It is interesting how, having come through the fears of being a person with cancer, of becoming old, of being dead – and receiving assurances that the cancer can be cured, the aging is inevitable and the dying isn’t going to happen just yet – I’m now focused on the process of being ill and getting well.
I didn’t plan this out. I didn’t consciously move from one stage to the next: it just happened.
This weekend I’ve spent a good deal of time pondering why I’m sleeping all day (and not all night), how serious the doctor was in her orders about my digestive tract, and why the pains have changed location, shape and sensitivity? And why my diet has changed.
I don’t need to bore or disgust, but one of the biggest challenges during an illness in which one consumes a strong narcotic for pain is keeping the digestive tract “regular.” “Once a day,” the doctor said, quite adamantly. I have to go see her Monday! What if I can’t – Wait! Stronger drugs!
The knee has hurt pretty much from the beginning of this process. Now, it’s like there’s a metal ring on the left knee, and it hurts like hell if I touch it. What if it – Wait! Stronger drugs!
The principle lump has enlarged and gotten harder. There is some sensitivity to the touch, but no redness (yet). There is no radiation of pain from the lump to further down the leg – though I’m sure the pains are all related and I’m counting on all of them disappearing when the lump does. There is some pain on the backside of the thigh – which I’d not felt before. What if it can’t – Wait! Stronger Drugs!
Dr. Perez-Tamayo has prescribed stronger drugs for me, and told me what over the counter meds I should take and generally assured me that we can get this pain under control. She’s mostly right – though one of the prescriptions she’s given me isn’t doing much good. I wonder if the pains are going to get worse and the drugs are going to have to get yet stronger?
If they do, that’s OK. I’ve become accustomed to weird dreams and half-awake hallucinations. One of my current favorite pastimes is to distinguish between hallucinations and reality. (The hallucinations aren’t so bizarre that they’re easy to distinguish.) Trying to remember what I’ve done and what I haven’t done is a second favorite pastime.
Then there’s appetite. I don’t feel nauseous, but I don’t much feel like eating. That’s probably OK for right now, since I’m not doing much in the way of physical activity. I have a recipe from M. D. Anderson Cancer Center for a protein drink. I should learn to make it and consume it to make sure I’m getting good nutrition.
One of the strangest parts of this is coffee.
It seems that it affects me more now than it ever did. Coffee at 5 pm didn’t used to keep me awake. I had to drink some after 9 pm in order to be awake after midnight. Now, a cuppa after 5 pm means at least several extra hours of tossing and turning at night.
Yesterday I had only one cup of coffee. Day before two, but didn’t finish the second cup. Today I’ll probably have two. It doesn’t taste as good as it used to. That makes me sad. I mean, we’re going to talk “Svenskhet” in two weekends, and what is a Swede without coffee – strong, black coffee?
The family tells a story about Farfar and coffee. After he retired and sold the farm to my uncle Teodor, he and his wife stayed in the house. Farfar was going blind. But he got up first every morning and started the coffee boiling. From “morgonen till kvällen” he sat in the kitchen, smoked his pipe and drank that boiled coffee.
I may be shaming my whole family by giving up on coffee. Then again, once we get past this treatment I’ll return to my regular coffee habits.
I guess we can’t predict, so I’ll just have to include that on my list of things to watch while journeying toward health. No stronger drugs needed!
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Sunday, September 18, 2011
The Truth about Me and Cancer
I didn’t tell everything I knew when I knew it.
I knew on Monday that the lump was cancerous. Dr. Rosenthal’s office reached me Monday morning and the person on the phone told me. I couldn’t tell anyone else right then. I delayed until Wednesday when I had an appointment with the oncologist in Salina. Because I’d told everyone I was going to the oncologist on Wednesday, I knew I couldn’t postpone beyond that date, but I needed to postpone to that date.
I just couldn’t bring myself of see me as a person with cancer. Cancer was something that only happened to other people. It couldn’t happen to me. No one else in the family had cancer. I was the first, the only one. Not a distinction I cared to have.
Not only that, I had come home from church Sunday after trying to sing the first hymn. I’ve found I can’t stand still long enough to sing the hymns. Thus, I’ve decided to sit during worship, which I also can’t do very well – both the seats in the chapel at college and the pews a Bethany Church are very uncomfortable to my leg.
But when I try to sit during the singing of the hymn I find myself unable to sing. I pretty much get on the verge of weeping. Last Sunday I came home and did my share of weeping.
