Giving a 10th or 11th Life is at Your Fingertips

Moochie, Age 15

Today please visit the 9 Lives Foundation and help save an incredible haven for felines. There will be more about animal rescue on this blog but for today, see what a dedicated vet has accomplished and is in danger of losing. If you can donate $ or time, yay. Otherwise, just "click" on http://www.theanimalrescuesite.com/clickToGive/  and indicate where you want your vote to go (9 Lives Foundation). The group may win enough dough to stay open for another month.

Can Your Fridge Do This?

 Our shiny new fridge is a thing of beauty. Even if it did nothing but sit there in the kitchen I would be pleased with the aesthetic improvement. Add to that filtered water, rather exuberant ice dispenser, spacious interior and the fact that it actually keeps food fresh, cold and, where needed, frozen solid, all is good. But the steel pony has another trick.

Are you ready? There is a digital photo display on the door.

I've downloaded photos to the fridge (what a nutty concept) and we play slideshows of our "album." On the fridge. It's neat and tidy, fun and unexpectedly cool.

Be nice and maybe you'll appear in future slideshows. We'll think of you when we reach for the milk and eggs.

How Does He Do It?

How does another human being reduce me to tears? Every time I visit the current Agent of Doom (I'll change the label when the behavior changes) it never fails. No matter how upbeat I am when I walk in the door I will, at some point, find my eyes begin to well up. IF I'm lucky, the tears don't flow over the banks and down my face until after the Agent has left the room. I'm rarely lucky. We spend much of the time dancing on egg shells, trying not to offend each other. No one has forgotten (or understood) my leaving another doctor's care in the practice. There must be a code on my chart: "Difficult patient. Cries easily. Be wary and tread lightly." 

Only, no one does the one thing I really want them to do.  
Listen. Listen to me. 

I am not the last patient you saw, nor the one you're going to see tomorrow. I'm not even the same "me" who began treatment three years ago. And when you have listened to me, if you could take it one step beyond that and let me know that you heard what I said and respond in a professional manner I would be grateful. I might even feel respected and hopeful that I am part of a "care team" described in your marketing brochure. 

I most certainly would not cry.

Visit Me on ...

Talkin' With Teenie today. I'm the guest blogger on her site as she calls attention to breast cancer in this pinkest of months. 

And, in a most personal note, please honor an amazing woman I was blessed to call "aunt." Roselee died last week at the age of 85. She believed in the power of books and they tumbled from every shelf in the house; her children obtained library cards as soon as they moved to a new zip code. Roselee's daughter requests that in her mother's memory, everyone who knew and loved her read to a child. You, of course, did not know my great aunt Roselee but if there is a child in your life, please read to her. Someday she may grow up to be the woman who eliminates the need for pink ribbons.

Love your life,

Hedgie

A Cyst is a Cyst Unless it is a Mole

Quick update for the friends who think I'm keeping some awful news from them:

The cyst is not a cyst; the dermatologist says it is a mole after all. She wants to leave that mole alone but fast-talked me into having another spot on my chest frozen. Turns out this doc was one I had seen back when I saw several docs a week and remembered only when I saw the bowl of M&Ms in the waiting room. (Seriously. Unwrapped candies in a doctor's waiting room when everyone is worried about flu transmission?)  I don't remember why I saw her, but I do remember never wanting to waste my time with her again. Wish I had said "no" to the Can-O-Ice and asked my primary doc, the one who mistook the mole for a cyst, for a referral to another dermatologist. That little voice inside my head was chatting me up, trying to get me to listen to reason and I went ahead and ignored her! You'd think I'd have learned to trust her by now. I do think I'll get that 2nd opinion, if late, and have the back mole removed. They can check what's left of the spot on my chest, too; it might be dysplastic and bears watching.

Either I'm suffering from the mildest case of flu on record (did you know you can develop flu symptoms from close contact with someone who has received FluMist?) or the week on Advil destroyed my innards. I'd check in with someone who might know but I feel like crud.

And I'm not joking about FluMist. I was there when the kids received a dose of FluMist (one received it for seasonal flu, the other received it for H1N1) and the nurse failed to inform me of the possible risk to innocent, unvaccinated bystanders. Discovered it myself when the kidlets  developed some side-effects and I went to read the warning labels online.

So, I whine on.

A Day of Ferns and Flowers

October is almost July here;  the seasonal differences are very subtle. The butterflies know, of course. The one above lived in Oregon last July and we met during our family Volcano Road Trip.  Yesterday I planted gigantic ferns donated from another woman's garden. A neighbor gave me some more today; someone else had given him those ferns, which had been given to him from another's garden. We must be living in the time of ferns. Daughter laughed and quoted a line from last year's school musical, "Ferns.  There's something shady about 'em. Don't trust ferns."

Yesterday the kidlets received seasonal flu shots/FluMists, and Danny also received the first of two H1N1 FluMist vaccines. Gracie is opting for FluMist all the way, and that requires separate doses a month apart. With the H1N1 in the headlines and documented cases in local schools I'm glad the kids are getting some protection now. The vaccine debate is one I have with myself until I start putting faces on the children who die from flu and other common diseases. The medical decisions are probably harder for me than any other parenting decision I make.

Sunshine today. I'll plant that last fern before someone hands me another.

Where I Want to Be

It's Raining, It's Pouring, There's a Waterfall in the Basement...

Looks like we're going down Home Repair Road without a map, or GPS. Tonight the boys heard the sound of pouring water in the space beneath the house, just off the basement work room. Armed with a flashlight we scanned the pipes. Danny saw the first leak. Then Joe turned on the kitchen faucet and we witnessed the extreme home waterfall effect coming from our pipes. The water might well have been liquid gold rerouted from our bank account. Except of course, we don't have gold, liquid or otherwise, in our bank. A call to the plumber has become the focal point of my Friday. Hooray.

We were really looking forward to Friday, too. Replacement Fridge is due to arrive. A real fridge, with a freezer that freezes and a fridge that fridges. Whatever. Not so exciting in light of the plumbing extravaganza.