Always read the fine print

Do you read the fine print of medication your doctor prescribes?

Always?

To be honest I take no more than a cursory glance usually but when I was recently prescribed Celebrex for this weird numb toe that I’ve got well I thought I’d read the fine print. This was mainly because my doctor said “You’re not allergic to sulphur are you?” I don’t know why but that made me think - “what’s in this thing?!”

So I looked it up on Dr Google and discovered all manner of nasty side effects - the types of things that you hear advertised on American television ads for all those drugs they push.

The “This drug is great but causes this this and this to happen and don’t take it if you’re that that or that.” The type of advertising that makes me instantly think: “There’s no way I’d take that!”

So I read further and discovered that you shouldn’t take Celebrex if you are on cold and flu medication, which of course I have been given this nasty cold that I have. But it doesn’t say how long you have to wait until you’re clear of the effects of the cold tablets. I figure it can’t be much more than 8 hours given that the effect is supposed to wear off after 4… so I ring a pharmacist and check and I’m good to go.

Now probably I wouldn’t have died or anything but given the list of possible nasty side effects when you take this drug on its own - I’m glad I checked the fine print.

I’m FINE, thank you

One of the speakers at a recent forum I attended was psychotherapist Jackie Furey. An entertaining speaker, I found her words touched me in ways I can’t explain… or maybe I can… what time of the month is it?

She talked about it being fine… in the way that when someone says “how are you?” You say: “Fine.”

Jackie says in psychotherapist-speak, fine means:

Fucked up
Insecure
Neurotic and
Emotional

Is she right?

Her message was that if you don’t do your feelings, they’ll do you. And I guess that’s what touched a nerve with me. I don’t think I have been doing my feelings and once a month - bang - they do me.

I’m teary, emotional, paranoid, despairing.

Two days later, I’m positive, engaged, excited and enthusiastic… the problem goes away but every month it’s the same wet deal.

Yesterday I noticed that my big toe on my left foot was numb… that weird feeling numb just before you get pins and needles - you know what I mean? I can feel the fuzziness go up the back of my leg and I think it ends in my neck. My toe has now been weirdly numb for two days.

Maybe it’s unconnected but somehow I wonder if my feelings are doing me. I’m off to the doctor tomorrow to check it out and maybe a chiropractor or osteopath as well.

Of course, Groover has been completely supportive… “Maybe you’ve got MS”, he says not helpfully, “…or Motor Neuron Disease… you never know it might be some sort of stroke…”

Thanks darling, just remember, you said “In sickness and in health”.

That should shut him up.

:)

UPDATE: I’m fine. Hehe. Well, I probably have some swelling in the lower sacral part of my spine which is encroaching on a nerve so I’m going to try some antinflammatories and see if that works, do some physio or chiro, and if it’s not fixed in a couple of weeks do a cat scan to see if that gives us more clues as to what is going on. As well I’ve had full bloods taken in preparation for a general check up. The first for years. Am I a bloke?

In the meantime it’s just me and my fuzzy toe.

Thinner is better

I know, I know, you were thinking I was about to post about Fashion Week again… you were weren’t you? But no.

Today I’m just drooling over the keyboard at the Mac Book Air. Noice.

And why is this slim technology my focus for right now? Well I want to win one. Or an iPhone. But preferably a Mac Book Air. You might want to win one too? The place to check out is Upstart Blogger.

btw if you are thinking of starting a blog - there are some useful tips on this site.

In other thin news, today I signed up (but haven’t paid a deposit yet) for a kickstart fitness program. Two weeks of hell starting May 12. So at the end of May I should be thinner, fitter and companion to a new computer. And that will be noice.

Nothing like a biosolid necklace to make you feel better

I’ve been feeling poorly over the last 24 hours. Vomiting. And I never vomit. In fact I reckon you can divide the world into vomiters and non-vomiters. Vomiting is much more stressful for a non-vomiter. Such a shock to the system.

Anyway, it’s all been a bit bleah.

Luckily I live with Groover who cheered me up with a little article from “Flowing Forward” produced by the Water Corporation’s Communication Division.

Margaret Domurad (pictured) is wearing shit. Yes. Literally.

She collected some “biosolids” - that’s Water Corp speak for poo - and crystalised them at about 1400 degrees centigrade. She then asked a friend to make them into a necklace. Apparently it doesn’t smell.

I can’t see it taking off though. Not in a big way.

Not for the dinner table

Tip: Don’t discuss The Tapeworm Diet if spaghetti is on the menu.

PS: Not really a good diet to try… Ewwww.

How long should it take to name a child?

