Archive for October, 2002
Wednesday October 30, 2002
Oct 30th
Pantoum: a pantoum is a malay form. It is written in quatrains and repeats whole lines in an interlocking pattern. The second and fourth lines of any stanza become the first and third lines of the stanza that follows. An ideal pantoum will end with the poem’s opening line- creating a kind of circle. Pantoums need not ryhme, but most certainly can. They can vary from two stanzas to as many as you wish to write.
I had to write a pantoum for an assignment. Cyclical events are usually great topics for pantoums. Many have been written about relationships, the seasons, weather, the tides, etc. If it’s cyclical, it’s good for a pantoum. My first try is just that…a try.
Cyclical
He learned life the wrong way,
living it by the fist.
He watched his dad with his mom first and
practiced what he had been taught.
Living life by the fist,
he hurt her.
He practiced what he’d been taught,
beating the woman he said he loved.
He hurt her,
blaming her for his actions.
He beat the woman he said he loved
and then stormed out of the house.
He blamed her for his actions,
she believed his accusations.
He stormed out of the house
and she was left to recover.
She believed his accusations
and tried to make things better.
She was left to recover alone
until he came home with flowers.
She tried to make things better
but saw the beginnings of the end.
He came home with flowers
to begin living life by the fist again.
pantoum ~ living by the fist
Oct 29th
Pantoum: a pantoum is a malay form. It is written in quatrains and repeats whole lines in an interlocking pattern. The second and fourth lines of any stanza become the first and third lines of the stanza that follows. An ideal pantoum will end with the poem’s opening line- creating a kind of circle. Pantoums need not rhyme, but most certainly can. They can vary from two stanzas to as many as you wish to write.
I had to write a pantoum for an assignment. Cyclical events are usually great topics for pantoums. Many have been written about relationships, the seasons, weather, the tides, etc. If it’s cyclical, it’s good for a pantoum. My first try is just that…a try.
Living by the Fist
He learned life the wrong way,
living it by the fist.
He watched his dad with his mom first and
practiced what he had been taught.
Living life by the fist,
he hurt her.
He practiced what he’d been taught,
beating the woman he said he loved.
He hurt her,
blaming her for his actions.
He beat the woman he said he loved
and then stormed out of the house.
He blamed her for his actions,
she believed his accusations.
He stormed out of the house
and she was left to recover.
She believed his accusations
and tried to make things better.
She was left to recover alone
until he came home with flowers.
She tried to make things better
but saw the beginnings of the end.
He came home with flowers
to begin living life by the fist again.
Tuesday October 29, 2002
Oct 29th
Deer
“Doe, a deer, a female deer…”
I’ve lived with deer in my life one way or another since the day I was born, I think. I’ve lived in the Rocky Mountain area of the United States nearly all of my life and with that come the opportunities of seeing, touching, and hearing white-tailed and mule deer often.
One of my earliest memories of a deer isn’t necessarily the most pleasant memory that I have. When I was young, my father hunted every winter in the mountains of western Montana (where we lived). The meat he brought home was meat that we needed and was welcomed with open arms. We had a curing shed where the deer were hung and we were, as children, kept out of that shed. My parents felt that seeing a deer carcass was not the best thing for a child. They were, in retrospect, right in that decision.
One year, I remember Dad “bagging” a deer and bringing it home to skin and treat the meat. I don’t know why this happened but I went into the shed. I can remember a shadow of the deer hanging there. More, though, I remember the blood. It seemed, to me, that there was blood everywhere. I can smell the wood of the shed and the blood of the deer to this day.
As I grew older, deer continued to play a significant role in my life.
Visiting my grandparents in Colorado each summer, the yearly trips to Rocky Mountain National Park gave me the opportunity to see the famous Roosevelt elk and white-tailed deer each year. These deer are the biggest deer I’ve ever seen. I don’t know if they’ve inter-bred with the elk (Roosevelt elk are huge) or if they are extremely large because they live in a national park but their size has always struck me as abnormal.
