Witness Protection

Have you ever thought about what it would be like to be in the Witness Protection Program? Maybe while you were watching "In Plain Sight"? (You've gotta love Marshal Marshall.)

I have. It would be miserable.

Imagine leaving everything you have and everyone you know on a moment's notice. You can't say goodbye. You can't ever check in, say hello, happy birthday or Merry Christmas. You cannot do anything, or go anywhere, that is familiar.

First, obviously, I have adult children; they couldn't go with me. I have a granddaughter; I'm already planning her first trip to Disneyland. I hope to have more grandchildren one day. To never see my loved ones again is unimaginable.

I have extended family, friends, the congregation at my church.

Let's start there, just because it's a handy starting point. If anyone is looking for me, they'll know that my religion is important to me. Staking out church meetings will inevitably lead to finding me. Therefore, I'm sure, Witness Protection rules would forbid my attendance. Imagine being told that you cannot practice your religion - or, for non-religious folks, imagine being told that you have to choose a religion and believably practice it. The whole point, after all, is to not be yourself.

I couldn't work as a photographer any more, since that's identifiable. What's worse is that I couldn't carry a camera, couldn't take photos even for myself. Ever since I received my first camera at age eight, it's been another appendage. Look at photos of me - I have a camera over my shoulder most of the time. On vacation, I don't carry a purse, but I will rarely be without a camera. That would be an extremely difficult adjustment.

I couldn't work as a teacher, either. I've never taught as a profession, but I've taught classes at church, at co-op, as a homeschool parent enough that it would be obvious to anyone looking for me that they should check out teaching positions.

I couldn't work in a library or bookstore, because that's just as obvious. I probably couldn't even buy noticeable quantities of books from Amazon or thrift stores. That would be harder than parting with my camera. I can't imagine how I would function without books - which is exactly why someone looking for me would look in libraries and bookstores.

I couldn't act, professionally or otherwise. I couldn't work backstage - I couldn't even usher. It would probably be forbidden to even attend live theater - or the symphony, the ballet or even a preschool pageant.

Any cursory look through my bookshelves, DVR or conversation reveals an interest in law enforcement, so that's another career possibility down the tubes. I've spent most of my adult life as a Scout leader, so working with the Scouts, or with kids or youth groups, is out.

I once had a dream - a nightmare, really - that my husband and I had opened a deep sea salvage business. If you know me, you know that I would have a fatal heart attack before the first day of such a job was finished. (What did I eat before I went to bed?)

I studied journalism in school, and I write to make sense of my own thoughts, so obviously I couldn't work as any kind of writer. I've worked in offices before, so office work is out. I'm picturing some hapless WITSEC employee tasked with teaching me how to be an auto mechanic, because no one would expect that.

I've spent my entire life in the Great Basin of the American west, so both mountains and deserts are equally familiar to me. That means, of course, that I'd be sent somewhere with neither. I am temperamentally best suited to small towns, but that wouldn't matter. It's hard to be anonymous in a small town. If you're hiding, a big city is your best bet. Did you ever see the "Mad About You" episode where Helen Hunt's character says that she wants to buy "square footage thousands of feet in the air, like a normal person"? That has never been a part of my reality.

It wouldn't help that large cities typically have amazing museums; I undoubtedly couldn't attend, buy a membership, work in the gift shop or walk past, because everyone knows that I love museums.  I couldn't volunteer as a docent at historic sites, or dress as an early settler in a Pilgrim or pioneer village. I watch "Mysteries at the Museum" on TV. I've been to not one, but two Bigfoot museums, in two different states. Looking for me at a museum would be too obvious.

So, there I'd be, in a high rise somewhere in a sprawling metropolis, unable to go to museums, attend the theater, take any photos, attend church or do any work for which I have an interest or aptitude. I couldn't really travel in order to distract myself from it all, either, because that would be another red flag. One of the few things I'm willing to spend considerable time and money on is travel, so if I was hiding, I'd have to stay put.

Good heavens. I'm getting depressed just thinking about it.

At least I don't spend any time worrying about the zombie apocalypse. This, of course, is because zombies do not exist.

Still, my chances of witnessing something like a mob hit are slim to none, right? Right? Comfort me here!

If I ever inexplicably disappear, and an unsigned post card arrives at your door, it might be me, calling for help. I'll squeeze it in when I'm on my break from my new job as a fashion editor at Vogue.

Illness Part 6: Questions

I think that I might have a cold. The thing is, I can't tell.

