Talk about being jolted back to reality!
Keith and I flew back from Paris last Monday 12/5 and boy are our arms tired!...I tell you, that joke never gets old! And on Tuesday I was peeing in my jug. Good times. But we wanted to get one more 24 hour urine test and a blood draw done before I go back to NIH on Sunday. Such is the life of a Cushie world traveller! But less about pee and more about Paris...
Keith had a business trip to Paris and I tagged along because...well...I could. I hesitated a bit in the beginning committing to go. Between my plane fare and the extra personal nights at the hotel, it wasn't going to be a cheap trip. But luckily I have enough clear headed people around me reminding me that when opportunity presents itself you have to grab it because you never know when it's going to come around again. Sounded like my own preaching and I had to take my own advice. So I dug out my passport, bought a ticket and off we went.
We were there for a week, and Keith had to work for the first 3 days. So I had a couple of days to myself to do what he didn't want to do. I hit the Champs Elysees, Arc d' Triomphe, and did some pretty heavy duty window shopping. One day I popped over to London via the Chunnel Train and visited with my original NIH doctor who finished her fellowship and returned to her home country. Together we went to Montemarte, Notre Dame and the Louvre. Much fun was had. We didn't take many pictures because everything was so photo worthy it was overwhelming.
After a wonderful getaway it is always nice to return home....Where I got to stay for exactly 6 days before leaving for Bethesda and a two week stay at the NIH. Just call me a world traveler...
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
"Thank you for being nice."
I've said it before - I love a good holiday built around a meal. And let's face it, Thanksgiving exists for selling cans of pumpkin, kicking off the Christmas shopping season, and football (go Niners!). We are lucky that the true meaning of the holiday is built into its name otherwise we would have forgotten the roots of Thanksgiving long ago.
I try to be thankful every day for what I have because I the last couple of years have shown me that it can be taken away in the blink of an eye. But at times I also get wrapped up in what I have lost, what I have to live with, and the things I want and do not have. I'm human after all, and I'm sure that you, my dear readers, have no doubt exhibited those same all too human qualities as well. My words of wisdom on that is as follows: STOP IT!!
I was out today, on this day before Thanksgiving, picking up our lovely pre-cooked Thanksgiving dinner for two at Whole Foods. (No, I am not cooking tomorrow, and no, I am not my mother.) There was traffic everywhere and drivers were propelling their vehicles at breakneck speeds to get all of their last minute errands done. I don't think a pound of potatoes and the perfect pecan pie is worth getting into a wreck over, but whatever. I slowly and safely navigated my way to the store with the sole goal of getting in and out with my dinner in one piece. The parking lot was a zoo, and inside the store was a madhouse with the vehicle drivers now careening around the store with carts while still talking on their cell phones. A nice, but slightly haggard, man in the deli told me where the table was to pick up my dinner and off I toddled carefully avoiding the mass of food buying humanity in my way.
At the time I arrived at the pick-up table it was un-manned. I kind of wondered if anyone was working the table, but there was a laptop there and it was obvious that someone had been there recently. So I hunkered down for the long haul. Several people queued up behind me anxiously looking around and making comments to no one in particular about how they were in a hurry and posing the question "doesn't anyone work here?". Soon a lovely woman pushing a cart containing several orders pulled up to the table and off loaded, in a most pleasant manner, her wares to several impatient members of the chaos occurring around the table. When she was done with dispersing her load, she came up to the table, woke up the computer and looked up at me. Before she had a chance to say anything, I said with a smile "the last name is Davis, the first name is Carol", and I waited for her to work her magic and find my order. After she typed in my name, she looked up at me and said with a tone of earnestness, "thank you for being nice."
She got my dinner and sent me on my way but I couldn't get her words out of my head. Being nice is the least any of us can do to make the world a better place. It costs no money and takes relatively little skill. And yet there are instances where niceness is such a rare commodity that one is thanked for exhibiting it? And why? In this case because people want their food? That is ridiculous.
On this, the eve of the Thanksgiving holiday, take a moment to review just how lucky each and every one of you are. Forget about what you don't have and embrace what you do have. Be happy with your life and let that happiness spill over and effect others. Make the world a better place by being better. And above everything else, be nice. It matters.
I try to be thankful every day for what I have because I the last couple of years have shown me that it can be taken away in the blink of an eye. But at times I also get wrapped up in what I have lost, what I have to live with, and the things I want and do not have. I'm human after all, and I'm sure that you, my dear readers, have no doubt exhibited those same all too human qualities as well. My words of wisdom on that is as follows: STOP IT!!
