I’m not a SPECIAL PATIENT. February 28, 2007

This morning, I called my doctor to make an appointment for this little UTI issue I’m having (I know, too much info, but stay with me here, ok?).  The receptionist answered the phone and I said “Hi my name is M. and I’m one of Dr. P’s patients.  I’d like to get in to see her as soon as I can.”

Receptionist:  Ok, what is the problem? 
Me:  Well I have a UTI and I have for about a week.
Receptionist: A week! Well have you called previously?
Me: Yes, I called yesterday and left a message and I called last Friday and got a recording saying that the office was closed.
Receptionist: Well if you call when the office is closed…
Me: Actually I called at 9am.
Receptionist: Oh well if you don’t pick an option that’s what it tells you (subtext: if you were smart like me you would know that.)
Me: Unfortunately the first thing the message told me was that the office was closed. I wasn’t given any options.

Now at this point I’m thinking WHY is this woman being so hostile to me? I just want to make a doctor’s appointment! And just as soon as she can get me in. I’m not being demanding. Making doctor’s appointments is HER JOB, right?

The conversation continues:

Receptionist: Well we’ll have to look into that phone thing. That shouldn’t have happened.
Me: That’s ok. What times do you have available?
Receptionist: When was the last time you were here?
Me: Uhh, I’m not sure. It’s been a while.
Receptionist (shocked): You haven’t been here since 2005!!!

I’m thinking, so what? Is it like frequent flyer miles? The more appointments I have the better appointment I can get? If I had seen the doctor last month I would be in like Flynn but since I haven’t been there since 2005, well, that’s a whole nother thing. Apparently I am no longer on the A list.

Me: Yes that sounds about right. But Dr. P is my primary care physician. So when I can I get an appointment?
Receptionist(accusingly): Well, I just don’t see any way we can get you in today. It’s just going to be impossible.
Me (thinking to myself, ok, I didn’t ask for today but whatever): When is the next earliest time?
Receptionist: Not today. I can’t do it today.
Me (thinking JESUS woman, I get it.): That’s ok, not a problem. When CAN I come?
Receptionist: The earliest will be 9am tomorrow. That’s the absolute earliest.

Finally an actual quoted appointment time!! Sound the trumpets!

Me: That’s great! I’ll be there!
Receptionist: Ok, I have you in there.
Me: Thanks! (I quickly hang up the phone before she has time to take back the appointment.)

Is it just me, or was that just WAY OUT OF HAND?! Should it really have taken me 15 minutes to schedule a doctors appointment? And I didn’t know I had to keep my patient membership current, apparently I let mine lapse in 2005.

I crashed on my couch and thought to myself, “This is not good. It’s 8:45am and I’m already at my limit.” Woe to those who call ME today.

The Priest and the Possum (or Those People are Rednecks!) February 22, 2007

Stories about my family, like the one you are about to read, often start “In typical Henderson fashion…” Our family motto is “Do it my way-it’ll be better.”  We can turn a simple situation into an absolute fiasco in under 30 seconds.  We’re a large, loud people, and very fun to be around.  At least we think so. We are also very Old South, well educated, cultured, politically leaning a little bit to the left. 

 

Being from the rural South, we grew up with guns in our house.  Most of my family hunts, and all of us know how to handle guns safely and respectfully.  Those of us who do not hunt actual animals (i.e., me) still enjoy skeet shooting and target practice.  We keep our gun closet locked, and our ammunition locked elsewhere.  It is important to remember these facts as you read the rest of the story.

 

My Dad is an Episcopal priest.  He used to be a lawyer.  (Yes it IS ironic, isn’t it?).  He has been the rector of a parish in a small Southern town for about 17 years.  Recently, he has been looking for a new church, a process we call “entering the search.”  Interviewing for a priest job is an intense 4 step process.  First, the church and priest exchange profiles.  If both parties are still interested, there will be a telephone interview between the candidate and the church’s Search Committee.  If that goes well, members of the Search Committee will come visit the candidate.  Then they will invite the candidate to their church and make a decision from there.

 

The Search Committee visiting the candidate phase is where our story begins.  A couple of weeks ago, representatives from a church in a Southern metropolitan area came to visit my Dad, to do an onsite inspection if you will.  There were four of them and my Mom made a very nice dinner that everyone enjoyed.  All was pleasant and going quite well.  As well as eating dinner with strangers who are evaluating your every move can go.

