Thursday, February 12, 2009

Nurse, Nurse: It Is Worse!

Hey Friends, Neighbors and Country people,

Did you think I entered the witness protection program or perhaps that I took my final vows at the monastery? Neither happened, thanks.

The semi-annual retreat was a heavenly success. In part because of the chilled champagne splits during prayer time. Mostly because of Father Mark, my personal favorite abbot emeritus and number one spiritual advisor was there to parse current issues. He is my ace in the hole cleaning up my record and possibly expunging a few transgressions exceeding the nominal venial sin level. Father Oxy-Clean is only 92 years old, but sharp as a tack. He has written a book about his travels around the U.S. chasing a run away monk who took off binge drinking with the monastery's check book. It is due to be published next month. I can't wait to read it and will pass along the news when it is released. My bedroom view. (Not quite, but close.)

The monastery is on the shores of the Shenandoah River in the thick of Civil War country. Actually, it was the "Battle of Snickers Gap" site, in part. Brother James, of gift shop fame, has a collection of bullets, buckles and bottles left behind from skirmishes. The locals still call that era the "War Between the States" and some still regard it as the "War of Northern Aggression." Still, it is beautiful and quiet and the best emergency room for psychic wounds and spiritual surgery.

Lisa near the Shenandoah River
This time my loving niece, Lisa, and great friend, Rosa, accompanied me on my trek inward. They've grown to know the magic of Father Mark too. He sits in his visiting room as if the ceiling has banyan leaves. Buddha envies his sense of peace. Rodney Dangerfield would want his timing and the respect he receives.

However, weeks before it, I did fall victim to the usual wintry mix of concrete head and spending much of my twilight sleep barking my fool head off. With all its powers, this cold, this virus, this mess, wrestled me to the ground. To make up for the fall, I stayed in bed for a long winter's nap and it felt like butter.

Praise Jaysusallahbuddha for the proper chemicals, ginger ale, chicken soup, and my personal favorite: prescription cough syrup. Now that stuff is a party in a bottle, to be certain. Pour a little in a rock glass with some ice, add cherry and you've got something! I thought it had codeine in it; but I was on the wrong side of the spectrum. Try Oxycontin. Can you say "drug related field trip"? It is a good thing someone had the sense to put that out of the hands of the general population or we would all be playing bumper cars.

You folks know I love history. It is one of my passions. Many times my thoughts have wandered off thinking about different times in history and whether or not I would have enjoyed living then. Meeting the people and experiencing events may have proven to be exciting or interesting; but, I came to the conclusion that I am happy living in the here and now. We have so much to be thankful for, especially regarding medicine.
But, what I am dying to ask everyone: WHAT THE HELL IS IT WITH THE WOMAN ABUSING INVITRO FERTILIZATION? Now I've known friends who can't go near alcohol for fear of accidentally falling into the bottle's neck. I've known people who have totalled their lives because of drugs. I've even known someone who demolished their family with a sexual addiction. My colleagues and I work diligently every day deliberately trying to get kids hooked on phonics. I HAVE NEVER KNOWN ANYONE HOOKED ON INVITRO.

I am liberal enough to know these babies deserve a good life even if their mother needs a Mosler combination lock placed on her "hootie" to stop her from going to bat again. What the hell is she thinking? No husband or partner. Her dad left for another tour of duty in Iraq. Her mom just left while she continued pulling her hair out as she ran.

Here is her shopping list:
lipstick for Katie Couric interview
web page for volunteer sign up
income tax regulations covering receipt of charitable contributions

For as hard as it was for me, and my daughter, I had one child. This was not my, or her, first choice. We both wanted a bigger family. However, as a single mom, I was wacky enough to stop at the number I knew I could afford. No free lunches at school. None of that. Now, let me quickly say that people who need it should receive a hand up rather than a hand out. Some situations require longer intervention than others. I get that. But I also get that stopping at 6 babies should have accommodated this woman's selfish need to procreate to infinity and beyond. Just because she was an only child doesn't mean she needs her own baseball team.

My siblings and I used to fantasize about being an only child, so I am lost in the woods even pretending to empathize with a person needing their own army so they won't feel that "void" life handed them. I'm a renegade Catholic, so I know MANY families who didn't stop at 6. The difference was they had a plan. Some plans were better than others, but they had a plan.

My fourth grade students are troubled by her too. They are worried about the babies. They asked me today how she would get those babies to the doctors since they all can't have a seat in a van. She will need her own bus! But, she probably wants everyone to come to her instead. When asked, none of my kids (and I have 39 altogether) want to be one of her kids.

The greater mystery is how she worked at a psychiatric institute, without any degree, and earned enough money to save for 7 or more bouts of invitro. We all need to quit our jobs and beg for her old one. Plus, just between the 150 of us, where the hell did she spend $50,000 in school loans and still not have a degree while she was living at home? That was three degrees and several additional teaching add-on credentials for me. Did she have jewel encrusted text books?

Meanwhile, how fast is Doctor Demento running before the ethics and medical boards send him an engraved invitation? Next year, forget about checking that box on your utility bill for a donation to help with a heating bill. Check that new box on your tax return to support the baby brigade.
And so it goes... See you next week or sooner. HAPPY VALENTINES DAY. I love you all. Scoop

1 comment:

  1. What a whack job. No, not you. THe nut with the 15, 16 or 17 kids.

    I would love to lock her and her goofy Dr. in a room with all of them for a few years. But that would be unfair the the poor kids.

    Get the kids away from that nut. why would anyone let this happen.

    (I promise no more comments after anger management nights!)