Health, Issues... A rant of sorts

I am not good at this. I do not deal well with illness or other physical problems, in myself or in people that I love. Then when I am dealing with the frustration of not being able to just fix it... add to that the frustration of dealing with health insurance or doctors that seem less than helpful, and I become and emotional basket case.

Z has been dealing with a hemorrhoid for the past 7 or 8 months. I do not know how to spell hemorrhoid, although I've googled it a dozen times, and by the end of this post, I'm sure I still won't. Spell check is too nice to me. But anyway... After a couple trips to the pediatrician, we ended up at a pediatric gastrointestinal clinic, facing a doctor that, I swear, should probably be working in a lab with as little human contact as possible.

Now, I realize, I am probably being a bit unfair. I am sure this woman is very smart and works very hard, and has feelings and all that. I don't know her. I don't know anything about her. She didn't tell me one thing about herself... but I imagine if she did, this is what she would say: "Hi, I've never met you before, but I am a doctor. I will not tell you how long I've been in practice or why I chose this field of specialty, much less anything about my personal life. It's not your business. I just expect you to trust me blindly and not think for yourself..."

During the appointment, I answered her questions, got little information out of her, wasn't given much time to think through what she was telling me, then was told that we should schedule this procedure and that test, since it might not be a hemorrhoid, and was ushered out the door. I can't remember if she said one word to Z, even when she examined her (stuck her finger in Z's rear end).

After we got in the car and started home, all I could do was cry. After talking it over later with Chris, we decided that I should ask the doc if it wouldn't make sense to put off the procedure and the test and put a little more effort into helping the hemorrhoid have the best chance to heal on its own. I had gathered from the appointment that I needed to try to keep Z's stool a bit softer. "Like applesauce," she said.

Anyway... sparing all the details, I was on the phone with the doc yesterday, feeling frustrated and uninformed and pressured once again. I was still not clear why she would suspect other things were wrong with my daughter, and was wondering why we couldn't just rule hemorrhoids out before we put Z through other tests, and STILL had many questions like 'if it is a hemorrhoid, do these types ever resolve on their own and if so, how much time would it take?'

At one point I asked her: "Do you have kids?"
"I don't see how that's relevant," she answered.
"If you had kids, you would understand how hard it is to keep a kid's stool the same consistency all the time," I said.
"Well, if you want, you can come in and we can talk about changing her diet," she said.

Are you kidding me? I wanted to scream into the phone. (Actually, it is possible that at some point, I was screaming into the phone, but I didn't say everything I wanted to...) If she had kids, she would understand that you want to put your kids through as little discomfort and pain as possible. If she had kids, she would understand that it's not easy impossible to get your kids to eat exactly what you want them to. That driving an hour to have your three year old be put through one test, then another procedure in which she will have to be sedated all in one day is not really an option. If she had kids she might actually talk to my daughter rather than treat her like an object that needs fixing...

But I don't know. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe she does have kids. She might even like kids, though it's hard to tell.

At one point she offered to refer me to another doctor, and I would take her up on that except for one thing: I don't want yet another doc sticking his or her fingers in my kid.

And I realize, really, I should be thankful to be able to take my kids to a specialist. I watched The English Surgeon the other night, and I cannot imagine the frustration and hopelessness people feel in areas where there aren't top-notch medical facilities nearby or many trained physicians or the resources to pay for good medical care...

So we're going to push our way through this, while I pray that this doc's bedside manner improves a little and that I can keep my emotions in check. (Deep breath.)

Young driver in training.

Our old (I mean 'former', haha) neighbors in Nashville gave us a used PowerWheels jeep before we moved. The kids loved it, except that the tread had worn off the wheels, and most of the time the wheel just spun and the jeep didn't go anywhere. I finally got tired of pushing the kids around every time they got stuck (which was a lot). Instead of following my urge to trash the thing, I took an old bike tire, cut the tread off, and attached it to the powered wheel with drywall screws. It worked like a charm. There's nothing like using a little bit of ingenuity to save a bunch of money and provide some great fun at the same time.

