Is it self-preservation that makes some employees of emergency rooms so unsympathetic? Is it too emotionally draining to admit to oneself that the people who come in those doors are all in pain? That's what I'm guessing. It's the only explanation I have.
Last year when I dislocated my shoulder, I showed up in the ER soaking wet -- I was just out of the shower -- and wearing the only button-up shirt I owned, no bra, only one leg shaved, hair not even combed. So when the receptionist at the ER refused to look me in the eye and appeared to be unsympathetic, if not downright annoyed by my presence, I chalked it up to my crappy appearance. I looked hideous. I decided she probably thought I was nuts, or faking it.
And then last week I received the same cool treatment when I went in with an ankle dislocation and compound fracture. This time I was fully clothed, although it was clear from the appearance of my shoes and socks that I had been mowing grass. (As a side note, I COULD have kept some family dignity and insisted on taking a bath before the ER trip as my grandmother did when she broke her knee, but she promptly passed out in the bathtub, so I decided to forgo that step for my husband's sake.) Once again in the ER, I wheeled up to the desk, obviously in pain, and waited for someone to help me. They purposefully ignored me. Then I noticed the notepad and pen and realized I was to sign in. I signed in. Shortly after that, they called my name. When I turned around, I couldn't figure out who had said my name or where to go. I asked a worker. He barked, "Triage!" as if clearly everybody who is anybody knows that that's who calls you first, and everybody who's anybody knows where triage is! I finally found where I was to go, answered the routine list of questions without any eye contact from an employee, and then was told that gruff man who had told me about triage was going to take me back to immediate care. When I reached out to help hold the door open, he barked at me. Okay, I'm sure they have policies about people not helping to hold the door open, but barking at patients about it surely isn't necessary.
Once I was back in immediate care, I had a long wait -- not the ER staff's fault. I heard them saying they were preparing for the victims of a bad wreck, and I'm sure there were people in worse shape than I was, so I didn't blame them for that at all.
A long while, an X-ray, a Lortab, and the announcement of my diagnosis later, I was taken back to the ER to have my ankle reduced. It was like deja vu; it was the same procedure as when they reduced my shoulder. I was mildly amused that the staff kept avoiding telling me the name of the drug I would be receiving, and that they glared at a worker who accidentally let the word "diprivan" slip off her tongue.
When I awoke from my diprivan-induced sleep, it was to the sound of a saw. They were cutting off the tightly wrapped splint they had just put on because, as I overheard, someone had a made a mistake with it. Then I felt a sharp pain as the saw touched my leg, and I yelled out. The doctor told me to be still and assured me the saw cannot cut skin. I wanted to tell them to take a look at the place that was hurting just below my knee, but I was still foggy, so I just told myself not to be a baby. Then they cut me again, and I jerked and yelled out again. I was trying to say, "Exuse me, but I think something is cutting me. Would you mind checking just about an inch below my knee?" Of course it came out, "AAAEEEEEEOOOOOOOOAAAA."
This time the doctor was incredibly impatient with me and said, "Ma'am, you need to hold still! This saw can NOT cut you!"
Tell that to the inch-long cut on my leg. I hope they saw the blood eventually.
I didn't say anything else. I just lay still and tried not to cry. Had I been more awake, I would have been more of an advocate for myself, but with the anesthesia still hanging over me, I couldn't be.
A friend of ours severed his finger with a power saw the day before my accident. In the same ER, when he entered cradling his bleeding hand and the severed finger in his good hand, he told the nearest worker he had severed his finger. He was ready to pass out. She told him he would have to sign in.
Again, I wonder what it does for these workers to pretend the people before them are not in pain? Does it desensitize them enough to do their jobs? Or does it simply make their jobs easier if they can pretend we are not human?
Shocked
On my first day back to work after vacation, I heard the sad and shocking news that one of our co-workers passed away several weeks ago. Few people had heard the news because the family, completely paralyzed by their grief and some other issues with which they're dealing, has not yet put an obituary in the paper or scheduled any kind of memorial service.