After I had my thyroid removed, my entire body chemistry changed. I am not exaggerating - everything changed.

People who've known me for any length of time notice that I feel different. My sister remarked, over the phone and from hundreds of miles away, "You sound so energetic."

The one glitch, switching the dose of my medication, left me miserable for two weeks, but as soon as I spoke to my surgeon, he did what I was sure he'd do and said, "Sure, we'll switch you back." My endocrinologist said, "Most people feel better at higher levels. You're obviously not one of those people." THANK YOU for seeing me as a person and not as a statistic! I cannot stand hearing that something is being done to me personally based on a generalization about "most" people.

I'm sleeping less than I ever did. I routinely wake up five minutes before my alarm. I also actually fall asleep when I go to bed. It's glorious.

I have not been sick in the five months since the surgery. Never, ever in my life have I gone through five illness free months, EVER, and I'm 47. It would be astounding in the summer, but we've gone all the way through fall and most of the winter. I have been exposed to pneumonia, strep throat, laryngitis, the flu, numerous colds, coughs and sneezes, and I have caught none of it. Even my allergies are quiet.

Normally, I get it first, and I get it worst, if there's an illness within what feels like a hundred mile radius. My son has had two nasty bouts of the flu, right here in my house, and I didn't catch it.

Holy cow.

Three days ago, I was unaccountably tired and had sinus drainage down my throat. Well, it's finally happened, I thought. Here comes a cold. I took a nap and woke up feeling much better. "That's odd," I said.

"No, Mom, that's normal," said my teenage son. "That's how it works in normal people."

By that evening, my sinus issues still hadn't gone away. In fact, three days later, I still feel the same way. My throat is irritated, and I'm tired, despite having had a nap. I woke up with a sneezing fit and needed decongestants two nights ago. It's not bad, it's just not good.

On the one hand, I feel draggy enough that it's obviously different. On the other hand, I still feel worlds better than I did even on good days before the surgery.

So I'm still puzzled. Something is going on, but is it enough of a "something" to qualify as "sick?"

Either these are the most pathetic, weenie germs that I've ever encountered, or I don't have a cold. If I don't have a cold, what do I have?

If this is the new "sick" experience, I'll take it.

Giving Thanks

It was my sister Lynne's idea. "Why don't we have Thanksgiving on Sunday?" she asked.

We were all together to remember my mom. She had forbidden us to have a big funeral. My kids would tease her sometimes, and say, "Grandma, we're going to have the biggest, loudest, most crowded funeral!" "You. Will. NOT," Mom would say. "I will come back and haunt you!" We needed to be together, though, to do something formal and to support each other. We'd decided to get together at Mom's house, with an open invitation to friends and family to join us for a potluck meal. They could come and go as they needed to, we could share memories and send mementos home with everyone.

We hadn't all been together for years. Now, there we were, all four children, ten grandchildren, six spouses and one of Mom's great grandchildren. It was the closest we'd been to having everyone together in 20 years. Of those who knew and loved Mom, we were missing only my grandnephew Andrew.

Mom passed away on October 30. We'd chosen Veteran's Day weekend for our gathering, to take advantage of the three day weekend. Veteran's Day is very important to my brother in law Don, a Marine. Since he's no longer in the service, I referred to him as an "ex Marine" once, and he corrected me: "There are no ex Marines. There's those on active duty and those no longer on active duty. We're all Marines." (I no longer make that mistake.) The fact that he was willing to make the weekend all about Mom, and to spend Veteran's Day itself on the road, spoke volumes. He's a great guy.

On that Saturday, we'd spend the day at Mom's. Everyone was invited to come by any time between about 11 and 5. My niece, Mari, is a rabbi, and she was the last of the immediate family to arrive, since she officiated at home that morning, then flew out. We asked her to be in charge of closing out the gathering, maybe with a prayer. She chose to lead us in sharing memories, and then offered a blessing. It was perfect.

Since the first holiday without Mom was bound to be difficult, and since we were all together, Lynne came up with the idea to have Thanksgiving together, on Sunday. It was brilliant.

My sister Jennifer made the turkey. My nephew Jeremy made mushroom ravioli. We had a pan of homemade macaroni and cheese, made by my friend Denise, left from the day before. We had potatoes, salad, all kinds of good food. More importantly, we had the whole family together at Mom's house. It was a great Thanksgiving.