This is who I get to spend the day with:

It's a good thing I like her, because she is not so good at keeping her promises. Nearly every day, she sneaks a poo in her diaper in the morning before I get the chance to get her into some underwear. (The rest of the time she sneaks it into her underwear.) Then later in the day, she will ask, "When I poop and pee in the potty it makes you so happy?" (Not that she's ever deposited a #2 there...) "Yes. It would make me extremely happy," I tell her. Then she says, "I will poop in the potty tomorrow. Okay?" Every time she says it, I can feel a faint glimmer of hope. Someday, she will make good on that promise. And then I will jump for joy.

Berry Patch Soil Test

I went out last week under the threat of rain to stake out the area for my berry patch. Yesterday, I collected some samples from the area to test.

I was a little disheartened as I took my sample back to the trailer. The soil looked like pathetic lumps of clay, and when I mixed it with some water, things looked even less promising. The clay particles suspended themselves in the water, and still, after 24 hours, refused to let gravity pull them down to the bottom of the bowl. Ideally, after the initial stirring, the soil settles to the bottom, and you have  nice, clear water to test. Mine looked more like... well... really dirty water.

I tried nitrogen (middle container in photo below) first. The chemical powder that is added to the test sample bonded with the clay particles and sank to the bottom. I could see no color change. Apparently, the soil is deficient. Fortunately, our rabbit and chickens are hard at work turning food into nice, little nitrogen-packed packages I've been mixing into the compost all year.

Next up was phosphorus (on left). Apparently, I have an 'adequate' amount of phosphorus. For now. Potash (right) is 'sufficient'. And, as I suspected, the soil could really use a boost of acidity to make my future blueberries happy.

Maybe, this weekend, it will be warm enough and dry enough to start working the soil.

Kitchen...

Cabinets. Way back when we had a pile of money from the sale of the house, we thought it would be a good idea to snatch up any bargains that came along. (Can you sense the buyer's remorse?) So one day, Chris was scanning craigslist, and came across some cabinets that had been torn out from a kitchen that was being remodeled. Chris ran off to look at them. Later, he called to tell me they were custom built and sent me some photos taken with his phone. My mind flashed back to the cabinets my father-in-law had built for our house in Nashville: beautiful, solid cabinets that could probably hold piles of lead and be dropped off  the roof and not break apart... I squinted at the photos. The hardware was ugly, but that could be replaced, and the doors didn't have that silly arch that so many cabinets have. Well, I told Chris. If you think they are worth it, go for it, I said. He called back a few minutes later and to tell me the seller would throw in the cooktop and built-in convection oven for another $200. I thought built-ins would be nice, and a convection oven at that. Okay, I told him.

When Chris got home and pulled out the cooktop, I felt instant regret. Everything was caked with grease. One of the knobs on the oven was missing. The oven and cooktop were definite mistakes. The cabinets were not nearly as solid as I had expected, and many pieces had that grime on the edges that can only be aquired from many years of use. The cabinets still had potential, though. It would just take a lot of work. But the thing that really got to me: the drawers. There were two lower cabinets with four drawers each... that were only 10 inches wide. What do you do, put forks in one drawer, spoons in another? They were nearly worthless in my book.

Over the months since we purchased the cabinets, I've been thinking and dreaming about my ideal kitchen. And some of the pieces could work nicely. A little built-in desk could go next to the big cabinet that held the oven. I could put some more doors on that to turn it into a big pantry cabinet next to the fridge. I really wouldn't mind if the cabinets didn't match, so maybe I could find better drawers somewhere. I was anxious to see how things could work out.