Compounding my sadness about the loss of the kind, friendly woman who shared a workspace with me at least once a week, was the way in which the powers that be addressed her passing.
The main theme of their comments was something like "doggone the family for not calling to let us know she died so we can get on with hiring someone else." Seriously. Nobody in a position of authority said anything about how many young people she helped. Nobody said anything about her patience or her friendliness, or even the fact that she had dedicated however many years of service to this place.
I wonder how many sick days she did not take because she cared about her job. I wonder how many times she pushed herself to go to work to save her superiors some inconvenience. I wonder how many of them even knew her name. Yet her family is supposed to call them to say she won't be at work? What if she had lived alone? Whose responsibility would it be then to notify them of her death? Come on, people. Have some common sense, and maybe even a heart.
Compounding my sadness about the loss of the kind, friendly woman who shared a workspace with me at least once a week, was the way in which the powers that be addressed her passing.
The main theme of their comments was something like "doggone the family for not calling to let us know she died so we can get on with hiring someone else." Seriously. Nobody in a position of authority said anything about how many young people she helped. Nobody said anything about her patience or her friendliness, or even the fact that she had dedicated however many years of service to this place.
I wonder how many sick days she did not take because she cared about her job. I wonder how many times she pushed herself to go to work to save her superiors some inconvenience. I wonder how many of them even knew her name. Yet her family is supposed to call them to say she won't be at work? What if she had lived alone? Whose responsibility would it be then to notify them of her death? Come on, people. Have some common sense, and maybe even a heart.
The Intermitten Reader Demystified
I don't read as much as some of my friends, yet I love to read. It's always bothered me a little that while I go through spells of reading book after book, I go through other periods -- months at a time -- when I read nothing at all.
Last week my mom recommended a book to me, Blood Memory by Greg Iles. In so doing, she explained why she doesn't read more. It was an aha moment for me because it explained perfectly why I don't.
My mom said something like, "Some people always have a book going. I can't do that. If I start a book, that's all I want to do. I just can't put it down, and then I get nothing done."
Exactly! I get sucked in just like Mom does, and my house gets messy and I get behind on my work and the laundry, plus if it's a sad book, I get depressed.
I'm an intermittent reader by necessity. And apparently, it runs in the family.
Last week my mom recommended a book to me, Blood Memory by Greg Iles. In so doing, she explained why she doesn't read more. It was an aha moment for me because it explained perfectly why I don't.
My mom said something like, "Some people always have a book going. I can't do that. If I start a book, that's all I want to do. I just can't put it down, and then I get nothing done."
Exactly! I get sucked in just like Mom does, and my house gets messy and I get behind on my work and the laundry, plus if it's a sad book, I get depressed.
I'm an intermittent reader by necessity. And apparently, it runs in the family.
I'll Take It
Been feeling down today. Couldn't figure out why at first. Then it hit me: two days of meetings filled with group discussion. I used to survive things like that by simply keeping quiet. As a stutterer, the last thing I wanted to do was inject my halting speech into the middle of a fast-paced debate.
I find two things interesting: first, that I am no longer quiet, and second, that while I was indeed upset and frustrated about it on some level, it took me a while to figure it out -- in other words, my speech was not in the forefront of my mind despite my being in a high-pressure speaking situation.
Looking back on the last two days, I realize I gave my professional opinion and added input just as often as any of the other dozen or so professionals from across the state. I would even go so far as to say that I was in the more outspoken 50%. Part of it just has to do with a topic about which I am passionate. The other part has to do with my stuttering moving more and more into the periphery in my life.
Not that it isn't there. It is. It's just different now. I still stutter as much, but it probably sounds like less, and it certainly feels like less -- mostly because I don't fight against it. Most of the time, I just let it tumble out imperfectly and don't bat an eye.
