My Hero

Whenever i’m asked who my hero is, I always say my husband, Scott.   He is the gutsiest person I know; just this past week he talked a big-name personal injury lawyer to write a $7500 check.  And not for himself, for a friend.

Some background:  Scott is a medical marijuana patient.  Nevada has amended its State constitution to accommodate specific patients who find cannabis to be the best palliative for their symptoms.  However, the plants must be grown and harvested by the patient; the amendment does not mandate for licensed stores, like Colorado or California.  Patients, even those who are crippled, in pain, or have just months to live must either grow their own (which takes months), buy illegally off the street, or try an ersatz  “delivery service”. Before Scott’s first grow was mature, he obtained his medicine from a trailblazing dispensary owner, John,  who is an amazing individual.  John was born with a genetic mutation which deforms his body terribly--he has no arms, just hands at his shoulders, and short misshapened legs--and unable to take any anti-inflammatories, aspirin, or narcotic pain-killers.  He spends his life in pain, and smokes weed for pain control.   

John decided to open a non-profit medical marijuana dispensary in 2010 to help people.  He got a city business license, hired knowledgeable employees, and opened his office.  It was a low-key operation, and the few times I went with Scott to pick up meds I was filled with compassion for some of the people I met there.  Often, there was a progression:  first the patient  would come in themselves, then their caretaker, and eventually no one, which meant the person had died.  

Over time, Scott and John became friends.  Because Scott always wears tie-dye, John nicknamed him The Hippie--he’d call the house and ask “is the Hippie home?” if I happened to answer the phone.  After Scott  harvested his crop he stopped going to the dispensary but they kept in touch.  

John was busy.  His dispensary had a good reputation.  Marijuana is not all the same; it varies in potency and effects--in fact  it’s bred and hybridized just like corn or apples for a specific use.  One strain might be better for migraine and another for glaucoma.  The key is reproducibility and reliability.  If you’ve just had a grueling chemo treatment or your head is exploding you want medicine that works effectively, the same way, every time.   And that was the thing  at John’s dispensary, you knew what you were getting would provide relief for your specific symptoms.

After about a year of quiet operation, the federal government decided to crack down on the dispensaries in the area.  (Evidently President Obama lied.)  John was arrested in the first sweep through the valley.  The DEA were physically rough during the raid.  Scott spoke to John after the arrest and he was worried about his clients, one in particular who was blind and badly treated by the police.  John got 14 months in federal prison, and a couple of months ago was released on parole.   (On a side note, another dispensary owner was recently shut down by the feds and only received a fine; there’s a lot of disparity in the prosecution of these cases.)

John contacted us when he got out, and Scott (along with other friends) got John to and from appointments, helped him move into a small apartment, grocery shop, see the doctor, and restart his life.  John got himself a puppy, so he wouldn’t be lonesome, and started looking for work--he was subsisting on disability and food stamps.  Barely.

Then disaster struck.  One of the conditions of John’s parole was that he had to pay back the Social Security disability that he had mistakenly collected while he was operating his dispensary...even though it was run as a non-profit.  His disability checks would be henceforth garnished--in their entirety--as restitution until the debt was repaid, about ten months, which left John essentially penniless unless he could find a job, and who is going to hire a man with John’s physical disabilities?  


After the initial panic, John called Scott, who calmed him down and helped plan a course of action.  First, he went to the Social Security office, talked to a patient advocate, and his parole officer.  Nobody could do anything, negotiate a payment plan, or help untangle the red tape.  Nobody cared.  Scott was livid.  He hates unfairness.  On John’s behalf, he emailed letters asking for for assistance with this bureaucratic nightmare to the local TV stations, John’s congressman, and the high-dollar injury lawyers in our area.  

Scott’s efforts bore fruit almost immediately.  KLAS replied the next day, their lead investigative reporter George Knapp was interested in the story and set up an interview.  (The first sentence of his reply email was “This is bullshit!”) Joe Heck’s office, (John’s congressman) called and set up an appointment.  And Glen Lerner (the “Heavy Hitter”) of the high-dollar lawyers--via a serendipitous fumble-fingered glitch--responded to Scott with his personal email address.  

With a snarky reply.  Game on, Glen, game on.

Scott initiated a three-hour emailing marathon, at the conclusion of which Mr. Lerner offered to pay the restitution fee himself.  No strings attached.  John and Scott picked up the check together later that day, and went to the Social Security office where John paid his restitution in full.

