Something that made me go “hmmmmm”

Sunday, September 13, 2009 at 11:21 pm (Writing by Ear)
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While surfing to avoid doing anything productive (like catching up on some work on a Sunday night), I happened on this article in the Post-Gazette about women — moms in particular — and alcohol: Namely, are moms drinking too much now, and is it dangerous?

Yes, I had heard of the terrible accident in New York in which a drunk, high woman killed several people by driving the wrong way on the highway. What I didn’t know is that this had become a bellwether for the issue of women and drinking.

It made me think.

I don’t downplay how awful alcoholism is, or how it devastates children growing up with alcoholic parents. I didn’t grow up in a house of big drinkers — occasionally my parents would have beer or a mixed drink (most often, whiskey & ginger ale with a maraschino cherry — I’d always ask for the cherry) — like on a holiday or at the rare party. I was allowed to taste beer when I was a kid, and of course, found it disgusting. I didn’t drink until college.

Now, Mike and I go out for a beer on Friday nights, and occasionally have wine or beer with dinner. We have friends who don’t drink, and friends we love drinking with. We and our drinking friends often lament the demise of “social drinking” and socializing in general. People don’t get dressed up and have cocktail parties (at least my friends don’t). A dinner party? What’s that? Parents don’t leave the kids with a sitter and go out and unwind with friends — the lives of the parents I know revolve around the kids. When I was working in an office, after-work happy hours all but disappeared once we hit 30. When I read in the article about mommy bloggers with names like mommywantsvodka.com, I laughed. Yeah, that would probably be me, I thought.

I’m talking about SOCIAL drinking, not getting wasted. I’m not advocating people (mommies, daddies, or anyone else) going out, getting trashed, and getting in the car. I’m talking about responsible adults, having a couple of drinks and “laughing and scratching.”  Darren and Samantha having Larry and Louise over for dinner and martinis. In my experience, that doesn’t happen much anymore.

But the article made me think — I guess it is happening and I’m just missing out.

And you know what? I wish I wasn’t.

I’d love it if my girlfriends lived close enough and were available enough to have regular “wine and unwind” dates (like those Desperate Housewives and their poker games). I’d love it if Mike and I had a friends to rotate dinner parties and try out cocktail concoctions. (Martha’s always sharing drink recipes — is it a lifestyle of the rich & famous thing?)

So, where am I going with this? Maybe I’m just lamenting that Mike and I don’t have much of a social life ;). But really, I think I’m lamenting how modern life and its excesses has turned so many things sour and made everything so serious. Have a couple drinks with friends and you’re one step away from alcoholism. Indulge in buttery appetizers or decadent desserts instead of raw vegetables and fresh fruit and you better have the heart paddles charging. Sleep late on a weekend? But what about soccer practice and spinning class and painting the house and mowing the lawn?

Where’s the fun in life?

I, for one, would love a glass of wine right now. And I’d love it if you were here to drink one, too.

We have the tendency to obscure the forest of
simple joys with the trees of problems.
~ Christiane Collange

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That day

Friday, September 11, 2009 at 5:40 pm (Writing by Ear)
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As in the 7 previous September 11ths since THE September 11th, I spent a good part of today remembering that day.

That day, like December 7, 1941, which will live in infamy for all of us who lived through it.

That day, when the first inkling I had that anything was wrong was an e-mail from my significant other at the time saying, “Check the news — I think someone crashed into the World Trade Center!” It was 9:12 a.m.

That day, when my sister called me from her job in Atlanta. She had only the radio to listen to, and didn’t understand fully what had happened. That both towers were gone. We talked a long time.

That day, when, feeling helpless, I grabbed the flag from our closet and hung it outside, wondering if the construction workers building the house next door knew what had happened as they watched me hang it.

That day, when, after all planes had been grounded, the rumble of a huge plane flying low sent me running to the deck to see. A worker on the deck next door did the same thing, cell phone in hand. We looked at each other and at the sky. The engines were so loud and the noise so extended, but we saw nothing. I thought it had to be a military plane.

That day, the first day I would never again regard a plane in the sky matter-of-factly.

That day, a day of tears that continued every day for the next month.

That day, when images from Ground Zero, played over and over, caused a visceral reaction every time — images that still give me chills, every time.

That day, the subject of an essay I wrote one week later, detailing everything that happened so I’d never forget. An account I’m so happy to have, because details do fade, and the memory does play tricks.

That day, the one that changed us forever.

That day, that awful, awful day.

300px-National_Park_Service_9-11_Statue_of_Liberty_and_WTC_fire

Mournful and Never-ending Remembrance.
~ Edgar Allan Poe

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What’s up, Doc?

Wednesday, August 26, 2009 at 10:12 am (Writing by Ear)
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I happened upon this article on cnn.com — a primary care physician lamenting on why doctors are fed up. It made me even more grateful I recently found a PCP (internist) I like (after procrastinating for 4 years after I moved because I liked my old PCP where I used to live) as well as finding a new PCP (another internist) for my mother — one who admits to the hospital we favor and is closer than her old one.

I had an initial visit with my new PCP and liked him immediately — we compared notes on NordicTracking (which we like) and interval training (which we hate), among other topics. He’s not much older than I am. We “clicked.”

My mom’s new PCP is a wonderful, gentle man– we like his philosophy that at her age (90), the goal is to have her on fewer meds rather than more. She has been fortunate to have never been on many drugs (4 prescriptions before, only 1 now)  compared to my dad — who, when he died at 80, was on a dizzying array of meds that I managed (well, I put them in the pill minder for the prescribed day and time). There was no way there wasn’t interaction going on that likely shortened his life. Would that we had had more of a handle on things then — and a PCP with a “less is more” philosophy. (We blame my parents’ family doctor at the time, I call him “The Quack,” for not properly diagnosing or treating the high blood pressure my dad likely had for years. Apparently, according to the new doctor who took over his practice, this was an issue in many of his patients.)

I really do wonder,though, in this age of specialization, why anyone would choose to become a PCP. To spend one’s days seeing patients unwilling to do the basics (eat right and exercise) and convinced they know the best course of treatment (surely I need that name-brand med I’ve seen advertised 10,000 times or that expensive test a dozen people I know have gotten. And, you know, when I Googled it…). To deal with all the issues Dr. Harris writes about. It takes a special person to want to go through all that, and a smart, talented, committed one to be good at it.

In fact, I listened to a story about a month ago on NPR talking about this same topic — the dearth of internists and GPs. It interviewed several medical interns ready to go into their residencies, and only one was willing to take on the challenges that come from actually seeing and caring for patients day in and day out.

I consider myself medically aware. I read a lot about health topics. I try to take care of myself. And I admit, I’ve been disappointed that when I have sought medical care, it usually hasn’t made a difference (I seem to acquire maladies that are chronic, rather than curable). But it’s mostly been the “specialists” who haven’t helped — my PCPs and my OB-GYN, my first-line-of-defense, have been responsive and effective. I’d miss them if they were gone. The urgent care center is great when you just need relief in a hurry — like during my last couple bouts of flu — but it’s nothing like having someone who knows your history and follows you over time.

What a delicate balance — this business of treating ailments, restoring health, and prolonging life. And how scary that we will likely have fewer and fewer “good guys” to choose from in the days ahead, just when we need them most.

But nothing is more estimable than a physician who,
having studied nature from his youth, knows the properties
of the human body, the diseases which assail it, the remedies
which will benefit it, exercises his art with caution, and
pays equal attention to the rich and the poor.
~ Voltaire

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