I was out today, on this day before Thanksgiving, picking up our lovely pre-cooked Thanksgiving dinner for two at Whole Foods. (No, I am not cooking tomorrow, and no, I am not my mother.) There was traffic everywhere and drivers were propelling their vehicles at breakneck speeds to get all of their last minute errands done. I don't think a pound of potatoes and the perfect pecan pie is worth getting into a wreck over, but whatever. I slowly and safely navigated my way to the store with the sole goal of getting in and out with my dinner in one piece. The parking lot was a zoo, and inside the store was a madhouse with the vehicle drivers now careening around the store with carts while still talking on their cell phones. A nice, but slightly haggard, man in the deli told me where the table was to pick up my dinner and off I toddled carefully avoiding the mass of food buying humanity in my way.
At the time I arrived at the pick-up table it was un-manned. I kind of wondered if anyone was working the table, but there was a laptop there and it was obvious that someone had been there recently. So I hunkered down for the long haul. Several people queued up behind me anxiously looking around and making comments to no one in particular about how they were in a hurry and posing the question "doesn't anyone work here?". Soon a lovely woman pushing a cart containing several orders pulled up to the table and off loaded, in a most pleasant manner, her wares to several impatient members of the chaos occurring around the table. When she was done with dispersing her load, she came up to the table, woke up the computer and looked up at me. Before she had a chance to say anything, I said with a smile "the last name is Davis, the first name is Carol", and I waited for her to work her magic and find my order. After she typed in my name, she looked up at me and said with a tone of earnestness, "thank you for being nice."
She got my dinner and sent me on my way but I couldn't get her words out of my head. Being nice is the least any of us can do to make the world a better place. It costs no money and takes relatively little skill. And yet there are instances where niceness is such a rare commodity that one is thanked for exhibiting it? And why? In this case because people want their food? That is ridiculous.
On this, the eve of the Thanksgiving holiday, take a moment to review just how lucky each and every one of you are. Forget about what you don't have and embrace what you do have. Be happy with your life and let that happiness spill over and effect others. Make the world a better place by being better. And above everything else, be nice. It matters.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Geritol anyone??
I just had a birthday the other day. The big 47. Not that 47 is bigger than any other birthday I suppose, but I subscribe to the theory that every birthday is a big birthday. And not just because it's better than the alternative of not having a birthday. But birthdays are a day to celebrate being you. Being here. Being whatever it is you want to be. And wearing a tiara. Always a tiara...
As I was celebrating all things Carol, I took notice of some things around me that anyone with significantly fewer years on this earth wouldn't appreciate. And it's starting to dawn on me how my parents felt when growing up I said things like "what do you mean phones used to have cranks??". I would have hit me, but Stella and Bob had much more patience than that...and Scotch Old-Fashions...
I remember in high school and college going up and down the bleachers at basketball games or assemblies and fearing to my very quick stumbling and falling down to the floor most likely arriving in a heap of broken bones and embarrassment. I watched every step. Now kids go up and down bleacher steps with earbuds in rocking out to their favorite indy band while texting on their phone AND holding a conversation with the person next to them. I can't even do that on a flat surface. Oh, who am I kidding. I can't do all three of those things at once under any circumstances.
It used to be the only people talking with acronyms and abbreviations in conversation were twins using their weird twin language and run of the mill schizophrenics. Now if you don't know what ROTFL and LOL are, forget it.
Taking movies at Christmas these days involves nothing more than pulling your phone out of your jammies and pushing a button. Embarrassing family videos are as easy as documenting anti-government uprisings. But back in my day, Christmas morning wasn't Christmas morning without a light bar emitting 2000 degrees of searing bulb induced heat, a wobbly hand held movie camera, lots of squinting and at least one person on the verge of tears because the movies are taking too long and there are presents to open!! Not that I ever felt that way or anything...
Voicemail wasn't invented. You got an illegible hand written note or, if you were really into technology, you had a answering machine with two cassette tapes just waiting to get wound around the inner workings of the gizmo. And speaking of cassette tapes, when was the last time you saw one totally unwound on the side of the road? Good times...
Printing a document meant you didn't use cursive.
Nothing came in a safety tamper resistant package. If someone wanted to tamper with your Tylenol or your toothpaste, they did. If you didn't want your kids to take your medication, you hid it.
I could go on and on. But instead I think I'll have an old-fashion instead.
As I was celebrating all things Carol, I took notice of some things around me that anyone with significantly fewer years on this earth wouldn't appreciate. And it's starting to dawn on me how my parents felt when growing up I said things like "what do you mean phones used to have cranks??". I would have hit me, but Stella and Bob had much more patience than that...and Scotch Old-Fashions...