I’d like to give a shout out to Glen Lerner.  Thank you.

As a result, John’s probation will be shortened, and, most pressing,  he won’t become homeless.  Hopefully people will respond to George Knapp’s TV report, and someone might be able to offer John a job.  Maybe Congressman Heck will be able to get John a fairer shake with his parole...or at least a better wheelchair from Medicaid!  John says life is worth getting up for in the morning.

He says Scott is his hero.

He’s mine, too.

The Best Street Name, EVAR.

Friends!

It doesn't get any better than this.

xx  

trish

Just had to share this...

Texting for seniors

ATD – At the Doctor’s

BFF – Best Friends Funeral

BTW – Bring the Wheelchair

BYOT – Bring Your Own Teeth

CBM – Covered by Medicare

CUATSC – See You at the Senior Center

DWI – Driving While Incontinent

FWBB – Friend with Beta Blockers

FWIW – Forgot Where I Was

FYI – Found Your Insulin

GGPBL – Gotta Go, Pacemaker Battery Low

GHA – Got Heartburn Again

HGBM – Had Good Bowel Movement

IMHO – Is My Hearing-Aid On?

LMDO – Laughing My Dentures Out

LOL – Living on Lipitor

LWO – Lawrence Welk’s On

OMMR – On My Massage Recliner

OMSG – Oh My! Sorry, Gas

ROFL..CGU – Rolling on the Floor Laughing…Can’t get Up!

TTYL – Talk to You Louder

WAITT – Who Am I Talking To?

WTP – Where’re the Prunes

W2P – Waiting to Pee

WWNO – Walker Wheels Need Oil

Hope these help!

GGLKI – Gotta Go, Laxative Kicking in!

Happy Monday!!

xx

trish

A Funny!

HA!

Thanks, Kyla!

xx

trish

Fall Five Tag

Friends!

I was tagged by the Fabulous Abby to participate in a fun game of virtual tag, wherein I state five goals for Fall.

So I had a little conversation with myself.

Ego:  hmmmmm.  I'm so perfect already, what could I possibly need to do?

Id:  You sack of dog doody, you have TONS of ways to improve!  Like work on your conceitedness...you need to be nicer to people!  For example, when you come home from work--don't pick on your poor spouse if you're tired.

Ego:  OK, you got me there, I'll make a conscious effort to be cheerful when I get home.  So now I'm cool, right?

Id:  Nope.  Far from it.  When are you gonna get off your duff and go back to Pilates class?

Ego:  nyah nyah!  I already signed up for class, it starts in two weeks.  Besides, I've started eating way better and have lost weight.  So there!

Id:  Yeah, but your attempts at cooking are pathetically lame!

Ego:  Well, I did buy a book on easy Chinese cooking, it's in the mail.  I promise to learn how to make some decent vegetarian dishes that taste good.

Id:  Speaking of books, what ever happened to your resolve to start a book list on this blog?

Ego:  I don't know!  I got busy!!  Why do you keep ragging on me?

Id:  It's my job. 

Ego:  Well, you need to lay off, because my last goal is to RELAX and enjoy the lovely Fall weather out on the Catio with The Cats.

I'll keep you posted on how I do!

Oh, and I just finished reading The Hangman's Daughter, it was fantastic!  I got it for $0.99 on my Kindle with the daily deal.  (You have GOT to sign up for the Daily Deal, it rocks.)  Did you know that the job of hangman was a hereditary job in Europe?  Neither did I.

xx

trish

Question of the Day

WHY did I eat so much garlic?  
I'm offending myself!


xx  trish

The Fun that is My Life...

Friends!

The Saga of Steve continues!

Two days ago, his 88 year old Mom (Loli) stood up in the hospital cafeteria, turned the wrong way, fell, and BROKE HER LEG!  Go ahead, take a moment to digest the news.  I know I had to.

OK?

So, the rehab center gets Loli into a wheelchair, and she rolls on down to Steve's room to tell him the news--she insisted--then she was ambulanced across the street to the hospital, where she was admitted with a hairline fracture in her right femur, just below where she broke it once before...have I mentioned she's had both hips and knees replaced?  (Insert expletives here; I did!)  She's a real spitfire, the minute we arrived to see her this morning she was tossing off the sheets and pulling up her gown to show me her leg!  It looked good, too, no terrible bruising and only a little swollen, much better than I expected.  She's refused pain meds except at night to sleep, she says she needs to feel it so she doesn't OVERDO it.  My God.  What a woman.