In fast-paced discussions, though, the stakes are higher. Speaking is harder for everyone. It's tricky timing just when to jump in and add a relevant point. Stuttering compounds that. It's like being at a busy intersection and having a car that tends not to go immediately when you push the accelerator. Sometimes it's my turn and I don't go, so someone else goes, only my car THEN decides to go, and we almost have a crash in the intersection. Or maybe I pull out into traffic and then my car stalls, and that throws the flow of traffic off and puts me at the center of attention. Not good. It's tricky.
I would find myself waiting for the extra-long pause I needed to add a point or mention a concern, and then by the time I got my voice started, someone else was talking -- which was fine, except when all of a sudden my voice would finally start, so it would sound as if I were trying to interrupt. Or it would take me three or four "pause opportunities" to finally get my voice going in time to take the floor, and by that time my point was a little off-topic. I would have to say, "Back to what so-and-so was saying a moment ago . . . . " Mildly frustrating.
But I did it. I did not give my input entirely fluently. I just gave my input in the only voice I have.
In the past I would have A) avoided the meeting altogether, B) gone to the meeting and avoided speaking, and then kicked myself for not speaking up about something important, or C) participated and then kicked myself for the rest of the day for stuttering so badly. Yet today, the only sense of upset it caused me was this nagging feeling of discontent this evening. Well, crap, people. I call that success.
I find two things interesting: first, that I am no longer quiet, and second, that while I was indeed upset and frustrated about it on some level, it took me a while to figure it out -- in other words, my speech was not in the forefront of my mind despite my being in a high-pressure speaking situation.
Looking back on the last two days, I realize I gave my professional opinion and added input just as often as any of the other dozen or so professionals from across the state. I would even go so far as to say that I was in the more outspoken 50%. Part of it just has to do with a topic about which I am passionate. The other part has to do with my stuttering moving more and more into the periphery in my life.
Not that it isn't there. It is. It's just different now. I still stutter as much, but it probably sounds like less, and it certainly feels like less -- mostly because I don't fight against it. Most of the time, I just let it tumble out imperfectly and don't bat an eye.
In fast-paced discussions, though, the stakes are higher. Speaking is harder for everyone. It's tricky timing just when to jump in and add a relevant point. Stuttering compounds that. It's like being at a busy intersection and having a car that tends not to go immediately when you push the accelerator. Sometimes it's my turn and I don't go, so someone else goes, only my car THEN decides to go, and we almost have a crash in the intersection. Or maybe I pull out into traffic and then my car stalls, and that throws the flow of traffic off and puts me at the center of attention. Not good. It's tricky.
I would find myself waiting for the extra-long pause I needed to add a point or mention a concern, and then by the time I got my voice started, someone else was talking -- which was fine, except when all of a sudden my voice would finally start, so it would sound as if I were trying to interrupt. Or it would take me three or four "pause opportunities" to finally get my voice going in time to take the floor, and by that time my point was a little off-topic. I would have to say, "Back to what so-and-so was saying a moment ago . . . . " Mildly frustrating.
But I did it. I did not give my input entirely fluently. I just gave my input in the only voice I have.
In the past I would have A) avoided the meeting altogether, B) gone to the meeting and avoided speaking, and then kicked myself for not speaking up about something important, or C) participated and then kicked myself for the rest of the day for stuttering so badly. Yet today, the only sense of upset it caused me was this nagging feeling of discontent this evening. Well, crap, people. I call that success.
Who's to Blame for the Broccoli Mobile
During our recent vacation, Lydia spilled a cup of milk in the backseat of my car. We weren't at a place where we could clean it up properly and had to wait several hours before we took some cleaner to it. Even then, it wasn't the kind of cleaner I wanted. I looked for Kids & Pets, the enzyme cleaner that saved our couch and the kids' mattresses after the stomach virus from hell last Thanksgiving, but I couldn't find any. Instead, I used some carpet cleaner, some pet odor remover, and a bag of charcoal.
