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I'm just a girl, oh lucky me.
I think I must be psychic. On Tuesday mornings, M rouses me from bed by repeatedly assuring me that I don't have to go to work tomorrow. This morning, I muttered something about him jinxing me by saying that and I was going to have to work tomorrow or something if I kept thinking I'd be off. I don't know why I said that, since I've only had to work on an unplanned Wednesday once, and that was because my grandfather was back in the hospital and Dad *had* to make some deliveries in the morning, so it's not like it's something I typically worry about. And.. Dad broached the subject before lunch today. As it turns out, there's a couple of auctions out of town that he would like to attend, and would I think about working tomorrow? Argh. I had a chiropractor appointment scheduled for tomorrow, so I called to change it and ended up going in today at 4:30 (didn't have to go back to work, but that really was just twenty minutes less than if I'd stayed at work because they're so slow. Still.) So that was my bit of unexpectedness for the day. I really think I'd like my job better, in general, if I could leave every day at four. That'd make it an eight hour day, and I might even consider working five days a week then. (Maybe.) At the very least, I can complain about it until the cows come home; they'd never let me set a schedule like that. It wouldn't make any sense. I guess I'll have Thursday off instead, which is kind of cool. I'll only have one day left before the weekend. I feel like last week's day off was wasted due to the suckage of our internet (pathetic, yes, I know) and I didn't feel so great during the weekend, so I'm looking forward to it very much. It's very cute because M gets almost as excited about my days off as I do since he knows how much I enjoy them. Having said that, I'll shut up now, since the likelihood of anyone else being pleased by an account of the days in which I'm surrounded by produce is slim. That sentence just got more and more awkward the longer I tried to rephrase it, so I'll just stop now.
Today's discussion about fevers reminded me of the skilled professionals at the hospital in Morehead. (This is part sixteen in a series entitled "Why we don't go to St. Claire for anything more serious than a cold.") When my niece was about three or four months old, she got sick and they took her to the ER. Her temperature was 104 and climbing. (40 C) I think that any parent or grandparent would be worried over a fever like that in a small child, but they were especially protective of Whitley, given that she was exactly two months old when Scotty was killed, and it was all very fresh at the time. My mom and Junell took her in, and this doctor treated them like crazy overprotective women who were obviously wasting the time of the emergency room staff, claiming that there was nothing to worry about and she should never bother with a doctor at all unless she developed a real fever.. no less than 107 (41.67 C.) Now, I'm no doctor, but that's just crazy. I'm not necessarily a big fan of running to the emergency room if it's not necessary (although.. it's a small town. If you get sick on the weekends or after seven pm, you have no choice, so deal with it, doctor dude.) but the child was sick! I still can't believe this actually happened, the more I think on it. Junell, never one to take crap from people, let him know a thing or two about the situation and his attitude.. Eventually, Whitley got medicine, fever went down, all was well.
A while later, she was back there for another reason. Don't completely remember why, but I seem to recall her falling and hitting her head on the shower thingie. (Cripes, what're they called? The thingie that the door slides on? Tracks?) Junell asked who was on staff. When she heard that the doctor (same one) was one of the ones there, she vehemently insisted that she not be seen by said quack. When he found out that she requested anyone but him, he popped into her room to press her for information about why she had done such a thing and essentially treat Whitley against the wishes of her mother. She held fast that she see another doctor. Anyway, he asked her why, and she said that the last time they had seen him, he had claimed that it wasn't serious unless there was a fever of 107, and she had enough experience to know that that wasn't the case. The quack brushes her off, saying that (you gotta love this) he had never said such a thing. Junell, a little shocked by this turn of events, said that he most certainly did, and as a matter of fact, her mother-in-law (Mom) was there then as well and heard it. Mom agreed that he had indeed said such. His answer? "Well, if I said it, I stand by it then." WTF? This is a man authorized and entrusted with the responsibility to make emergency life and death decisions? What a horrible thought! He's still working out there, I believe, which is always something to remember.
So there's tonight's random story. Endless fascination, I'm sure.
