“It’s poison! I tell you, it’s poison! I know you feel bad… and…”

— George Bailey

Yes, people, It’s A Wonderful Life over here. And also, it’s poison when your pharmacist constantly makes mistakes on your RXs. It’s always the same damn pharmacist, four times in a row. If you live in Portland, e-mail me if you are so inclined and I will happily share her name so she doesn’t do you in, or your preshus chillen.

Why do I keep going back? Well, we’re not talking Hillbilly Heroin subbed for the amoxicillin or something drastic. We’re talking kids’ multi-vits, with the fluoride but not the iron; birth control pills which I had to pay Cash Money for because she couldn’t figure out how to bill my insurance, then insisted, “They don’t pay for these!” (yes, they do, thanks to the hard work of my lobbying sisters)… but the thyroid? Don’t mess with my thyroid RX or you will have hell to pay.

She has twice now filled the old RX — the one from a year ago, which was based on my old bloodwork — and claimed it is my current RX. No, my current RX is the “real” one; the old one is a mere imposter. (No one but Y is going to read this post.) (This may all change, yet again, after I get my bloodwork redone. But for now, we are going with the “real” RX.) Even though I call in with the right prescription number, somehow she is convinced that Her Way is Right and Mine (and my doctor’s) is Wrong. Why do I keep going back, you ask? Because the “real” pharmacist, the one who is there five days a week and fills the prescriptions ninety percent of the time, is an angel. She is. She’s magical, this girl, and will happily discuss my child’s fever (see: How High Can It Go?); my daughter’s need for iron, etc.; my hormonal upheaval; and then whew! everything’s okay then, ha! ha! (the story of this month) nothing is fine at all, more tests for you!

(Internets, please do not worry. It will all be fine. Just more tests, which apparently are so pressing that we will do half tomorrow and half in June! “Doctor is very busy!” (direct quote from Doctor’s Scheduler.)

My point, and I do have one: That is why I keep going back to that same pharmacy. The one pharmacist is just the best; her counterpart is just the worst. I already know what you’re going to say and yes, I am transferring as many prescriptions as I can (allergy RX, kids’ vitamins, thyroid medicine) to prescriptions-by-mail and the rest?

Fred G. Meyer, where they have a drive-through pharmacy.

hugs and kisses, little fishes,

WM

from my listserv.
wm

Dear MomsRising Member,

Following on the heels of reports that there are now 4,000 dead and over 30,000 [1] U.S. soldiers wounded in Iraq and Afghanistan, was the news that essential help to military families could get held up at the Department of Labor. Why? Because help for military families got lumped in with proposed rules which could restrict working families’ access to the FMLA. This means that military families could end up waiting for months for their expanded leave while we fight to keep the FMLA intact and widely available for everyone.

Tell the Department of Labor to stop FMLA rollbacks and to protect military families now. (more…)

So, I was dreaming I was eating strawberries, from our new plants. (Nekkid Neighbor can’t remember the name of these berries. In my dream they are called Harvest Heritage Strawberries.) (There is no such plant, don’t bother googling.) (???) (Honestly, I don’t care what they’re called — they’re lush and huge and so full of flavor. They’re the best strawberries I’ve ever had. That’s why I had to have some of her plants.)

My husband and I were having breakfast in the yard, in this dream. Gorgeous morning, fresh coffee and strawberries and pancakes or something, I have no idea. We were talking and laughing. Then I woke up.

Dear, sweet son was having wracking cough at six a.m., refused water. No fever, so that is a good thing. (Knock wood.) We both slept in until after 10 and woke up to…

Snow.

A powdering, not much, but still, snow. In Portland, Oregon! In almost-April!!! And all over the strawberry plants, which are quite hardy and I am sure will do just fine. (Knocking wood for no fever and for strawberries surviving the transplant.) No Fuchsia Saturday for us tomorrow, no planting potatoes. (I found a box of sprouted potatoes, forgotten from last fall’s harvest, down in the basement.)

I am laughing, and taking a minute to enjoy this craziest week ever.

best,

WM

Five p.m. weather and health update, just for Vixen: It’s hailing. That’s the third time this afternoon. Wacky Boy has had no fever all day, hall-e-LUjah, is drinking lots of liquids but refuses to eat anything besides breakfast bars. But that is not out of the ordinary, at all.

The antibiotics reportedly taste like “GRASS and DIRT! I hope you KNOW THIS!” says my son.

I do know one thing — if you’re yelling and complaining like that, you’re feeling better.

Will keep you all posted. Happy Thursday. Sorry 13ers — no list of my own today. But the whole trying to get the kid to take his antibiotics reminded me of this… I don’t know who wrote it, but it’s awfully funny. xo wm

HOW TO GIVE A CAT A PILL (more…)

I would like if my son would get well, the poor thing. He’s been sick for three weeks now!

Fever: once in awhile, but not super-high, and not high enough to keep him down for long (with the exception of yesterday, when he put himself to bed in the middle of the day.)

Throwing up: one time. Two weeks ago?

Coughing: Constantly, but until this morning, sounded like a “getting better” cough, not an “wheezing, unable to catch breath” cough. Until today.

