My mother-in-law (MIL) had her first brush with the American healthcare system Friday when FIL rushed her to the emergency room in the wee, dark hours of the morning. MIL has a pretty high pain threshold, so for her to demand a hospital visit meant it was serious. Turns out it was her gall bladder, which was removed later that day.
Their first brush with the American healthcare system does not involve insurance. They do not have individual insurance in this country. To get health insurance at their age would cost somewhere in the neighborhood of $2000 a month and more, which wasn't something they could afford.
I don't think they really know what they're in for yet as the bills will start to roll in. In the UK, they could go to the doctor or hospital and be treated without worrying about going bankrupt (although they have to put up with what they get. Socialized medicine is like that.). I don't want to disturb my MIL's much-needed recovery time with talk of how much money this will end up costing; but you, who have experience in this, will understand. There is the bill for the emergency room visit, the physician's bill, the bills for each of the tests they ran, the surgeon, the anesthetist and medicine, the recovery time, medications, etc. She went home instead of staying a night in the hospital, so that will cut out about $1000 or so from the total cost.
I'm afraid for them. I have my theories about why the American healthcare system was broken and the cost of health care is so high, but I am also absolutely and utterly convinced that this Obamacare crap will only make it far, far worse. In any case, the reckoning will come soon for my naive and innocent British in-laws, who, I want to point out, came into the country legally and who will do everything they can to pay what they owe.
Saturday, April 6, 2013
Wide Blue Skies Covered in a White Aerosol Grid
I'm sure you won't blame me for believing in some conspiracies at this point -- at least the chem-trail conspiracy. Whatever you know or think about them, let me tell you I have observed them over my small town on a regular basis. Some days I look up and the sky is criss-crossed with white streaks. Sometimes it's just one or two trails and sometimes it's an entire grid system.
I have also observed some incredibly weird rainbows on what look like oily clouds. That may be a natural phenomenon, but the clouds don't look normal. They look like chem-trails that have spread out substantially.
I could be paranoid, but I can't help it. The sickness levels in this house and this entire city have been relentless. Everyone I talk to is having the same experience. Upper respiratory issues. Sinus infections that don't respond to antibiotics. Always feeling ill even if there isn't a specific symptom you can point to. Maybe 2013 is just an unlucky year, maybe all of these illnesses happen to be really, incredibly contagious and continue to mutate over and over so that we keep getting a new version of the same thing. Or maybe it has to do with the noxious stuff flying out the back of selected airplanes and getting into our air, water, and soil.
Just wonderin'.
I have also observed some incredibly weird rainbows on what look like oily clouds. That may be a natural phenomenon, but the clouds don't look normal. They look like chem-trails that have spread out substantially.
I could be paranoid, but I can't help it. The sickness levels in this house and this entire city have been relentless. Everyone I talk to is having the same experience. Upper respiratory issues. Sinus infections that don't respond to antibiotics. Always feeling ill even if there isn't a specific symptom you can point to. Maybe 2013 is just an unlucky year, maybe all of these illnesses happen to be really, incredibly contagious and continue to mutate over and over so that we keep getting a new version of the same thing. Or maybe it has to do with the noxious stuff flying out the back of selected airplanes and getting into our air, water, and soil.
Just wonderin'.
Joining the Ranks of Internet Kitties
I defy you to find anything cuter than three-week-old kittens (other than my fabulous self, of course).
Yu, the young female gray cat who adopted us, has had her kittens. I have been midwife to two cats now, so when Yu came to get me at some unholy hour of the night, I knew what was happening. She led me to her chosen spot on a padded bench in the living room (which I immediately covered with a towel. Birth is a messy business even for felines.) and I stayed with her as she experienced something entirely new to her but as old as life. Over two hours, three tiny bundles of fur and mew were born, one white, one gray, and one black. Two males and a female.
