Sunday, December 28, 2014
Somebody hacked into my email account and sent out a mass mailing to everybody in my address book, advertising some product "endorsed by Oprah." (Okay, it doesn't sound like much of a miracle so far, but wait.)
Most everybody ignored it, knowing that it wasn't likely to be something I had actually sent. But my sister, whom I haven't spoken to in just over eight years -- long story -- sent me a chilly reply that she didn't have money to waste on unproven programs (who does?). I emailed back that it was definitely not from me, pointing out that I was hardly likely to send such an ad to our local animal advocacy group, among others. I also gave her the Reader's Digest condensed version of the last eight years, including that I had remarried.
Now comes the miracle part. She emailed me back, said I sounded happy, and updated me on the rest of her family. I doubt that we will ever have a close relationship; our lifestyles and basic beliefs are way too different. But it would be nice to be on speaking terms again. I only hope I don't come to regret it.
Tuesday, December 23, 2014
Despite her antics, Peach has not gone into labor, but one of our little goats now has an eye infection which requires eye drops every two hours round the clock. So we won't be going anywhere for five to seven days.
Sunday, December 21, 2014
Tom and I were planning on taking some time off this week. Well, aside from the normal feeding, watering, milking, pasteurizing, cooking and washing up. The little goats are down to morning and evening feedings, which means we'd actually have some "us" time, even if it's only grocery shopping together which we haven't done since some time in October.
We even thought we might get into Albuquerque for an afternoon and maybe catch a movie.
And then ... Peach, our very pregnant mama goat, started lying down, rolling on her side, then coming upright again, standing, stretching, and lying down again. Yep, all the signs of a goat about to go into hard labor.
Wednesday, November 05, 2014
Tom and I had isolated our very pregnant goat in the barn yesterday because the buck was annoying her. We went out to vote and run a few quick errands, and when we got back Tom checked on her. I heard him yell, "Get two milk bottles ready. We've got twins," but before I could get the milk on to heat, he was back, saying, "Make that three bottles." Sure enough, our doe was contentedly licking her triplets dry, looking up occasionally as if to say, "Hey, no big deal." So we have three adorable brand-new baby boys whom we've named Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe. We milked out their mom for colostrum and watched them take their first wobbly steps, held them and sang to them.
That's the fun part of raising goats. The not-so-fun part is when they decide they want to be fed at midnight. And every three to four hours all day. Guess I'll just have to get used to being bleary-eyed and sleep-deprived until they learn to sleep through the night.
Sunday, October 05, 2014
So why am I just now posting on last Tuesday's doctor's visit? Well, negotiating the healthcare system isn't a straightforward as it used to be.
First I had to find a new doctor, since the old one fired me. I pulled up a list of doctors in my plan, and discovered that even though I had specified doctors treating diabetes, the first listings that came up were for psychiatrists, psychologists and behavioral therapists. This makes sense in context of what followed.
After editing out pediatricians, pulmonologists, immunologists and a host of other irrelevant specialties, I had list of possibilities, and proceeded to call them. No surprise that the listing was way out of date; doctors listed as accepting new patients either are no longer accepting new patients, have left the practice or have retired.
Eventually I found one who was fairly new to her particular practice, confirmed that she did accept my insurance plan and I was able to make an appointment. Good, so far.
So I called my insurance plan to inform them that I had a new Primary Care Manager. After going around their voice-mail program twice -- "If this is an emergency, hang up and dial 911. If this is a mental health emergency, press # now." -- I'm beginning to see why they're pushing mental health services.
Finally, I get a real live person and explain that I need to change my PCM, and give him the name of the person I'm scheduled to see. Oops! Not all doctors on their listing are acceptable as Primary Care Physicians, but the website DOESN'T TELL YOU THAT! By this time I'm almost ready for that Mental Health Emergency option. Fortunately, the young man -- God bless you, Mark -- did some further checking and found out that the head of the practice is a registered PCM. So my primary care manager is a doctor I may never actually see.
I saw the new doctor on Tuesday, and she's quiet-spoken, seems knowledgeable, listens carefully and even took notes of what I said. She wanted to run some tests and tweak one of my medications to see if we could get it working better. For the first time in twenty years, I didn't walk out of a doctor's appointment feeling like a total failure. So, on to the lab to get blood drawn.
You know it's not that easy, right? The front office people who were supposed to fax over the request for blood work, hadn't. So the lab tech called and they said they'd fax it over right away. We waited another half hour, then the tech called again, and the office was closed. An hour wasted sitting there, and since they also wanted a urine sample, that was an hour sitting there with a full bladder.
Wednesday I called to remind the front office girls that they still needed to fax the lab request in, but I wouldn't be able to get in to have the blood drawn until Friday since I live fifty miles away. "So, what do you wanna do?" she asked. Oh, lady, don't ask; you really don't want to know what homicidal thoughts are rolling through my mind at this point.
Wednesday is grocery shopping day, so i stopped off to pick up my prescriptions as well, and got home to discover that the doctor hadn't made the dosage change we'd talked about.
So Friday morning in addition to having the blood drawn, I stopped off at the doctor's office to remind them of the change. "Doctor probably won't be able to call it in until late this afternoon." Sure enough, I was nearly home, seven miles past the pharmacy we use, when she called to tell me the prescription was ready. Made another trip, twenty-five miles, on Saturday to get my adjusted meds.
That Mental Health Emergency option is looking mighty good about now.
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