beware of the dangerous eight year olds and the anorexic teenagers

Earlier this summer, the pediatric inpatient psych unit of North Shore Medical Center moved from its former home in rented space in the old Hunt Hospital in Danvers to its new digs at Union Hospital. Union Hospital, if you are not aware, is in Lynn, but only marginally. It's in the part of Lynn that borders Lynnfield, has a lot of expensive single family homes, a marked absence of gang violence, and very few residents who don't speak English. Much like my neighbors, the neighbors of Union Hospital have managed to convince themselves that they live in the 'burbs, all evidence to the contrary withstanding.

Well. Apparently they are unhappy with having crazy children taken care of in their environs. The lead headline on the front page of today's paper concerns a tentative meeting being set up for August 20th by hospital officials in order to address the concerns of the abutters. As well they should! I myself would be terrified to have preschoolers with PTSD and sad little 14 year old girls who cut themselves locked up next door to me. When they take out the guards and disable the security system and escape, I am SURE they would head right to the nearest neighbor's house and commit mayhem. Or maybe it's just that having the mentally ill anywhere in a four block radius makes property values plummet.

Yeah, I know. I shouldn't get so rage-y. Like the ignorance and stupidity of the American taxpayer is a big fucking surprise.

On a (probably) unrelated note, my boss just told me that Apple now has more money than the US government. So why the hell isn't Steve Jobs bailing us out? "That's because people like to go to that stupid store," I said.

"It's not a stupid store. It's a wonderful store."

God. Someone else who has drunk the kool aid.

That's all I've got to say today. Well, except that I overslept this morning, waking up half an hour before I had to be out the door, then when D went to register for his bloodwork, the new kid in patient registration almost gave him a new medical record number, even after D spelled his last name for him twice, and my first (autistic 6 year old) patient today hit me and told me I was "a bad doctor."

It's been one of those days, boys and girls. Hope yours is going much, much better.

xoxo

burning in my...

How's the killer heat wave treating you? I had to laugh, literally, this morning when I stepped out my front door at 6:40 am and my sunglasses instantly fogged up. It's like Cambodia! Or New Orleans. Truthfully, I haven't been to Cambodia, but I have been to New Orleans and yeah. Do you ever think about how people down there survived in the 1700/1800s? I remember being there in August at a convention (cheap hotel rates, obv) and as soon as I left the confines of the glacially air-conditioned Marriot, clad only in underwear, a dress, and sandals, I instantly turned into a giant walking puddle of sweat. Now imagine adding a corset and three layers of petticoats and such. No wonder those people hung onto the whole slavery thing. It was too damn hot to do anything for yourself. I myself would not have even had the energy to beat the slaves, so I'm sure nothing would have gotten done at my house anyway.

You want political correctness and good taste, go read another blog. God.

So, anyway, I just wanted to say, ooo, baby, it's hot out there. Stay hydrated and seek all the air conditioning you are entitled to as a citizen of 2012. But don't bitch. This is much much much better than it being January, with 10 degree wind chill, a foot of snow, and a tree in your driveway. Truth.

xoxo

in which I take matters into my own hands

Just an update in case anyone gives a crap. In fact, I would like to express my displeasure and frustration whether you give a crap or not. The whole thing about D's mental health providers not releasing his medical records to MassHealth disability determination? I believe I told you, oh, eleven days ago?, that I had a call in to his NP to try to resolve this. She did not call me back the first day I left a message. She did not call me back the second day I left a message. I began to wonder whether in fact she was on vacation or perhaps out sick, though her voicemail did not have an "away" message on it. Her voicemail did, however, have a different voice on it, not hers, but the same male voice that you get when you call the main number. This led me to believe that they had recently redone the phone system. Worry about whether my voicemail was disappearing into a black hole ensued.

So, I called again this Monday, late afternoon, hoping that if she had been away or sick, she was now back. Well, it was perhaps too late in the day, because she was not there. I left another voicemail. I did not hear back Tuesday. She is not in on Wednesdays. I made the executive decision that since she is normally in on Thursdays, I would just go down there this morning. Whether she wasn't getting my messages or whether she was ignoring them or whether she was away in the Andes for four weeks, I'd at least get some kind of response by just showing up.

Turns out that, no, she did not get any voicemail from me, never mind three. Turns out her previous patient who'd just been in her office before me had also complained of leaving her messages she didn't get. She looked somewhat concerned about this, so I do not think she was lying. And she's always been responsive to phone calls before. I showed her the letter saying that disability determination had NOT received records from them. She took me out to the front desk, saying so-n-so would be the one to handle that. Well, so-n-so denied any responsibility in this. This had to go through Medical Records, and Medical Records, who is apparently one woman, has been Out. They have someone covering for her two nights a week, but they are very very VERY behind in sending things out. D's NP looks at her expectantly, not even saying anything, until she cracks and says, well, okay, maybe she can take care of it.