There is a high profile person in Perth who has recently become the father to a healthy baby girl (as opposed to a fully grown one). She is beautiful and the mother is by all accounts a very lovely and organised person.

The baby was born on the 14th March and to date the babe is not named.

Now there are probably very good reasons for that. Who knows what is going on with them.

But I find it hard to imagine going three weeks without naming my babes. I think I took one look at my babes as they were laid on my chest and said “Welcome to the world little Hugamuga/Dippity”, barely seconds old.

With Hugamuga we’d had a tulmultuous time… first births often are. I’d gone into labour two days before and after getting to 8cm and having my waters broken in the home birth centre at the hospital it was decided to transfer to the hospital proper - so I could have an epidural and a rest.

Things didn’t proceed well - the baby was posterior and presenting the widest part of his head - and I was transferred from the labour ward to theatre, prepped for an emergency caeser and they tried first to suction him out… yep, I got the cut.

I was pretty high on drugs at this point but what I remember is that the doctor was pulling on the suction thingy and the bed started going with it. The brakes weren’t on!

Then we heard a loud sucky sound and we thought - omg! Here he/she comes! Then there was a loud theatrical “pop” and the suction cap fell off and the doctor went flying.

The monitoring equipment went wild and it was decided they couldn’t wait for a caeser - they just had to rip him out. The student midwives observing at the back of the room visibly winced as the forceps went in and Hugamuga came out. (that’s not a good sign)

He scored 4 on his first apgar, and 8 on his second. He looked like a little blue frog with a squashed nose and bruises on his head both where the suction cup had been and by his ears - like sideburns - where the forceps were clamped. But he was okay. Safe. Yes a rocky landing but the plane didn’t crash. I was lucky.

Meanwhile at the other end of the bed the doctor was busy practicing his needlepoint. Third degree tear. 40 stitches. Please remember I’m still very high on drugs. “So you won’t be able to have sex for two months and you’ll need to take laxitives regularly for 6…” sew sew sew… “Oh,” says I, “So I guess anal sex is out of the question?” The midwives glare at Groover. I was joking! I think I’m hysterically funny. “Don’t distract the doctor darling”, says Groover, “you need him to concentrate at the moment…”

But I digress what were we talking about again???

That’s right. Names.

I don’t think I’m especially well organised but I did have the name thing organised. We’d agreed on both a boys and a girls name for Hugamuga… he would have been Madeleine if a girl.

And for Dippity we had a deal, Groover got to name the baby if a boy - Declan (hmmm not so much) - and I got to name her if she was a girl, which happily, she was. But again no delay.

So (finally) here’s my question. Did it take you a while to name your babies?

And if so, why?

Religious reasons perhaps? You’re the Crown Prince of Denmark maybe? You had the baby unexpectedly early?

I’d love to know your story…

That’s Mrs Blobby to you!

It has come I’m afraid to look closely in the mirror (not not the one that makes you look thin girl - and we all have one of them) and assess the fitness situation.

And maybe the weight situation.

I’ve been a blobby lardy arse for more than a year now and it shows.

My faithful black pants that have been with me through thick and thin are now too small. That’s a bad sign. I’m a d-cup. And while Groover seems to appreciate them - that is also a bad sign.

But you know I could put up with that.

What I can’t have, simply can. not. have, is Groover being the fit and healthy one in the relationship.

The “my-body-is-a-temple-that’s-temple-of-doom-people” Groover. Who had the same pair of running shoes for 15 years before they wore out. Who doesn’t eat fruit. Or salad.

Groover has been getting up at Sparrow’s Fart and walking - at a very brisk pace - for an hour in the morning and sometimes in the evening as well. (he says it’s the new sandshoes)

He’s been eating fruit for breakfast.

And having seconds of salad at dinner.

And this evening - he asked if I’d like to go walking with him?!

Well! The nerve of this upstart fit person!!

Who is he, to condescend to ask me, a person who has done three detoxes and joined several gyms (for a while), to go walking. Pfft!

But you know, I think I might.

Americans do food well

We went out to lunch yesterday at some restaurant whose name we can’t remember but was just outside Stamford mall - oh yes we went to a mall - and decided that Americans do do food well. Sure the portions are big but the service is great, the food is delicious and the restaurants cosy. On top of that it’s relatively cheap. Groover and I had meals yesterday that would have cost around $20 a plate in Perth for half that.

I can see weight gain could be an issue.

But as well as they do food well, the coffee is lousy.

Trying to explain to someone in Starbucks that what you want is a long expresso style coffee - impossible! Of course saying “a long black” which is what we call it in Australia is out of the question. I am missing my Saeco… :(

In the meantime we’ve experienced another aspect of American culture: The doctor’s surgery. My Orchid Hunter has a very nasty flu. Feverish, heavy cough, sleeping for nearly two days solid - he feels terrible and when you have a houseful of 12 people you want it sorted out quickly.