I don't need to go into great detail about how much they have been watched over and loved by our family. If you had kittens in your house, you'd do the same. At first, we had to protect them from Marmite, the dog. Being a little male dog, his first instinct -- other than utter confusion -- was to eat these small, ratlike creatures. He would stand stock still and watch the tiny, mewling kittens, his muscles trembling with the need to completely resist the urge to nip at them or suffer our wrath. Now that their eyes are open and they are exploring the living room, he's turned into some sort of creepy uncle. He no longer tries to bite them, but he will stare at them for hours. When they come close, he licks them. The kittens have no fear of him and will eagerly approach him, but he will just as eagerly start licking their behinds. Seriously, Marmite. Have some dignity. How delicious can cat poop be?
Because you're curious, the white kitten (male) is called Gandalf. The gray one (also male) is Ash. Their sister, who is black, is Rosemary. Gandalf was originally named Lightening, but when he developed some gray markings around his ears and his nose, someone changed it to Gandalf, and it stuck. I think it's rather unfortunate. It's such a heavy name for such a sweet little thing. He's the runt, but everyone who comes over and see the kittens picks him up first and coos over his tiny little perfect face. Ash is the playful one, and Rosemary will definitely be the mouser. She's a fierce huntress, stalking her brothers and Marmite on wobbly little legs.
A friend of my parents-in-law, a woman from whom they adopted their cat, Alfie, has offered to neuter and spay the whole lot for free. Those who adopt the kittens will also be able to get vaccinations for a very good price. This is wonderful because already the fields around our neighborhood are full of feral cats just waiting to pass along their diseases and have more progeny. The only reason we didn't get Yu spayed a while ago was because there was some question about whose cat (and who's responsibility) she actually is. I think that the fact that she has had kittens in our house and we are taking care of them makes her well and truly our responsibility. I don't think anyone with any sort of prior claim can now object to our preventing more litters from her, though future kittens would be equally as adorable as the first three.
Just to add some adorableness to your day.
Yu, the young female gray cat who adopted us, has had her kittens. I have been midwife to two cats now, so when Yu came to get me at some unholy hour of the night, I knew what was happening. She led me to her chosen spot on a padded bench in the living room (which I immediately covered with a towel. Birth is a messy business even for felines.) and I stayed with her as she experienced something entirely new to her but as old as life. Over two hours, three tiny bundles of fur and mew were born, one white, one gray, and one black. Two males and a female.
I don't need to go into great detail about how much they have been watched over and loved by our family. If you had kittens in your house, you'd do the same. At first, we had to protect them from Marmite, the dog. Being a little male dog, his first instinct -- other than utter confusion -- was to eat these small, ratlike creatures. He would stand stock still and watch the tiny, mewling kittens, his muscles trembling with the need to completely resist the urge to nip at them or suffer our wrath. Now that their eyes are open and they are exploring the living room, he's turned into some sort of creepy uncle. He no longer tries to bite them, but he will stare at them for hours. When they come close, he licks them. The kittens have no fear of him and will eagerly approach him, but he will just as eagerly start licking their behinds. Seriously, Marmite. Have some dignity. How delicious can cat poop be?
Because you're curious, the white kitten (male) is called Gandalf. The gray one (also male) is Ash. Their sister, who is black, is Rosemary. Gandalf was originally named Lightening, but when he developed some gray markings around his ears and his nose, someone changed it to Gandalf, and it stuck. I think it's rather unfortunate. It's such a heavy name for such a sweet little thing. He's the runt, but everyone who comes over and see the kittens picks him up first and coos over his tiny little perfect face. Ash is the playful one, and Rosemary will definitely be the mouser. She's a fierce huntress, stalking her brothers and Marmite on wobbly little legs.
A friend of my parents-in-law, a woman from whom they adopted their cat, Alfie, has offered to neuter and spay the whole lot for free. Those who adopt the kittens will also be able to get vaccinations for a very good price. This is wonderful because already the fields around our neighborhood are full of feral cats just waiting to pass along their diseases and have more progeny. The only reason we didn't get Yu spayed a while ago was because there was some question about whose cat (and who's responsibility) she actually is. I think that the fact that she has had kittens in our house and we are taking care of them makes her well and truly our responsibility. I don't think anyone with any sort of prior claim can now object to our preventing more litters from her, though future kittens would be equally as adorable as the first three.