Runny nose: He’s five. He always has a runny nose.

My nerves: Frayed. (more…)

Thanks to the Wacky Nekkid Neighbors, I now have two full beds of strawberries plants rooting into the rich, crumbly dirt in my back yard.

I have been down. I get the blues, the mean reds, the woe is me tragic-tragics.Thank you again, Naked Sheep. Thanks for the rest of our lives. We love you guys.

I’m talking a rainbow of yarns, in cotton, mohair, angora, acrylic, everything under the sun. They’ve donated needles — straights and circular — patterns, half-finished projects, everything you could think of. Several knitters have stepped up to help.

Three other knitters want to start an afterschool club. To those of you (and you know who you are. And no, you probably aren’t even reading this blog) — to those of you who scoff and act like knitting doesn’t “count.” You’re wrong. It counts.

I’m starting to feel better already.

Have you been reading this blog for awhile? Do you remember last year when my dog died, then we got lice and were dirty sluts, then I got rilly rilly sad?

I don’t feel so sad right now, although of course I still miss my sweet little 100-pound dog. This is your friendly reminder to go check heads at your house, shampoo regularly with tea tree oil, and get some sleep. (I don’t know why I threw that one in. I guess we all could use more sleep. And hydration. So drink a glass or two of water, would you?)

Also, if you have a dog, go take him for a walk and give him a pat on the head from me.

Love,

WM

* sleep in. can I ever get enough sleep on these gray, drizzly days in the fall, in Portland? apparently not. I think I slept 11 hours last night. It was like magic.

* husband takes kids to school and goes to work. House is quiet. I can write now. Since I’m wide-awake and all. Instead…

* go for acupuncture. talk with doc re: cupping technique. My lungs (after 2 rounds of antibiotics, steroids, herbal teas, meditation, cardio, yoga, hot showers, sleep, stress reduction, drinking enough water) still were not anywhere near clear. Wheezing, coughing, etc. After cupping? Clear. Not totally, completely clear, but as close to “clear” as they have been in some time.

* I curse mold; damp; mildewy leaves; my old house; various allergies; asthma diagnosis.

* talk with doc re: large circular bruises on my upper back cuz of cupping and my husband’s “freak-out episode” when he saw them. “What the hell? I mean, what the hell?” etc. (glass cups are heated with fire and stuck on your back. It sounds crazy but feels great.) (also the doc pounded on my back and massaged it, and threw a bunch of needles into me.)

* I love acupuncture. I do not love herbal concoctions they taste nasty, even if you combine them with raspberry tea.

* Writing? Writing. Leave doc’s, ignore coffee houses, come home.

* dishes, laundry, coffee, talk with painter re: our kitchen floor. It’s tragic, the floor. Ugly vinyl, banged up, doesn’t meet at edges, doesn’t look clean no matter how much it’s mopped. Do we replace the floor? Painter knows someone, gives me their number.

* I curse the kitchen floor.

* Wacky Cats 2 & 3 in a fight. I curse the cat (the kitten, he’s a thumper) and put him outside. He tears out the door and is now stalking birds.

* More coffee. Time for lunch. No time for lunch, will write.

* It’s noon. Write.

I would like to swing on a star, if it meant getting out of the house.

Also, I would like to point out that a whole week off for Thanksgiving is an awfully long break. (We had conferences for two days, beginning of week, so it wasn’t such a long break for the staff.) If we had traveled for the holiday, it would have been just right, but since we stayed home? And I had (have) bronchitis? It was a long haul. The kids are squirrelly, Hockey God’s birthday was not all it could have been, but I’m not wheezing like I was.

As one of my girlfriends phrased it, listening to me over the phone, “Oh, good. You’re wheezing on the inhale and the exhale.”

Happy Saturday, everyone. Salud.

Just got back from doc and good news is… Mom came over and I didn’t have to take 3 kids with me! Daughter, son, and son’s lil friend, who is playing with us today. He adds a balance and kindness to our house that is often lacking. He is peacekeeper and little sweetheart. For example, he showed up with brownies for the kids, and his own lunch, which he had packed himself. Then he fed himself lunch when he got hungry. Also, he eats whatever I feed him. And he says, “Excuse me…” when he needs something. Our household is a more low-key place when he is here. His mother would like me to interject here, “I don’t think she’s talking about my kid, cuz that’s not the story at our house. So I don’t know whose kid she’s talking about.”

I’m grateful for friends.

And family. I am grateful for my mom, who is RETIRED and apparently has no desire to take on a part-time job. “I want to hang out with my grandkids,” sez she. Yay, just a big ol’ yay!!!

More good news! I don’t have pneumonia! Just bronchitis! Woot!!! Thank you amoxocillin you are my friend. Add a “grateful” for modern medicine.

Happy Thanksgiving, you all. I am grateful for you. And for not having pneumonia. Also, I’m grateful for my husband, our families, our friends and community (online and off) and the way the sun is shining.

And I’m grateful for NAWACOTID because, om, zen.

Farewell — off to lie on couch and wait ’til antibiotics kick in.