So, Scott and I spent today conveying stuff to both invalids, and driving Loli's car back to Steve's condo.  Loli is already up, shuffling around with a walker, determined to get back on her feet as soon as possible.  Her primary care physician, by some happy twist of fate is also Steve's--and he moved heaven and earth to get her moved over to the rehab facility where Steve is--tomorrow!  So they can keep each other company and recover together.

Steve can talk now, and today I asked him why he waited so long to go to the doctor.  Long story short, he's been severely and profoundly depressed for some time, and it was only survival instinct that finally drove him out of the house to the hospital.  I haven't discussed this in the Kat's blog but he and I had a falling out some time back over his refusal to recognize that he needed help after a similar hospital episode (not as severe, obviously) a few years back.  I had to set a limit on our friendship because it gave me so much pain and anxiety over his apathy.  So we've been work friends only for some time, and of course that's one place where he was fairly "together" so I never saw how badly he had deteriorated mentally.  I mean, he hasn't had heat or air conditioning at his condo for THREE years.  Because he didn't deserve any comfort.

Fuck.

Even though I told him at the time upfront, honestly, in no uncertain terms why I was pulling back, I am wracked with guilt that I had some part in his spiral down into the abyss.  Because I've been there myself I'm exquisitely in tune with the agony that exists in the pit; and I'm having a hard time coming to grips with the situation.

But I must, and I will.  We cried together a little bit today and resolved that the past is done.  Steve's decided he's not quite ready to die yet, and is determined to try for whatever happiness he can get out of the rest of his life; to quit chasing pipe dreams and could-have-beens.  He says he's ready for therapy to rid himself of his demons, or at least learn to live with them peacefully.  I told him he'd better not be lying to me again, or else.  Translation: I'd kick his ass.

I am wrung out, let me tell you.

Off to bed.

xx

Trish

The Psychiatrist & The Proctologist

The Psychiatrist & The Proctologist

Best friends graduated from medical school at the same time and
decided that, in spite of two different specialties, they would open a
practice together to share office space and personnel.

Dr. Smith was the psychiatrist and Dr. Jones was the proctologist;they
put up a sign reading:
"Dr. Smith and Dr. Jones: Hysterias and Posteriors".
The town council was livid and insisted they change it.

So, the docs changed it to read: "Schizoids and Hemorrhoids" which was
also not acceptable, so they again changed the sign.
"Catatonics and High Colonics" - No go. Next, they tried "Manic Depressives
and Anal Retentives" - thumbs down again. Then came "Minds and Behinds" -
still no good. Another attempt resulted in "Lost Souls and Butt Holes"
- unacceptable again!
So they tried "Analysis and AnalCysts" - not a chance. "Nuts and
Butts" - no way.
"Freaks and Cheeks" - still no good. "Loons and Moons" - forget it.
Almost at their wit's end, the docs finally came up with:
"Dr. Smith and Dr. Jones - Specializing in Odds and Ends". Everyone loved it.

Constipated?

Friends!

I want to show you some fun work stuff.

Let me introduce to you the World's Worst Coffee, guaranteed to rot your gut and clean you out.  This crap must be government surplus coffee from the 30's, it's THAT bad.

And people drink it by the gallon, mainly because it's free.Dysentery is free, too, but you don't see folks lining up for that...

I bring a cup from home.

::bowels doing happy dance::

XX. Trish

A new method

Test

Friends!

I am gonna try to be better about posting now that I have my new phone...now to figure out adding photos!

Trish. XX

I know I'm Bats but--REALLY!?!

Friends!

So, I'm at work this morning, out and about, getting samples for some lab work.  I opened the door to one of the pumping plants and almost stained my shorts when this tiny object fluttered out!  It was a Little Brown Bat.

I bet he passed a little guano, too.

He flittered down to the ground and of course my first thought was: PICTURES!

He was SO tiny and light, and his fur was silky soft.

He had translucent fuzzy wings.

Check out those tiny toes!  They were surprisingly strong.

I didn't get a photo, but when he opened his mouth I saw his teeny-weeny fangs!  Don't worry, he didn't want to drink my blood, Little Brown Bats eat insects.  In fact, there are several bat houses on the property.

