What a difference a year makes

Is there a big football game or something this weekend?

I might have heard a brief mention of some such event on Channel 2, in between Armageddon snow reports. Maybe something on WYEP — no, it wouldn’t have been on YEP…must have been on one of the other radio stations, you know, the ones that aren’t cool enough to ignore sports?

Seriously. Last year at this time, we in the ‘Burgh had lived, breathed, ate, slept, washed off, and immediately rerolled-around-in all things Steelers and all things Super Bowl. By now we were all so hyped up we couldn’t really speak — just look at each other, high-five, and yell WHOOOOOO! THE weekend was finally here.

Last year at this time, Mike and I were strategizing about what time we should arrive at our local hangout on Sunday to be sure to get a good seat. I had downloaded and blasted Here We Go at least 3 times a day for the last week, mixed in with a few Muppety Pa-LA-ma-lu (that’s Polamalu)’s and “We’re from the town with that great football team….” (bum-bum-bum-BUM)s. I had tried to buy black and gold Smiley cookies at Eat’n Park, only to find that all they had left to offer was some lame Valentine hearts. My friends and I had exchanged 7,429  e-mails offering everything from “notes” to give to your boss to excuse you from work on Monday to pictures of how fans had decorated their houses/cars/bodies in black and gold to poetic tributes to Myron Cope. And we’d shared 2,728 links to 2,728 videos along the lines of this one.

(And, I should say, I got goosebumps trolling through YouTube just now…)

What a difference a year makes.

This Sunday night, I don’t expect I’ll be jumping up and down screaming at the bar. I don’t expect I’ll be hoarse for 3 days after. I don’t expect much of anything. I’m just hoping for an exciting game (I don’t really care who wins), a good half-time show (I just had to Google to find out it will be The Who performing), and some funny commercials featuring talking babies and Clydesdales.

I hope the folks in Indianapolis and New Orleans will have a lot more fun than that.

But I guarantee, it won’t be NEARLY as much fun as Stiller fans have when it’s OUR team in the spotlight. Was that only a year ago? Seems like forever.

It may be that all games are silly. But then, so are humans.
~ Robert Lynd

Separate but equal–worth another shot?

Don’t get me wrong, doing away with “separate but equal” thinking was entirely appropriate, necessary, and too long coming in terms of race relations (and I actually remembered it was Brown v Board of Education that did away with it — shout-out to my constitutional law class). But I think it might be worth another look in that other even more longstanding and volatile vortex — gender relations.

I ask you females-who-live-with-males, does separate but equal sound like a good thing in terms of bathrooms?

Is there a woman alive who doesn’t long for her own bathroom? (And if you have one, are you eager to give it up?)

And, dare I say it, doesn’t the idea of separate (but equal) beds — even bedrooms — sound good once in a while?

My sister sent me this article earlier this week — don’t ask me what prompted her to send a 3½-year-old article, but so be it. I was particularly drawn to this passage:

“Dr. Neil Stanley, a sleep expert at the University of Surrey, said: “It’s not surprising that people are disturbed by sleeping together.

“Historically, we have never been meant to sleep in the same bed as each other. It is a bizarre thing to do.

“Sleep is the most selfish thing you can do and it’s vital for good physical and mental health.

“Sharing the bed space with someone who is making noises and who you have to fight with for the duvet is not sensible.

“If you are happy sleeping together that’s great, but if not there is no shame in separate beds.”

So practical, this Dr. Stanley. And as you’ll see, the gist of the article is that sharing a bed is even worse for men than for women.

It’s a topic my sisters and I have discussed many times before. That it’s just so darn hard to share these spaces with men. No matter how much you love them (and yes, I love my husband to pieces).

Consider the “olden days.” Visit Clayton, the Henry Clay Frick mansion here in Pittsburgh, or Biltmore, the Vanderbilt mansion-to-end-all-mansions in Asheville, and you’re treated to a tour of the separate (but equally lovely) bedrooms of Mr. and Mrs. Frick and Mr. and Mrs. Vanderbilt — and of course their separate but equally lovely bathrooms.

Too Victorian, you say? Too prudish? Too upper-class? Too convenient for midnight dalliances with people other than one’s spouse?

