome.

This random commentary brought to you by the number 9 and the letters N-E-E-D-S-L-E-E-P.

Freakin' magma, people.

My daughter tells me that I have a super power: I can shoot lava out of my fingertips. I wish she would remember that when she's being cranky. And maybe tell her brother while she's at it, too.

Just think, if I were a heroine in a romance novel, I'd accidentally kill or maim someone as I grew into my superpowers and my prince charming (in this case, my husband) would tell me it was ok. Not that I want to maim or kill someone.

Anyway, my daughter is also convinced I have bat ears. Probably because I told her I have bat ears. She's also really bad at whispering.

For shame!

So, I'm not sure whether to be embarrassed, proud or just damn tickled. I'll go with option c. I was looking at the most common search terms that resulted in someone finding my blog.

It was: "under the wedding dress pantie pics"

Filthy wankers. I can respect that.

Note to self: don't watch daytime TV

I'm working from home today. My work rarely allows for any time away from my desk for lunch, which is probably why I tend to lose weight during the week and gain it right the heck back during the weekend. So when I work from home and have time to do so, sometimes I go wild and crazy and do it out of sight of my work laptop. Do you have any idea how hard it is to eat on a treadmill? What? I'm a multi-tasker.

Anyway, today I made a mistake. I ate while pacing in front of the TV. And I just lost brain cells by watching Breaking Amish. A bunch of teenagers and 20-somethings with the exact same problems most people in that age group have, only they're Amish! Why yes, I'm oversimplifying. I realize that these individuals have probably dealt with a hell of a lot more than I did in my teens and twenties (I only had to deal with crazed boyfriends and scarlet letters - ah, memories). But still. It took maybe 10 minutes of dedicated attempts to watch and finally I wandered off to read legislation. It was that bad.

If I could, I'd be watching Sherlock. Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman are wonderful actors. I appreciate compelling, over-dramatic, snotty and sarcastic as much as the next gal. But watching that during the day isn't consistent with government healthcare, rebates and arguing about whether non-interference provisions actually mean, you know, not interfering.

Alas, maybe I need to resurrect my alter-ego the smut peddler (award-winning and card-carrying, no less).
I've tried a few times, but Medicare just isn't smutty. I'll have to try harder. I'll bet I could make this rule very exciting. Much more exciting than daytime TV.

TLAs

When you can understand what it means when someone sends an e-mail saying, "We should validate the PDE against NCPDP HCID and NUCC DSD on MNM and SPS. What do you think?" you know that something went very wrong somewhere and somewhen.


And so it has. That e-mail? That was from a co-worker. The answer is that yes, we should validate PDEs against NCPDP HCID as well as the NUCC DSD on MNM and SPS to ensure compliance with the PDMB Sec. 50.90.4. And while we're at it, we ought to look at MDM and SAS.

I once wondered why no one knows what I do for a living. Now I wonder no more.