I missed out on deer for a while when my family moved to Las Vegas, Nevada. Even in the rural areas around Las Vegas, deer were not in abundance.
After four years in Las Vegas, we moved to Flagstaff. We were back in the mountains and at that time, Flagstaff was a relatively small town (less than 30,000 residents). The inhabitants of the town coexisted with the wildlife in a beautiful symbiotic manner. We would see deer come down off the mountain often.
We lived near the mountain and I would drive over a hill to go to work each night. There were nights when I could swear I would see deer on the hill. They would appear in the middle of the road and I would swerve or slow down to miss them but then I would realize that they weren’t there at all. It was the most unnerving thing to happen but it happened so often that I had a feeling the deer may be speaking to me.
A few years later, my sister-in-law and I were heading to Prescott for work and met up with a deer on I-17 at Rocky Park Road. It was a dark summer evening (no moon) and we were zipping along at 11 p.m. From the corner of my eye, I saw a deer on the right shoulder of the road. In less than a second, that same deer was in the middle of the road and I was changing lanes to avoid hitting him. I was unsuccessful. We hit him in the left lane, holding fast to the road. His antlers came through the windshield and hit my arm, his body crushed in the roof to an inch from our heads.
We were lucky. We walked away with minor injuries. He was not so fortunate. As the night wore on and we waited for the emergency vehicles to arrive (a trucker behind us had stopped and called while making sure we were ok), we heard him breathing in the ravine below us. I heard his ragged breaths turn into labored suffering.
That night, six deer were hit on I-17 within a 30-mile stretch of the road. Two people were killed. For some reason, the deer were out that night and needed to cross the highway.
My family called me a “bambi-killer” as they used humor to try to overcome the trauma I felt from the accident. I was distraught over having killed an animal. I was saddened by having to hear him die. I had nightmares for weeks. I couldn’t drive at night without seeing deer around every corner. When I would get to the Rocky Park area, whether going south or north, I would slow to dangerous speeds of 25 mph because I was afraid to hit another. If I fell asleep as a passenger in the car, I would wake up in terror the minute the driver would put on his or her brakes.
A few months later, after my car had been rebuilt, I took a chance and drove down I-17. I’ve never been a religious person but that night I began speaking to the deer and to the moon, asking for all of the earth’s children to be cared for as I drove down the road.
Two months ago, as I sat in my bedroom reading a book, I heard a rummaging outside my living room window. Since I live alone, I was a bit worried at the mysterious sound. I turned out the lights and slowly opened my curtains. As I peered out into the neighbor’s yard, I saw the largest rack of antlers that I have ever seen. This bull turned toward me, stared straight at me, and walked slowly out of the yard as if he owned it.
I can assure you that at that moment, he did.
A family friend, a medicine man from the Navajo nation, told me that he was sure my totem animal is a deer. I can see that. I can feel it. Deer speak to me.
Friday October 25, 2002
Oct 25th
Sensitive
“I was thinking that I might fly today
Just to disprove all the things that you say
It doesn’t take a talent to be mean
Your words can crush things that are unseen”
I don’t think it’s a secret. I’m a sensitive girl. Well, I’m sure it’s not a secret within my writing. I write as if I am a sensitive person. I feel things deeply and wear my heart on my sleeve.
I don’t know where this is coming from tonight.
“So please be careful with me, I’m sensitive
And I’d like to stay that way”
Today has been one of those emotional days, I guess. I had class…that I love. We had a substitute but it was still somewhat interesting. We had to turn in an essay and while we were reading some articles, she read the first sentences to our essays. As we get ready to discuss the articles, she says, “Have you all learned about first sentences?” We’ve been talking about leads, grabbers, hooks, etc. and ask her if that is what she means. She says that what she’s talking about includes those but it’s really about the first sentence in a piece. Then she tells us that she’s just read our first sentences and thinks we need to discuss this.
“You always tell me that it’s impossible
To be respected and be a girl
Why’s it gotta be so complicated
Why you gotta tell me that I’m hated?”
