10 resons why life with arthritis is so good

1.  You get to use medicine named after the guy who is either happy in an old-fashioned kind of way or very comfortable with his sexuality. 

2.  Rubbing Bengay in your eyes is fun to watch for those around you.  You, on the other hand, can't watch yourself being funny because - well, you have Bengay in your eyes.

3.  After all the pain, the only thing that keeps you going is the thought of lamb kabob at your Dad's birthday party.  After doctor's visit you find out it's off limits.

4.  So is stinky cheese.

5.  And beer.

6.  Carpal tunnel in right hand and arthritis in left, make sweeping the floor an unforgettable activity.

7.  You get to relive your childhood by having your significant other dress you in the morning.

8.  You finally have a fair chance at competing with 60+-year-olds in getting a spot for Celebrex commercial.

9.  If you got $1 for every time someone said you are too young to have arthritis, you could afford all those Celebrex co-pays!

10.  At least it's not lupus!

Real men do cry

I took the kids to the doctor past Monday. Multiple shots were involved. Baby needed three vaccinations and a blood test, DS needed one vaccination and DD two. Since I took the kids by myself, I wasn't completely thinking things through. Otherwise, I would've made DS take his shot first. Alas, the baby went first and her crying and screaming made DS even more paranoid about getting vaccinated. But that's not what this post about.

As the baby was writhing and screaming and doctor and I were busy restraining her, all of a sudden we heard DS loudly crying. Before I continue, I must reiterate that DS is very macho, as macho as boys come; but there he was, standing in the corner, wailing, using his little fists to smear his tears all over the face. "I...don't...want...Baby...hurt or cry...please stop...no more shots..." Both the doctor and I were on the verge of tears. That is until we had to restrain DS for his own vaccination, but that is a whole different story.

I guess it is true then that underneath all that macho outer layer, there is a sensitive core trying to get out. I'll just try to remember this next time I have to deal with an adult macho.

Day off/relaxation the SubWife way. Don't try this at home...

7.30 - wake up. Discover that the baby has a 101.5 degree fever. Ugh.
7.30 - 8.15 - Get the kids, who woke up half hour before us and are already wild, ready for school all the while juggling whining pre-Tylenol baby. DS has a Chanukah play, so I need black pants and white top. Something I completely forgot about yesterday. So I settle for brown pants, blue shirt and blue/white vest.
8.20 - Last minute decide to get a ride from SubHub to the supermarket, so dress myself in 2.5 minutes - not bad for winter, huh? - though do have for some time a nagging feeling that I forgot to brush my teeth.
9.10-10.05 - food shopping
10.00 - 11 - driving class (Yes, you are reading this right, I was 5 minutes late)
11.00-11.30 - go to the bank/additional food shopping
11.30 - 1.15 - DS's Chanukah play
1.15 - 2.00 - went to the liquor store and pharmacy with DS on the way to home. Must've repeated the line, "No I can't buy it for you, please don't touch anything" 50 times. Had to distract DS from tiny liquor bottles as he reasonably thought those were for babies.
2.00-3.30 - feeding DS, unloading groceries, cleaning up.
3.30-4.00 - walking to pediatrician with the baby and DS.
4.05 - reunited with DD and SubHub at the pediatrician's office.
4.00 - 5.30 - at the pediatrician with all 3 kids and - thank Heavens and SubHub - SubHub. The main reason for the visit is to give all the kids flu shots and catch up on baby's other shots.
5.15 - Informed that due to baby's fever she won't get ANY shots and thus the visit must be repeated preferably sooner than later because who needs flu shots in the middle of January? (Why couldn't she spike the fever tomorrow? Sigh)
5.20 - Informed that older kids' swine flu shot needs a boost in about a month from now. So the whole, "Please don't destroy the good doctor's office and YES, that includes the very expensive scale, telephone and medical equipment." will be repeated sooner than I would've wanted to or expected.
5.25 - SubHub asks the good doctor for the used syringes, she obliges and this time we don't get the "did you think about rehab" vibe.
6.00 - HOME at last.
6.00 - 7.00 - making supper while juggling supervision of baths, brother- sister fights, doing homework with DD, fighting organized attempts at illegal snacking all the while juggling whining baby whose Tylenol already wore off.
7.00 - 7.30 - supper with whining and at the same time incredibly wild kids.
7.35 - SubHub has had enough and sends the kids to sleep. As long as he gets to be the bad guy, I might as well enjoy...
8.00 - Unbelievable, but they are both asleep.
8.10 - 9 - enjoying peace and quiet, writing this post while eating cold soup.

And the day is not over yet since cleaning up/laundry/tons of other stuff must be done.

I wanted to finish this with the cliche of looking forward to relaxing day at work tomorrow, but towards the end of the post I must admit - it was fun! Tiring, annoying, crazy busy - but overall fun day! I so wish I could stay home with them and have more of these days... (Note to the Al-mighty, please don't interpret this as a hidden desire to be laid off...)

On playing G-d

Very bone-chilling. A patient in persistent vegetative state actually had normal brain activity all along. Can read about it here. As a side note, those whose feeding tubes are removed die of dehydration, IMO very far from dignified death, even if not slow and painful as some doctors claim.

Thanks to Moshe for the link.

How do you like THEM apples?

I have received a comment on my last night's post. Moshe complained about $75 emergency room co-pay. Here's my response to his comment.

About three years ago DD's elbow was dislocated. This had happened to her several times before and overall is very common among toddlers. Though not dangerous, it is rather painful. I remember DD sitting on the couch and whimpering while I called every single pediatrician I or my friends could think of at 8.30 pm. No one was in the office or even at home, so we had to go to the emergency room.

It was about 45 minutes from our arrival until we were seen by a triage nurse. She took DD's temperature, brief medical history and asked questions about the incident. She quickly realized that we were right and the only thing DD needed was setting her elbow. She tried to see if the doctor was available so that we wouldn't have to wait in line to get this simple procedure done. Alas he wasn't, so we had to wait another 45 minutes to be seen by the doc.