Saturday, we moved the cabinets to the new house. The desk/pantry/fridge setup works nicely. I had Chris set up some saw horses and sheet of plywood to mimic an island and I was happy to see that will work nicely and not feel too crowded. The rest of it? Nothing lines up quite right... So what to do? Chris thinks we ought to try to sell the whole shebang and see if we can re-coop our costs and go from there...but if push comes to shove, I will pick and choose and make something out of most of what we've got, and be proud of a mismatched, offset kitchen.

Why I like my husband.

I'm not the gushing type that tells people how wonderful they are and how much I love them (heart, heart, heart). Get over it. If I've told you once, that should be enough. But I suppose my husband would probably like to hear it a little more often. And days (like today) when he is at work and calls me and I tell him I don't feel like doing anything and he tells me to just take the day off and hang with Z... well, he probably deserves to hear those gushy things more often. So here it goes.

Why I like (okay... love) my husband:

1. He loves me. (Duh.) But he isn't the sort of guy to ogle other women, and really doesn't understand the men that do.

2. He thinks I'm 'smoking hot'. Even when I'm feeling less than lovely. Which sometimes makes me mad, because I would like to think that I could get gross enough to turn him off, but I'm not sure I can.

3. He's man enough to put up with me. It's not easy to gain my respect or to stand up to me when I fall into an egocentric attitude. But he's managed to.

4. He's man enough to admit when he's wrong.

5. He makes me laugh. The (muted) laughter is usually accompanied by a serious eye-roll, though.

6. He makes our kids laugh.

7. Who else would move into a trailer with me and build a house with me and buy me power tools and good beer and ... ???

8. How could I not love a face like that?

A few minutes ago, a couple of Canadian geese swooped down and landed in our freshly refilled pond. One of them keeps dunking it head under water looking for food while the other is keeping a lookout.

On the notebook next to me is my proposed blueberry, blackberry, and raspberry order. A soil test kit should be on its way to me soon. If it wasn't going to rain, I would be out there with the measuring wheel and stakes trying to figure out exactly where this berry patch is going to go.

A couple weeks ago, I wanted to hibernate. This week I am wondering where the grow light is and if it is too early to think about starting some seedlings. I need some snow to cool this spring fever down.

No Disney Princess Here!

I took Zivah to the store today to pick out some new undies in the hopes that new underwear would help motivate her to go in the potty. The store we went to happened to have boys' and girls' underwear in the same aisle. And what did she zero in on? Cars!

Hopefully we can both buckle down and get this potty training thing out of the way.

The Light Blue Cup - Part 2

So... It has come to my attention that I have not really read the account of the manna and quail recently, and God's sentiment was nothing like what I imagined. [Number 11:18-20 - Therefore the LORD will give you meat and you shall eat. ¹⁹ You shall eat, not one day, nor two days, nor five days, nor ten days, nor twenty days, ²⁰ but a whole month, until it comes out of your nostrils and becomes loathsome to you; ...] Maybe I should only give Finley Ovaltine in The Light Blue Cup for breakfast, lunch, snacks, and supper for a month. That'll teach her.

The Light Blue Cup

Finley was grumpy and emotional. Nothing was going her way. I wouldn't let her watch TV. There were no jeans in her drawer. And she wanted Ovaltine. Now. When I finally mixed up the Ovaltine, she was in the playroom sulking. Joe, in the right place at the right time, asked for The Light Blue Cup. When Finley came out, she asked for The Light Blue Cup. "Sorry, Finley. Joe already asked for it," I said. She stormed over to the couch to sulk some more. "If you don't want any Ovaltine, I guess I'll drink it." I said. She didn't move. I drank the Ovaltine. She sulked.

I used to wonder why, when the Israelites were wandering through the wilderness and God provided manna for them every day, why he didn't just ignore the ingrates when they complained. Then I saw my daughter sulking on the couch, and this unwarranted compassion arose in my heart, and I washed The Light Blue Cup and fixed some more Ovaltine. That's why God sent quail.

Zivah Art

Mom and Dad with names and passwords. by Zivah Knight