I was weeping because church has been the center of my life since I was a young teenager. My earliest joy was to be an acolyte at Luther Memorial. My cousin once said to me, as I wandered through the basement in the black cassock, “That looks good on you, you thinking about becoming a Pastor?”
Church was central to my life even when I was an undergraduate and didn’t get to chapel or Sunday worship on Zion very often. The two most influential people in my young life were Roald Tweet of Augie’s English Department and Dick Swanson, the campus pastor. Church remained central to me during those periods when I was on leave from call, the late 80s and the late 90s, early 21st century. Church remains central to my life, even though the Institutional Church has decided that they neither want to nor wish to have me on the role of clergy.
Now I can’t go. I can’t sit in the pews. I can’t stand for the hymns. I can’t sit for the hymns, I just can’t go. I end up crying.
That’s a major shift in my identity. Major.
When I got the news Monday I couldn’t bring myself to admit that I had been told that
the lump is a sarcoma. I could not face the idea of me as a sick person who has cancer and may lose a leg to cancer, who certainly has difficulty moving because of cancer, who could lose a life to cancer. I was not ready to deal with that. I’m still not ready to deal with the could lose a life to cancer, but I suppose I’ll work my way there.
Here’s the thing.
I don’t feel brave. I don’t feel like a fighter. I don’t feel like I can do this.
When I was in junior high (though we didn’t call it that) I actually tried out for the Lane Tech Cross Country Team. All I had to do was complete the course in the top ten of the runners. I had friends on the team. They stood along the course and cheered me on. About three quarters of the way my will gave out. “I can’t do it,” I said, and dropped out.
My heroes in life have faced this far better than I. At least their public faces have been far better than mine. Cardinal Archbishop Bernardin of Chicago faced his demise with grace and dignity. Walter Wangerin faced his cancer with new insight and depth of feeling. Me, I’m afraid that I’ll have neither dignity nor insight because of this illness. I’m afraid I’ll repeat my daring don’t of so many years ago – get within sight of the goal and quit.
I start radiation therapy tomorrow. The CT scan of the chest and abdomen was ambiguous. The PET scan had no evidence of spread of the cancer. I’ll stick with the more optimistic until I hear otherwise.
I knew on Monday that the lump was cancerous. Dr. Rosenthal’s office reached me Monday morning and the person on the phone told me. I couldn’t tell anyone else right then. I delayed until Wednesday when I had an appointment with the oncologist in Salina. Because I’d told everyone I was going to the oncologist on Wednesday, I knew I couldn’t postpone beyond that date, but I needed to postpone to that date.
I just couldn’t bring myself of see me as a person with cancer. Cancer was something that only happened to other people. It couldn’t happen to me. No one else in the family had cancer. I was the first, the only one. Not a distinction I cared to have.
Not only that, I had come home from church Sunday after trying to sing the first hymn. I’ve found I can’t stand still long enough to sing the hymns. Thus, I’ve decided to sit during worship, which I also can’t do very well – both the seats in the chapel at college and the pews a Bethany Church are very uncomfortable to my leg.
But when I try to sit during the singing of the hymn I find myself unable to sing. I pretty much get on the verge of weeping. Last Sunday I came home and did my share of weeping.
I was weeping because church has been the center of my life since I was a young teenager. My earliest joy was to be an acolyte at Luther Memorial. My cousin once said to me, as I wandered through the basement in the black cassock, “That looks good on you, you thinking about becoming a Pastor?”
Church was central to my life even when I was an undergraduate and didn’t get to chapel or Sunday worship on Zion very often. The two most influential people in my young life were Roald Tweet of Augie’s English Department and Dick Swanson, the campus pastor. Church remained central to me during those periods when I was on leave from call, the late 80s and the late 90s, early 21st century. Church remains central to my life, even though the Institutional Church has decided that they neither want to nor wish to have me on the role of clergy.
Now I can’t go. I can’t sit in the pews. I can’t stand for the hymns. I can’t sit for the hymns, I just can’t go. I end up crying.
That’s a major shift in my identity. Major.
When I got the news Monday I couldn’t bring myself to admit that I had been told that
the lump is a sarcoma. I could not face the idea of me as a sick person who has cancer and may lose a leg to cancer, who certainly has difficulty moving because of cancer, who could lose a life to cancer. I was not ready to deal with that. I’m still not ready to deal with the could lose a life to cancer, but I suppose I’ll work my way there.
Here’s the thing.
I don’t feel brave. I don’t feel like a fighter. I don’t feel like I can do this.