My sister has found this great doctor. Here’s how it works for her. He charges an annual fee of around US$1500 per child. For that fee you get a doctor who is prepared to see you anytime. This guy will come to their home. He will go with you to specialists. If your kid breaks his arm at school he’ll go to the school and sort it out. He only wants a maximum of 300 patients and that means he can really take care of your child when the child needs him.

For my sister, whose eldest daughter has had needed a lot of medical care, Dr Eric is their lifesaver. And the surgery is a delight! I wanted to be sick and a child again. Check out the photos of the different exam rooms filled with murals and fun lazer lights.

Hugamuga sat on a hippo couch while Dr Eric spoke to him and explained what he was doing. He was so engaging. He did a test for strep throat and told us how it worked - like a pregnancy test - in simple terms that made us understand without making us feel thick. An excellent experience. Brilliant.

Having the whole family in one house is lovely. The house is big enough that we have our own space - indeed my sister - Aussie to the core - calls out “Cooee” to find her kids, and it is nice to have time to make Christmas together.

The two girls and their Uncle - my bro - have already put on a Christmas play. My sister - must make up a name for her soon - has a little theatre in the basement, and as you can see in the photo below they went to some trouble with their costumes. Poshi Junior is Father Christmas, Bear - her cousin - is Rudolf and Uncle Banana is naughty Vixen.

The best bit was JP throwing her hands up and saying “Poof” whenever she wanted the scene to end. Hilarious. And “Poof” has become the new word of this Christmas.

Today we go to a foodstore where there are singing vegetables. You gotta love America!

A not so emergency patient

Junior Poshi was ill today. I took her to mum’s for some TLC and she called me at about 11am to say she felt worse.

Last time she had a tummy ache she saw the doctor who said go to emergency and she threw up and felt better and we went home.

So I picked her up, and on route to the doctor, she threw up, and when we got there the doctor still thought there was a chance of appendicitis. We waited in emergency and eventually got seen by a couple of doctors who said well… they thought it was gastro and to go home.

I was impressed with the efficiency of emergency at PMH and the friendliness and non-judgemental attitude of the staff. Thank you.

So we’re home. And I’m tired and hungry. And my house is a mess. And I don’t want to make dinner. Can you give a kid with gastro pizza?

All parents should keep a first aid kit around the house for medical emergencies just like this. It may help alleviate painful symptoms until you can reach a doctor’s office. If you have a medical question about what to include in a first aid kit, check with your doctor or a hospital for tips.

On not having a pet

I never thought I’d grow up and live in a house without pets. My dog when I was growing up was a black labrador/corgi cross - think labrador face, shortish legs and stout. Her name was Hannah. I used to lie in bed of a morning and hear her thunder up the stairs, along the corridor, the door would fly open and she would leap onto the bed.

At Easter time she would sniff out our Easter Eggs and scoff them.

She was a waggy friendly dog, slightly overweight and a terror on bin day.

We also had a cats. My first cat was a black and white fluffy cat called Tinkerbell. We also had Samson - a very large ginger cat with a flatulence problem. And finally Mr B, also known as Fred. Who was grey and white and turned up in our garage with his leg caught in his collar. A visit to the vet and he was ours.

I had a mouse too, which got eaten by a kookaburra, but that was a sad little tale which I won’t go into here.

So why am I not a pet owner now? I’m a grown up. I can do what I like. I’m obviously in the minority, not having a pet.

Well I guess I’m out of practice. Groover has never been a pet owner. His father was a pilot and so they were always away - not an ideal scenario for pet owners. Also he’s allergic to cats.  And so is my orchid hunter(Hugamuga).

And the longer I live without pets the harder it is for me to like them. I’m not that keen on being sat on by affectionate cats now, and even feel slightly sneezy around them - can you catch allergies or is it low tolerance? And dogs? Well they do smell a bit and I cringe when they lick me. When our rabbit ran away, another sad tale, I was half relieved.

Does that make me a bad person? Am I depriving my children?

They never ask for a pet, well not since Butterfly ran away.

“We don’t need one because we go on holidays too often”, Says my daughter. What a practical girl. “But I wouldn’t mind fostering a pet on the holidays when we’re at home…”

Hmmm I don’t think so.

Can I imagine us ever having a pet?

If I did it would be a small yappy dog - like my brother-in-law’s Puffy. That I didn’t have to take for walks twice a day. And I’d have to work from home. I don’t think it’s fair on the dog to be out every day.

It could be a while before that happens.  Like, post-divorce. :)

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