 

After dinner, the committee members and my parents were sitting in our great room, chit chatting.  My brother Garrett (Age 18) and his girlfriend came in and said their hellos.  Garrett then took Luke, one of the family dogs, outside to do his business.

 

A few minutes later, Garrett walked back in the door and went straight to the gun cabinet, located in the great room (it was built there before we moved in), opened it and got out his .22 pistol.  No words, no explanation, just straight to the gun cabinet.  

 

My dad stops Garrett and says “What are you doing?  What’s going on?” 

Garrett:  “There’s a possum out there, he attacked Luke.  I’m going to take care of it.” 

My Dad:  “Ok, well use the .22 pistol, not the .357 and aim as close to the head as you can get.  Be careful, and be quick.”

 

(Now before you go all soft on the possum, you should know a couple of things.  Possums are mean sons of bitches.  They do not just roll over a play dead.  They have sharp teeth very capable of biting and very sharp claws to boot.  A possum will do serious harm to a dog, and can do serious harm to a human.  Having a possum in your back yard when you have 3 dogs is not something you can let ride.)

 

So Garrett heads outside to kill the possum, and his Pageant Queen girlfriend Jaclyn says “Oo, I’m going to watch” and heads out there with him.

 

Meanwhile, these people from the city are sitting around with their mouths open, not quite knowing what to say.  These are people who go to the golf course to see wildlife.  Canada geese are exotic to them.  They probably don’t own a gun, or know anyone who does.  And they have just heard their prospective priest give advice to his son about going to shoot the POSSUM in the BACKYARD. 

 

There are two shots, and Garrett comes back in and replaces the gun.  “He’s dead.”

 

So conversation resumes as Garrett takes the second family dog Belle out.  He quickly reappears at the door, white as a sheet, eyes like saucers.

 

Garrett:  “That possum is not dead.  He is standing up.” 

My Dad: “Alright.  Get the gun.  I’m going with you this time.”

 

At this point, these people have not only heard their prospective priest give gun advice, but are now witnessing said priest (yes, Dad was wearing his clerics) going outside with a gun to shoot a possum in the backyard.

 

My mom, who is completely mortified by the whole situation, tries to make light of things.  “My boys are all just a bunch of hunters.” 

Search committee woman: “Well, I guess so.  You have a GUN CLOSET IN YOUR LIVING ROOM.”

 

Luckily, before my mom could get into a fight with this woman about gun closets, Dad and Garrett appear at the door, having successfully killed the possum.

 

Later that evening, after the committee members had left, Dad said he didn’t see why the whole thing was such a big deal.  My Mom, who sat in the room with these people and saw the looks on their faces, explained.  “To most people, shooting possums in the backyard is not routine.  In fact, it is something that only NRA-card-carrying, Dixie-flag-flying, these-colors-don’t-run-singing rednecks do.   These people have gotten the wrong impression of the whole family and there is nothing anyone can do about it now.  Thank God you and Garrett didn’t cart the possum’s body up to the porch for all to see!  What on earth are those people going to tell the rest of the committee??”

 

What on earth indeed.

 

“Well, he was certainly a good preacher, and his wife was very nice.  But those people are REDNECKS.”

Life Envy February 19, 2007

I don’t like my life very much lately.  I am up to my eyes at work, actually I’m over my eyes.  I’m working, it seems, like all the time.  I can’t seem to relax. It goes on and on.

I am having some serious envy of other people’s lives.  One of my favourite blogs right now is  www.soulemama.com.  This family lives in Maine, and the Mama home schools her kids, is an excellent seamstress and crafter, and a wonderful photographer.  She’s been teaching her kids about the medieval era.  They’ve designed and built castles, made armour, are about to work on some weapons.  For one of the boy’s birthdays they had a medieval feast.

I’m sure that her life isn’t all wonderful and beautiful, after all she’s living in Maine with a lot of cold cold coldness.  So cold that someone would have to teach me how to live in a place that cold b/c I would injure myself.

I’ve also been reading The Omnivor’s Dilemma by Michael Pollan.  It’s a great book, following the source of the food we eat.  The part I’m reading right now involves Polyface Farm in Swoope, VA.  The farm had cows and chickens and vegetables etc…It sounds amazing.

I’m sure it’s hard work, as hard as hell, but right now it sounds wonderful.  To be quiet and secluded, creative and productive.   I’m not any of those things right now.