When I was in junior high (though we didn’t call it that) I actually tried out for the Lane Tech Cross Country Team. All I had to do was complete the course in the top ten of the runners. I had friends on the team. They stood along the course and cheered me on. About three quarters of the way my will gave out. “I can’t do it,” I said, and dropped out.
My heroes in life have faced this far better than I. At least their public faces have been far better than mine. Cardinal Archbishop Bernardin of Chicago faced his demise with grace and dignity. Walter Wangerin faced his cancer with new insight and depth of feeling. Me, I’m afraid that I’ll have neither dignity nor insight because of this illness. I’m afraid I’ll repeat my daring don’t of so many years ago – get within sight of the goal and quit.
I start radiation therapy tomorrow. The CT scan of the chest and abdomen was ambiguous. The PET scan had no evidence of spread of the cancer. I’ll stick with the more optimistic until I hear otherwise.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Another Doctor
I'm off to another Doctor, this one in Salina, tomorrow.
I'm happy about the progress, because I should be able to get the treatment started in the next two weeks.
What I'm not happy about is the clinic's insistence on payment. It's the first document the clinic forces you to fill out and the last document you're asked to sign. You have to sign off saying that you realize that if your insurance company doesn't pay you have to pay up front.
This insistence upon getting as much money out of the suckers as possible was the thing that was so off putting at the MRI clinic. I intend to pay my portion of the bills. But what will the clinic do if I can't pay the bill and if the insurance company refused to pay the bill?
This insistent demand for money makes me even more convinced that what we need is single payer!
I'm happy about the progress, because I should be able to get the treatment started in the next two weeks.
What I'm not happy about is the clinic's insistence on payment. It's the first document the clinic forces you to fill out and the last document you're asked to sign. You have to sign off saying that you realize that if your insurance company doesn't pay you have to pay up front.
This insistence upon getting as much money out of the suckers as possible was the thing that was so off putting at the MRI clinic. I intend to pay my portion of the bills. But what will the clinic do if I can't pay the bill and if the insurance company refused to pay the bill?
This insistent demand for money makes me even more convinced that what we need is single payer!
Sunday, August 28, 2011
The Lump and Thoughts Of Mortality
The lump in the leg seems to be softening. Or maybe that's my imagination and/or the medication.
This Sunday morning I'm sitting in front of the TV, the best friend of the sick, watching Auction Kings. But I'm not concentrating on the show - except at this moment when they're auctioning a Faberge pencil for way over the value of the piece. That's pretty exciting. The guy who bought it better have some money.
But other than those moments when the excitement of the auction pulls my attention, I'm spending a lot of time thinking.
I'm thinking about the lump, how can I avoid it.
What I'm thinking is that there are two possibilities for this lump. Either it's a sarcoma or it isn't.
If it's a sarcoma, either it's treatable or it isn't. If it is, it's going to play havoc with this year, but I'll come out of it at the end of the year ready to go on to the next year a stronger, wiser person (I hope).
If it's not treatable, I'll die.
I am not afraid of dying. I'm just full of sadness at the idea because there is so much I haven't done.
I haven't written that book on Swedish Americans in Hollywood. I haven't written much of anything. I haven't even tried to find a publisher for the article I have completed on Hildy Johnson. I haven't finished the research on Greta Granstedt. I haven't written the piece on an alternative view of Mass Media - looking at it in light of the Christian faith, but not looking at it as judge and pious piss-ant.
I haven't learned everything I want to learn yet.
How to use Final Cut. How to work After Effects.
How to edit with rhythm and grace. How to pull an audience to a webcast.
And I haven't taught all the kids I can teach. I love my job. It is what I have built my whole life toward. Since I left Dear Old Augie I've always wanted to return to a college campus, to work for the good of the church in Higher Education: to give to others what had been given to me. That I will miss most of all.
That and family. I have not been the father I would have been to my children. Not been the kind of lover I wanted to be to my wife.
If this turns out to be a sarcoma and either un-treatable or very difficult to treat, I will be very sad to not have time to do what I have not done. Maybe, instead of regretting I should get to work and do. Because whether it is now or thirty years from now, I'll still have a ton of things on my to-do list.
Perhaps I'll start with sanding the porch rail.
This Sunday morning I'm sitting in front of the TV, the best friend of the sick, watching Auction Kings. But I'm not concentrating on the show - except at this moment when they're auctioning a Faberge pencil for way over the value of the piece. That's pretty exciting. The guy who bought it better have some money.
But other than those moments when the excitement of the auction pulls my attention, I'm spending a lot of time thinking.
