Today started out as a very normal day. I got up late because I went to bed too late and I just couldn't drag myself out from under the covers. To make matters worse, I was awakened at 2:30 in the morning by a text coming through on my cell phone. Being as lazy as I am, I didn't actually get out of bed to check the cell phone at that time, but I did manage to snatch it off the dresser as I ran out of the room at 7:59 A.M. in a mad dash to fire up my work computer so I could start the day. (I'm supposed to start work at 8:00 - let's just say I cut it a little too close at times.) Turns out, it was my niece who felt compelled to text me in the middle of the night when most sane people are asleep. For reasons that I am sure made sense to her at the time, she just had to text me to tell me that she loved me. Which is actually rather touching in its own little way. She is a wonderful girl and I love her to death, but her timing leaves something to be desired.
Anyhow, like I said, it was a very normal day for me until I decided to check my blog after work. I opened the website and scrolled hurriedly to the bottom of the page to check the counter to see how many people had actually come to visit during the day. (Note: For those of you who read this and are the inquisitive type, when you look at the counter at the bottom of this page, rest assured that the majority of the visitors here are me, checking the counter to see how many people have visited my page. I know it's self-defeating, but I just can't seem to help myself.). The real surprise, however, came as I was scrolling back up to the top. There, to the side of my posts was an icon with which I was not familiar. I looked at it more closely, then gasped in surprise and delight.
I had my very first follower!!
I was positively giddy. I called for my husband so he could marvel at my popularity and congratulate me on my first groupie. After I clicked on the icon, I realized that my new follower was, of course, one of my dearest friends. But I definitely did not let that dampen my enthusiasm. I had a follower! I was popular! People would see that my lowly little blog was important enough to generate a disciple and then they would come - those faceless masses from all over the world who would want to follow me too or risk being left out of what was obviously the up-and-coming hot spot on the internet. What a moment it was as I realized the beginning of my fame and fortune and all the ramifications of being a world famous blogger. I was euphoric!
Until reality struck. Gradually, as my elation wore off, it dawned on me that if anyone actually did start reading my blog, that meant I had to write. Frequently. Intelligently. About interesting stuff. Okay.
Insert deep breath here.
What in the world was I going to write about? I think I mentioned in an earlier post that I am a nurse and work from home. There's not an awful lot of excitement around here. My dog does some cute things from time to time, but I find that my husband and I are generally the only people who are really amused by that (unless you count my other best friend, but I talk to her on the phone nearly every day so she already knows how cute the dog is and is probably tired of hearing about it.) . Since I work on protected health information, I certainly can't share any of that or I could face horrible consequences which include, but are not limited to, fines, jail, public hanging, burning at the stake, dismemberment, and taking away my Starbuck's privileges. I will say, however, that there is rarely a day that goes by that I don't find something highly amusing in at least one of the charts I am reviewing. It's usually a result of the combination of a doctor with an accent and some voice activated transcription device, and the disconnect can be extreme. You'll just have to trust me when I say I really wish I could share!
So, back to my dilemma. What in the world do I hear, see, or do everyday that would translate into an entertaining blog post? I took a quick inventory of my surroundings and saw a pile of clean laundry that my husband had dumped on the couch so as to make room in the dryer for his clothes, several half-burnt candles from the last thunderstorm that took our power out for several hours, three books I'm going to read 'sometime', a bunch of junk mail that I'm never going to read, and a lot of dog hair, some of which was actually still attached to the sleeping dog. Not a lot of blog fodder there. I briefly considered taking on a more exciting profession like lion tamer or pilot or septic tank cleaner, but I dismissed that pretty quickly. It would take me far too long to learn how to do anything else and then I'd have to leave the house everyday like normal people and ....well.....change out of my 'comfy clothes' (ie: jammies). Not gonna happen.