When we were called in, the doctor took about 5 seconds to set the elbow, then came back 5 minutes later to make sure that DD could raise her arm, told us not to pick her up by her hands (we never did, but he didn't buy it) and were on our way home. All this entertainment for a bargain price of a $50 co-pay.

The shock came in a few weeks later when we received the itemized bill from the hospital. Even though out co-pay was still only (!) $50, our insurance paid much, much more. How much? $1,335. For what? The nurse spent 5 min on our case, that includes the time she tried to locate the doctor. Pediatrician spent literally a minute and a half with us, 30 seconds to set DD's elbow and 1 min giving us so-called advice. No medical equipment of any sort was used (other than thermometer and some gizmo that DD had to reach to show that she could use her hand). No medicine was administered. What exactly cost $1,385?

It took me a long time to figure out, but then it hit me: the hour and a half chair rental in the waiting room!

Oh, and since then our pediatrician showed us how to do this procedure ourselves, which we successfully had done several times after this incident, all in the privacy of our home and completely free.

You would laugh too if it could never happen to you

Few days ago I paid a visit to my gyn. While waiting for him in the exam room and lacking other reading materials, I grabbed a pregnancy magazine. Well, here’s a bit of history. While expecting DS, I had a blog on one of those pregnancy sites. Several posts there were dedicated to pregnancy magazines, mainly about what kind of an idiot who thought that it was a good idea to print some of the stuff in a publication read primarily by - duh! - expectant mothers. So pregnancy magazines and I don’t have a good relationship, but still, I would rather read them than examine a chart with birth control options posted on the exam room door (not because I am against birth control, but because I have it memorized already. I don’t think it changed since I was pregnant with DD, who is now 4, and I spent many hours staring at that door in the past 5 years.)

So I opened this magazine, and the first thing I saw was a “fun fact.” Oh, nice, fun AND not written by Heidi Murkoff. Too good to be true? It was. This fun fact contained the following information: during pregnancy woman’s uterus stretches to over 1000 times its original size. Yippee! As in ouch!!!! Good for us, women, I guess. I instinctively cringed and crossed my legs. Who in their right mind (people in medical profession excluding) thinks that having your uterus stretch is “fun”? Have they ever been pregnant? Did someone, whose uterus will never stretch, aka “a man”, write this? What other fun facts does this fine magazine have up its sleeve? That when uterus shrinks back to its original (??) size, it is quite painful?That there is no cure for stretch marks, except plastic surgery? Or that about 30% of pregnant women will end up with a C-section?

Well, here’s another fun fact. Right after reading this, my eyes immediately returned to the aforementioned birth control options chart. Was this the writer’s intent?

My body, my choice

I think by now most people have heard about a woman who had given birth to octuplets last week. The facts that have been confirmed so far are as follows:
1. She had 6 other children, ages 2 to 7.
2. She was believed to carry seven fetuses, eighth was a surprise.
3. This was the result of some sort of fertility treatment.
4. The woman was given the option to reduce the number of fetuses, but refused.
5. Given the circumstances, babies and mother are doing remarkably well, though babies most likely will remain in the hospital for another 6 weeks or so.

Everything else is either appearing in the gossip magazines or unproven, and the woman herself is not speaking publicly yet. This case made a lot of people nervous, particularly those in the fertility treatment industry, and many doctors practicing in this field are trying to separate themselves from this particular case, claiming that they would never allow for this to happen on their watch. Every respectable publication and news site has published an article on the ethical dilemmas presented by this case, and most of these articles are saying the same things and nothing that I found particularly controversial. Until today, when I read this on cnn.com.

Overall, the article didn't say anything different from others, but two paragraphs caught my attention. They were addressing the issue of reducing the number of fetuses in extreme multiple pregnancies, and this was a view of one of the experts:

Rosenthal, on the other hand, questions the woman's capacity to make a good decision under the circumstances. Some neonatologists believe that when pregnant women are told about dangers of prematurity or have great expectations about giving birth, their judgment can be impaired, she said.

The situation raises the issue of whether a doctor ought to override a patient's wishes for the sake of saving lives, she said. Although the health care system in America gives patients autonomy in making decisions about their own bodies, when emotionally distraught, some people decide poorly, she said.

What this bioethicist Sara Rosenthal is saying (unless she is misquoted) is that pregnant women are prime candidates for impaired judgment and cannot be relied upon being reasonable when presented with tough choices. That's, of course, if they choose to not reduce the number of fetuses (or follow their doctor's advice in other matters). If they agree with their neonatologist and selectively abort, then they are perfectly reasonable.

Putting this particular case aside, what this Ms. Rosenthal is suggesting is a possibility of overriding patients' choices if they seem to be poor to their doctor. And that is a very dangerous proposition. That puts every woman who decides to carry complicated pregnancy to term in danger of having her choice overridden. Ditto for rape victims refusing the morning after pill, those pregnant with not 100% healthy fetuses, those who already have many children and refusing to use birth control ... (It could also go the other way, and if one is treated by a doctor or a hospital with a belief that all abortions are evil, even the ones to save woman's life, the emotional and "unreasonable" woman might not get the medical help of her choice.)

This wouldn't stop with pregnant women, though. The danger of not having a choice in one's treatment would also spread to cancer patients refusing chemotherapy or other invasive procedures recommended by doctors. Patients' relatives could also be considered "emotionally distraught" when refusing to cut life support of terminally ill parents/siblings/children. Overriding their choices would be the next logical step and bring euthanasia to new heights.

The bottom line is that very few people coming to the hospital, whether patients or their relatives, are NOT emotionally distraught. I don't know anyone who would choose a hospital as their vacation spot or a place to unwind. Once the choice of medical treatment is taken away from any group of people (I am talking about people with normal mental capacities and in the presence of mind), everyone is in danger of losing that choice. The questions of who would make these choices for "emotionally distraught" preggies with multiples or come up with guidelines for doctors' intervention immediately arise. And I don't trust the government or medical professional to self regulate in this matter because history and practice show that both value practical considerations over spiritual and emotional.

And on the final note, I would like to ask bioethicist Sara Rosenthal this: how ethical is it to judge someone before one has all the facts or at the very least hears the octuplets' mother's side of the story?

