Yesterday was my 22nd birthday :)
Not my "real" birthday, but rather the anniversary of the date that I became a Christian. I know that for some people there is no specific date or time that they point to as the moment of their conversion. But, for me, I can definitely pin it down to a specific day and a specific moment. That moment involved a long time friend and her changed life, Stryper (remember them?!), the third chapter of the gospel of John, and 20 years of trying my best to please God on my own and miserably failing.
Thank you, Father, for Your grace and mercy to me, old friends, Christian metal, Your Word, and my failures.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
I Need to Work on My Assertiveness Skills....
I had surgery (nothing major) on my hands a few weeks ago and today I was scheduled to get my sutures out. At least I thought I was scheduled. I showed up at the surgeon's office and they informed me that they had no record of my appointment. Apparently making appointments while under the influence of Percocet doesn't work out so well. Incidentally, it is also not a good idea to talk on the phone to co-workers while under the influence of Percocet because you might end up volunteering to do something that you end up wishing you had not! This is why I don't like to take pain medicine.
Back to the point....The surgeon's office kindly agreed to see me without an appointment, for which I was very grateful because I could not wait to get the sutures out. I removed lots of sutures when I was working in direct patient care and so I seriously contemplated removing my own this past weekend because they were so itchy. But, I didn't want to annoy the surgeon, so I behaved myself and left them in.
So there I am sitting on the table in the exam room and the nurse comes in with the suture removal kit and says "I'll be right back, I need to get my bifocals." I say, "No problem". she returns with her glasses and proceeds to begin to remove the sutures by cutting the knots at either end and pulling on the loose ends. The whole time she is saying "gosh, I can barely see them". The sutures wouldn't budge because the middle suture was still intact...I can see it from where she has my hand resting on my thigh. She says "I can't see it". Now right here at this point is where I should have said "give me the scissors, I can see it from here". But, nooooo, I just keep my mouth shut and let her dig away until Nurse Magoo freaking cuts me with the scissors!
Please don't tell my mother that I used the word "freaking" because she hates it. If I slip and use it in her presence she always says the same thing, "Learner Loo, (OK, she doesn't call me Learner Loo, but she uses my first name and the dreaded middle name) that is vulgar and unladylike". To which I always reply "Yes, Ma'am, I'm sorry".
Anyway, when Nurse Magoo stabs me she manages to hit the suture too and they come right out. I'd show y'all a picture if I wasn't afraid of turning off the squeamish among ya.
The moral of this story? If Nurse Magoo comes at you with a sharp implement don't be afraid to stand up for yourself!
Back to the point....The surgeon's office kindly agreed to see me without an appointment, for which I was very grateful because I could not wait to get the sutures out. I removed lots of sutures when I was working in direct patient care and so I seriously contemplated removing my own this past weekend because they were so itchy. But, I didn't want to annoy the surgeon, so I behaved myself and left them in.
So there I am sitting on the table in the exam room and the nurse comes in with the suture removal kit and says "I'll be right back, I need to get my bifocals." I say, "No problem". she returns with her glasses and proceeds to begin to remove the sutures by cutting the knots at either end and pulling on the loose ends. The whole time she is saying "gosh, I can barely see them". The sutures wouldn't budge because the middle suture was still intact...I can see it from where she has my hand resting on my thigh. She says "I can't see it". Now right here at this point is where I should have said "give me the scissors, I can see it from here". But, nooooo, I just keep my mouth shut and let her dig away until Nurse Magoo freaking cuts me with the scissors!
Please don't tell my mother that I used the word "freaking" because she hates it. If I slip and use it in her presence she always says the same thing, "Learner Loo, (OK, she doesn't call me Learner Loo, but she uses my first name and the dreaded middle name) that is vulgar and unladylike". To which I always reply "Yes, Ma'am, I'm sorry".
Anyway, when Nurse Magoo stabs me she manages to hit the suture too and they come right out. I'd show y'all a picture if I wasn't afraid of turning off the squeamish among ya.
The moral of this story? If Nurse Magoo comes at you with a sharp implement don't be afraid to stand up for yourself!
Monday, August 25, 2008
What's It Like?
I have this vague sense of doom. I feel worried that something is wrong but I don't know what it is. It scares me. I have felt like this all day. It is quite perplexing.
It was perplexing when it happened last month, and the month before that too. Why does this keep happening to me?
LOL
Okay, this has been happening to me most months for about 26 years now and yet every month I still wonder for at least part of the day why I feel so anxious before I realize what is going on. You would think that by now I would realize the moment I notice my symptoms what was happening....but no, I don't. I suppose that is another symptom...lack of basic reasonoing skills.