I remember in high school and college going up and down the bleachers at basketball games or assemblies and fearing to my very quick stumbling and falling down to the floor most likely arriving in a heap of broken bones and embarrassment. I watched every step. Now kids go up and down bleacher steps with earbuds in rocking out to their favorite indy band while texting on their phone AND holding a conversation with the person next to them. I can't even do that on a flat surface. Oh, who am I kidding. I can't do all three of those things at once under any circumstances.
It used to be the only people talking with acronyms and abbreviations in conversation were twins using their weird twin language and run of the mill schizophrenics. Now if you don't know what ROTFL and LOL are, forget it.
Taking movies at Christmas these days involves nothing more than pulling your phone out of your jammies and pushing a button. Embarrassing family videos are as easy as documenting anti-government uprisings. But back in my day, Christmas morning wasn't Christmas morning without a light bar emitting 2000 degrees of searing bulb induced heat, a wobbly hand held movie camera, lots of squinting and at least one person on the verge of tears because the movies are taking too long and there are presents to open!! Not that I ever felt that way or anything...
Voicemail wasn't invented. You got an illegible hand written note or, if you were really into technology, you had a answering machine with two cassette tapes just waiting to get wound around the inner workings of the gizmo. And speaking of cassette tapes, when was the last time you saw one totally unwound on the side of the road? Good times...
Printing a document meant you didn't use cursive.
Nothing came in a safety tamper resistant package. If someone wanted to tamper with your Tylenol or your toothpaste, they did. If you didn't want your kids to take your medication, you hid it.
I could go on and on. But instead I think I'll have an old-fashion instead.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Happy Anniversary To Me??
I was looking at my calendar this morning and I realized that it's been 2 years since I had the inkling that something was going wrong with my body. I don't mean just the usual wrong that comes with getting older. But wrong that sits in the back of your mind every day gnawing at you until you agree to validate it. The time between gnaw and validate can be long as it was in my case. But eventually it wears down even the toughest of mind sets.
Two years ago tomorrow was the wedding of our dear friends Jennifer and Carter. I helped organize and plan the festivities and it was a wonderful day. I had worked incredibly hard to recover from my first hip replacement in June 2009. I was strong, lean, fitting into all of my clothes and feeling great. But there were little things going wrong. My hair had started to fall out in clumps. My complexion was a nightmare with constant outbreaks of acne that I hadn't had since high school. I wasn't sleeping well and my blood pressure was higher than it normally was. I didn't think anything of it at the time. Maybe I was heading into menopause. I was getting older - strange things happen. I had my thyroid checked and it was fine. I went to the dermatologist for my hair and complexion and she said I was fine although prescribed something for my acne. Hair falls out sometimes. Stress effects blood pressure and sleep patterns. It's all good. I'm healthy.
By December I started having stomach problems. Nothing was sitting right. I wasn't eating more, but I was gaining weight and it was all in my belly. I was still working out like a maniac but it seemed like I was getting weaker. My face was changing shape. After donating blood at the end of November I learned that my blood pressure was even higher and now my cholesterol was way up. My white blood cell count was way up too. I couldn't sleep through the night if I tried. My hair wasn't growing back. I was exhausted all the time. But still, I could explain it all away. I was starting to think, however, that something might be wrong.
In January 2010 I finally called to make a doctor appointment but felt really stupid about it. What was I going to tell her? I'm gaining weight? I can't sleep? My face looks different? Isn't that the definition of getting older? By the time I actually got in to see the doctor it was March and I was armed with a 10 page treatise including pictures of what I used to look like, a food diary, blood pressure history and an outline with bullet points of symptoms that I was having which were uncharacteristic for me. That appointment started the Cushing's nightmare that I'm still living through today.
My primary care doctor called it right away. I didn't realize at the time what a blessing that was. So many Cushing's patients go for years without being diagnosed correctly. I went home from that appointment after leaving about a gallon of blood to be tested for everything under the sun at the lab, with a jug to pee in (we always remember our first...) and a name - Cushing's Syndrome. As I started to surf the information superhighway to learn more, I was strangely comforted by what I found. Cushing's wasn't common, but it was totally understandable and treatable. Most people have relatively routine pituitary treatment and boom, they're done. I learned the test process that I'd go through to narrow down where the problem was coming from and it wasn't bad at all. I'd be good as new in no time! Phew! Glad I went to the doctor. Shouldn't have waited so long! Such was my attitude in April 2010 when I learned what an Endocrinologist was and why I needed one.