With assistants like these...

I usually avoid Russian businesses if I can help it. That goes first and foremost for doctors who started practicing back "at home". It is not because I think that Russian doctors are inferior (sometimes they are) in their knowledge and skill. Mostly, it is because of their bedside manner and overall customer service. For a myriad of reasons, political, economical, social and cultural, the concept of customer satisfaction in USSR was pretty much nonexistent and customer service largely depended on the character and upbringing of the service provider. Once these people moved to the US, one would think that wanting their business to succeed would give them enough motivation to change their ways. For many business owners it is so, and for just as many it isn't.

Well, we made one exception in the "avoid Russians like a plague" rule when we chose a Russian pediatrician for our kids. We really like her, and she was highly recommended: she is a good doctor, kids like her, our views on antibiotics and vaccinations generally agree, and she is a very, very polite and nice. Obviously, her office is staffed with Russian receptionists because many of her patients' parents tend to be from Russia. I have heard complaints about them from my friends, but never experienced anything truly negative myself. Most of the time, they were nice to me and my kids. Well, until last week.

SubHub had to take DD for a check up, and the doctor had asked to check DD's vision. The assistant put DD in front of a table with letters, and asked her to name them. DD knows alphabet, but gets letters confused. In addition, for unknown to me reasons, yeshivas start teaching kids Hebrew alphabet ahead of English, so even though DD is absorbed in learning the alphabet, it is not English alphabet that she learns. The assistant administering this test remarked to my husband, "Shame on you. The girl is four years old and doesn't know the alphabet!"

What can I say, this assistant was lucky it wasn't me there with my daughter. While generally I try avoiding conflict, some things deserve an immediate response. The comment was definitely completely inappropriate and rude. Multiply that by the fact that a certain percentage of kids have developmental delays, and this receptionist could have offended a parent of a child incapable of recognizing letters for reasons other than parental laziness and neglect. (I am not even going to go into the whole topic of when children should start learning alphabet etc. or whether a 4-year old is developmentally disabled if she cannot memorize letters. )

I was and still am pretty irate about the whole thing and even thought of calling the doctor herself and complaining. But this receptionist has worked there for years, her manners, comments and all. I doubt anything would come out of my complaint. My only decision here is whether this incident requires changing doctors or not. I am thinking not yet, but it's strike one...

Mother's wish

Since I have come across a post about giving up seats on a public bus, I decided to post this story. I have done my fare share of whining about rudeness of people on NY subway and how getting a seat while pregnant is not as easy as it should be on my old blog, dedicated mostly to my second pregnancy. However, I never shared this story, and I think it beats all of my previous posts on this topic.

I was blessed with severe morning sickness during one of my pregnancies and on a few occasions had to go to the labor and delivery ER for hydration. During one of those visits, I became quite ill and barely noticed anything around me. When we got to the ER, after a quick glance in my direction,the woman in the registration office waved us to go straight in, asking SubHub to come back at an opportune time and properly register. So we came in and immediately realized that that day was a very busy one for the ER staff. All six seats in the waiting area were taken, and there were several other preggies and their relatives walking around and expecting to be called in. I was lucky enough to get a seat as one woman was taken into the examination room as soon as I walked in, and SubHub left to take care of paper work. Next to me sat a woman in her fifties (I labeled her "mother") with a pregnant "daughter". Neither of them seemed particularly distressed, physically or emotionally, and were chatting away, waiting for their husbands.

A few minutes later a severely pregnant woman came in. There was no seat for her, so she had nothing left to do but to walk around the waiting area. I was a bit peeved that it didn't occur to my neighbor to give up her seat to that patient. But then I thought that I didn't have the full picture, and the middle aged woman might have a bad back or something else preventing her from getting up. At some point an ER nurse came and asked everybody who was not a patient or a "required" help to go wait in another waiting area, right outside of the ER and across from the registration office since space IN the ER was limited and people were blocking the way for gurneys and equipment. Not only the mother didn't leave, she was shortly joined by her husband and son-in-law. They discussed for about 10-15 minutes about who was doing what, and at the end it was decided that the older couple would leave and come back later. I threw a quick glance at a severe preggie who by now was just leaning against the wall right across from me and my neighbors and looking to be in quite a bit of discomfort. I thought to myself, oh great, now she will get a seat.

Not so fast. As the "mother" got up, the "daughter's" hubby promptly occupied her seat and proceeded talking to his wife as if nothing happened. If I weren't borderline fainting, I would have gotten up myself or given the "daughters" husband a piece of my mind. 1) The preggie was standing right across from him 2) I knew that he noticed her 3) For Goodness sake, this was a labor and delivery ER/Admissions, every pregnant woman there was by default either in distress or in labor and WAS TO BE GIVEN PRIORITY IN SEATING. THAT ENTIRE HOSPITAL WING WAS BUILT FOR PREGNANT WOMEN, and those seats weren't for twenty-something year old healthy jerks. Soon afterwards, SubHub came back and I even asked him to intervene and he agreed to. But then both I and the severe preggie were called in, so that was the end of this story.

It happened some time ago, but remembering this episode inevitably makes my blood boil. What is wrong with people? One of my most sincerest wishes and prayers is that I raise my children well enough so that nothing like this would be ever said about them.

A bunch of updates in lieu of real post.

All of your looking for a good post-election laugh and - sigh - not finding it here, head over to Derfwad Manor for a rerun of Bigger Love and its sequel, Bigger Love, Episode 41. You are guaranteed a good non-partisan laugh with nice visuals.

Saw Get Smart yesterday. It was really funny. Haven't laughed so hard watching a movie in a long time. If you've been traumatized by Steve Carrell's previous movies, this one is really different, spoken by someone who turned 40-year Old Virgin off only after five minutes or so.

Read some comments in my Dear Doc post and realized that some people thought I might be talking about one particular doctor. I might be strange, but I am not a masochist. If any doctor inflicted this much crap bad doctoring and bedside manner on me, I would've dropped him like a hot potato long time ago. Rather, these are some fond memories and things that have happened over the years in my dealings with doctors, some of whom were forgiven or put on probation, while others have been mercilessly dumped. I actually remembered a few more episodes worthy of posting, so maybe I'll write a sequel.