The odor diminished considerably, but we found out the other day that it comes back stronger than ever in the heat of the day. When we got in our car in the early afternoon, we were overwhelmed by a stench that reminded us of rotten broccoli. It was absolutely awful.
A typical big brother, Seth immediately began to remind his sister just who it was who had spilled the milk. "Lydia, this is all your fault."
With an impatient sigh and a sassy turn of her head, Lydia replied, "Seth, it isn't all my fault. It's just my fault."
The odor diminished considerably, but we found out the other day that it comes back stronger than ever in the heat of the day. When we got in our car in the early afternoon, we were overwhelmed by a stench that reminded us of rotten broccoli. It was absolutely awful.
A typical big brother, Seth immediately began to remind his sister just who it was who had spilled the milk. "Lydia, this is all your fault."
With an impatient sigh and a sassy turn of her head, Lydia replied, "Seth, it isn't all my fault. It's just my fault."
Jelly-filled's Back-to-School Shopping Tips
This post was going to be a rant entitled "The Only Good Plus-Size Kid Is a Naked Plus-Size Kid," wherein I showed examples of online idiocy advising against the production of plus-size children's clothing because it "condones fatness." But all that makes me tired. Let's suffice it to say that the negativity is out there. What I'd like to do, instead, is create something positive from the frustrations we've had finding clothes to fit our four-year-old daughter.
For those of you whose children maxed out of the toddler or little-girl clothing sections before their time and who are struggling to find appropriate, comfortable clothing for your daughters, I feel your pain. I've been the little girl in the dressing room who, with each too-tight item, felt less that the clothes didn't fit, and more that she herself didn't fit. And as of this week, I've been the mama of a lovely little girl who tried on outfit after outfit that just didn't fit.
I arrived home from that frustrating shopping trip Sunday, spent some time on the Internet, and went back out today with much more success -- not only with finding clothing, but also with keeping my daughter's self-esteem intact.
Here are some tips. These are not so much tips on fashion -- a fashion plate I am not -- but tips on protecting our daughters. Feel free to add your own in the comments section! I'm still learning!
1. Do your homework. Before you shop, take your daughter's measurements. Then go to the websites of the stores you plan to visit and check out their sizing charts. There is a lot of variation from store to store. Make a list of the sizes most likely to fit your daughter at each store, and cross off your list any store whose sizes are generally too narrow/wide/long/short for your daughter's measurements. This will save your child the frustration of having to try on multiple items that don't fit.
2. Make your comments about the clothing. As your child tries on the clothing, if something does not fit, keep the comments about the garment, not your child's body. "This shirt is too narrow in the shoulders," rather than, "You're too wide in the shoulders for this."
3. Focus on comfort. Focus on how a garment feels before you talk about what it looks like. Make sure she understands that her comfort is the number one priority. If a pair of pants looks too tight in the waist, encourage her to identify the problem in terms of comfort. "Do they feel tight?" If she is in love with an outfit that you know is too tight, you can say, "It is a cute outfit. But it doesn't look comfortable. Let's find you something cute that feels good, too. You deserve to be comfortable."
4. Ignore the size tag. Sometimes it can feel downright weird to dress your little girl in a size that she "shouldn't" be wearing yet. It can be tempting to stop trying clothes on at a certain size. But get what fits, even if the tag says size 453. It doesn't matter. It's just a number. Buy what fits your daughter well.
5. Avoid frustration. Fruitless shopping trips can be disappointing and frustrating. Plan your day so that there is not too much shopping all at once. Keep things light and fun. When you or your daughter gets frustrated, take a break. Go shop for something fun, or head to the bookstore, or go outside and play. And if you do get really frustrated to the point where it's showing, it's probably better to express it than to let your daughter read the frustration on your face and assume you're upset with her. Direct your frustration toward the clothing manufacturers. "I wish there were more clothes in different sizes here," or "Why do they have to make little girls' clothes look so grown up?" or "I'm getting frustrated because you deserve to have comfortable, pretty clothes, and they don't seem to have them here." This is also good modeling for her because one day, she'll be in the dressing room alone, and you want to teach her not to direct her frustration at her own body.