He flew off after a few minutes, no doubt cussing me out for disturbing his nap.

xx

trish

Back to Work.

Friends!

You all made me weep.  Shame on you!

Thank you for you encouraging words, love and experiences. I am honored.

 I had three days off from work and indulged in an orgy of cleaning and organization, something I find very Zen and in-the-moment to do.  If I can't have ordered inner space at least my outer space is going to be spic-n-span, dammit.

I don't feel any better, but I'm not any worse.  Holding is good.

And I have some most excellent medicine to ingest later...Scott came home with a chocolate fudge cake today!  Just THINK of how many endorphins I'll get from that.

Better living through chemistry!

xx

trish

The Black Dog

Friends!

I haven't written in a while, and there is a reason for that.

Winston Churchill called his depression "The Black Dog".  It's been such a long time since I've seen my particular canine that I didn't realize it was here.  But it is.  I am depressed.

What this means for me is that life has no joy, no savor, no creativity.

I feel bleak.

Living is an effort and takes all my attention and effort.

I'm incredibly tired, yet I can't sleep, or my sleep is haunted by incredibly vivid and horrifying nightmares.

I'm confused and I can't find words, nouns, names.  It's frustrating trying to express myself.  I can't even compose a decent compound sentence, for cripe's sake.

At least I know what this is and what I need to do, and I'm doing it.  I've done it before.  But it takes time to get better, and I'm an impatient perfectionist.  I hate waiting, yet I must.

Winston Churchill said "If you are going through Hell, keep going."

I intend to keep moving.

Thanks for listening.

xx

trish

I'm Versatile!

Friends!

My fun young friend Maya, author of Butterflies Surround Me, tagged The Katnip Lounge for the Versatile Blogger award.  Thanks, Maya!  I enjoy reading your blog, and your photographs are wonderful, as well.

I decided that The Horde gets entirely too much publicity so I hijacked the award and ran on over here to tattle on myself.

Seven Facts About Me:

1.  I am clinically depressed.  

This has shaped who I am, in a good way.  

2.  Hubby is diagnosed Bi-polar II, and he tends toward the manic side of the spectrum.

Things are never dull at our house.

3.  I don't consider myself beautiful, or even pretty, but I'm OK with that.

  I like who I am.

4.  I'm handy.  I can fix stuff and build things.  

Hubby calls me "A Chick with a dick".

 And he says it with pride!

5.  I also can bake and sew and crochet and do needlework.

Versatile!

6.  I detest cooking, although I can put together a tasty meal.

Killer Italian pot roast, for example.

7.  Choosing between a great book and sex?
I'll never tell...

Tell me something fun about yourselves...

xx

trish

Holy Crap!

Friends!

I got the Explanation of Benefits in the mail for my hysterectomy.

Hang on to your shorts:

SIXTY-SEVEN THOUSAND DOLLARS!

I am so happy I have good health insurance; my total out of pocket expenses were under $300.  

I'm in shock, I really don't know how or what I feel about such a huge sum for removing some worn out female parts...I wonder what I could get for a kidney in good shape?

Hubby has two!

xx

trish

Why I Love My Car

Friends!

Last September Hubby decided I needed a new car.  We had planned to wait another year, but sometimes you have to go with the flow and DO stuff.  I got a 2010 Ford Escape, and it came loaded with everything except the heated leather seats.  It gets great milage, is fun to drive, and has nice get-up-n-go when I need it.  It has a decent sound system...

...and it came with a six month trial subscription to Sirius Radio.

OMG.

My morning commute isn't long, only fifteen minutes, so I don't have much time to get in a couple of good tunes to start my day.  I NEED my morning music as much as coffee.  Maybe even more.  Coming home, I want something instrumental to unwind to, a nice long jam band is perfect.

Allow me to digress.  I grew up in the Chicago area, with a vibrant music scene.  Chi-town blues & jazz clubs, the Opera House,and 492 different ethnic neighborhoods meant lots of good listening on the radio.  Free radio.  Radio stations that specialized in nothing BUT arcane one-hit wonders.  Stations devoted solely to soul.  And never less than four major stations playing current rock and alternative music.  Chicago shaped me into a picky listener, and I thought the whole world was like this, full of wonderful stimulating tunes.  