With each test after that my case became more complicated. Results contradicted each other or were inconclusive. The tumor couldn't be found in any of the most common places. I didn't react well to the commonly prescribed medication (liver? Who needs a liver?). I was confounding the doctors and I was getting worse. Little did I know that this was a roller coaster I'd be on indefinitely. I always thought I was one test or one medication away from being done and getting back to normal. I never for a minute thought that Cushing's would be the relative that wouldn't leave. The cloud that would hang over every minute of every day from then until who knows when. The thing that my life would revolve around whether I liked it or not. But it was. And it is.
Pretty soon, thanks to that Endocrinologist, I ended up at NIH and that's when most of you entered into this saga. 2010. Long time ago. I've met some great people, had the best of care and learned that even when life sucks, you have a choice how to behave, how to think, and how to learn. Cushing's is like getting hit upside the head by someone reminding you to appreciate what you have and not take it for granted. I still find myself thinking in terms of "when the Cushing's is over". But in truth it never will be. The symptoms and the condition may someday be over, but the way it's effected me won't. I'll always be looking over my shoulder nervous that what I have will be taken away. Hopefully this will make me live my life even louder and with more joy each day. To realize that each minute is a gift that shouldn't be wasted. And even when life gets overwhelming, I need to remember the simplicity of living. We all do.
Two years ago tomorrow was the wedding of our dear friends Jennifer and Carter. I helped organize and plan the festivities and it was a wonderful day. I had worked incredibly hard to recover from my first hip replacement in June 2009. I was strong, lean, fitting into all of my clothes and feeling great. But there were little things going wrong. My hair had started to fall out in clumps. My complexion was a nightmare with constant outbreaks of acne that I hadn't had since high school. I wasn't sleeping well and my blood pressure was higher than it normally was. I didn't think anything of it at the time. Maybe I was heading into menopause. I was getting older - strange things happen. I had my thyroid checked and it was fine. I went to the dermatologist for my hair and complexion and she said I was fine although prescribed something for my acne. Hair falls out sometimes. Stress effects blood pressure and sleep patterns. It's all good. I'm healthy.
By December I started having stomach problems. Nothing was sitting right. I wasn't eating more, but I was gaining weight and it was all in my belly. I was still working out like a maniac but it seemed like I was getting weaker. My face was changing shape. After donating blood at the end of November I learned that my blood pressure was even higher and now my cholesterol was way up. My white blood cell count was way up too. I couldn't sleep through the night if I tried. My hair wasn't growing back. I was exhausted all the time. But still, I could explain it all away. I was starting to think, however, that something might be wrong.
In January 2010 I finally called to make a doctor appointment but felt really stupid about it. What was I going to tell her? I'm gaining weight? I can't sleep? My face looks different? Isn't that the definition of getting older? By the time I actually got in to see the doctor it was March and I was armed with a 10 page treatise including pictures of what I used to look like, a food diary, blood pressure history and an outline with bullet points of symptoms that I was having which were uncharacteristic for me. That appointment started the Cushing's nightmare that I'm still living through today.
My primary care doctor called it right away. I didn't realize at the time what a blessing that was. So many Cushing's patients go for years without being diagnosed correctly. I went home from that appointment after leaving about a gallon of blood to be tested for everything under the sun at the lab, with a jug to pee in (we always remember our first...) and a name - Cushing's Syndrome. As I started to surf the information superhighway to learn more, I was strangely comforted by what I found. Cushing's wasn't common, but it was totally understandable and treatable. Most people have relatively routine pituitary treatment and boom, they're done. I learned the test process that I'd go through to narrow down where the problem was coming from and it wasn't bad at all. I'd be good as new in no time! Phew! Glad I went to the doctor. Shouldn't have waited so long! Such was my attitude in April 2010 when I learned what an Endocrinologist was and why I needed one.
With each test after that my case became more complicated. Results contradicted each other or were inconclusive. The tumor couldn't be found in any of the most common places. I didn't react well to the commonly prescribed medication (liver? Who needs a liver?). I was confounding the doctors and I was getting worse. Little did I know that this was a roller coaster I'd be on indefinitely. I always thought I was one test or one medication away from being done and getting back to normal. I never for a minute thought that Cushing's would be the relative that wouldn't leave. The cloud that would hang over every minute of every day from then until who knows when. The thing that my life would revolve around whether I liked it or not. But it was. And it is.