Then she looks at the letter and claims it *doesn't* actually say they hadn't sent them records, just that the records weren't enough. "Read the next line," I say. You know, the one that says [reacted] has not sent us any information about your medical condition. "I have no way of knowing whether [Medical Records person] sent them anything or not. I can't get into her computer." Finally, in a pained manner, she says that if I call them and find out for sure that they haven't received the records, and will still take them, she can FAX them over. I stand at her little window, whip out my cell, and get them to confirm they haven't received anything, even after a letter and a follow up phone call (ahem) but they will certainly accept them if they FAX them. I leave semi-cooperative front desk woman with the letter w/ D's name, the reference number, and the correct FAX I wrote down for her, thank her without any apparent (I hope) insincerity for her help, and leave. I hope she does it. But I could strangle someone.

Listen. I understand that people get sick, have surgery, have family emergencies, etc etc. I do not understand NOT getting someone to do their job while they are out if their job is in fact releasing medical records, which I would myself assume is a fairly important and time sensitive endeavor. But what the fuck do I know? I am just the mother of the seriously mentally ill consumer and we all know, and I know from bitter experience better than most, that seriously mentally ill people without money are not people that anyone gives much of a crap about. Who cares if they lose their health insurance because no one would send out their medical records in a timely manner OR respond to the request for such with an explanation of the delay? Who cares if they are unable to leave voicemail for their medical providers that their medical providers can actually access? Hell, you've got the "...if this is a psychiatric emergency, hang up and call..." on there to cover your ass from being sued.

I'm done. You can expect more bitching from me next week when I find out these records still didn't get FAXed even though this woman said she'd do it later today, but, y'know, have hope n' shit.

xoxo

my klassy neighborhood (tm)

Early this morning--though not as early as it should have been because I overslept--as I was waiting for the prison bus to come spirit me away to this magical place of enchantment I call "my job", I was treated to a gentleman, probably my age, give or take, crossing the main, very heavily trafficked street repeatedly from the bus stop on one side to the bus stop on the other side, with side trips to a neighbors yard, in order to panhandle from the morning commuters *and* the lady who was taking out her garbage. "I won't lie to you," he said to me. "I'm an alcoholic and I have the shakes real bad. Do you have a dollar so I could buy a nip?" I paid his honesty back by lying like a rug and saying I didn't have any cash. I was also unable to provide him with a cigarette. I'm not exactly sure whether he ever got any money from anyone--I'm thinking the old lady dragging her Hefty bag to the curb and the kids on their way to their summer jobs were probably as unforthcoming as me--but he did successfully evade getting run over and eventually get on a bus himself. He may not have had any booze, cash, or smokes, but the man apparently did have a Charlie card. God bless.

Don't you wish *you* lived here?

xoxo

and breaking news

Mr Indemnity is texting me from readercon where he just encountered my literary crush Neil Gaiman and that slutty second wife of his. Mr Gaiman, like your majority of MLB players and Hollywood actors, is apparently shorter in person. I said I would still do him and Mr Indemnity said I am predictable.

That is true.

xoxo

explaining my people

I just saw this linked to somewhere else, and thought it was pretty good. I have my quibbles, of course, as it applies to me. Let's examine them, shall we!

"Introverts often don’t see a reason for beating around the bush with social pleasantries. They want everyone to just be real and honest." I think I'm a pretty damn tactful and socially-clued in person. I don't mind being polite at all. I just don't want the damn pleasantries to drag on forever. See: "Introverts just don’t talk unless they have something to say. They hate small talk."

I'd also personally disagree with "Introverts just don’t like to go out in public FOR AS LONG." You all know I love to go out in public. AS LONG AS I DON'T HAVE TO INTERACT WITH ANYONE. As long as I can just observe, watch, and listen, like Jane Goodell amongst the chimps, I'm happy as a clam to be in a crowd.

And then there's "Introverts are not thrill seekers and adrenaline junkies." I kinda am. About some things. I definitely rue that I no longer have any friends that will go to Six Flags with me.

But the rest of it is pretty on point. Can babble on for days when I've got something to say. Check. Don't interact for the sake of interacting. Check. Extremely loyal and good friend to those few of you who are worth it. Check. Live inside my head and think a lot. Check. Crave a deep connection with one person at a time. Check. Think for myself and do what I want. Check.

And, the most important part: the world needs weird people like me. How annoying would it be if the world were populated solely be those of you who can't just STFU and listen?

xoxo

tiny little dewdrops of annoyance

Having complained to you all about my real problems earlier, let's now tackle the less serious ones.