So, what do I write about? I have no idea. I find that there is a lot of stuff running around in my head - things past, present, and future - that I have wanted to write about for a long time, so I guess I'll start there. And just maybe, somewhere along the way, I will find some interesting slices of life to serve up to my guests as they arrive and hope that someone, somewhere, enjoys them.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Monday, April 18, 2011
A Conflicted Society
I'm going to take a break from the great Jello debate for a moment so I can crawl up on another soapbox. I have always thought that modern society was conflicted about its children. The pro-choice advocates would have us adopt their belief that a life does not become a life until...well, until they say it is a life (it has been my experience that the exact moment during gestation when a life becomes a life varies, depending on whom you are speaking with at the time). The pro-life advocates would have us believe that a life becomes a life at the moment of conception. I, personally, stand with the pro-lifers on this one. But that is not my point. My point is that our society is hypocritical when it comes to dealing with children. One moment they are a blessing, and the next, a burden. This was illustrated to me in a very powerful way through a couple of unrelated incidents that happened in my life over the past 24 hours.
I am a nurse, and I am currently working from home, collecting statistical data from patient charts from around the country. Not exactly the "Save the World" job I had hoped for in my nursing school days, but it is definitely serving its purpose in that it is keeping a roof over my head. It is also making my senior Golden Retriever one very happy dog. Mommy is home to pet him on the head, toss him a treat, and take him for walks during the day. It doesn't get much better than that from his point of view. But I digress (and if you read even a few of my blogs you will find that happens a lot!). This morning, while in training for a particular project, I came across what passes for the definition of a "live birth" according to our training materials:
"A live birth is defined as: the complete expulsion or extraction from the mother of a product of human conception, irrespective of the duration of pregnancy, which, after such expulsion or extraction, breathes or shows any other evidence of life, such as beating of the heart, pulsation of the umbilical cord or definite movement of voluntary muscles, whether or not the umbilical cord has been cut or the placenta is attached."*
Isn't that heartwarming? I can see the Hallmark card now - "Congratulations on the successful expulsion/extraction of your products of conception!".
Really? Is that what our society sees in the miracle of birth? The only thing missing from that definition is the word "it". When "it" breathes. Or when "it" shows any other evidence of life. Or when "its" umbilical cord pulses. What exactly does this say about us? This definition has depersonalized and dehumanized the entire human birth experience and has turned it into a bit of twisted rhetoric straight from the mouths of the politically correct police.
Which leads to another question. When does "it" become a he or a she? At what point do we accept that this product of conception with its pulsating umbilical cord is, indeed, a human life to be loved, cherished, and protected at all costs? If we do not value life, where do our values lie? I've heard people say that we live in a very progressive society. If this definition is proof of that progress, then, for me, this is one huge step in the wrong direction.
My second illustration demonstrates the exact opposite. Yesterday I went to the mall to buy a pillow. I was shopping in a major department store waiting for my husband to come back to the mall to pick me up. While waiting, I was walking amongst the cosmetic counters (I know I said I had to buy a pillow and they don't generally have those in the cosmetic department, but you can't blame a girl for looking!), I came across a store associate talking to a very distraught couple with two young boys. Apparently, when they came into the store they had started with three young boys, and one of them was missing. These people were obviously not from this country, so there was a language barrier, but eventually the store associate was able to get a description of the boy and what he was wearing and his name.
Everything in that store stopped. The doors to the mall were closed except for a space small enough for one person at a time to go through. There were store associates posted at every exit while others could be seen walking through the store, searching. Customers, myself included, stopped their browsing and began systematically combing the aisles of the store. I kept trying to think like a small boy and found myself looking in dressing rooms, under racks of clothes, and even in the store elevator. I caught a glimpse of the boy's mom on one of my passes through the kids department, and she had a desperation in her eyes that transcended any language barrier and broke my heart. It is a look I will not soon forget.
Nearly twenty minutes went by before the boy was found. Twenty minutes of sheer terror and panic on the part of that boy's family. Twenty minutes when total strangers abandoned their own pursuits to help look for a little boy so as to avert a tragedy. As a parent, I cannot even begin to imagine what those parents were going through and all the horrible thoughts that must have crossed their minds. All I can say is that I was praying fervently that the boy would be found unharmed and returned to his family. Thank God he was!
When my husband came to pick me up from the store, I told him about the little boy and the first words out of his mouth were, "If they hadn't found him, I would have come in and helped." This is one of the many reasons I love this man. Now, a lot of people, in fact, MOST people, are probably thinking, "Well of course! We must leave no stone unturned when looking for a poor missing child." And this, in my mind, is where the conflict starts. This exact same society that would exhaust every resource possible to find a missing child (which is how it should be) can define the birth of that child in such a way as to rob him of all his humanity (which is how it should not be). Am I the only one who finds this to be hypocritical?