Pretty soon, thanks to that Endocrinologist, I ended up at NIH and that's when most of you entered into this saga. 2010. Long time ago. I've met some great people, had the best of care and learned that even when life sucks, you have a choice how to behave, how to think, and how to learn. Cushing's is like getting hit upside the head by someone reminding you to appreciate what you have and not take it for granted. I still find myself thinking in terms of "when the Cushing's is over". But in truth it never will be. The symptoms and the condition may someday be over, but the way it's effected me won't. I'll always be looking over my shoulder nervous that what I have will be taken away. Hopefully this will make me live my life even louder and with more joy each day. To realize that each minute is a gift that shouldn't be wasted. And even when life gets overwhelming, I need to remember the simplicity of living. We all do.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
A bit of plagiarism for your consideration
We are all used to my uber-individual musings here and goodness knows that what I end up barfing up on the written page (cyber or otherwise) could never be blamed or attributed to someone else. But I found this recently and since I couldn't have said it better myself, I thought I'd pass it along in it's original form. I hope that you all get as much out of it as I do. May I suggest keeping a copy handy to reread during those moments when you feel that life is living you instead of the reverse.
This is your LIFE.
Do what you love and do it often.
If you don't like something, change it.
If you don't like your job, quit.
If you don't have enough time, stop watching TV.
If you are looking for the love of your life, stop. They will be waiting for you when you start doing things you love.
Stop over analyzing, LIFE is simple.
All emotions are beautiful
When you eat, appreciate every last bite.
Open your mind, arms, and heart to new things and people. We are united in our differences.
Ask the next person you see what their passion is, and share your inspiring dream with them.
Travel often, getting lost will help you find yourself.
Some opportunities only come once, seize them.
LIFE is about the people you meet, and the things you create with them so go out and start creating.
LIFE is short.
Live your dream and share your passion.
I couldn't have said it better myself...
This is your LIFE.
Do what you love and do it often.
If you don't like something, change it.
If you don't like your job, quit.
If you don't have enough time, stop watching TV.
If you are looking for the love of your life, stop. They will be waiting for you when you start doing things you love.
Stop over analyzing, LIFE is simple.
All emotions are beautiful
When you eat, appreciate every last bite.
Open your mind, arms, and heart to new things and people. We are united in our differences.
Ask the next person you see what their passion is, and share your inspiring dream with them.
Travel often, getting lost will help you find yourself.
Some opportunities only come once, seize them.
LIFE is about the people you meet, and the things you create with them so go out and start creating.
LIFE is short.
Live your dream and share your passion.
I couldn't have said it better myself...
Sunday, October 9, 2011
The wheels of justice go 'round and 'round
This week has been a full one. I had some dental work done, got a FABULOUS and much needed massage, got high post-op marks at the hip doctor, worked a few hours with my peeps at the assisted living facility, and, of course, dropped off my jug 'o pee at the lab. But the high point of the week was on Monday with a call to jury duty.
Now some people may revile the prospect of serving on a jury. To participating in the cattle call of citizens at all. I, however, don't mind. Like voting, we can't have our comments on a situation taken seriously without actively participating in the process. Besides, I believe wholeheartedly that our process of justice, while flawed, is the best of all possible options, and it won't work without the participation of citizens. We are the backbone of our justice system and have the responsibility, in my opinion, to hold up our end of it. So while scheduling around the call to duty is stressful and quite frankly a pain in the neck, the service itself is not. So I carefully reviewed the bus schedule, updated my ipod, packed a lunch and off I went on Monday morning bound for the Jackson County courthouse in downtown Kansas City.
I LOVE taking the bus. No parking woes, no traffic worries, no personal carbon footprint, and lots of blog-worthy subject matter to observe and enjoy. I don't know what it is about bus transport that makes it basically the same no matter what city you are in. There's always the crazy homeless-looking man talking to himself or others (whether in his head or actually physically seated around him), business people trying to ignore him, and small groups of regular riders catching up on what has happened in their lives since they saw each other last. Being a veteran of bus riding in San Francisco, I am always pleased to board the KC metro bus and not having the smell of urine and strange foreign food-stuffs greet me as I climb aboard.
The bus dropped me smack in front of the courthouse and I ambled up the steps to the one door that was available to enter. After emptying the electronic devices from my purse and watching it all go through the xray machine (note to the shoe bombers out there - they do not make you take off your footwear at the KC courthouse), I proceed through the metal detector. I, of course, set the thing off, but forget that whether I strip down to my skivvies or not my hips will receive the dreaded beep of doom. I show that I'm not wearing a belt nor any large jewelry, and then remember that, oh yeah, I have two fake hips! So I get the wand treatment and a bit of an attitude from the security woman who seemed to have a bit of seething indifference brewing just below the surface of her minimally pleasant demeanor. Convinced that I am not harboring a concealed weapon of any kind, and no doubt wanting to alleviate the ever growing back up at the xray machine, she lets me go. I pack up my purse and proceed to the jury holding area.