Let’s come a little closer to home (and social stratosphere). Ever see the episode of Everybody Loves Raymond where Deborah, with Ray’s blessing, claims their bathroom for her own while he shares with the kids? Within hours, she transforms the space with soft lights, candles, rugs, until it oozes with femininity. Even her constant nemesis, mother-in-law Marie, is delighted for her (and jealous). Unfortunately, and naturally, the new arrangement doesn’t last long (not because Deborah wanted it to end, mind you).

Or how about even closer to home, when, a couple years back, Mike’s parents were thinking of selling their home to move into something easier to maintain and on one level. After visiting one possibility, my unenthused mother-in-law confided, “I don’t know about you, but the idea of sharing a bathroom…”

Fifty-plus years of wedded bliss can’t be wrong.

I even remember reading somewhere that director Tim Burton and his wife, actress Helena Bonham Carter, actually live next door to each other in separate, but connected, homes.

I have to say that thought has come up in my sisterly discussions as well — sort of the Holy Grail of living arrangements to some of us. (Not me, honey. Really. Hardly ever.)

Now, of course, I know what a pipe dream most of this is — who has the spare bedrooms and bathrooms to accommodate “his” and “hers”? Although a friend of my husband’s recently completed his dream home — including separate bathrooms for him and his wife, that lucky, lucky woman. And a king-size “sleep number” bed in the (shared) bedroom — nice compromise!

But if there was the opportunity, ladies…if there was: Would you want your own? (Go ahead, tell me, it’s completely anonymous.)

How about you, gents? This is a (separate but) equal opportunity forum. No one’s saying that women are ideal to share with either. (I come from a long line of female snorers, sad to say. And I might not keep my side of the sink tidy all the time.)

What say you? It’ll be fun to find out.

Sometimes I wonder if men and women really suit each other.
Perhaps they should live next door and just visit now and then.
~ Katharine Hepburn

Didn’t work. I got frustrated.

If you’ll remember, back in December I lamented that it appeared I was going to have to pay for my annual mammogram because it was coded as “diagnostic” rather than “routine.”  As I said at the time, I balk(ed) at having to pay for the same smash-your-boob-in-the-machine mammogram every other woman in my plan gets covered for free. (As do a lot of women without any insurance at all.)

So I went through the appeals process and guess what I got in the mail today? Yes, you are correct, a letter that was clear in nothing except one line:

Thank you for choosing the UPMC for your medical care. Our primary mission at UPMC is patient care and customer satisfaction that is based in a strong commitment to excellence. [I'm an editor, so why "the UPMC" in the first sentence and just "UPMC" in the second? And shouldn't it be based "on"?]

After careful review of your medical records [need a comma here] it has been determined we are unable to honor your request for an ICD-9 diagnosis code change on this account. ICD-9 diagnosis codes are used to identify diseases and conditions, and provide justification for any procedures performed on the patient. The ICD-9 code chosen for this procedure was found to be appropriate according to the highest level of specificity. [What?]

[Here comes the clearest part of the letter] Payment is expected immediately….

I wasn’t even going to bother to call for clarification, but I did. I was told that UPMC did contact my physician, as they said they would, and she wouldn’t change the code. So, I’m stuck this year. Next year I will be vigilant in requesting (or obtaining) only a ROUTINE mammogram (and I’m sure I won’t be able to tell the difference).

What this letter SHOULD have said was something like:

We understand you are questioning the diagnosis code on your mammogram. We contacted your physician (insert name) and learned that the coding of “Diagnostic” rather than “Routine” was correct and cannot be changed.

Instead, I got a generic letter with a Senior Account Representative’s name on it, but no signature. And I had to follow up by phone for clarification.

How hard is it to write a letter that clearly explains a situation? Even though it was delivering bad news, a more personal, factual letter would have gone a long way toward making me feel like my concern had been heard and addressed.

Now I’m not sure what I’m more frustrated about: having to pay for a mammogram that should have been covered or feeling like I got the runaround, even though I actually didn’t. Or maybe it’s being reminded, once again, that the written word is so powerful and yet so often underused.

Be obscure clearly.
~ E. B. White

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