We all sat there in silence. I’m not sure anyone knew what to say. I piped up. “That doesn’t bode well for our essays, does it?” She laughed and asked what I mean. I told her (and the class) that she had just told us that she read our sentences and then decided we needed to discuss first sentences. She told us that she’s brutal. A few of us like brutal but it can be difficult to swallow when you’re not prepared for it. Someone else spoke up. “Were there any good ones?” She nodded but didn’t say anything.
“So please be careful with me, I’m sensitiveAnd I’d like to stay that way”
I don’t think she meant to set up that kind of a situation but it may have been where we all were in that class today. Maybe we weren’t prepared for it, maybe we didn’t understand her type of teaching. Maybe we were all being sensitive.
“I was thinking that it might do some good
If we robbed the cynics and took all their food
That way what they believe will have taken place
And we can give it to people who have some faith”
I had to get blood tests and x-rays today. I haven’t written this yet, but the pathology came back good. They got all of the cancer in that spot. Now we have a spot left on my hand and I’ve found another mole that I want her to check on my stomach. We’re now checking for any metastasizing. I had an x-ray on my chest, blood tests for my platelets, red and white blood cells, liver, hormones, etc. They want to see if the cancer spread. The x-ray tech had me undress my top half. I put on that thin paper top and stood up to the x-ray machine. She looked at my back. “That’s a nasty incision you’ve got there.” I nodded, “I had melanoma there.” She already knew that, though. It was on my x-ray papers. “How long have you known?” I almost choked. She understood that it was serious and was trying to help me along. “A little over a week.” Her hand touched my back and I almost choked on a tear. I don’t know why but it hit me hard. Nothing more needed to be said.
“So please be careful with me, I’m sensitive
And I’d like to stay that way”
I went to my dad’s business. He told me about my cousin who was just diagnosed with one of the many sarcomas. My cousin is 21. Twenty-one years old. He’s not as fortunate as I am. He’s known that something was wrong for months. His back has been hurting, he’s lost 45 pounds in 3 months, and he’s been very, very sick. No one would treat him for his distress because he didn’t have insurance. Even after he got indigent care, they wouldn’t check out his back because it was preexisting because he had sold off things to get it checked the week before. His wife had to lie to the emergency room, tell them that he fell down the stair, to get care. The radiologist knew right away. He’s going to lose his leg, at least. They’re hoping he won’t lose his life. I’m so angry that people are not able to get the care they need because they don’t have jobs that give insurance or aren’t wealthy enough to pay for walk-in care. I’m angry that I’m fortunate enough to catch my cancer early and he wasn’t. I’m angry that either of us got it in the first place.
“I have this theory that if we’re told we’re bad
Then that’s the only idea we’ll ever have
But maybe if we are surrounded in beauty
Someday we will become what we see”
Then I came home. My mom called and told me that Richard Harrison and Paul Wellstone died today. Both of these are tragedies in so many ways. Richard Harrison was a fine actor. Senator Wellstone was a champion of the people. I got caught up in a Canadian indie film on the Sundance channel called waydowntown that was pretty dark in so many ways. It was brilliant and full of imagery but it was dark. Probably not the best thing for me to watch today.
” ‘Cause anyone can start a conflict
it’s harder yet to disregard it
I’d rather see the world from another angle
We are everyday angels
Be careful with me ’cause I’d like to stay that way”
It’s just one of those days. I’m sensitive and I’d like to stay that way.
deer
Oct 25th
“Doe, a deer, a female deer…”
I’ve lived with deer in my life one way or another since the day I was born, I think. I’ve lived in the Rocky Mountain area of the United States nearly all of my life and with that come the opportunities of seeing, touching, and hearing white-tailed and mule deer often.
One of my earliest memories of a deer isn’t necessarily the most pleasant memory that I have. When I was young, my father hunted every winter in the mountains of western Montana (where we lived). The meat he brought
home was meat that we needed and was welcomed with open arms. We had a curing shed where the deer were hung and we were, as children, kept out of that shed. My parents felt that seeing a deer carcass was not the best thing for a child. They were, in retrospect, right in that decision.