All of us prospective jurors receive a short questionnaire (name, address, occupation, age, etc.), a little pencil and we are sent off to find a seat in the corral full of rows of chairs that are attached to the floor facing a judge's Bench set up straight out of an episode of Perry Mason. The first lesson of the day was that some people cannot get themselves somewhere on time even when that time is court dictated. The head jury wrangler took a seat at the Bench and gave us all a speech about the justice system, how much they appreciate our service, apologizing for the legislature mandated $6 pay per day that we are entitled to, and a basic outline of what we can expect for the day. I was a little surprised that the group as a whole was quite well behaved and attentive. Perhaps I underestimated the cross section of Kansas City that I expected to meet. Perhaps my opinion of people in general as lazy, reality TV watching, ill mannered, self centered, irresponsible lemmings was too harsh. I'm still working on that. One trip through the passenger side of the justice system does not a society redeem. As slightly shown by the line of bodies that waited to explain to the judge why they were not qualified to sit on a jury. The criteria was clearly laid out by said judge without alot of wiggle room...or so I thought. Of course the gentleman dressed in fatigues fit the "no active duty military" criteria, and the gentleman with the surgical mask over is nose and mouth probably fit the "medical condition" out, though I wouldn't contest him on it anyway. The woman wearing what looked like one leg of a pair of pantyhose on her head also got excused by the judge and I don't even want to know what her situation was. But by and large one by one the people from the line returned to a chair with the rest of us after they pleaded their case to the judge. I have to believe he's heard every excuse in the book by now and has a rather tough, though pleasant, stand on such things.
I and 19 of my closest friends proceeded up to the 4th floor to the appropriately designated room and waited in the hall. I'm realizing now that if there are only 20 of us, chances are pretty good that I'll be sitting on this jury. It wasn't until later in the process that our judge informed us that they would only be picking a jury of 6 for this case making my odds a little better. But for the time being I was looking around at the cross section of society that I'm a part of thinking I may be stuck with these people for a while. They looked like a nice enough bunch. One of everything so it seemed. I give the process high marks on their random sampling. And again, as we sat making idle chit-chat, perusing our chosen electronic devices, or thumbing through select reading materials, I wondered whether my opinion of society in general was too harsh. And then we were herded into the courtroom and the intolerant judgemental side of me returned like an old friend...
I could tell instantly as we walked into the room who the defendant and who the prosecution was. Of course the defendant was guilty. He looked like a cocky idiot who didn't know that you don't wear jeans to court when you're being sued. He couldn't string a sentence together without a bucketful of um's and er's and his grammar? Don't get me started. He hadn't actually opened his mouth at all, but my psychic abilities evaluated the situation so he didn't have to. Moving on to the prosecution, she was a piece of work as well. Primly but stylishly dressed, lots of papers, taking her glasses on and off and looking slightly nervous while trying to maintain a confident demeanor. She was obviously representing herself which led me to believe, while keeping a total open and non-judgemental mind, that she was a pain in the ass who the idiot in the jeans shouldn't have messed with.
As it turns out this was a case where the uninsured idiot crashed his car into the pain in the asses property and he wouldn't take responsibility for the expenses she incurred. The 12-year old ambulance chaser representing the idiot, and the pain in the ass asked us questions as a group to which we held up a laminated card with our juror number on it if we agreed. Basically we all answered the same way - yes, we'd been in an car accident. Yes, we could be impartial. No, we didn't know the defendant, the 12 year old ambulance chaser, or the pain in the ass with the glasses. Then we got herded out into the hallway to wait until all parties in the courtroom agreed on the 6 sorry souls who would decide the case.
Long story less long, 10 minutes later I was on the street walking to the bus stop. I don't know why I didn't get picked. Could they read my mind? Did they find something I was thinking somehow distasteful? Or was it some information on my questionnaire? Is there a vast conspiracy against married college educated homemakers with no children at home? I contemplated that on the fresh smelling bus ride home since there was no crazy homeless man to distract me. At least I know that I have done my civic duty and am not eligible to be called for another 3 years. I wonder what stereotypes I can generate between now and then...
Now some people may revile the prospect of serving on a jury. To participating in the cattle call of citizens at all. I, however, don't mind. Like voting, we can't have our comments on a situation taken seriously without actively participating in the process. Besides, I believe wholeheartedly that our process of justice, while flawed, is the best of all possible options, and it won't work without the participation of citizens. We are the backbone of our justice system and have the responsibility, in my opinion, to hold up our end of it. So while scheduling around the call to duty is stressful and quite frankly a pain in the neck, the service itself is not. So I carefully reviewed the bus schedule, updated my ipod, packed a lunch and off I went on Monday morning bound for the Jackson County courthouse in downtown Kansas City.