Hate, absolutely hate all these time changes. Even though we supposedly gained an hour of sleep, I have been walking around yawning all week long, and found my friends, family and colleagues doing the same. Maybe, this time switch is sponsored by Starbucks? I fully expect to feel this way for at least another week. Hence, even though I have three viable ideas for posts, I am writing this. Waiting for my brain to unmush... Might take a while... Please stay tuned...

Lowered Expectations

Dear Doc,

We need to talk. We have known each other for a while now. And even though we are still together, I feel that our relationship is taking a turn for the worse. Your constant lateness to our meetings and unclear excuses are deteriorating my trust, your insensitive remarks make me wonder if you even care about me, and your not returning my calls and inattentiveness are just ... are you seeing someone else? Why am I even asking? I KNOW you are seeing someone else; I have seen them in the waiting room, and yes, I know there's more than one. We never discussed being exclusive; heck, I don't even want us to be exclusive. So yeah, keep seeing other people, but when you are with me, could you please give me your at least half full and undivided? Please excuse this emotional detour, I realize that I must stay focused and away from hysterics and accusations.

I know you don't like talking about our relationship, but I really want us to stay together, if not for love and loyalty, then at least for mutual benefit and convenience. It’s time for you to realize that I do have needs, and if they are constantly not met, one day I might just walk out for good.

So to be fair to you and out of respect for the good times we shared, I have compiled the list of my expectations, the do's and the don’ts that might seem trivial to you, but are important to me. Before you complain that the list is too long or I am too demanding, let me tell you that like in any other relationship, my expectations have been significantly lowered since the time I picked up the phone to arrange our first meeting because a mutual acquaintance thought we might be right for each other... You probably don't even remember that first meeting; heck, I would be surprised if you remembered my name. How low have I sunk ... but I digress. Let's examine the document at hand, shall we? By the way, feel free to share this list with your friends; after all, there's a good chance I will start seeing them one day...

1. I don't expect you to gently hold my hand and whisper in soothing voice that my sneezing will not cause permanent brain damage and that awful pimple on my forehead will not leave a gaping hole. However, if I suffer from excessive morning sickness severe enough to medicate me for months, I do expect you to address the short and long term effects on my and my baby's health. (Why do you always wait for me to bring stuff up? This baby is your responsibility too, you know… )

2. I don't expect you to cry with me over blood spilled during routine testing, but I do think that if an ER consult shows me more empathy than you, something is amiss in our relationship. (Do you think he was trying to pick me up?)

3. I don't expect flowers upon my arrival at your office, but I do expect, with some rare exceptions, to be seen within half hour of our scheduled appointment. (I am sure all those other hussies in the waiting room agree. Just ask them...)

4. At this point of our relationship I do not expect a leisurely afternoon lunch or candle lit dinner, but if you are billing my insurance for a 15 minute quickie visit, I fully expect you to spend at least ten of those minutes with me (waiting time NOT included). I do not expect you to rush me through the examination or Q&A part of our visit. I do not expect you to rush me at all. Maybe your other patients don't mind this, but I am just not that kind of girl.

5. I don't expect to be treated with contempt simply because I am not familiar with some medical lingo (or for any other reason, really). I do expect the questions and answers to be clear to a person without intimate knowledge of medicine. And I expect them to be addressed verbatim, not by giving me out a badly photocopied handout.

6. I don't expect you to have genuine interest in me or my medical history, but I do expect you to fake it. Even a halfhearted attempt would do.

7. Like I've mentioned before, I don't expect to be your one and only, but I don't expect you to forget about me while I am in the emergency room either. It is simply humiliating to shoo away residents for hours telling them that this patient is taken and you will be here any minute. (I know they snickered behind my back telling each other jokes about my imaginary private practitioner.) However, if it does happen again, I expect an apology. Blaming ER nurses is just not cool. Or professional.

8. I don't expect you to love night shifts, but I also don't expect you to share that with me. I do expect you to remember that I like being in the hospital in the middle of the night just as much as you. So next time, let’s just make the best of it, okay?

9. I don't expect you to have all the answers and quick fixes. But I do expect you to share the answers that you do have with me. Don't let me make important discoveries, such as a likely hearing loss that you knew about, from mayoclinic.com. Be a man and say it to my face.

10. I don't expect you to have G-d complex, but I do expect you to remember that I am human, not just a medical case. I have family, friends, job and life outside of your office. So don't just give me my diagnosis and send me home. Talk to me about lifestyle changes, coping techniques and preventive measures. Talk to me! Don’t just stare in my chart when I am trying to have a conversation!


Sincerely and still yours though not sure for how long, after all we ARE seeing other people ,


Subjugated Patient.

P.S. While rereading this and reliving all the pain, humiliation and contempt in our relationship, I am beginning to understand why some people just give up on traditional doctors and turn to alternative medicine. These traditional doctor-patient relationships are so hard to maintain, one begins to wonder if going over to the other side is worth investigating.

Be still my room

Well, Be Still My Bedroom would've been a more accurate title because that's where I spend the better half of last week, but then I could've been accused of false advertising techniques and undelivered promises of racy posts. And there's nothing racy about this post, so... I think I am already blabbing uncontrollably...

So what am I trying to say? I got vertigo again. On Yom Kippur, after particularly easy time fasting. So now I have good news and bad news. Good news is that I do not have Meniere's, as originally suggested by my ENT, but BPPV (Benign Paroxysmal Positional Vertigo). That means that I am not going to prematurely lose my hearing. That also means that I do not have to spell it to medical personnel in hospitals any more (I was once chided by a PA during an emergency room visit for misspelling Meniere's. All those ER doc's couldn't spell it either, and thus couldn't find it in their database and put it in my chart. Basically, her point was that their having advanced medical degrees doesn't absolve me of my responsibility to know how to spell my own diseases. It's your disease, you should own it.) Bad news? It changes little in my day to day life. I might still get dizzy out of the blue, and my life would have to be put on hold until this vertigo resolves itself. There are other measures, but all of it gets complicated due to time sensitivity of the treatments and rehab centers not returning calls promptly...