One year, I remember Dad “bagging” a deer and bringing it home to skin and treat the meat. I don’t know why this happened but I went into the shed. I can remember a shadow of the deer hanging there. More, though, I remember the blood. It seemed, to me, that there was blood everywhere. I can smell the wood of the shed and the blood of the deer to this day.
As I grew older, deer continued to play a significant role in my life.
Visiting my grandparents in Colorado each summer, the yearly trips to Rocky Mountain National Park gave me the opportunity to see the famous Roosevelt elk and white-tailed deer each year. These deer are the biggest deer I’ve ever seen. I don’t know if they’ve inter-bred with the elk (Roosevelt elk are huge) or if they are extremely large because they live in a national park but their size has always struck me as abnormal.
I missed out on deer for a while when my family moved to Las Vegas, Nevada. Even in the rural areas around Las Vegas, deer were not in abundance.
After four years in Las Vegas, we moved to Flagstaff. We were back in the mountains and at that time, Flagstaff was a relatively small town (less than 30,000 residents). The inhabitants of the town coexisted with the wildlife in a beautiful symbiotic manner. We would see deer come down off the mountain often.
We lived near the mountain and I would drive over a hill to go to work each night. There were nights when I could swear I would see deer on the hill. They would appear in the middle of the road and I would swerve or slow down to miss them but then I would realize that they weren’t there at all. It was the most unnerving thing to happen but it happened so often that I had a feeling the deer may be speaking to me.
A few years later, my sister-in-law and I were heading to Prescott for work and met up with a deer on I-17 at Rocky Park Road. It was a dark summer evening (no moon) and we were zipping along at 11 p.m. From the corner of my eye, I saw a deer on the right shoulder of the road. In less than a second, that same deer was in the middle of the road and I was changing lanes to avoid hitting him. I was unsuccessful. We hit him in the left lane, holding fast to the road. His antlers came through the windshield and hit my arm, his body crushed in the roof to an inch from our heads.
We were lucky. We walked away with minor injuries. He was not so fortunate. As the night wore on and we waited for the emergency vehicles to arrive (a trucker behind us had stopped and called while making sure we were ok), we heard him breathing in the ravine below us. I heard his ragged breaths turn into labored suffering.
That night, six deer were hit on I-17 within a 30-mile stretch of the road. Two people were killed. For some reason, the deer were out that night and needed to cross the highway.
My family called me a “bambi-killer” as they used humor to try to overcome the trauma I felt from the accident. I was distraught over having killed an animal. I was saddened by having to hear him die. I had nightmares for weeks. I couldn’t drive at night without seeing deer around every corner. When I would get to the Rocky Park area, whether going south or north, I would slow to dangerous speeds of 25 mph because I was afraid to hit another. If I fell asleep as a passenger in the car, I would wake up in terror the minute the driver would put on his or her brakes.
A few months later, after my car had been rebuilt, I took a chance and drove down I-17. I’ve never been a religious person but that night I began speaking to the deer and to the moon, asking for all of the earth’s children to be cared for as I drove down the road.
Two months ago, as I sat in my bedroom reading a book, I heard a rummaging outside my living room window. Since I live alone, I was a bit worried at the mysterious sound. I turned out the lights and slowly opened my curtains. As I peered out into the neighbor’s yard, I saw the largest rack of antlers that I have ever seen. This bull turned toward me, stared straight at me, and walked slowly out of the yard as if he owned it.
I can assure you that at that moment, he did.
A family friend, a medicine man from the Navajo nation, told me that he was sure my totem animal is a deer. I can see that. I can feel it. Deer speak to me.
sensitive
Oct 24th
“I was thinking that I might fly today
Just to disprove all the things that you say
It doesn’t take a talent to be mean
Your words can crush things that are unseen”
I don’t think it’s a secret. I’m a sensitive girl. Well, I’m sure it’s not a secret within my writing. I write as if I am a sensitive person. I feel things deeply and wear my heart on my sleeve.