Of course, as is usual when I climb up on my soapbox, I have no answers. No magic cures for what I see as life's inconsistencies. But, just maybe, the next time a friend or loved one announces the upcoming birth of their child, we can skip the "successful expulsion/extraction of your products of conception" aisle at the Hallmark store and go straight to the "congratulations on the birth of your beautiful son or daughter" department. Let's make it like it should be.
I am a nurse, and I am currently working from home, collecting statistical data from patient charts from around the country. Not exactly the "Save the World" job I had hoped for in my nursing school days, but it is definitely serving its purpose in that it is keeping a roof over my head. It is also making my senior Golden Retriever one very happy dog. Mommy is home to pet him on the head, toss him a treat, and take him for walks during the day. It doesn't get much better than that from his point of view. But I digress (and if you read even a few of my blogs you will find that happens a lot!). This morning, while in training for a particular project, I came across what passes for the definition of a "live birth" according to our training materials:
"A live birth is defined as: the complete expulsion or extraction from the mother of a product of human conception, irrespective of the duration of pregnancy, which, after such expulsion or extraction, breathes or shows any other evidence of life, such as beating of the heart, pulsation of the umbilical cord or definite movement of voluntary muscles, whether or not the umbilical cord has been cut or the placenta is attached."*
Isn't that heartwarming? I can see the Hallmark card now - "Congratulations on the successful expulsion/extraction of your products of conception!".
Really? Is that what our society sees in the miracle of birth? The only thing missing from that definition is the word "it". When "it" breathes. Or when "it" shows any other evidence of life. Or when "its" umbilical cord pulses. What exactly does this say about us? This definition has depersonalized and dehumanized the entire human birth experience and has turned it into a bit of twisted rhetoric straight from the mouths of the politically correct police.
Which leads to another question. When does "it" become a he or a she? At what point do we accept that this product of conception with its pulsating umbilical cord is, indeed, a human life to be loved, cherished, and protected at all costs? If we do not value life, where do our values lie? I've heard people say that we live in a very progressive society. If this definition is proof of that progress, then, for me, this is one huge step in the wrong direction.
My second illustration demonstrates the exact opposite. Yesterday I went to the mall to buy a pillow. I was shopping in a major department store waiting for my husband to come back to the mall to pick me up. While waiting, I was walking amongst the cosmetic counters (I know I said I had to buy a pillow and they don't generally have those in the cosmetic department, but you can't blame a girl for looking!), I came across a store associate talking to a very distraught couple with two young boys. Apparently, when they came into the store they had started with three young boys, and one of them was missing. These people were obviously not from this country, so there was a language barrier, but eventually the store associate was able to get a description of the boy and what he was wearing and his name.
Everything in that store stopped. The doors to the mall were closed except for a space small enough for one person at a time to go through. There were store associates posted at every exit while others could be seen walking through the store, searching. Customers, myself included, stopped their browsing and began systematically combing the aisles of the store. I kept trying to think like a small boy and found myself looking in dressing rooms, under racks of clothes, and even in the store elevator. I caught a glimpse of the boy's mom on one of my passes through the kids department, and she had a desperation in her eyes that transcended any language barrier and broke my heart. It is a look I will not soon forget.
Nearly twenty minutes went by before the boy was found. Twenty minutes of sheer terror and panic on the part of that boy's family. Twenty minutes when total strangers abandoned their own pursuits to help look for a little boy so as to avert a tragedy. As a parent, I cannot even begin to imagine what those parents were going through and all the horrible thoughts that must have crossed their minds. All I can say is that I was praying fervently that the boy would be found unharmed and returned to his family. Thank God he was!
When my husband came to pick me up from the store, I told him about the little boy and the first words out of his mouth were, "If they hadn't found him, I would have come in and helped." This is one of the many reasons I love this man. Now, a lot of people, in fact, MOST people, are probably thinking, "Well of course! We must leave no stone unturned when looking for a poor missing child." And this, in my mind, is where the conflict starts. This exact same society that would exhaust every resource possible to find a missing child (which is how it should be) can define the birth of that child in such a way as to rob him of all his humanity (which is how it should not be). Am I the only one who finds this to be hypocritical?