1.) They have apparently discontinued making my favorite eyeliner. I looked for it in 3 different CVSes and Tarzhay, and it is no longer on the Revlon shelves. So in the past two weeks or so, I have bought(as of today) four other replacement eyeliners, the first three of which were not an adequate replacement for the one I like. Let's hope #4 is the charm. Number 4, however, came from Sephora and cost $22, so even if it turns out to be the perfect color and formula, it will still be inferior to the $10 one I can no longer get. Grrr. Also, I have probably spent close to, if not more than, $50 on eyeliner in the last two weeks in my futile search. You men have no idea how hard it is to be a woman. Thank god I haven't had my period in like three months and thus am saving on tampon money.

2.) I am reading this book on my kindle called The Passage. It's kind of a mashup of The Stand and 28 Days Later and The Walking Dead, etc: you know, virus wiping out Life as We Know It, people turning into vampire/zombie/inhuman killing machines, little girl who is probably the savior of humanity, blah blah. Not the most original concept, is what I'm saying, but well done and a good read and you know I like that shiz anyway. And I'm glad I've got it on the kindle, 'cause I've been reading and reading and reading, and I'm only 36% done, so obviously in hardcover this is one of those tendinitis books. My problem with it is in the beginning section of the book there are so many characters, most of whom are referred to only by their last name--scientists and feds and army guys--that it was impossible to remember who most of them are. So I had to just give up and keep reading and just roll with their deaths (spoiler! heh), not knowing who was who. Would it be so hard in a book with that many people in it to give them names that were distinctive enough to help differentiate them? You wouldn't think so. A colorful nickname or two wouldn't hurt. God.

3.) I was almost hit by cars twice today, crossing in the crosswalk with a walk light. Once in Salem, once in Back Bay. The first one, I was crossing and these two teenage kids were also crossing at the same time. They were on the outside and I was on the inside. We were directly in the middle of the street and the SUV that had rolled up to the red light...kept rolling. Into the crosswalk. Like two inches from the right side of my body. I smacked its hood with my hand and said, "WTF?" The two kids, who I suspect were probably stoned to judge from their previous walking-down-the-street conversation, started yelling at the SUV, "What the shit? I saw that! You hit her! It's okay, she's only paralyzed on one side!" and other such hilarity. Then later, I was crossing Dartmouth street in Copley, again, in the crosswalk with a walk light, behind a bunch of other people and a car *came around* the other driver who was waiting for the pedestrians to finish crossing to make the left from Boylston--and he wasn't slowly rolling, this one--and had to slam his breaks on to keep from hitting me. This one was too much. "Do you see the fucking walk light?" I yelled at his stupid face. "Do you?" he yelled back, totally nonsensically. "Yeah, I do, AND I HAVE ONE." What is wrong with people? Seriously. What is wrong with them?

Ponder these things and get back to me. Muah.

xoxo

recreational killing

My boss is going on vacation the end of the week. Since he always goes to Vermont in August, I had no idea where on earth he thought he was going in July. Alaska, it turns out. That's awesome, I opined.

"Eh. We're going to see my brother-in-law."

"Does that make it not awesome?"

"He's alright."

Said alright brother-in-law lives way out in the boonies. Moose wander into his backyard. I opined again that that was awesome.

"He likes to shoot them. Well, I don't know if he necessarily shoots the ones in his yard, but he likes to shoot them."

"Him and Sarah Palin! Maybe you guys should shoot something from a helicoptor while you're out there."

"Poodles! We could shoot poodles from a helicoptor!"

(Oh, purse-dog lovers, relax. We do not really condone poodlecide and no yappy little canines were harmed in the making of this post.)

So, anyway, this got me to thinking about how much I do not understand the appeal of hunting, aka recreational killing. I understand people who are really poor hunting in order to eat what they kill. I saw Winter's Bone, all y'all. God. But I don't even understand people who hunt and eat what they kill when they don't absolutely have to. How is killing fun? (And don't we generally seek to lock up people who do think killing is fun?) If you want a challenge, there are lots of challenging endeavors that do not involve, y'know, carnage. If you want to commune with nature, likewise. And if you want to get your aggressions out, wouldn't you rather take up, like, MMA and hit actual people, not shoot Bambi's mother from a distance?

Yeah, I know, I know, city girl, blah blah freakin' blah.

xoxo

untitled

Untitled simply because every title I can come up with is a version of "I hate people", "I want to scream", "this is giving me IBS", "I am still disgruntled", and so forth. I suppose it would be only fair to warn potential readers that there is bitching and whining to come, but whatever. How long does it take to hit that little x in the upper right corner? C'mon now.