I don’t know where this is coming from tonight.
“So please be careful with me, I’m sensitive
And I’d like to stay that way”
Today has been one of those emotional days, I guess. I had class…that I love. We had a substitute but it was still somewhat interesting. We had to turn in an essay and while we were reading some articles, she read the first sentences to our essays. As we get ready to discuss the articles, she says, “Have you all learned about first sentences?” We’ve been talking about leads, grabbers, hooks, etc. and ask her if that is what she means. She says that what she’s talking about includes those but it’s really about the first sentence in a piece. Then she tells us that she’s just read our first sentences and thinks we need to discuss this.
“You always tell me that it’s impossible
To be respected and be a girl
Why’s it gotta be so complicated
Why you gotta tell me that I’m hated?”
We all sat there in silence. I’m not sure anyone knew what to say. I piped up. “That doesn’t bode well for our essays, does it?” She laughed and asked what I mean. I told her (and the class) that she had just told us that she read our sentences and then decided we needed to discuss first sentences. She told us that she’s brutal. A few of us like brutal but it can be difficult to swallow when you’re not prepared for it. Someone else spoke up. “Were there any good ones?” She nodded but didn’t say anything.
“So please be careful with me, I’m sensitiveAnd I’d like to stay that
way”
I don’t think she meant to set up that kind of a situation but it may have been where we all were in that class today. Maybe we weren’t prepared for it, maybe we didn’t understand her type of teaching. Maybe we were all being sensitive.
“I was thinking that it might do some good
If we robbed the cynics and took all their food
That way what they believe will have taken place
And we can give it to people who have some faith”
I had to get blood tests and x-rays today. I haven’t written this yet, but the pathology came back good. They got all of the cancer in that spot. Now we have a spot left on my hand and I’ve found another mole that I want her to check on my stomach. We’re now checking for any metastasizing. I had an x-ray on my chest, blood tests for my platelets, red and white blood cells, liver, hormones, etc. They want to see if the cancer spread. The x-ray tech had me undress my top half. I put on that thin paper top and stood up to the x-ray machine. She looked at my back. “That’s a nasty incision you’ve got there.” I nodded, “I had melanoma there.” She already knew that, though. It was on my x-ray papers. “How long have you known?” I almost choked. She understood that it was serious and was trying to help me along. “A little over a week.” Her hand touched my back and I almost choked on a tear. I don’t know why but it hit me hard. Nothing more needed to be said.
“So please be careful with me, I’m sensitive
And I’d like to stay that way”
I went to my dad’s business. He told me about my cousin who was just diagnosed with one of the many sarcomas. My cousin is 21. Twenty-one years old. He’s not as fortunate as I am. He’s known that something was wrong for months. His back has been hurting, he’s lost 45 pounds in 3 months, and he’s been very, very sick. No one would treat him for his distress because he didn’t have insurance. Even after he got indigent care, they wouldn’t check out his back because it was pre-existing because he had sold off things to get it checked the week before. His wife had to lie to the emergency room, tell them that he fell down the stair, to get care. The radiologist knew right away. He’s going to lose his leg, at least. They’re hoping he won’t lose his life. I’m so angry that people are not able to get the care they need because they don’t have jobs that give insurance or aren’t wealthy enough to pay for walk-in care. I’m angry that I’m fortunate enough to catch my cancer early and he wasn’t. I’m angry that either of us got it in the first place.
“I have this theory that if we’re told we’re bad
Then that’s the only idea we’ll ever have
But maybe if we are surrounded in beauty
Someday we will become what we see”
Then I came home. My mom called and told me that Richard Harrison and Paul Wellstone died today. Both of these are tragedies in so many ways. Richard Harrison was a fine actor. Senator Wellstone was a champion of the people. I got caught up in a Canadian indie film on the Sundance channel called waydowntown that was pretty dark in so many ways. It was brilliant and full of imagery but it was dark. Probably not the best thing for me to watch today.