And I have a problem with the name of my new found malady. If that is "benign" then I don't know what malignant is. I was completely out of commission for three full days, had to walk with assistance for another one, couldn't keep anything down for 96 hours, water included, and only fully regained my balance 7 days after the whole thing started. Up until then, I couldn't walk in a straight line even if someone paid me. Heck, I would pay someone to make me do it!

The whole thing also brought me to thinking about switching to another ENT or neurologist. Even though this one came highly recommended with fancy titles to his names, he somehow misdiagnosed me two years ago. Not because he was lacking in knowledge; I think we are simply not communicating properly. Half the time I simply didn't understand his questions fully knowing the meaning of every single word in them. As it is, my case turned out to be quite simple, so I don't need a fancy specialist. But as a human being I require someone more, well, human. Because a fancy degree in medicine not only doesn't guarantee the knowledge of disease spelling, it doesn't require its bearer to have empathy and compassion towards his patients.

Explain this to me

After a rather serious allergic reaction, we have been urged by our pediatrician to show DS to an allergist. In addition, a blood test, for which many food items were chosen by us on a whim and in a rush to get out of pediatrician's office, showed to our great shock that DS was allergic to everything tested. We were told to withhold milk and soy and only give him rice milk. I have panicked (What am I going ot feed him? This kid lives on cheese and yogurt!?) and started looking around for an allergist. After several phone calls, we have found a pediatric allergist and made an appointment.

In the mean time, I have done some research on line and among knowledgeable and experienced friends, and they all say one thing and one thing only: the tests are often misleading and wrong. There are a lot of false positives and false negatives in all types of allergy testing. So if we have not seen a reaction to a food, then we could continue giving it to DS. Interesting...

Then we went to the allergist. I will not go on and on about waiting time or the fact the first appointment was a big waste of our time (Consultation, my behind! This is called taking medical history.) On the second visit, after submitting my child to the skin test, we have received even more unexpected results: DS showed allergies to barley, mustard, fish and some other odd items. But not to peaches. All of these unexpected items he had been consuming either extremely rarely or on a regular basis, without any allergic reactions. Peaches, on the other hand, have repeatedly caused him to break out in hives. Milk, to which blood test showed mild allergy, showed up negative on the skin test. Ditto for all the fruits and vegetables that showed strong allergies in blood.

"So what are we to do?" I asked the doc. "Should we avoid these foods, at least the ones he is showing strong allergic reactions?" To which the doctor replied, "If he has been tolerating them, keep giving them to him." Okay, at least the doctor is not trying to make our lives a living dietary restricted hell. But DS was tolerating several foods previously and eating them for months if not years, and then all of a sudden developed strong allergic reactions? "These foods are different," was doc's reply. So basically, if you know that something has caused an allergic reaction, don't give it to your child. And everything else, even if it appeared as allergic on the test, don't avoid. So we are back to square one. I am not gaining anything from this testing. I could have arrived at the same conclusion two 2 hour visits and $70 ago, without a degree in medicine.

So could someone please explain to me why we are doing this? Why the good ole doc scheduled yet another appointment for some additional testing, to figure out exactly what fish DS is allergic to? What will I gain from it? If he is allergic to shrimp or swordfish, I couldn't care less (neither are kosher). And if the test shows tuna, which we had been giving to DS for many months without any problems, then the doc will say to keep giving it to him. What's the point? To satisfy the doctor's natural curiosity? Or to put his proverbial son through medical school? Besides a $35 co-pay for every visit, seeing my poor 2-years old tackled by his dad and screaming from fear until hoarse is just too high a price for not getting anywhere.

I have half the mind to cancel our next appointment. Should I?

I'm a Superfreak

Last Monday we took DS to allergist. Turns out that he (DS, not allergist, though allergist might be too) is allergic to many things, including soy. So we got asked many questions on his food history, one of the questions revolving around the formula we gave to DS when he was young. Somehow "he was fully nursed and didn't get any formula" didn't sink in as fast as one would hope. So we got asked a few follow up questions," ProSobe? Isomil?" I repeated my previous answer that DS didn't get any formula, milk or soy based. Then I received the oh so dreaded by anyone nursing beyond the standard six months question: "When did you stop nursing?" To which I had to reply,"Um, last night, maybe?" "Oh," said the doc and the examination room suddenly felt even smaller than it was. But only for a short minute because I am so past caring about that.

Don't wreck your brains trying to figure out how old DS is. Next week he will be 28 months (that's two years and 4 months - calculation for those who are not mathematically gifted). Yes, I am still nursing, though not out of conviction, but mostly out of laziness to change things and because I am a pushover. But then again, why should I stop if neither I nor my spouse nor our pediatrician see a problem with it? And one would expect that I would get used to telling this to people of medical profession, who should, at least theoretically, applaud what I am doing. After all, it's only American Pediatric Association recommends nursing until one, European pediatricians insist on at least two years. But every time it is getting harder to admit to our shameful secret because with each time DS is older.

But there's a light at the end of the tunnel. Last time, about five months ago, I went through this confession at a different doctor. Afterwards, I was stopped by the nurse at the office. She said, "I've heard what you told the doctor." Unable to stop myself, I said, "Yes, I know, I am a freak." To which she replied, "When I have my kids, I would love to do what you are doing." Somehow her words embarrassed me even more than anything previously said. If a completely stranger is proud of your accomplishment (and accomplishment it is - I was working full time since DS was two months old), why can't I? So from that point on I refused to be embarrassed.

And now I wear (or at least try to wear) my badge with pride: I am a FREAK!!! I am a SUPERFREAK!!!

It's miracle, I know

Before I begin the story, let me start with this: I like numbers, and usually they like me. I am doing accounting for living, so I am quite comfortable with them. I like mathematical tricks, I like all the funky stuff involving numbers, and I would go as far as to say that I am fascinated by them. I always liked arithmetic and did pretty well in math classes until we started learning geometry, but that is less about numbers and more about spacial perceptions. That being said, I also have moments in my life when adding 2+2, I somehow get 6 (no, we are not talking about creative bookkeeping here) and wonder why everyone else looks at me as if I have two heads. I rarely err in complex calculations, somehow the software brain malfunctions performing easy math. Yes, it is a long preface, but you'll know soon why it was necessary.