I'm thinking about the lump, how can I avoid it.
What I'm thinking is that there are two possibilities for this lump. Either it's a sarcoma or it isn't.
If it's a sarcoma, either it's treatable or it isn't. If it is, it's going to play havoc with this year, but I'll come out of it at the end of the year ready to go on to the next year a stronger, wiser person (I hope).
If it's not treatable, I'll die.
I am not afraid of dying. I'm just full of sadness at the idea because there is so much I haven't done.
I haven't written that book on Swedish Americans in Hollywood. I haven't written much of anything. I haven't even tried to find a publisher for the article I have completed on Hildy Johnson. I haven't finished the research on Greta Granstedt. I haven't written the piece on an alternative view of Mass Media - looking at it in light of the Christian faith, but not looking at it as judge and pious piss-ant.
I haven't learned everything I want to learn yet.
How to use Final Cut. How to work After Effects.
How to edit with rhythm and grace. How to pull an audience to a webcast.
And I haven't taught all the kids I can teach. I love my job. It is what I have built my whole life toward. Since I left Dear Old Augie I've always wanted to return to a college campus, to work for the good of the church in Higher Education: to give to others what had been given to me. That I will miss most of all.
That and family. I have not been the father I would have been to my children. Not been the kind of lover I wanted to be to my wife.
If this turns out to be a sarcoma and either un-treatable or very difficult to treat, I will be very sad to not have time to do what I have not done. Maybe, instead of regretting I should get to work and do. Because whether it is now or thirty years from now, I'll still have a ton of things on my to-do list.
Perhaps I'll start with sanding the porch rail.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Family in Irene
Daughter Emily and her husband are in harms way in North Carolina.
Last Tweet, late morning, indicated that the lights were flickering and she expected to lose power soon. I expect that they have lost power and we won't hear from her for several days.
Thinking about her. Praying for her. It helps me keep my worries and thoughts off me.
Go for it kid! Beat that Hurricane silly!
Last Tweet, late morning, indicated that the lights were flickering and she expected to lose power soon. I expect that they have lost power and we won't hear from her for several days.
Thinking about her. Praying for her. It helps me keep my worries and thoughts off me.
Go for it kid! Beat that Hurricane silly!
Thursday, August 25, 2011
More Thoughts on How I'm doing
Went to Salina Ortho. That was a waste.
They were not prepared to do anything for me. They read the MRI (I wonder if Dr. Nickel got to see it. I have it now). They told me that they could do nothing for me. I spent more time giving my medical history than they spent with me. They took my $30 and referred me down the line. Of course if there was anything else they could do for me. . .
Bah!
When I go see the sub-specialist on Monday, 1:30 pm, I will have driven 200 miles. (That's 7 gallons of gas one way - tank full round trip - $50). I will pay $30 copay. This doctor will look at the MRIs, the X-rays and send me home - that's what Salina Ortho told me. That means we'll drive spend and still not know any more than we know today. So, I'll have to go back for another visit (that's another $80 trip - at least) to get an unknown procedure.
Just as obnoxious, the Ortho doctor refused to even give me an idea of what could be done, what it would be like if its a sarcoma (I don't want to comment on that because I don't know). And if it's a fatty tissue tumor - nothing can be done except maybe some radiation to shrink it some. Will it grow back? Will the pain lessen? Will there be side effects. Don't know. Can't say, don't care.
Have these specialist ever been human beings who have to live with anxiety, who have to live within a budget, who can't commute to Kansas City?
I'm going to call the Lindsborg Clinic and ask that they refer me to KU Medicine. Linda Branch recommended them. I think I've got a better chance for a better outcome there.
I've heard from many of my friends on facebook and elsewhere that my experience is just beginning and highly likely to get worse.
So let me be clear about my objections: I live 200 miles from Kansas City. Gas is $4.00 a gallon. I need to have some reassurance that what's happening to my leg can be at least significantly mitigated, even if not cured. I'd like to know what is likely to happen to me - and I can't drive to KC for chemo twice a week. I can't afford to be paying copays that add up to $200 per week.
I am both angry and more than a bit scared about the outcomes.
They were not prepared to do anything for me. They read the MRI (I wonder if Dr. Nickel got to see it. I have it now). They told me that they could do nothing for me. I spent more time giving my medical history than they spent with me. They took my $30 and referred me down the line. Of course if there was anything else they could do for me. . .
Bah!