I LOVE taking the bus. No parking woes, no traffic worries, no personal carbon footprint, and lots of blog-worthy subject matter to observe and enjoy. I don't know what it is about bus transport that makes it basically the same no matter what city you are in. There's always the crazy homeless-looking man talking to himself or others (whether in his head or actually physically seated around him), business people trying to ignore him, and small groups of regular riders catching up on what has happened in their lives since they saw each other last. Being a veteran of bus riding in San Francisco, I am always pleased to board the KC metro bus and not having the smell of urine and strange foreign food-stuffs greet me as I climb aboard.
The bus dropped me smack in front of the courthouse and I ambled up the steps to the one door that was available to enter. After emptying the electronic devices from my purse and watching it all go through the xray machine (note to the shoe bombers out there - they do not make you take off your footwear at the KC courthouse), I proceed through the metal detector. I, of course, set the thing off, but forget that whether I strip down to my skivvies or not my hips will receive the dreaded beep of doom. I show that I'm not wearing a belt nor any large jewelry, and then remember that, oh yeah, I have two fake hips! So I get the wand treatment and a bit of an attitude from the security woman who seemed to have a bit of seething indifference brewing just below the surface of her minimally pleasant demeanor. Convinced that I am not harboring a concealed weapon of any kind, and no doubt wanting to alleviate the ever growing back up at the xray machine, she lets me go. I pack up my purse and proceed to the jury holding area.
All of us prospective jurors receive a short questionnaire (name, address, occupation, age, etc.), a little pencil and we are sent off to find a seat in the corral full of rows of chairs that are attached to the floor facing a judge's Bench set up straight out of an episode of Perry Mason. The first lesson of the day was that some people cannot get themselves somewhere on time even when that time is court dictated. The head jury wrangler took a seat at the Bench and gave us all a speech about the justice system, how much they appreciate our service, apologizing for the legislature mandated $6 pay per day that we are entitled to, and a basic outline of what we can expect for the day. I was a little surprised that the group as a whole was quite well behaved and attentive. Perhaps I underestimated the cross section of Kansas City that I expected to meet. Perhaps my opinion of people in general as lazy, reality TV watching, ill mannered, self centered, irresponsible lemmings was too harsh. I'm still working on that. One trip through the passenger side of the justice system does not a society redeem. As slightly shown by the line of bodies that waited to explain to the judge why they were not qualified to sit on a jury. The criteria was clearly laid out by said judge without alot of wiggle room...or so I thought. Of course the gentleman dressed in fatigues fit the "no active duty military" criteria, and the gentleman with the surgical mask over is nose and mouth probably fit the "medical condition" out, though I wouldn't contest him on it anyway. The woman wearing what looked like one leg of a pair of pantyhose on her head also got excused by the judge and I don't even want to know what her situation was. But by and large one by one the people from the line returned to a chair with the rest of us after they pleaded their case to the judge. I have to believe he's heard every excuse in the book by now and has a rather tough, though pleasant, stand on such things.
I and 19 of my closest friends proceeded up to the 4th floor to the appropriately designated room and waited in the hall. I'm realizing now that if there are only 20 of us, chances are pretty good that I'll be sitting on this jury. It wasn't until later in the process that our judge informed us that they would only be picking a jury of 6 for this case making my odds a little better. But for the time being I was looking around at the cross section of society that I'm a part of thinking I may be stuck with these people for a while. They looked like a nice enough bunch. One of everything so it seemed. I give the process high marks on their random sampling. And again, as we sat making idle chit-chat, perusing our chosen electronic devices, or thumbing through select reading materials, I wondered whether my opinion of society in general was too harsh. And then we were herded into the courtroom and the intolerant judgemental side of me returned like an old friend...
I could tell instantly as we walked into the room who the defendant and who the prosecution was. Of course the defendant was guilty. He looked like a cocky idiot who didn't know that you don't wear jeans to court when you're being sued. He couldn't string a sentence together without a bucketful of um's and er's and his grammar? Don't get me started. He hadn't actually opened his mouth at all, but my psychic abilities evaluated the situation so he didn't have to. Moving on to the prosecution, she was a piece of work as well. Primly but stylishly dressed, lots of papers, taking her glasses on and off and looking slightly nervous while trying to maintain a confident demeanor. She was obviously representing herself which led me to believe, while keeping a total open and non-judgemental mind, that she was a pain in the ass who the idiot in the jeans shouldn't have messed with.