My mom said something today that struck me as being so perfectly.. symbolic, or suitable at least. She said it without the least bit of irony, but not quite in the context I (purposefully) took it. She was speaking to a friend of the family about Whitley (who's into cheerleading and gymnastics now) and she said that she had her hind-end in the air more than her head sometimes. I just mentioned that for the context, that's not the symbolic part. Here's what she said. "I keep telling her that a little girl is supposed to keep her feet on the ground." What she meant, of course, is that one doesn't go flip-flopping through the grocery store. She didn't mean anything more, and I certainly didn't say anything when she said it because she would have taken it completely wrong.. I still don't really have the words for it in my head, so excuse this paragraph before I get too far into it. Keep your feet on the ground.. I just thought it was the perfect summary of how little girls--my own upbringing included--are raised. I don't mean to get too rabid, although I can and have upon occasion, but I do get quite irritable about the whole feminism thing. (Yes, by golly, I will admit to it. I'm not ashamed. I am a feminist.) I think we're a long way from where we need to be as a society, and moreoever, I think we're moving backwards right now as much as we're moving forward. Everywhere I look, I see little bitty examples of where we're going wrong, and all those small things are adding up to a whole lot of big things, none of which can be fixed if we continue bringing up children with yesterday's mindsets..
It's just so hard to keep your feet on the ground when your head is in the clouds.
Today's discussion about fevers reminded me of the skilled professionals at the hospital in Morehead. (This is part sixteen in a series entitled "Why we don't go to St. Claire for anything more serious than a cold.") When my niece was about three or four months old, she got sick and they took her to the ER. Her temperature was 104 and climbing. (40 C) I think that any parent or grandparent would be worried over a fever like that in a small child, but they were especially protective of Whitley, given that she was exactly two months old when Scotty was killed, and it was all very fresh at the time. My mom and Junell took her in, and this doctor treated them like crazy overprotective women who were obviously wasting the time of the emergency room staff, claiming that there was nothing to worry about and she should never bother with a doctor at all unless she developed a real fever.. no less than 107 (41.67 C.) Now, I'm no doctor, but that's just crazy. I'm not necessarily a big fan of running to the emergency room if it's not necessary (although.. it's a small town. If you get sick on the weekends or after seven pm, you have no choice, so deal with it, doctor dude.) but the child was sick! I still can't believe this actually happened, the more I think on it. Junell, never one to take crap from people, let him know a thing or two about the situation and his attitude.. Eventually, Whitley got medicine, fever went down, all was well.
A while later, she was back there for another reason. Don't completely remember why, but I seem to recall her falling and hitting her head on the shower thingie. (Cripes, what're they called? The thingie that the door slides on? Tracks?) Junell asked who was on staff. When she heard that the doctor (same one) was one of the ones there, she vehemently insisted that she not be seen by said quack. When he found out that she requested anyone but him, he popped into her room to press her for information about why she had done such a thing and essentially treat Whitley against the wishes of her mother. She held fast that she see another doctor. Anyway, he asked her why, and she said that the last time they had seen him, he had claimed that it wasn't serious unless there was a fever of 107, and she had enough experience to know that that wasn't the case. The quack brushes her off, saying that (you gotta love this) he had never said such a thing. Junell, a little shocked by this turn of events, said that he most certainly did, and as a matter of fact, her mother-in-law (Mom) was there then as well and heard it. Mom agreed that he had indeed said such. His answer? "Well, if I said it, I stand by it then." WTF? This is a man authorized and entrusted with the responsibility to make emergency life and death decisions? What a horrible thought! He's still working out there, I believe, which is always something to remember.
So there's tonight's random story. Endless fascination, I'm sure.
My mom said something today that struck me as being so perfectly.. symbolic, or suitable at least. She said it without the least bit of irony, but not quite in the context I (purposefully) took it. She was speaking to a friend of the family about Whitley (who's into cheerleading and gymnastics now) and she said that she had her hind-end in the air more than her head sometimes. I just mentioned that for the context, that's not the symbolic part. Here's what she said. "I keep telling her that a little girl is supposed to keep her feet on the ground." What she meant, of course, is that one doesn't go flip-flopping through the grocery store. She didn't mean anything more, and I certainly didn't say anything when she said it because she would have taken it completely wrong.. I still don't really have the words for it in my head, so excuse this paragraph before I get too far into it. Keep your feet on the ground.. I just thought it was the perfect summary of how little girls--my own upbringing included--are raised. I don't mean to get too rabid, although I can and have upon occasion, but I do get quite irritable about the whole feminism thing. (Yes, by golly, I will admit to it. I'm not ashamed. I am a feminist.) I think we're a long way from where we need to be as a society, and moreoever, I think we're moving backwards right now as much as we're moving forward. Everywhere I look, I see little bitty examples of where we're going wrong, and all those small things are adding up to a whole lot of big things, none of which can be fixed if we continue bringing up children with yesterday's mindsets..
It's just so hard to keep your feet on the ground when your head is in the clouds.
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For the record, I love the clouds. Grounded clouds. But clouds nevertheless. Creativity and self-expression have led to more great things than rigidity...
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