” ‘Cause anyone can start a conflict
it’s harder yet to disregard it
I’d rather see the world from another angle
We are everyday angels
Be careful with me ’cause I’d like to stay that way”
It’s just one of those days. I’m sensitive and I’d like to stay that way.
Thursday October 24, 2002
Oct 24th
Ceremony
“From your parents you learn love and laughter and how to put one foot before the other. But when books are opened you discover that you have wings.”
– Helen Hayes (b. 1900), American actress, Academy Award winner
I’m pretty shy about being a part of ceremonies or even being publicly recognized for things. I don’t really like being the center of attention too much. It embarrasses me and makes me feel like I may have to produce something to uphold that recognition. I mean…I like recognition but it’s different when it’s in front of a lot of people. It’s harder to deal with.
Even though I’ve been ill, it was important to me, though, to take part in the induction ceremony for Phi Theta Kappa, the international two-year college honor society a few weeks ago.
I’ve worked hard to get a good grade point average. I haven’t always had an easy time of it and it took a lot of work to get back to the point where my grade point average was something to be proud of and something that I could share with others.
I invited all of my family but most of them had previous engagements and couldn’t make it. My dad, however, called me that afternoon and told me that he thought he could make it. He told me that he was coming straight from work so he might be dirty. It didn’t matter. I don’t care if he had grease smudges on his cheeks, blackened hands, and extremely dirty clothes. I was just so honored that he wanted to be there with me to see this happen. I almost cried when he called. I told him that it didn’t matter how he looked.
I was nervous when I got there. I’m not good in crowds and I felt more shy standing there with people I don’t really know. I can tell you that the minute my dad walked through the front doors of the school, I was so proud. My heart leapt with joy that he was there.
I was worried that he would be bored. I was worried that he would think it was silly. He didn’t. He told me that he really enjoyed the whole thing and that he was glad he came. I smiled from the inside out at that.
We had some cake, talked to a few people, then called it a night. He walked me to my car and we hugged before we each headed to our own homes.
I have to say…that was one ceremony I didn’t mind.
ceremony
Oct 23rd
Ceremony
“From your parents you learn love and laughter and how to put one foot before the other. But when books are opened you discover that you have wings.”
– Helen Hayes (b. 1900), American actress, Academy Award winner
I’m pretty shy about being a part of ceremonies or even being publicly recognized for things. I don’t really like being the center of attention too much. It embarrasses me and makes me feel like I may have to produce something to uphold that recognition. I mean…I like recognition but it’s different when it’s in front of a lot of people. It’s harder to deal with.
Even though I’ve been ill, it was important to me, though, to take part in the induction ceremony for Phi Theta Kappa, the international two-year college honor society a few weeks ago.
I’ve worked hard to get a good grade point average. I haven’t always had an easy time of it and it took a lot of work to get back to the point where my grade point average was something to be proud of and something that I could share with others.
I invited all of my family but most of them had previous engagements and couldn’t make it. My dad, however, called me that afternoon and told me that he thought he could make it. He told me that he was coming straight from work so he might be dirty. It didn’t matter. I don’t care if he had grease smudges on his cheeks, blackened hands, and extremely dirty clothes. I was just so honored that he wanted to be there with me to see this happen. I almost cried when he called. I told him that it didn’t matter how he looked.
I was nervous when I got there. I’m not good in crowds and I felt more shy standing there with people I don’t really know. I can tell you that the minute my dad walked through the front doors of the school, I was so proud. My heart leapt with joy that he was there.
I was worried that he would be bored. I was worried that he would think it was silly. He didn’t. He told me that he really enjoyed the whole thing and that he was glad he came. I smiled from the inside out at that.
We had some cake, talked to a few people, then called it a night. He walked me to my car and we hugged before we each headed to our own homes.
I have to say…that was one ceremony I didn’t mind.
doctors
Oct 23rd
Since I’m in the midsts of doctor visits, needles, and x-rays, my entries will probably be about that. Some of these I wrote a week or two ago and just didn’t share because…well, just because.
—
Doctors
“If doctors ever tell you that you’ve ‘flipped out,’ don’t believe them, and just keep on doing what you were doing, because something tells me ‘The Man’ is behind this.”