When I go see the sub-specialist on Monday, 1:30 pm, I will have driven 200 miles. (That's 7 gallons of gas one way - tank full round trip - $50). I will pay $30 copay. This doctor will look at the MRIs, the X-rays and send me home - that's what Salina Ortho told me. That means we'll drive spend and still not know any more than we know today. So, I'll have to go back for another visit (that's another $80 trip - at least) to get an unknown procedure.
Just as obnoxious, the Ortho doctor refused to even give me an idea of what could be done, what it would be like if its a sarcoma (I don't want to comment on that because I don't know). And if it's a fatty tissue tumor - nothing can be done except maybe some radiation to shrink it some. Will it grow back? Will the pain lessen? Will there be side effects. Don't know. Can't say, don't care.
Have these specialist ever been human beings who have to live with anxiety, who have to live within a budget, who can't commute to Kansas City?
I'm going to call the Lindsborg Clinic and ask that they refer me to KU Medicine. Linda Branch recommended them. I think I've got a better chance for a better outcome there.
I've heard from many of my friends on facebook and elsewhere that my experience is just beginning and highly likely to get worse.
So let me be clear about my objections: I live 200 miles from Kansas City. Gas is $4.00 a gallon. I need to have some reassurance that what's happening to my leg can be at least significantly mitigated, even if not cured. I'd like to know what is likely to happen to me - and I can't drive to KC for chemo twice a week. I can't afford to be paying copays that add up to $200 per week.
I am both angry and more than a bit scared about the outcomes.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Why Didn't I Act Earlier
One of my longtime friends I haven't seen in almost thirty years asked one of the best questions about my "mass" on the thigh.
"How could you let it go that long?"
My answer on Facebook was partly true. I let it go, in part, because I'm a guy - one of those people (usually male) who believes that if you ignore it it will go away and anything other than that is just weak. I know that's not rational, but illness isn't rational. I'm not even willing to call this an illness. I chide myself - as have others - on taking time away from work for this. As one of my colleagues said (in jest) when I couldn't stay for church on Sunday "I've got a pain in the butt, but I don't let that keep me away."
There's all that irrational guy stuff in my makeup.
But there's also an economic reason for the situation becoming so serious.
I just paid the first installment on treatment. Our first step was an x-ray a month and a half ago. The insurance company left me $220 and change as my part of the bill. My total out of pocket expenses could be as high as $3000. Plus co-pays on medications and co-pays for every MD visit. What will my total cost for this illness be?
Given the kind of health insurance climate in which we in America live, I'm hesitant to get medical treatment. Like most Americans we're paycheck to paycheck. Kris has gotten a new job, but it is definitely under-employment. She had an interview for a full time job yesterday - and if she gets that job it will make our lives comfortable. If not, we're pretty much sunk.
I don't want to become a medical bankruptcy, but . . .
So I haven't kept at my medical treatment - ignored the symptoms when they first appeared in March - because I'm a guy. That's my fault.
I haven't kept at my medical treatment because I'm afraid of what it will cost me. That's not my fault. It is the climate of this country that makes people like me, people who are responsible citizens scrapping by, fearful of becoming sick and even more fearful of seeking treatment.
I have very personal reasons to want that to change! I'm working against me. I don't need a social more that piles on!
"How could you let it go that long?"
My answer on Facebook was partly true. I let it go, in part, because I'm a guy - one of those people (usually male) who believes that if you ignore it it will go away and anything other than that is just weak. I know that's not rational, but illness isn't rational. I'm not even willing to call this an illness. I chide myself - as have others - on taking time away from work for this. As one of my colleagues said (in jest) when I couldn't stay for church on Sunday "I've got a pain in the butt, but I don't let that keep me away."
There's all that irrational guy stuff in my makeup.
But there's also an economic reason for the situation becoming so serious.
I just paid the first installment on treatment. Our first step was an x-ray a month and a half ago. The insurance company left me $220 and change as my part of the bill. My total out of pocket expenses could be as high as $3000. Plus co-pays on medications and co-pays for every MD visit. What will my total cost for this illness be?
Given the kind of health insurance climate in which we in America live, I'm hesitant to get medical treatment. Like most Americans we're paycheck to paycheck. Kris has gotten a new job, but it is definitely under-employment. She had an interview for a full time job yesterday - and if she gets that job it will make our lives comfortable. If not, we're pretty much sunk.
I don't want to become a medical bankruptcy, but . . .
So I haven't kept at my medical treatment - ignored the symptoms when they first appeared in March - because I'm a guy. That's my fault.