When I feel like this I often wonder what it must be like for men to not experience the wonders of PMS. Oh, the needless angst that could be avoided! The freedom from the monthly sense of doom! The maintainence of my ability to reason! Not to mention the other things that go with that.....
It was perplexing when it happened last month, and the month before that too. Why does this keep happening to me?
LOL
Okay, this has been happening to me most months for about 26 years now and yet every month I still wonder for at least part of the day why I feel so anxious before I realize what is going on. You would think that by now I would realize the moment I notice my symptoms what was happening....but no, I don't. I suppose that is another symptom...lack of basic reasonoing skills.
When I feel like this I often wonder what it must be like for men to not experience the wonders of PMS. Oh, the needless angst that could be avoided! The freedom from the monthly sense of doom! The maintainence of my ability to reason! Not to mention the other things that go with that.....
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Misplaced Offense
Earlier today when I was at work I had an interesting conversation. When the new semester starts the student population goes through the roof. Besides clogging the cafeteria and creating terrible traffic, the return of most of the student population also drastically increases the wait time for elevators. So, today I stood and waited with two male students for the elevator. I didn't know these young men and I'm not sure what program they are in, but I know it's not mine. I'd guess it was a graduate program since I'd estimate their ages at over 22 or 23. After we waited a few minutes the elevator came and one of the guys held the door for me and asked me "Where to honey?" This amused me to no end because I found it unusual for a student to call me honey, but I just smiled at him and said "One please, thank you". But this wasn't the interesting conversation.
When I came back upstairs I went into one of my colleague's offices. I told her what happened and expected that she would share my amusement. Instead we had the following exchange:
She said "Who does he think he is? That is so offensive! I would have told him off!"
I said "What? He held the door for me and asked what floor I wanted. I thought it was polite. How is that offensive?"
She said "He called you honey! That is so demeaning!"
I said "I thought the "honey" part was kind of amusing since I'm probably old enough to be his mom. It's hardly demeaning."
She replied "Well he's lucky he said that to you and not me. He never would have dared call a male professor that."
To me, it's just a word. I feel quite certain it was not this guy's goal to demean me in any way. And, even if it was his intention to demean me it doesn't mean that I need to feel demeaned. If I had a dollar for every time a patient called me honey, or sweetie, or even "doll" I could retire now. They are all just words and I think most of the time they were said in a positive manner. Usually it was because the patient couldn't recall my name. I'll take honey, sweetheart, or doll over "hey you" or worse any day. Sometimes when a patient called me honey it seemed like they meant it in a demeaning manner, but to me it wasn't the word "honey", but the way it was said and the words said along with it that made it feel demeaning.
And for crying out loud, honey is better than Ma'am any day....that just makes me feel old!
When I came back upstairs I went into one of my colleague's offices. I told her what happened and expected that she would share my amusement. Instead we had the following exchange:
She said "Who does he think he is? That is so offensive! I would have told him off!"
I said "What? He held the door for me and asked what floor I wanted. I thought it was polite. How is that offensive?"
She said "He called you honey! That is so demeaning!"
I said "I thought the "honey" part was kind of amusing since I'm probably old enough to be his mom. It's hardly demeaning."
She replied "Well he's lucky he said that to you and not me. He never would have dared call a male professor that."
To me, it's just a word. I feel quite certain it was not this guy's goal to demean me in any way. And, even if it was his intention to demean me it doesn't mean that I need to feel demeaned. If I had a dollar for every time a patient called me honey, or sweetie, or even "doll" I could retire now. They are all just words and I think most of the time they were said in a positive manner. Usually it was because the patient couldn't recall my name. I'll take honey, sweetheart, or doll over "hey you" or worse any day. Sometimes when a patient called me honey it seemed like they meant it in a demeaning manner, but to me it wasn't the word "honey", but the way it was said and the words said along with it that made it feel demeaning.
And for crying out loud, honey is better than Ma'am any day....that just makes me feel old!
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Saturday, August 2, 2008
I'm In Love!
This is my soon to be adopted new niece (or her back at least...gotta protect her anonymity). I am head over heels in love with her already! I am so besotted that I bought this digital camera just to take pictures of her. She is 2 1/2 years old and sweet and curious and active. She is a climber and is giving my sister fits by climbing up on precarious pieces of furniture as soon as my sister turns her back. This amuses me to no end...is that wrong? :) Heh
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