– Jack Handey [Deep Thoughts], Recurring Saturday Night Live comedy bit
I’ve been seeing a lot of doctors lately. I see my regular doctor for health care maintenance. When I’m feeling ill, I go into to see her and I always feel better just coming out of the office. There is a degree of comfort that I find when seeing her.
Yesterday, I went to an appointment that I had set up in July. I had to wait nearly 4 months in order to have this appointment. That’s utterly ridicules to me. Ok…that’s just my first problem with this appointment.
This appointment was for a skin cancer screening. I was scared. I know that I’m a prime candidate for skin cancer. I have strawberry blonde hair, pale skin, freckles, blue eyes, and a family history of skin cancer on both sides. I was scared.
I get there and am kept waiting for nearly an hour. I had waited 4 months and then had to wait another hour just to get into the examining room.
I spoke with the nurse longer than I spoke with the doctor. The nurse asked me my history, talked to me about my reasons for being there (I had a lesion on my hand), and told me the doctor would be in. That took maybe 5 minutes. The doctor came in, ran her hand through my hair, over my body, and said that she found three areas she’d like to biopsy.
The biopsy, as she explained it to me, would consist of freezing the area and scraping off a sample. I assumed that it would be similar to the removal of warts. It wasn’t. She actually dug into my skin and scooped out the areas.
She left and the nurse returned to dress the wounds and tell me that she’d call me within a week with the results.
That’s all that was said. There was no bedside manner because she wasn’t there long enough to have one.
I was in the office for a total of 1 hour and 15 minutes. One hour of that was waiting to go in.
I hate feeling as if I’m just a number. It’s even worse when it’s a situation that is stressful. I didn’t have the comfort that I’m used to receiving when I go to the doctor’s office. I felt let down, hurt, and violated.
Wednesday October 23, 2002
Oct 23rd
Since I’m in the midsts of doctor visits, needles, and x-rays, my entries will probably be about that. Some of these I wrote a week or two ago and just didn’t share because…well, just because.
—
Doctors
“If doctors ever tell you that you’ve ‘flipped out,’ don’t believe them, and just keep on doing what you were doing, because something tells me ‘The Man’ is behind this.”
– Jack Handey [Deep Thoughts], Recurring Saturday Night Live comedy bit
I’ve been seeing a lot of doctors lately. I see my regular doctor for health care maintenance. When I’m feeling ill, I go into to see her and I always feel better just coming out of the office. There is a degree of comfort that I find when seeing her.
Yesterday, I went to an appointment that I had set up in July. I had to wait nearly 4 months in order to have this appointment. That’s utterly ridicules to me. Ok…that’s just my first problem with this appointment.
This appointment was for a skin cancer screening. I was scared. I know that I’m a prime candidate for skin cancer. I have strawberry blonde hair, pale skin, freckles, blue eyes, and a family history of skin cancer on both sides. I was scared.
I get there and am kept waiting for nearly an hour. I had waited 4 months and then had to wait another hour just to get into the examining room.
I spoke with the nurse longer than I spoke with the doctor. The nurse asked me my history, talked to me about my reasons for being there (I had a lesion on my hand), and told me the doctor would be in. That took maybe 5 minutes. The doctor came in, ran her hand through my hair, over my body, and said that she found three areas she’d like to biopsy.
The biopsy, as she explained it to me, would consist of freezing the area and scraping off a sample. I assumed that it would be similar to the removal of warts. It wasn’t. She actually dug into my skin and scooped out the areas.
She left and the nurse returned to dress the wounds and tell me that she’d call me within a week with the results.
That’s all that was said. There was no bedside manner because she wasn’t there long enough to have one.
I was in the office for a total of 1 hour and 15 minutes. One hour of that was waiting to go in.
I hate feeling as if I’m just a number. It’s even worse when it’s a situation that is stressful. I didn’t have the comfort that I’m used to receiving when I go to the doctor’s office. I felt let down, hurt, and violated.
