• The nice nurse cursed in my fit of whimsy

    This is a true story. I say this because a liar wouldn’t dare lie about the truth. Therefore, this must be true – even if I was a liar. I’m not though.

    Feel better?

    It’s pretty darn near the two year anniversary of my cancer diagnosis. I only bring it up because I went to my oncologist this afternoon and he said, “it’s pretty darn near the two year anniversary of your diagnosis.” This is notable only because my oncologist is not the kind of guy who says “darn” too often. In fact, he’s pretty much the opposite… if you stereotype people based on their vocabulary like I do. I’ll give him this much: he’s pretty darn professional.

    Any hoo, the meat of this post takes place after my visit with the doctor. He ordered up some blood work and I was shuttled off to see his nurse. His nurse is cool. We get along fabulously. Regular readers might read a little sarcasm into that sentence, but none was intended. We were gabbing it up like a couple old friends.

    “Folks used to tell me I have good veins.” I say this as she’s prepping the needle.

    She takes a look at my arm.

    “They ain’t saying that no more are they?”

    Then I give the rubber ball a squeeze.

    “You’ve been holding out on me boy. There’s nothing wrong with those veins.”

    Then she stuck me.

    “You know, I never would have thought I’d be doing this,” gesturing to the needle I’m my arm.

    “…” Manning up, I said nothing.

    “Some people really do have a calling.”

    “As a butcher?!? What are you using, a spit? THIS F…ING HURTS!“

    “I just stumbled into this. Was it just luck I found something I’m so good at?”

    “AHHH! TAKE IT OUT! PLEASE TAKE IT OUT! MOMMA, PLEASE MAKE IT NOT HURT ANY MORE!“

    You should know I’m a needle wimp. To tell you the truth, you could probably take the word needle out and still have a serviceable sentence. Still, I thought it was pretty damn near heroic to keep my mouth shut during my skewering this afternoon. The pain was bad enough, but I’m not the kind of guy who can just let that kind of irony go.

    I feel kind of bad. I really do like this nurse. It’s just that she’s never drawn my blood before. Usually a finger prick is all I need, but this was apparently my semi-annual, full workup. Maybe she’ll be on vacation in six months.

  • In session

    I almost hate to say anything before it’s over, but the truth is this won’t be over for a long time, regardless of when our legislature is in session.

    I’m being cryptic again. Sorry.

    The Florida Legislature is in a special session to deal with the 2 billion hole that appeared in the state buget last quarter. There’s been a similar hole in each of the last several quarters, so it’s getting to be old hat by now. Still, folks are a little more worried this time. It may be a little worse than thought, with holiday sales dropping off a cliff, and revenue so dependent on sales taxes.

    So far the hurt only goes as far as the positions we’ve been holding vacant – my department is smart that way. Like many of you we’re increasingly accustomed to the “more with less” chant, happy to still be employed.

    Governor sun tan has been cranking out the optimism as if his life depended on it. And maybe his political life does.

    We also heard what we already knew – caseloads are way up, almost certainly due to our plumeting economy. There’s a lot more people out there needing help, and the calvary ain’t walking through that door.

    Nothing new here. It’s time to get creative.

  • Thinking about family

    I’ve been sacrificing a little of my sleep this evening to compare a bunch of family info a cousin sent me with my genealogy database. Little of the information would be terribly interesting to many of you, so I won’t get into details.

    I’ll be a little more tired tomorrow, but a few fond memories of my childhood will be a little fresher in my mind. They’ll be smoothing over some of my rough edges. I’ll be thinking of my dad’s aunts and uncles, of the Kauffman family farm, of a great-grandmother I met only once (at her 90th birthday). I’ll be thinking of one uncle in particular – remembering a deep voice and a big heart that made an impression on a quiet kid who mostly just sat back and soaked it all in, those far too few times we got to visit.

    I’ll be thinking of the last time we got together, and a picture I can’t find anymore – a group shot with a tall skinny teen and a tall bald guy in back, hamming it up with a goofy embrace.

    When I’m slurping up my coffee, trying to find my energy in a thermos, I’m going to remember this post and that picture.

    I’ll be smiling.