To all of you who may have spent time with me this weekend, I’m sorry.  I hope you have a strong immune system.

It’s probably strep, though I won’t know until I go to the doctor sometime today (taking Alpha with me, since we shared a smoothie on Friday and she now has the aches and fever as well).  I know that I was exposed on the trip to Chattanooga last week.
On Friday, I just felt a little more tired than usual.  Not sick, just weary… along with occasional chills.  The latter should be a sign for most people, but I’m so cold-natured to begin with, it’s hard to know when I’m chilling because of a fever, or just shivering because that’s the way I am.

By the time I went to bed on Saturday night though, I felt like I’d been beaten with a Louisville Slugger.  I was still chilling, but by then had hubby next to me to confirm that yes, I was burning up.  So I’ve been here in the bed ever since.

This afternoon, I attended Alpha’s first performance with the UT Symphony Orchestra… and probably her last. A brief clip is here (I apologize for the poor audio quality — it was a last minute thought to hit “record” on my little MP3 player).

For the first time, she was actually seated at the front of the stage where I could see her. In the ORHS orchestra, the violas are buried behind the cellos and the conductor. She was beautiful. The music was astounding.
It was a big deal to try out and be selected for the orchestra, but it offers only one hour of credit in exchange for six hours of rehearsals each week — 4-6 p.m. every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. And the one puny hour doesn’t count toward any graduation requirements in the College of Engineering, not even “general education.” After six weeks, she’s realized that it’s not the best use of her time — no matter how much she loves it.

So, she made the difficult decision to drop the orchestra in order to gain six hours of pre-midnight study time each week. I know it was no easier for her than it is for me, but tears came to my eyes tonight realizing that I don’t know when I might next see her perform on stage. If ever.

I’d like to think that she’ll get in the swing of things and rejoin next year — she’s continuing with private instruction — but as a realist, I know that the engineering coursework doesn’t get any easier. My husband and father (electrical and mechanical, respectively) reminded me that it gets significantly tougher, at least through junior year.

I tell myself that she’s making a prudent choice, and that she isn’t dropping the instrument. But the symphony is so filled with passion, and it will be hard to envision it in the same way without her on the stage. It’s like a little piece of my heart is torn away… and so it is when the first child leaves the nest and begins making decisions for her own path, not her mother’s.

Forever ago on the Oak Ridger forums, it seems that someone had tried to speculate on the nature of my personality based upon what I like to drink, and totally missed the mark.  Maybe it was Joel, maybe Jacket… I don’t remember, and the post is too old and no longer there.

My description was “part flying monkeys and part Glenda the Good Witch of the North, depending on the day.”  Daco noted that flying monkeys are scary (yes, they are!), and I consoled him with the fact that Hubby does a good job of keeping the flying monkeys at bay.  Translation: he has a calming effect on me.
Today is definitely a flying monkeys day, and he’s not home yet.  First, the lawnmower battery was dead.  So was the charger, with which I usually jump-start the mower.
The spate of bad news was enough to wreck the morning, and a headache took out the afternoon.  When it was time to run the daily taxi service, I picked up Delta from chess club, then went in search of Gamma (returning from a golf tournament).  I had my cell phone on so Gamma could tell me where she was (there are at least three parking lots at the high school), but the stupid thing died.

The charger was in Hubby’s truck.

Then, I started hearing a funny noise, like maybe there was a plastic bag stuck on my front wheel.  After circling the high school several times looking for Gamma, I stopped on the side of the road to look: flat tire.

Looking around, I realized that the Grove Market was only about a block away, so I turned around and headed that way (with my car now making a very ugly noice, particularly around the corners).  Now, the Grove market is not a place I would normally stop… but it was the only thing close.  With no paper money (I have teenagers, remember), I scavenged enough dimes to trade in for three quarters for the air pump.

Nothing happened.  I mean, air went in, but the pressure never increased.  The three industrial staples sticking out of the tire provided a good clue to the problem, so I went in and bought a can of fix-a-flat on a visa card.

Still nothing happened, except that I could smell the fix-a-flat stuff as it ran out the large hole in the back side of my tire.

