Lets see. What’s new recently?
Wrestling is officially over for the year. I happened to be the “trainer” for junior’s regional wrestling meet. Was busy most of the day. It seems as if the coaches give kids Coumadin before the meets. I haven’t seen so many nosebleeds in a long time … except maybe last year when I was the “trainer” for a wrestling meet. Not only nosebleeds, but there were also head injuries, an eye injury, and a broken arm. Nothing some 3 inch tape and gauze pads can’t handle, though.
During the match, I had a firsthand experience of why the UnAffordable Care Act isn’t going to help as much as many people believe. Again, it boils down to the fact that healthcare insurance doesn’t equal healthcare access.
A dad walked into the meet and from a distance I could tell he was having difficulty breathing. He was stopping every so often while he was walking so that he could lean on the wall or sit down and catch his breath. He made his way over to me and asked for a favor. Could I write him a prescription for ciprofloxacin? He had these same symptoms with pneumonia in the past and that is what his doctor prescribed to clear it up. This dad is a great guy, but he doesn’t live the healthiest lifestyle. He smokes. He’s heavy. He drinks quite a bit. I also knew from previous discussions that he had a history of anemia. There were literally 10 diseases that popped into my head that could have been causing his trouble breathing – besides pneumonia.
“You really have to go to the hospital. You need blood work and a chest x-ray, not a prescription for antibiotics. Besides, even if this is pneumonia, ciprofloxacin probably isn’t going to help. And if the pneumonia is bad enough to be causing you trouble breathing, you’ll need to be admitted anyway. This is serious.”
“I can’t afford it. The doctor’s visit will be $75, the chest x-ray will be $250, and my insurance won’t pay for any of it. I am having trouble paying my bills as it is.”
“But this is your life. I would rather see you have to pay a couple extra bills and be around for your kids.”
“I’ll be okay.”
I kept an eye on him during the meet, and he ended up leaving early.
I even texted him later in the day. He wrote back that he was okay as long as he was laying on the couch. I told them that I could call some people at the hospital to see if we could get him discounted testing performed. He said that he still couldn’t afford it.
I hope I don’t read about him in the obituaries.
It just sickens me that our government provides no-cost “insurance” for poverty-stricken people who earn no money, but many of the working poor get nothing but a mandate. If we’re going to make the system better, why can’t the government provide access to health care for everyone?
More funky dreams. A few days ago I had a dream that Mrs. WhiteCoat and I were walking back to my pickup truck after dinner. We got there and the driver’s side door was open. Someone’s leg was hanging out of the door. I walked a little closer and asked the person what he was doing.
“Is this your car?”
“Yeah, what are you doing?”
Then he reached back inside the truck, grabbed a shotgun, and pointed it at me. I tried to grab my pistol and run behind the truck, but I heard a loud “bang” and felt a sharp pain in my flank. That woke me up with a yell, which also woke Mrs. WhiteCoat up. I can still see the guy’s face.
The thing is that ever since that dream, I’ve had pain in my flank.
The pain is on the opposite side from the surgery, so I don’t think the two are related. Hernia is mostly healed, but now there is a burning pain to the area and, a couple of times when things have gotten … um … cold … well there is a pulling sensation through the surgical area that isn’t particularly comfortable. But it’s better than walking around with my hand in my pocket all day. I’m sure it will clear up soon.
Mrs. WhiteCoat took an afternoon and drove into Chicago with a couple of the kids for a commercial audition. On the way home, she stopped for gas on the South Side and went inside to get the kids something to drink. Bad move.
She was waiting in line for the bathroom when some guy comes in and starts yelling at the cashier.
“That motherf***ing pump isn’t pumping gas right. I told you about that two motherf***ing days ago! You haven’t done sh*t to fix it yet.”
The cashier just ignored him.
“Hey! I’m talking to YOU motherf***er!”
The cashier still ignored him.
“I’m gonna bring my Glock back here and shoot this place up. Then you’ll pay better attention to me.”
The cashier rolled his eyes and said “Listen, it isn’t my store, OK? What do you want me to do?”
By that time, Mrs. WhiteCoat had heard enough. She threw a $10 at the cashier for three bottles of soda, told him to keep the change, and screeched her tires while leaving the parking lot.
I can’t think of many good reasons to go to Chicago any more. And the Rahmfather is spending millions of dollars to try to increase Chicago tourism. Hey. Come on. It’s safe. Really!
Now a couple of stories about some large department stores.
An incident in Target … or “Tar-zhay” as the hoity-toities call it … almost gave Mrs. WhiteCoat a heart attack.
Our youngest daughter has long blonde hair. There was apparently some interest in her for a national TV commercial based on her flowing locks. When they stopped into Target to get some miscellaneous crap, her hair became a problem. The check-out lines have even more miscellaneous crap for the kids to get into and whine about so their parents buy it for them. Enter the essential toy that everyone will need for next Christmas: the Star Wars personal spinning fan with bonus M&M candy compartment. Daughter WhiteCoat points the fan at her face for a fresh breeze (because it is much too hot in the store in the middle of February) and promptly gets her hair caught in the fan. So her hair gets wound around the hub of the fan like a fork full of spaghetti. She screams. Mrs. WhiteCoat screams. The cashier screams. After trying to untangle the hair for a good five minutes, Mrs. WhiteCoat accepts the fact that the hair is gone forever and cuts a chunk of hair off. By now, the store manager is on scene. Mrs. WhiteCoat says “I am NOT paying for this damn thing.” The store manager wisely just gave her the toy. After all, who is going to buy a personal fan with a wad of hair attached if they put it back on the shelf? Overall, everyone at Target handled the stressful situation quite admirably.
Of course, then Mrs. WhiteCoat actually brings this thing home and leaves it on the kitchen table, waiting for the next dangling bit of long locks to come near its spinning blades of entanglement. It is now inside of a paper bag in the garbage. Hopefully it stays there.
Then there’s Kohl’s. These SOBs kept sending out our Kohl’s credit card bills late, so we would get them after the due date. We would pay them off when we got them, but because the payment was late they would tack on a $25 late fee. The bills don’t have a postmark on them because they’re bulk mailed, so their customer service representatives just keep saying that the bills are all mailed out in plenty of time to pay and they wouldn’t remove the late fee. Nice way to treat your customers.
Well guess what. We canceled our Kohl’s credit card. No one in our family has been at a Kohl’s store in over a month. Instead, we now patronize other places. Funny thing. Prices at Kohl’s aren’t quite as much of a bargain as they would like you to believe. So we saved money on late fees and we saved money on prices for the same or nearly the same products at other stores.
Finally, Mrs. WhiteCoat and I were chuckling at these new ads for what amount to adult-branded baby wipes. Pushing the envelope for sure. Saw the beaver ad in a magazine and looked online for the others. Then I clicked on a link for the worst advertisements of all times. There were some doozys. Can’t find the page I was on now, though. But I was able to find another copy of one ad for Viagra made me laugh – mostly because it was an old guy playing the magician and he had that look in his eye.
Until next time, diary.