As it turns out this was a case where the uninsured idiot crashed his car into the pain in the asses property and he wouldn't take responsibility for the expenses she incurred. The 12-year old ambulance chaser representing the idiot, and the pain in the ass asked us questions as a group to which we held up a laminated card with our juror number on it if we agreed. Basically we all answered the same way - yes, we'd been in an car accident. Yes, we could be impartial. No, we didn't know the defendant, the 12 year old ambulance chaser, or the pain in the ass with the glasses. Then we got herded out into the hallway to wait until all parties in the courtroom agreed on the 6 sorry souls who would decide the case.
Long story less long, 10 minutes later I was on the street walking to the bus stop. I don't know why I didn't get picked. Could they read my mind? Did they find something I was thinking somehow distasteful? Or was it some information on my questionnaire? Is there a vast conspiracy against married college educated homemakers with no children at home? I contemplated that on the fresh smelling bus ride home since there was no crazy homeless man to distract me. At least I know that I have done my civic duty and am not eligible to be called for another 3 years. I wonder what stereotypes I can generate between now and then...
Sunday, October 2, 2011
rollin' rollin' rollin'...
I've made no bones about the fact that recovering my muscles and shape from the ravages of Cushing's has not been easy. The disease took away my strength and somehow I thought that it would just come back the way it left. I was sorely mistaken. I work and work and work in the gym to gain back in baby steps the strength that seems to have gone in leaps and bounds. The Cushing's didn't directly effect my cardio strength, but not being able to work out due to the condition, compounded by the eventual pain in my hip, left me finding a walk around the block rather taxing. Now I'm struggling to get all that back.
So what is the next logical step in this recovery you ask? Riding a bike for 35 miles with a couple thousand of my closest friends stopping every 5 miles or so to eat barbecue of course! Actually, that's a little inaccurate. Some of those thousands of people rode 15 miles and some rode 65. But we all ate BBQ and we all rode to benefit LiveStrong cancer charity.
Keith rode with me on our mountain bikes with road tires and I had my tiara duct taped to my helmet so that everyone knew that a Princess was amongst them. I didn't realize that Kansas City and the surrounding suburban towns were so hilly! I thought this place was flat as the proverbial pancake but I was wrong. The ride was 35 miles of great quad work and I didn't feel bad at all snarfing down a little taste of BBQ every few miles. By the end I had noodles for legs, and definitely felt like I got a fabulous cardio and strength workout on wheels.
I must admit I did do alot of thinking back a few years when I could ride 50 miles at a shot without feeling worn out. I need to learn to compare my conditioning today with my conditioning of yesterday and NOT my conditioning of two years ago. But it's hard to readjust expectations when you don't want to. I know that it has to be done otherwise how do I feel good about the incremental accomplishments along the way? How do any of us?
I guess the answer to that million dollar question is you just do. You choose to readjust your thinking otherwise you are choosing not to be happy with yourself. Sounds simple enough. We'll see if that works. If I can stick to that glass half full way of thinking rather sinking into the glass half empty. I can do anything if I put my mind to it. Any of us can.
So what is the next logical step in this recovery you ask? Riding a bike for 35 miles with a couple thousand of my closest friends stopping every 5 miles or so to eat barbecue of course! Actually, that's a little inaccurate. Some of those thousands of people rode 15 miles and some rode 65. But we all ate BBQ and we all rode to benefit LiveStrong cancer charity.
Keith rode with me on our mountain bikes with road tires and I had my tiara duct taped to my helmet so that everyone knew that a Princess was amongst them. I didn't realize that Kansas City and the surrounding suburban towns were so hilly! I thought this place was flat as the proverbial pancake but I was wrong. The ride was 35 miles of great quad work and I didn't feel bad at all snarfing down a little taste of BBQ every few miles. By the end I had noodles for legs, and definitely felt like I got a fabulous cardio and strength workout on wheels.
I must admit I did do alot of thinking back a few years when I could ride 50 miles at a shot without feeling worn out. I need to learn to compare my conditioning today with my conditioning of yesterday and NOT my conditioning of two years ago. But it's hard to readjust expectations when you don't want to. I know that it has to be done otherwise how do I feel good about the incremental accomplishments along the way? How do any of us?
I guess the answer to that million dollar question is you just do. You choose to readjust your thinking otherwise you are choosing not to be happy with yourself. Sounds simple enough. We'll see if that works. If I can stick to that glass half full way of thinking rather sinking into the glass half empty. I can do anything if I put my mind to it. Any of us can.
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