6. Keep it young. Sometimes you'll have to pick sizes that are too old for you daughter. Choose
wisely, trying to keep her looking her age as much as possible. Try using little girl accessories -- hair bows, jewelry, etc. -- to make an outfit look younger. You may also have to buy pants in a big girl's size and hem them, and then find tops that are younger looking. For example, we bought some inexpensive pants in the big-girl section and some reasonably young-looking solid tops that we can accessorize, but my daughter wanted "a shirt with an animal on it," which we couldn't find in that store. So we went to another store where the pants would have been too small and splurged on a very cute little puppy top that fit her perfectly.
7. Empathize. If your daughter is old enough to read the tags and understand societal pressure to be thin, and becomes frustrated or upset herself, be there for her. Let her know you know it must be frustrating. Remind her of the beauty you see in her, and remind her that she deserves to wear comfortable, pretty clothes. Let her know you'll find her clothes she deserves one way or another. Most of all, listen to her and let her know she is loved just as she is.
8. Shop online. Once you have done your homework and then tried on actual clothing in a store and know your daughter's size, you can search for wider variety on the store's website. Also, some stores sell plus-size girls' clothing exclusively online. Finally, there are a few little girls' plus-size clothing manufacturers out there that sell primarily online, including at least one that will custom make the garment to fit your daughter's measurements. I have not tried these particular resources yet because my daughter is still too small for them, but I am keeping them in mind as she grows: http://www.jellybeanmiami.com/ and https://www.jeenybeans.com/jeenybeans/jsp/KMain.jsp .
For those of you whose children maxed out of the toddler or little-girl clothing sections before their time and who are struggling to find appropriate, comfortable clothing for your daughters, I feel your pain. I've been the little girl in the dressing room who, with each too-tight item, felt less that the clothes didn't fit, and more that she herself didn't fit. And as of this week, I've been the mama of a lovely little girl who tried on outfit after outfit that just didn't fit.
I arrived home from that frustrating shopping trip Sunday, spent some time on the Internet, and went back out today with much more success -- not only with finding clothing, but also with keeping my daughter's self-esteem intact.
Here are some tips. These are not so much tips on fashion -- a fashion plate I am not -- but tips on protecting our daughters. Feel free to add your own in the comments section! I'm still learning!
1. Do your homework. Before you shop, take your daughter's measurements. Then go to the websites of the stores you plan to visit and check out their sizing charts. There is a lot of variation from store to store. Make a list of the sizes most likely to fit your daughter at each store, and cross off your list any store whose sizes are generally too narrow/wide/long/short for your daughter's measurements. This will save your child the frustration of having to try on multiple items that don't fit.
2. Make your comments about the clothing. As your child tries on the clothing, if something does not fit, keep the comments about the garment, not your child's body. "This shirt is too narrow in the shoulders," rather than, "You're too wide in the shoulders for this."
3. Focus on comfort. Focus on how a garment feels before you talk about what it looks like. Make sure she understands that her comfort is the number one priority. If a pair of pants looks too tight in the waist, encourage her to identify the problem in terms of comfort. "Do they feel tight?" If she is in love with an outfit that you know is too tight, you can say, "It is a cute outfit. But it doesn't look comfortable. Let's find you something cute that feels good, too. You deserve to be comfortable."
4. Ignore the size tag. Sometimes it can feel downright weird to dress your little girl in a size that she "shouldn't" be wearing yet. It can be tempting to stop trying clothes on at a certain size. But get what fits, even if the tag says size 453. It doesn't matter. It's just a number. Buy what fits your daughter well.