Last week I tried to make an appointment to a dermatologist. I needed one fast, but no doctor in a ten mile radius from my office would take me in before the end of NEXT month. I cannot comprehend why it is so hard to find an appointment to that particular specialty. After all, dermatologists are not dentists, so their suicide rates are not that high. Are Americans a particularly acne-prone nation? Long story short, I found one office in Brooklyn that agreed to take me in, a new patient, next day. Now I was bothered by another thought: why was this doc so easy?

As I was on my way to his office, which was a few blocks from the subway station, I looked at the house numbers. I was delighted to see that I was on the right side of the street, with odd house numbers. "Wow," I thought, "that would be a first one for me. I am ALWAYS on the wrong side of the street!" Merrily I strolled along completely, absolutely, positively, beyond any doubt sure that I needed an odd-numbered side. As I came to the block were the house was supposed to be, I found 2095 and then 2105. There was no 2100 in sight. What did they do with the building? Was the receptionist wrong? I was totally baffled. And then I saw 2100 across the street, and for a split second - I will admit that much - I couldn't understand why they would put an odd-numbered house on the even-numbered side of the street. I even thought it had something to do with it being close to the street corner. I guess it wasn't a split second after all...

And then a light bulb went on in my head: 2100 is an even number!!! (I will allow one loud DUH here...) I was on the wrong side of the street! Even though I was the only one who knew of my idiotic error, I was overcome with embarrassment (which turned into hard to control giggling marathon.) Having a 2-minute psychotic moment involving bad math is forgivable. Forgetting Murphy's Law, on the other hand, is not. One shall never forget that when looking for any house for the first time, one is always on the wrong side of the street. Always. Anything else would be contrary to the laws of physics and would lead to anarchy, and we cannot let this happen.

P.S. This episode reminded me of a great parody from an old KVN. It really has little in common with my story, except for one line. But in either case, it is funny and worth watching, especially if you ever saw the original Serov song. My apologies to those not speaking Russian...

P.P.S. Why was this doctor so easy? Could having a specialty in venereal diseases have anything to do with it? (pun somewhat intended...)

P.P.P.S. I do NOT have a VD. Just in case anyone wondered.

P.P.P.P.S. It just occurred to me that the receptionist in the office might have attributed my violent giggling to late stages of syphilis. Oh well, at least I was laughing...


Okay, I found the original, though I couldn't find the one where he sang a verse in English. Even for native speakers, some lyrics, though beautiful is way too complicated to understand in a format of a song. I think it is worthwhile to note for those who left Russia young, this song was a huge hit.




And here's one of the best KBH parodies of all time:



I love having complete lyrics, especially for parodies, so here it is, courtesy of http://videokvn.ru/news/ngu-final-1991-parodiya-na-serova.htm

Дом обезлюдел, и я молюсь неистово,
Знаю, что любишь ты меня, неказистого.
Чай пью тревожно, медленно чебуреки ем,
А душу гложет Моцарта чудный „Реквием“.
Ты меня любишь, я тебя тоже люблю.
Ого. Пусть нескладно, зато по смыслу.
Я — страшно умный, есть во мне божья искра.
„О“ — это буква, ноль — это цифра.
Выйду на поле в мятых трусах коричневых,
Знаю в футболе пару финтов гарринчевых,
На деревяшке выжгу тебя паяльников,
Скину рубашку, спрячусь под пододеяльником.
Ты меня хочешь,
Стало быть, перехочешь,
О-о! Так случилось —
Все меня хочут.
Бродишь не глядя ты по аллее буковой,
Спрячусь в засаде, с ловкостью Чингачкуковой.
Выскочу голый — „Здравствуй, моя отрада!“
Ого. Очень больно. Больше не надо.

I love you, baby.
I just believe in what you say.
Yes. It is table. And it was table yesterday.
I love you, baby. Baby, you love my „имидж“.
O-o. I am crazy. I can speak English.
O-o. I am crazy. I can speak English…»

Isn't she lovely...

This is the birth story of my daughter, my first baby. It was never recorded anywhere, so I had to use those precious and hard to come by brain cells for this one. Anything to win! Actually at this point this entry might be disqualified from the contest because it is more than two hours past midnight, but I am determined to finally put it into writing, before I become old and senile and start making up details that never happened.

When pregnant with DD, I read a lot about pregnancies, but I would always omit the sections dealing with birth and labor. But there comes a time when one has to face the inevitable, i.e. they still haven't invented a way to get the baby out of you without you actually being there, so I decided to educate myself (if only a little bit) about labor and delivery. My resolve to finally stomach these chapters of What to Expect was partially fueled by a co-worker who kept on saying that I needed to know the signs of labor because water breaks first only in the movies, in real life it rarely happens.

For some time we went back and forth about doing the birthing class, but I was feeling very lousy at nights, so we decided against it. Instead, I bought a video from Lamaze discussing all the relevant things. (I was hoping it was relevant because the hairstyle were at least twenty years out of date.) I remember watching it religiously for the first hour, until they got to showing actual births. From that point I was watching with my legs tightly crossed and with fists tightly clutched. I think I looked like I was in more pain than the women delivering babies. The first woman in the video gave birth naturally and wasn’t so hard to watch, but then it was time for the C-Section. I was half-way though that and crying non-stop when my best friend, who happened to be a medical school graduate, called me. When she found out why I was bawling (I wasn’t able to stop when I picked up the phone), she told me to shut the thing off. I said, “But I have to be informed! I have to know what to expect! You are a medical professional, how can you say that?” To which she replied, “Don’t worry, they’ll tell you what to do.” I think I masochistically protested a few more times, but my usually very agreeable friend was very firm, and to this day (three and a half years later) I haven’t finished watching that video.