Just to add some adorableness to your day.
Monday, April 1, 2013
Unfrozen and Breathing
We didn't freeze to death and I didn't end up dying of some horrible respiratory disease, so don't fret your little self any more. In fact, Husband did some research online and figured out which part to buy for the furnace. Once the part arrived (a blower fan, which, perhaps unsurprisingly, you can get from Amazon.com for a pretty decent price), and since he'd already replaced the capacitor, Husband fixed the furnace and it's worked beautifully and quietly ever since. We didn't realize how loud it had been getting.
As for illnesses, 2013 has proven to be an anomaly in the Aurora household. The theme for this year should be, "All sick, all the time!" While I did get over my bronchitis eventually and Husband managed to avoid contracting anything serious, all the kids have been through one or more rounds of...something. Infected sinuses, sore throats, fevers, flu, and more keep sweeping through, mowing down the children in batches. I blame myself, really, which is my right and duty as a guilt-trip-talented mother. I've been feeding the family far too much junk food because of my schedule, lack of energy, stress levels, and the fact that I have developed a sincere and earnest hatred of cooking. Sometimes the kids can go an entire day without tasting a real vegetable. We should buy stock in Little Caesar's Pizza.
I'm just letting you know we're alive. I'm sure you were worried. :)
As for illnesses, 2013 has proven to be an anomaly in the Aurora household. The theme for this year should be, "All sick, all the time!" While I did get over my bronchitis eventually and Husband managed to avoid contracting anything serious, all the kids have been through one or more rounds of...something. Infected sinuses, sore throats, fevers, flu, and more keep sweeping through, mowing down the children in batches. I blame myself, really, which is my right and duty as a guilt-trip-talented mother. I've been feeding the family far too much junk food because of my schedule, lack of energy, stress levels, and the fact that I have developed a sincere and earnest hatred of cooking. Sometimes the kids can go an entire day without tasting a real vegetable. We should buy stock in Little Caesar's Pizza.
I'm just letting you know we're alive. I'm sure you were worried. :)
Friday, January 18, 2013
The Happy Ice Queen
I have taken another brief hiatus, this time for the full-on flu. For a person who hasn't been sick in years, the last few weeks have been a wild ride. I started coughing a bit last Saturday, and I've been mostly in bed since Sunday.
I won't bore you with details. I wanted to die. Then I didn't. Now I'm up and around more, though I still feel that something isn't right with my lungs. Husband hasn't been sick, and he ended up taking care of all of us. He figures his body is waiting until he's off-track next week and then he'll collapse into a puddle of aches and pains and high fever, because nothing is better when you aren't at work than being confined to bed with the flu, right?
What has made the last week even more exciting is that our furnace stopped working. This appliance failure has coincided with a particularly lean time for money and a particularly cold patch of winter, so we've been very grateful for the gas fireplace in the living room. It doesn't heat the entire house, but at least one area is fairly comfortable. I have become accustomed to wearing three layers and putting on my boots in the house. I even (gasp!) wore socks to bed a couple times. It's surprising how quickly one gets used to it all.
I managed to watch and sometimes hear (through the complaints of two very bored little boys) the documentary called Happy. I was still quite under the weather, so it's no surprise that I teared up in a few places. It was a great program, and it reminded me of how blessed I am and how each of us chooses whether or not to be happy no matter our circumstances.
As difficult as this week might have seemed, I've derived a strange joy from the challenges it has presented. It certainly isn't the status quo, for one thing. Sometimes, any change is as good as a feast. For another thing, I've felt incredibly blessed as family have rallied to our support. Even though I forbade any of them from visiting for fear of becoming infected, they have showered us with food and love (from the doorstep). They call and ask how we're doing. And yesterday, my in-laws found a couple of excellent space heaters at the thrift store (see where my husband gets his incredible bargain-spotting talents?) and bought them for us. I can now sit in my office without feeling my fingers go numb on the keyboard.