1.) D had to reapply for MassHealth disability coverage. This involved filling out a multiple page form that asked many questions about your health problems and what you can and cannot do and then filling out releases for all your healthcare providers. After sending it back, we got a letter saying it was received and that we would not hear from them unless there was a problem or change. Friday night I come home to find a letter from them in our mailbox. Before I even opened it, I started to feel sick. They want him to go see a psychologist in friggin' Malden on August 2 for further evaluation of his disability. Why? Because the health center where he sees his psychiatric nurse *did not send them any medical records*. Are you fucking kidding me? Besides which, what the hell do they think he takes clozapine for? (Besides the other...lemme count...five other drugs he's taking.) They give you that for schizophrenia, not the fucking common cold. If that doesn't qualify you for MassHealth (besides the fact he has NO INCOME), Double You Tee Eff. Anyway, I have a call in to his NP and am hoping if she calls them and sends them his records, this "evaluation" will not have to take place. I haven't said anything to him about this yet, because it's bad enough one of us has to be sick to the stomach over this. I'll save him the anxiety hit until it's unavoidable.

2.) The crap in work that's stressing me out is continuing. I thought things were under control until tomorrow, when it would hopefully be fully resolved, but I came into work today to another headache. This all could have been avoided by some wonk over at Partners in Boston signing off on a PO to get a piece of equipment fixed that *I need to DO MY JOB* on the same day we requested it, but no. The wheels of bureaucracy not only grind slowly, they stop grinding altogether for reasons that are unclear to those of us who actually do real work for a living. Again, I should not have to beg and borrow to get things that are essential for me to actually perform my job duties. Double You Tee Eff.

3.) My left eyelid is flaking again and I look like I have leprosy. Or something. It's very attractive. I'm sure it's stress-related.

Somebody tell me some good news. Rainbows! Sunshine! Kitten orgasms! Throw me a bone, por favor.

xoxo

important breaking news

I have diversified.

http://musclemilkisnotaeuphemism.blogspot.com/

xoxo

part of what i did this weekend

Very happy with this, especially as it looks in the morning light. The paint color looks very different at different times of day. I'm going to put some kind of chair under that picture, to make like a little reading nook. Unfortunately there is nothing in my house I can repurpose for this, so I need to buy a chair. Here's some (cheap) options.






But I'm not sure I want to spend between $300 and $400 on a chair that realistically isn't going to be sat on. I want to make a reading nook; I don't necessarily think I'll *use* said reading nook, especially since cheap chairs aren't noted for their comfort. Still thinking.

xoxo

plate blocking

In which we once again salute the thighs of my people and their immediate neighbors. And, yes, that makes absolutely no sense to anyone who has not a.) just seen the end of tonight's Sox game and b.) been intimately involved in the private in-jokes of my family and this blog. In other words, I'm talking to myself. No worries.

You know what worries me? That sociopath got away with killing her kid. Dumbest jury ever or most incompetent prosecution? Or combination of both? Or are we buying that ridiculous bullshit "defense"? You all can think what you want, of course. But if you think she didn't do it, I worry about your judgment. Ahem.

In painting news, you will see from this entry that I did NOT fall down the stairs while hanging off the ladder painting with the extension pole. Or did I? I suppose I could be writing this from my hospital bed. Or beyond the grave. Whatev.

There's no point to this. I just wanted to salute catching prowess and bitch about the miscarriage of justice. I'll be off now.

xoxo

oh, andrea, it's 1 am

What are you doing up?

Can't sleep, mon. And instead of just popping an ativan, like a normal person with access to sedating drugs would, I'm sitting at my computer, reading shit I wrote four years ago. There's a good, or at least "a", reason for this.

Stage one of this weekend's home improvement project involved emptying two bookcases in order to move them into the other room temporarily, and that meant going through things that were on them, not all of which were by any stretch of the imagination actual, y'know, books. I believe I threw away what were the last of my son's high school report cards that were still in this house. (Why anyone would have kept them is a mystery in the first place. I think we have established before that they were not the kind of thing one frames.) But, anyway, that was the first descent into emo this afternoon, and it just snowballed from there.

The thing about washing walls and vacuuming and applying blue tape to the woodwork is that these things can be done without much thought, leaving the mind to wander. And you know how dangerous that is for your malevolent correspondent. Hours of reflection on all the stupid choices one has made and all the ways one has failed is not conducive to restful slumber once one's head hits the pillow. Just sayin'.

Oh, Andrea, just go take some freakin' prescription drugs. I will, I will. But first...



Okay! Now I'm cheered up! Music, it's the cure for everything!

Painting commences tomorrow, bitches. Be afraid. I'm doing some very tall walls. The chances this'll end well aren't high.

xoxo

it's been some time since we did this

some e-cards!

and finally



xoxo