As if sensing my lack of education, many friends and well-wishers took it upon themselves to fill in the gaps. One of my friends was particularly vocal about episiotomies. In her words, “Episiotomy is the worst. I actually enjoyed labor, I did it all naturally adn labor was pure pleasure (to this day, I go - HUH??? are you sure they didn't give you drugs, legal or otherwise?), but after episiotomy I wasn’t able to walk for three months. Whatever you do, don’t get episiotomy. And this is the link to the website on how and why to avoid them.” I spent about half hour searching the site and reading testimonies, crying and clutching my chair all the time while I was there. My DH came home while I was in the process of getting educated, and I was asked very firmly not to go on that site or speak to that friend until I delivered the baby. Things like those happened left and right in my first pregnancy, which made me and my husband mad to no end, though my anger usually was expressed through uncontrollable stream of tears, crossing my legs and whimpering. I guess by the time I was preggers the second time, the well-wishers figured I was a pro and left me alone, or maybe I was less impressionable, but I don't remember the avalanche of the worst case scenarios that time around.

I decided to work until my due date because despite all the scientific literature to the contrary, the real life "experts" predicted that I would be overdue. (They also predicted I would have a boy.) Also, at thirty eight weeks the baby hadn't dropped yet, and in the first pregnancy What to Expect says you have at least four weeks (or something like this) after the baby drops until the actual delivery. So I was sure that I would be severely overdue, which was fine with me, I wasn't in a rush. One morning I made my usual 5.45 bathroom trip and returned to bed, just to wet it as soon as I lay down. Since it was a gush, I knew right away that my water broke. "But it only happens in the movies," I thought. Oh well, not only... I told DH, and it was the funniest thing in the world: he sprung up from deep sleep like a Jack in the Box and literally jumped out of bed!

I didn't really know what to do next, so I grabbed What to Expect, which said that I needed to call my doctor. "But it is only 6 a.m.," I thought. I read on, and the next sentence said to call the doc even in the middle of the night. "But he is still sleeping," I thought. I read on again, and the next sentence said not to worry about waking the doc up since they expect it. It was hilarious and felt as if I was having a conversation with the book! I still didn't call until 7 a.m. to be polite, but when I did, the doc told me he wanted to see me in the hospital within the hour. So with a towel between my legs (pads were no good any more) I was running around the house packing the bag just in case, which just twelve hours ago I was sure I had another two weeks to prepare. I also called work and said that I wasn't sure when I would come in that day because "the doctor wants to see me." I was actually planning to show up at work that day if the doctor let me go home! I know, you can say that, idiot in denial! (To my defense, the books actually say that it might take up to two days before water breaking and the actual delivery.) Long story short, we were at the hospital within two hours, but all was well except for the walking with a towel in the middle of a busy street.

After coming to the hospital, it finally hit me that I might not be going home, that I actually had to deliver that baby, in all likelihood very soon. It was a bit frightening and very, very humbling. I was admitted around 12, so much for showing up ASAP since they had an unusually busy night, and all the L&D rooms were either still taken or not clean yet. They administered pitocin and I was prepared to the do whole natural thing. The nurse came in and had to administer an IV, and DH asked her if he could have the rubber thingy they use to make a tourniquet. He for no apparent reason reverted to his childhood and remembered that back in Russia these rubber things were very hard to find and were used by kids to make slings. The nurse gave him the knowing look, opened a drawer, took out a bunch of them and asked if DH also needed disposable needles. Nice, the guy is about to have a baby and is being accused by a (what else?) Russian nurse of heavy drug use. Whatever...

The doctor came in a few times offering epidural, but I refused. Contractions were bad, but not terrible. When the doc showed up the third time around to offer the epidural yet again, I gave up and agreed, and I have no regrets. I called my mom, who I knew would not want to come until the baby was born, which was perfectly fine with me. Being uncomfortable with blood, pain and medical literature runs in the family. After the epidural, I called mom and she said that I sounded disgustingly happy, not the way a woman in labor should sound. She was used to the Russian sadistic way of delivering when women in labor would be put in a 16-person "screaming room" without drugs (and minimal medical attention at night) until they were ready to deliver. Periodically the nurse would show up and try to hush them saying things like "It cannot hurt so badly. You are not the first one to deliver. Get a grip of yourself, etc." So my giddiness and cheer was definitely not something she was expected.

Time was moving slowly, things weren't progressing as fast as the doctor expected, at 5 pm I was only at 4 cm. Then at seven my parents decided to come, a very pleasant surprise. Maybe it was their presence or a woman across the whole delivering, but around that time things started to pick up, and at 8 I was already at 8 cm. At that time a medial student came into my room and asked me if I would mind having her there during the delivery. I was very tempted to say no. For some time they had me in stirrups, and everyone entering the room, from the nurse's lunch buddy to the cleaning personnel, felt entitled to peek "there." I think sometimes people, honestly some of them were in no way involved in my delivery, would come in just to do that, possibly out of boredom. I also had a volunteer doula that ordered DH around and did not get hints that she was not really wanted. They didn't let me drink or eat, and my throat was hurting very badly from the ice chips. So to top it all off, they wanted yet another person to be present during the delivery and have a peek down there? But before I said "No" I remembered my best friend, who is the nicest person in the world, complain to me that during her maternity rotation many patients would not want her in the room, and it was very hard to gain proper experience. So I agreed thinking that if she made me uncomfortable, I would just ask her to leave.

At 8.30 the doctor said that it was time to push. All of a sudden I got really, really scared. I even started crying out of fear. I really didn't want to push. Somehow I regained my control and started pushing. They were telling me I was doing it all wrong, pushing with my face. I told them I didn't feel anything down there, so how was I to know how to push. They were getting frustrated with me, I was getting very tired and frustrated too. That's when I really appreciated having the medical student there (I am really sorry for not remembering her name, I think it was Julie.) She was the most helpful person in the whole room. She would give me tips, pat my hand, smile and try to encourage. Finally when I thought I could not do this any more because I was so exhausted, the doc said that I was just one good push away from delivering and started doing the dreaded episiotomy. I said that I didn't want it; he completely ignored me. To make matters worse, my epidural was wearing off, and I was starting to feel things down there. So as he was about to cut me, I screamed that I wasn't going to get cut without more painkillers. Somehow, that made an impact, they gave me more epidural, and he made the cut. After two or three pushes, since I wasn't able to produce a good one the first time around, at 9.35 p.m. my dear daughter was born. We didn't know we were having a girl, and it really was a surprise!