Then I moved to the cultural wasteland otherwise known as Las Vegas.  

Don't get me started on the lack of decent coffee shops, museums, and crappy overpriced restaurants.  Let's talk about the pathetic selection of free radio stations.  They suck, big time.  Nothing but angst-filled teenagers, i.e. Justin Bieber and his ilk, angry rap, and ho-ridden hip hop.  Oh, and country, which is a dirty word where I come from. (sorry!) There's one "oldies" station, featuring the top 40 from the past 50 years. Like Ive never heard "Hey Jude" before, or even worse, EVERY song ever sung by Journey.  I started listening to National Public Radio to save my sanity.  Which, by the way, is pretty interesting, but definitely not melodious.

Then along comes my new Ford, with satellite radio.

OMG.

It's Nevada living with Chicago choice!  There's stations playing stuff by bands I've never heard of--and I know my bands; Hubby has a music-related business, and we listen to everything we find that's new to us.  There's opera, alternative, blues, rock (new and classic), disco, & soul.  There's CELTIC music for crying out loud!  And three NPR stations, heh heh.

My commutes are complete.

You might ask why I don't just pop in a CD or plug in my MP3 player, and the short answer is that I want something NEW.  Like Reggae played on a pipe organ accompanied by pygmies playing oboes in 5/4 time.  You know, something interesting.

My six months are up on my free Sirius subscription, and you'de be correct if you guessed I subscribed. 

 Twelve bucks a month.

One Satisfied Listener.

Priceless.

And that's what I like best about my new car.

xx

trish

EnRaptured

No words needed.

xx

trish

Dinner

Friends!

We had a few odds-n-ends in the refrigerator, and what better way to use them than an omelette?

Sauteed onion, mushroom and ham, garnished with feta, tomatoes and fresh cilantro.

Heavenly!

xx

trish

SEX!!

Friends!

The answer to the gender of the co-worker I was talking to in my previous post was--

A man!

I am blessed to work in a great place.  We are indoctrinated endlessly with political correctness classes, which we all (mostly) attend and choose to ignore.  There's a general consensus that we're all adults here, and we'll say what we want, including telling somebody off if they make us mad.  So I wasn't threatened or demeaned or anything by a compliment, I took it at face value; this particular person thought I'd look good in a bikini.  Period.

I'm 48, and I grew up on the cusp of women's lib.  My Mom refused to quit her job at a department store when she started "showing" during her pregnancy with me, and after I was born, she worked evenings and my Dad did the parenting.  I'll never forget our fish stick TV dinners with French dressing on the fish, and Dad trying to coax me to eat the peas.  I watched my Mom go to college and have a career, and later earn her Master's degree.  So I had good role-sharing models growing up, at our house there weren't any gender based work assignments. Although  my Mom was (and is) the cleaning fiend of the two. 

We watched a lot of public television at my house, and back in the 70's that meant NOVA and other science-based shows.  In school, I gravitated towards geeky classes like chemistry and Latin.  It's funny now, the dichotomy of me--I was a good student and loved learning, yet I was, *ahem* a wild child.  Which meant I spent a lot of time with the male sex.  Actually, I've always had more male friends than female; in fact, blogging is the first time I've ever connected with so many women!  In person I gravitate to men, and it's not a sexual thing.  I simply find them interesting, perhaps since they're fairly transparent.  WYSIWYG's.  I feel more comfortable in a room full of men versus a room full of women.

Which is not a bad thing when you major in biochemistry in college, because often I was the lone female in ANY of my classes.  I had a professor tell me that women didn't belong in science.  Jerk.  I got an "A" in his class.

But back to my work environment.  It's mostly guys.  The first couple of months were spent establishing personal boundaries, which was refreshingly addressed by outright asking me would I be insulted by thus and such.  Of course not, but it was polite to ask, and if I had girl things to talk about I did the same.  It's that way for everybody here.  Some of us have encountered discrimination; me in school, or racial bias, or age.  It makes for interesting discussions--two days a week I work with a guy who remembers having to drink out of "Colored" water fountains in California and going to segregated schools.  Mainly we talk about sports, he knows every player on every team (ever!) and we have a great time on shift.  And it's the same with the rest of the crew.  Sometimes, a girl in a bikini is just a girl in a bikini.

By the way, if you know a really good dirty joke, I'd love to hear it.

xx 

trish