I also picked up a new client who wants to pay m to help get his manuscript ready for publication. I have his manuscript and am beginning the evaluation, now that I can sit up without wanting to cry.
Oh, and being sick has helped me jump-start my diet. :)
Life is definitely grand.
I won't bore you with details. I wanted to die. Then I didn't. Now I'm up and around more, though I still feel that something isn't right with my lungs. Husband hasn't been sick, and he ended up taking care of all of us. He figures his body is waiting until he's off-track next week and then he'll collapse into a puddle of aches and pains and high fever, because nothing is better when you aren't at work than being confined to bed with the flu, right?
What has made the last week even more exciting is that our furnace stopped working. This appliance failure has coincided with a particularly lean time for money and a particularly cold patch of winter, so we've been very grateful for the gas fireplace in the living room. It doesn't heat the entire house, but at least one area is fairly comfortable. I have become accustomed to wearing three layers and putting on my boots in the house. I even (gasp!) wore socks to bed a couple times. It's surprising how quickly one gets used to it all.
I managed to watch and sometimes hear (through the complaints of two very bored little boys) the documentary called Happy. I was still quite under the weather, so it's no surprise that I teared up in a few places. It was a great program, and it reminded me of how blessed I am and how each of us chooses whether or not to be happy no matter our circumstances.
As difficult as this week might have seemed, I've derived a strange joy from the challenges it has presented. It certainly isn't the status quo, for one thing. Sometimes, any change is as good as a feast. For another thing, I've felt incredibly blessed as family have rallied to our support. Even though I forbade any of them from visiting for fear of becoming infected, they have showered us with food and love (from the doorstep). They call and ask how we're doing. And yesterday, my in-laws found a couple of excellent space heaters at the thrift store (see where my husband gets his incredible bargain-spotting talents?) and bought them for us. I can now sit in my office without feeling my fingers go numb on the keyboard.
I also picked up a new client who wants to pay m to help get his manuscript ready for publication. I have his manuscript and am beginning the evaluation, now that I can sit up without wanting to cry.
Oh, and being sick has helped me jump-start my diet. :)
Life is definitely grand.
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
A Blessed Upwelling of Hope
I've spent the last little while in a deep blue funk. It was probably the result of the whole fun 'n' wacky hormone thing (see previous post) combined with a diet consisting mostly of food devoid of any nutritional value whatsoever, among various other bits and bobs of stressors and whatnot. Considering all the emotional baggage that combined to form such a dark cloud over my head, I decided not to write anything during that time. You're welcome.
Now, however, I'm back. I'm wiser, I'm steadier, and I've watched almost the entire six seasons of 30 Rock for those moments that made me laugh out loud. I also spent several days in bed suffering from stomach flu during the Christmas break, which turned out to be a blessing in disguise. My beleaguered mind relaxed, which it hadn't done in, well, a very long time. In fact, I got the best idea EVER for my long-pondered book whilst showering yesterday morning.
Showering is almost like being in a sensory deprivation unit. You are, of course, experiencing the sensation of heated water on your skin; but for a mother of six children, slave of three cats, and alpha pack leader of one and a half excitable dogs, it's as close to a place for silent meditation as I'm going to get. If anyone knocks (or scratches, depending on the species), I simply shout that I can't hear whatever it is they're saying over the rush of water. Then I ignore all further attempts at communication while dialing up the heat a notch or two.
Yesterday, however, I bolted out of the shower, hastily threw on some clothes, and ran to the office to capture the idea down before it disappeared into the vast wasteland of my bad memory. It was gratifying when, later, Husband was as enthusiastic about the idea as I was, since he's actually written multiple novels and has a good grasp on the mechanics of creating a viable story arc. I'm not saying it's a New Year's resolution to write that book, but I am saying that I'm really, really grateful for that spark of hope, which was indicative of the overall sense of caring and love I suddenly felt. I like hope. I need hope. When hope is missing, dark clouds converge.