Cell phone dead.  AAA expired, I think.  Time running out, with Gamma somewhere unknown.  Thus, I fished the dinky little temporary spare tire and jack out of the trunk (no easy feat, as there’s still a ton of miscellaneous stuff in there) and set to work.  Now, I know how to change a tire, but this was the first time I’d done so on this car.  The first challenge was finding the key to the anti-theft lug nut, then figuring out how to actually get the tire off.  One of the many spectators tried to help, but he was fixated on taking the mustang logo off of the center of the rim, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t meant to come off.

So, I told him I’d call my husband and not take up any more of his time.  I fished out more dimes (did you know that pay phones are 50 cents now?), but the pay phone wasn’t working.  I went inside and explained my difficulty, asking to use the phone for a local call.

No explanation, just “no.”

So I walked across to Harry’s Aquarium (where they know me), and tried to call Hubby.  No luck.  In desperation, I called another friend, who volunteered her husband to help.

Of course, by the time The Big Kahuna arrived, I’d already figured out that the trick to getting the tire off was just lifting it up and forward from the inside, put on the spare, and began re-tightening the lug nuts in a cross-pattern, just as I learned as a teenager.

I finally found Gamma, then went to Sears to have new front tires put on.  It’s $387, for tires that aren’t even as good as the ones now on it.  So, I picked up Beta, stopped by the Rush to consult Hubby about the tire situation, and on his advice just came on home to call and find someone who carries the tires like I now have — they do make a significant difference in the handling and performance, and he said to hold out for the good ones.

They probably won’t cost much more.  But, it’s a large unexpected expense nonetheless.

So, AT and GAC, I’m really sorry that I missed the festival, but after the tire-changing episode, I was so dirty I would have scared the children.  And I broke a nail.  And the whole flock of flying monkeys are hovering around… my own kids know better than to even ask what’s for supper.

I’ve had the same family doctor for about 18 years, and he’s a great guy. Fortunately, I don’t have cause to visit him often. Over the years though, two things have changed: my insurance (which costs more, covers less, and is increasingly a pain in the ***), and his office, which is now corporate-owned and run.

My doctor recognizes me on sight, and knows the bill will be paid. He knows I only show up if there’s really something wrong — bad enough to waste a couple hours of my time for 20 minutes of his. However, there is a fairly large staff of front-desk nazis whose sole job seems to be to keep sick people from seeing the doctor at all, starting with the phone system.

When you call, you’re immediately dumped into one of those bizarre “press 1 if you’re a health-care provider…” automated systems. So, I pressed the right number for an appointment clerk, whereupon I was subjected to no less than 15 minutes’ worth of really bad music (sick people don’t want to listen to disco), interspersed with three episodes of “hold please – CLICK” from a real person.

The usual routine if you’re even able to get an appointment is to show up on time, only to be greeted rudely by the front-desk nazis with “have you ever been seen here before?” “Do you have insurance?” and about 50 pages of paperwork… not one item of which has changed since the last time I filled it all out. Then, once all the papers are processed and the insurance cards copied, there’s a 2-hour wait in a full of people who are 1) gossiping, 2) complaining about their list of ailments to others waiting, or 3) taking cell phone calls nonstop. Oh, and the front-desk nazis want the $10 co-payment before you see the doctor.

I guess they know if you pay before you’re seen, you won’t walk out because of the long wait in a roomfull of crazy people.

This week was the last straw. Whatever crud got ahold of me on Monday, it was clear by Thursday evening that it had migrated to bronchitis, and I needed to get rid of it. After waiting on hold to make an appointment until my cordless phone died (quite a long time), I gave up and went to a relatively new walk-in clinic: Park Med Ambulatory Care.

The deductible was $25 instead of $10 due to my preferred-providor insurance, but who cares. Someone saw me, confirmed that I do have bronchitis, and sent me off with an appropriate antibiotic, cough medicine, and an inhaler. I’m still horizontal more often than vertical, but hopefully this crud will be gone in a day or two.

Now, to find a more permanent solution for a regular physician… one whom I won’t see often, but when I need to get in, I can. I won’t waste their time, but I expect them to have the same respect for mine. I don’t mind paying promptly for my visit, but I do object to being treated like a deadbeat by a front-desk nazi… so I won’t go anywhere that has one. Yes, I have insurance. No, I haven’t moved in 19 years; my phone number is the same, along with all the other mindless questions I’m asked every single visit.

Any suggestions? Surely to goodness there’s one good general practitioner in this city who works the old fashioned way.

I wish my kids’ pediatrician took adults; he’s really the kind of doc I’m looking for.