Then the good old doc started stitching me up and the student started asking him questions about the delivery, his specialty, if he was happy, etc, etc. This is what he told her. "When I started, we rarely had night births. We would just induce women when it was convenient. So if I knew that then or had to do it all over again, I would never go into obstetrics." Hello!!!! You are still stitching up your patient who JUST GAVE BIRTH! I protested and said that I really didn't care to know that the doctor who just delivered my baby didn't want to be there, to which he replied, "What? It's the truth."

When they gave her to me, I looked at my daughter and started to - yes, you guessed it - cry again, but this time because I was overwhelmed by the magic life and birth, by her beauty, by joy, content, happiness, relief that everything went well, by G-d's generosity to entrust me with such a wonderful baby.

I cried a lot more during my stay in the hospital because of hormones, difficulty nursing, and my DD's heart murmur. But that is a whole different story, which also ends well.

The magical mystery pain

January was a medically interesting month. First, I had vertigo a few times, then I woke up with the unexplained pain in my ribs, which was followed by a long and nasty cold; as a cherry on this sundae of medical events I woke up with a pain in my right middle finger, arguably the most important finger for anyone living in NYC. Maybe it was a message from my body: you treat me badly, here's what I have to show you... My own body cursing me out...

But back to the mysterious ribcage problem. I woke up one January Sunday with the pain, and either I was having a deja vu, or this had happened before. I decided to ignore it fairly sure that it would go away on its own like the last time, but on Monday it actually got worse to a point where I couldn't take deep breaths and started waddling (I am sure that waddling and clutching my stomach didn't help dissuade the pregnancy rumors already circulating at work). All of a sudden everyone had a theory to explain it. My favorite one was given by my male colleague who jokingly suggested that when asleep I was kicked in the ribs by my husband. Yes, I could barely contain myself because spousal abuse is soooo funny. I was tempted to say that unlike my colleague, my husband prefers kicking me when I am awake, so this way I can share all the juicy details with my girlfriends. I didn't say it because the male colleague was higher than me on the food chain, though honestly that rarely stopped me. My own best theory was that I got so fat, I crushed my own ribs in my sleep.

Putting the kids to bed on Monday was sheer agony (which it almost always is), accompanied by lots of screaming (also not unusual). Every time I stretched out my arm to put on a diaper or pj's, my side would get so painful that I simply couldn't hold the scream in. Kids actually felt bad for me and almost behaved like humans. When rolling in bed became more painful than giving birth (with an epidural, of course), I realized it might be time to see a doctor. Herein was the problem: I see a few good specialists, but I do not know of any good internist. The last one I knew left family medicine to specialize in something else. And his partner, Dr. L who always gave out antibiotics for good behavior the way pediatricians give out lollypops, was advertising a new service last time I visited his office - Botox injections! So I wasn't going to Dr. L just in case the theory about crushing ribs with my own weight was right. If I were to trust my intuition, he most likely mastered the art of liposuction by now and undoubtedly would recommend that to treat my problem. Unless, of course, I preferred the course of antibiotics.

I called a few doctors close to the office from my insurance list, but the earliest appointment I would be able to get was in a week. One office promised to squeeze me in in about month and a half. When I would tell them that I couldn't wait because of pain, they would all say one thing: go to the clinic or ER. Why didn't I think of it myself? Here's why: I would not set foot in either unless my life depended on it. And then I remembered that years ago I went to one highly recommended doctor to get my health exam and shots done for college, so I decided to call there. Since I technically was not a new patient, they could squeeze me in for an emergency visit the very next day!

The visit didn't go smoothly. Even though I was the only patient in the waiting room, I had to wait about an hour to be seen. The nurse, a 60-something Russian woman, who probably received her training in Gulag, refused to answer any questions and viewed them as personal insults. She also strongly believed that wearing gloves was for suckers and wouldn't wear them even for drawing blood. I wondered if she ever heard of HIV or thought that any normal Russian could just sleep off that pesky virus after a few shots of vodka. Then the doctor came in and told me that I had nothing to worry about. However, I was to get five different tests no later than the very next day and was to report to the emergency room immediately if I had any difficulty breathing. He reiterated that tests had to be done the very first thing next morning and the labs were to submit results by 3 p.m., just in case. When I asked what that "just in case" meant, he said "a possibility of blood clot in your lung." A-ha...

So I did just that, and got all tests done right away. At four I called the good doctor to get the results and was told that he would call me back. He didn't. He didn't call me back on Friday, and on Monday I found out that he was on vacation all next week. That made me wonder whether the urgency of obtaining tests was due to his taking a vacation and covering his behind, '"just in case," not having my best interests in mind. Finally, next Monday the receptionist called me back, after I left yet another message, to say that all tests came out normal, something I already knew because the pain went away on its own. Also, had I been dying, he probably would've called. I hope. Now the physical pain is being substituted by the financial - the bills for my lab co-pays ended up being over $200, and that's before x-rays and sono because those did't come in yet.

So after all the time and money spent on this mystery, I am not a step closer to knowing why I had that horrible pain. Maybe the doctor knows, but he wouldn't tell me.

For girls only.

I open my mail on Monday, and what do I see? An invoice for lab work in the amount of $210!!! What??? The invoice is for the visit to my ob/gyn 2 months ago. As far as I know, the only test that I had done was Pap smear. I can't tell from the lab's coding for which tests they are billing me; I just see two lines with weird acronyms (NUC ACD doesn't say much to me). In any case, even if they did perform some other test - $210??? For what? Did they discover a gold mine in there and want their cut? Or maybe, it's uranium, which would explain "nuc" in coding. Would that making me a walking time bomb? Quite accurate, not bad for a simple lab test.

THA-A-AT's why it's so expensive.