5. Avoid frustration. Fruitless shopping trips can be disappointing and frustrating. Plan your day so that there is not too much shopping all at once. Keep things light and fun. When you or your daughter gets frustrated, take a break. Go shop for something fun, or head to the bookstore, or go outside and play. And if you do get really frustrated to the point where it's showing, it's probably better to express it than to let your daughter read the frustration on your face and assume you're upset with her. Direct your frustration toward the clothing manufacturers. "I wish there were more clothes in different sizes here," or "Why do they have to make little girls' clothes look so grown up?" or "I'm getting frustrated because you deserve to have comfortable, pretty clothes, and they don't seem to have them here." This is also good modeling for her because one day, she'll be in the dressing room alone, and you want to teach her not to direct her frustration at her own body.
6. Keep it young. Sometimes you'll have to pick sizes that are too old for you daughter. Choose
wisely, trying to keep her looking her age as much as possible. Try using little girl accessories -- hair bows, jewelry, etc. -- to make an outfit look younger. You may also have to buy pants in a big girl's size and hem them, and then find tops that are younger looking. For example, we bought some inexpensive pants in the big-girl section and some reasonably young-looking solid tops that we can accessorize, but my daughter wanted "a shirt with an animal on it," which we couldn't find in that store. So we went to another store where the pants would have been too small and splurged on a very cute little puppy top that fit her perfectly.7. Empathize. If your daughter is old enough to read the tags and understand societal pressure to be thin, and becomes frustrated or upset herself, be there for her. Let her know you know it must be frustrating. Remind her of the beauty you see in her, and remind her that she deserves to wear comfortable, pretty clothes. Let her know you'll find her clothes she deserves one way or another. Most of all, listen to her and let her know she is loved just as she is.
8. Shop online. Once you have done your homework and then tried on actual clothing in a store and know your daughter's size, you can search for wider variety on the store's website. Also, some stores sell plus-size girls' clothing exclusively online. Finally, there are a few little girls' plus-size clothing manufacturers out there that sell primarily online, including at least one that will custom make the garment to fit your daughter's measurements. I have not tried these particular resources yet because my daughter is still too small for them, but I am keeping them in mind as she grows: http://www.jellybeanmiami.com/ and https://www.jeenybeans.com/jeenybeans/jsp/KMain.jsp .
Little Donuts' Wisdom: Summer '09 Edition
Little Donuts on Bug Classification
Seth: Look! There's a daddy longlegs!
[He smashes it.]
Lydia: Now we can call it a deady longlegs!
Little Donuts on Colors
Lydia: [looking at museum exhibits] Look! Pink! My favorite color!
Seth: Lydia, why do you always say, "Pink, my favorite color!" It's really annoying. I don't say that about my favorite color. But you always do that when something is pink, and it really bothers -- Look! That one's red! My favorite color!
Little Donuts on Flamingos
Lydia: Flamingos are my favorite animal.
Seth: But that's not a good animal to be your favorite animal because they only have one leg.
Lydia: I like them because they're pink. And if they're not pink, I will paint them pink.
Waitress: Yes, it was a real bull. He got heart disease and died, and they thought he was pretty, so they put him up on the wall.
Seth: Look! There's a daddy longlegs!
[He smashes it.]
Lydia: Now we can call it a deady longlegs!
Little Donuts on Colors
Lydia: [looking at museum exhibits] Look! Pink! My favorite color!
Seth: Lydia, why do you always say, "Pink, my favorite color!" It's really annoying. I don't say that about my favorite color. But you always do that when something is pink, and it really bothers -- Look! That one's red! My favorite color!
Little Donuts on Flamingos
Lydia: Flamingos are my favorite animal.
Seth: But that's not a good animal to be your favorite animal because they only have one leg.
Lydia: I like them because they're pink. And if they're not pink, I will paint them pink.
Little Donuts on Taxidermy . . .
Seth [to the waitress at Texas Steakhouse] : Is that cow on the wall real?
Waitress: Yes, it was a real bull. He got heart disease and died, and they thought he was pretty, so they put him up on the wall.
Seth [later]: I think the waitress was lying about that bull being real. You know why? 'Cause I've never seen a cow that was just a neck.
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