I haven't kept at my medical treatment because I'm afraid of what it will cost me. That's not my fault. It is the climate of this country that makes people like me, people who are responsible citizens scrapping by, fearful of becoming sick and even more fearful of seeking treatment.
I have very personal reasons to want that to change! I'm working against me. I don't need a social more that piles on!
Friday, August 19, 2011
O'Donnell's Talking: Why I'm Not Listening
Christine O'Donnell is attempting to repair her reputation - yet again.
She continues to blunder her way through victimhood, lately being the victim of Piers Morgan. What did Morgan do that was so wrong? He asked her questions about her views and required that she do more that simply repeat them. He did nothing creepy. He did not ask her about her private sex life - at least no more than is appropriate to ask of someone who's written anti-masturbatory literature and made false claims about "dabbling in witchcraft."
Piers Morgan made trouble for "the Troublemaker." She walked off the set. She hung up on an interviewer who asked some question she thought was too private.
And I'm not going to listen to such a self serving little witch. She's a failure at everything except self-promotion - and not terribly good at that.
Here's what she should do, in my humble opinion - STFU! Go get an actual job. Work for someone else. Do some work. Study at an actual academic institution and earn an actual academic degree. Become a professional something.
Then you might have experience and something to say - though I'm dubious about that.
Poor Republican leadership. They can neither govern nor stand up to scrutiny, nor hold one of those "real jobs" they keep talking about someone else doing something to create. O'Donnell is the poster child for the new Republicans - a complete fake.
And that's why I'm not listening.
She continues to blunder her way through victimhood, lately being the victim of Piers Morgan. What did Morgan do that was so wrong? He asked her questions about her views and required that she do more that simply repeat them. He did nothing creepy. He did not ask her about her private sex life - at least no more than is appropriate to ask of someone who's written anti-masturbatory literature and made false claims about "dabbling in witchcraft."
Piers Morgan made trouble for "the Troublemaker." She walked off the set. She hung up on an interviewer who asked some question she thought was too private.
And I'm not going to listen to such a self serving little witch. She's a failure at everything except self-promotion - and not terribly good at that.
Here's what she should do, in my humble opinion - STFU! Go get an actual job. Work for someone else. Do some work. Study at an actual academic institution and earn an actual academic degree. Become a professional something.
Then you might have experience and something to say - though I'm dubious about that.
Poor Republican leadership. They can neither govern nor stand up to scrutiny, nor hold one of those "real jobs" they keep talking about someone else doing something to create. O'Donnell is the poster child for the new Republicans - a complete fake.
And that's why I'm not listening.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Dear Senator Coburn
I've been listening to reports on your approach to healthcare without Medicare - or any other form of health insurance reform.
So let me ask you this:
How many chickens would I have to bring to the hospital for an MRI?
Could I pay my co-pay in brownies?
What about prostate exams? What's the appropriate payment for that: chicken parts? eggs? or some long brown loggy sort of cake?
How much of it?
Since I don't have my own chickens, can I bring you other people's chickens? And do the chickens have to be plucked and ready for boiling, or will your office take live livestock?
Thanks. Looking forward to good old country care so that I can croak when I hit sixty five.
So let me ask you this:
How many chickens would I have to bring to the hospital for an MRI?
Could I pay my co-pay in brownies?
What about prostate exams? What's the appropriate payment for that: chicken parts? eggs? or some long brown loggy sort of cake?
How much of it?
Since I don't have my own chickens, can I bring you other people's chickens? And do the chickens have to be plucked and ready for boiling, or will your office take live livestock?
Thanks. Looking forward to good old country care so that I can croak when I hit sixty five.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Wisconsin Results
Like many Progressives I'm disappointed in the Wisconsin results. I doubt that either of the Democrats will be recalled, but I'm watching with some trepidation. The Thugs have proven the power of money.
But I'm also a little confused by the interpretation of the results.
If three wins gives the Democrats a one seat MAJORITY - then doesn't two seats make the senate evenly divided? Yes, that means that the Republican Senate president can break a tie and push the Republican agenda - but at the very least the divided Senate will slow things down.
Democrats should slow things down, but not be the obstructionists that Republicans are when they are in the minority.
But I'm also a little confused by the interpretation of the results.
If three wins gives the Democrats a one seat MAJORITY - then doesn't two seats make the senate evenly divided? Yes, that means that the Republican Senate president can break a tie and push the Republican agenda - but at the very least the divided Senate will slow things down.
Democrats should slow things down, but not be the obstructionists that Republicans are when they are in the minority.
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