So here's to hope in this new year. Here's to the knowledge that God loves you and can turn even difficult situations into a chance for learning and growth. Here's to joy, which is not merely perky enthusiasm but a deeper sense of purpose and meaning beyond the temporarily pleasurable, mundane, or painful moments. Here's to love, which is the real reason we're all on this earth together. Here's to my triumph and yours. And, of course, here's to pie.
Now, however, I'm back. I'm wiser, I'm steadier, and I've watched almost the entire six seasons of 30 Rock for those moments that made me laugh out loud. I also spent several days in bed suffering from stomach flu during the Christmas break, which turned out to be a blessing in disguise. My beleaguered mind relaxed, which it hadn't done in, well, a very long time. In fact, I got the best idea EVER for my long-pondered book whilst showering yesterday morning.
Showering is almost like being in a sensory deprivation unit. You are, of course, experiencing the sensation of heated water on your skin; but for a mother of six children, slave of three cats, and alpha pack leader of one and a half excitable dogs, it's as close to a place for silent meditation as I'm going to get. If anyone knocks (or scratches, depending on the species), I simply shout that I can't hear whatever it is they're saying over the rush of water. Then I ignore all further attempts at communication while dialing up the heat a notch or two.
Yesterday, however, I bolted out of the shower, hastily threw on some clothes, and ran to the office to capture the idea down before it disappeared into the vast wasteland of my bad memory. It was gratifying when, later, Husband was as enthusiastic about the idea as I was, since he's actually written multiple novels and has a good grasp on the mechanics of creating a viable story arc. I'm not saying it's a New Year's resolution to write that book, but I am saying that I'm really, really grateful for that spark of hope, which was indicative of the overall sense of caring and love I suddenly felt. I like hope. I need hope. When hope is missing, dark clouds converge.
So here's to hope in this new year. Here's to the knowledge that God loves you and can turn even difficult situations into a chance for learning and growth. Here's to joy, which is not merely perky enthusiasm but a deeper sense of purpose and meaning beyond the temporarily pleasurable, mundane, or painful moments. Here's to love, which is the real reason we're all on this earth together. Here's to my triumph and yours. And, of course, here's to pie.
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Hate Mail to Perimenopause
Hello, Perimenopause. I suspected it was you, and now I'm pretty sure. You cranky old witch, I don't appreciate what you're doing to me. I am so tired and sluggish. My brain is fogged. I can't sleep deeply. I gain weight just by thinking about eating a salad, and it's mostly going to my middle. My waistbands are tighter. I feel puffy and fat and ugly. It's hard to fight off depression. I want to eat carbohydrates just about all the time. Normal cycles are off, and there's a particular week of the month when I turn into Horrifica, the Amazing Screaming and Eating Machine. You're killing me here!
The fact that you could be hanging around for a decade or so just makes me want to curl up in a ball and cry, although knowing that a visit from your sister, Menopause, is somewhat imminent is even worse. You must love misery and company.
I will vanquish your effects, Perimenopause. This I vow. I may have to live with you, but I don't have to take your bullying. I will figure it out so I can enjoy life, since I still have years left in me. I will bring you to your knees and laugh in your face.
And once I get you pegged, I imagine I won't be quite so tempted to talk to myself through the forum of a blog post. One can only hope.
Sincerely,
What's Left of Eva Aurora
The fact that you could be hanging around for a decade or so just makes me want to curl up in a ball and cry, although knowing that a visit from your sister, Menopause, is somewhat imminent is even worse. You must love misery and company.
I will vanquish your effects, Perimenopause. This I vow. I may have to live with you, but I don't have to take your bullying. I will figure it out so I can enjoy life, since I still have years left in me. I will bring you to your knees and laugh in your face.
And once I get you pegged, I imagine I won't be quite so tempted to talk to myself through the forum of a blog post. One can only hope.
Sincerely,
What's Left of Eva Aurora
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