Of course, as is usual when I climb up on my soapbox, I have no answers. No magic cures for what I see as life's inconsistencies. But, just maybe, the next time a friend or loved one announces the upcoming birth of their child, we can skip the "successful expulsion/extraction of your products of conception" aisle at the Hallmark store and go straight to the "congratulations on the birth of your beautiful son or daughter" department. Let's make it like it should be.
* Note: This definition comes straight from the McGraw-Hill Concise Dictionary of Modern Medicine. © 2002 by The McGraw-Hill Companies, Inc.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
The great Jello debate
I love Jello.
Especially sugar free jello when I'm trying to lose a few pounds (which, let's be honest, is all the time). You can eat, like, four boxes of the stuff and still have a ton of calories left over for the day. What a deal, huh?
Now, you may wonder why I picked this as the first topic of my brand new blog, and I'm going to explain. I find that the world is pretty much divided over the Jello issue. There are those of us who love it, who recognize the value of a cool, fruity snack that you can chew, swallow whole, let melt in your mouth into a liquid, or squish between your teeth before you swallow it. All that fun, not to mention the fruityliciousness, for about seventy-five cents a box. That works out to only about twenty cents a serving. In these tough economic times, I'd call that a bargain.
Then, there are those who hate Jello. Of the Jello haters I have known, I find that most of them have some traumatic Jello episode buried deep in their past that has forever scarred their psyche. A trip to the hospital when they were a child, an evil grandmother who forced them to eat Jello instead of ice cream when they spent the night with her, or perhaps an ill-fated food fight in an elementary school cafeteria that ended in an unpleasant trip to the principal's office back in the day when going to the principal's office meant not sitting comfortably for some time to come. But, whatever the reason, Jello haters seem to be as adamant about their stand as we Jello lovers are about ours.
That is why, right off the bat, I felt it necessary to let everyone know where I stand in the great Jello debate. I don't want any Jello haters reading this blog and later finding out I'm a Jello lover. I can't imagine the emotional scars that could leave on a person and frankly, I just don't want to be responsible for that. I also want to make it perfectly clear that all Jello haters, those who are new to the Jello hating process and those who have hated for decades, are welcome here. I may love my Jello, but I realize that not everyone shares my views on this particular topic, and I'm okay with that. It is my goal to create an atmosphere of mutual support and understanding between the two groups and perhaps build a forum where lovers and haters alike can bond together as one.
What a beautiful world that would be.
Especially sugar free jello when I'm trying to lose a few pounds (which, let's be honest, is all the time). You can eat, like, four boxes of the stuff and still have a ton of calories left over for the day. What a deal, huh?
Now, you may wonder why I picked this as the first topic of my brand new blog, and I'm going to explain. I find that the world is pretty much divided over the Jello issue. There are those of us who love it, who recognize the value of a cool, fruity snack that you can chew, swallow whole, let melt in your mouth into a liquid, or squish between your teeth before you swallow it. All that fun, not to mention the fruityliciousness, for about seventy-five cents a box. That works out to only about twenty cents a serving. In these tough economic times, I'd call that a bargain.
Then, there are those who hate Jello. Of the Jello haters I have known, I find that most of them have some traumatic Jello episode buried deep in their past that has forever scarred their psyche. A trip to the hospital when they were a child, an evil grandmother who forced them to eat Jello instead of ice cream when they spent the night with her, or perhaps an ill-fated food fight in an elementary school cafeteria that ended in an unpleasant trip to the principal's office back in the day when going to the principal's office meant not sitting comfortably for some time to come. But, whatever the reason, Jello haters seem to be as adamant about their stand as we Jello lovers are about ours.
That is why, right off the bat, I felt it necessary to let everyone know where I stand in the great Jello debate. I don't want any Jello haters reading this blog and later finding out I'm a Jello lover. I can't imagine the emotional scars that could leave on a person and frankly, I just don't want to be responsible for that. I also want to make it perfectly clear that all Jello haters, those who are new to the Jello hating process and those who have hated for decades, are welcome here. I may love my Jello, but I realize that not everyone shares my views on this particular topic, and I'm okay with that. It is my goal to create an atmosphere of mutual support and understanding between the two groups and perhaps build a forum where lovers and haters alike can bond together as one.
What a beautiful world that would be.
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