I love this photo. We're all there - the teachers, the lawyer, the postal worker, the dog trainer, the actors, the black belt, the social worker. When my husband posted it on Facebook, my son wrote, "Look at your family. Now back to my family. Sadly, your family is not my family." Yes, it's a riff on an Old Spice commercial. It makes me smile.

I'm so, so glad we had this Thanksgiving celebration. I will always give thanks for it.

Language Lessons

OK. I know that part of the fault lies with the English language itself. Any language in which "a" and "eigh" can make the same sound is going to be confusing. But part of it is, undeniably, that people aren't paying attention.

Let's not even start discussing there, their and they're. I mean, it's been done. And done, and done, to no avail.

Maybe, just maybe, I can shed a tiny bit of light on apostrophes, call up in your memory something that you learned in elementary school. Most of the time, apostrophes indicate missing letters. "Can not" becomes "can't." "Have not" becomes "haven't." This is called a contraction, because you're shortening a two word phrase to a single word. (See, I did it there: "you are" becomes "you're.")

This is why "it's" will always mean "it is." I know, it's confusing, because usually adding an apostrophe and an s indicates ownership - the dog's bowl, the man's car. But when the word is "it," the form of the word that indicates ownership will simply have an s added. The dog chewed up its leash. When you're not sure which one to use, just say "it is" to know if you need the apostrophe.

Yes, I know that this word is an exception. But really, you can remember it. I'm sure.

But these gaffes are not the ones that are annoying me currently. Currently, I have seen the same mistakes made over and over. I have even seen them in news articles and magazines. I have seen (presumably) educated, intelligent people make them. Recently, I saw a singer/songwriter make one of those gaffes that annoys me - just sends my annoyance level soaring.

I know, everyone makes mistakes. One of my most common is hitting two computer keys at once. Some days, I cannot seem to hit an o or a p without hitting the other - ditto keys i and u.

SpellCheck and GrammarCheck will not always catch your goofs, either. Folks need to engage their brains, not their software. I, myself, once sent out 150 Christmas letters saying that my daughter had worked backstage on "Beauty and the Breast." Yeah, that was a fun time.

The instances in question are not, "Whoops, my fingers didn't work" mistakes, or AutoCorrect mistakes. I see them more and more often, and it irks me every time.

Folks, the phrase is "lo and behold." It is not, and has never been, "low and behold." The word "lo" is not a misspelling. It is a separate and distinct word. Think back to your King James Bible, and Linus in the Charlie Brown Christmas special: "And lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them." "Lo" means "look." "Low" means being lower than something, being below or on the bottom level. Please, please, do not mix them up.

The word that indicates low water usage landscaping is "xeriscape." I know that your SpellCheck flags it as misspelled, but trust me, it is not. It is derived from Greek, "xeri-" being a prefix that indicates "dry." If you were to substitute an English word, it would be "dry" - "dryscaping." It is absolutely NOT correct to say, "zero scaping" or "zeroscaping." I know that "xeriscape" sounds odd and looks odd, but it's correct. If you don't know the correct term, just use a phrase you do know, like "low water use landscape," or, "landscaped with native plants." I just can't take you seriously if you use made up words. (Yes, even if other people have used, or told you to use, the incorrect word, it's still incorrect and makes you look ridiculous.)

Now let's talk about phonics. I know that phonics as a teaching method has fallen out of fashion. I know that it is widely ridiculed, hence the "Hukd on Foniks Werkd For Me" T-shirts. But PLEASE, retain some kind of knowledge that letters make certain, predictable sounds. Words are made by combining those sounds. C + A + T = cat. B + the vowel blend of "OY" = boy. OK? Yes, I know that letters can make more than one sound. We're all bright enough to remember them, aren't we? Yes?

We're all aware of the existence of silent e, yes? Have, gone, bake - all these words end in an e that is silent. Silent means that it makes no sound. NO SOUND. SILENT. We know this, yes?

And yet, not just teens, but adults will indicate drawing out a vowel sound in the word "love" like this: "loveeeeeeeeeeeeee." Folks, the original e is SILENT. If you are prolonging the word, you do it by adding multiples of the vowel that you do hear, the o: "looooooooove."

I had a (fairly snotty) teen disagree with me when I told her this. "Two Os say "OO,'" (the sound you hear in "moo,") she said. "I don't want to say, 'loove.'"

"If you put a lot of them, it no longer says, 'oo,'' I told her. "If you're worried about it, though, put hyphens in between them: lo-o-o-o-o-o-o-ove.'"

She looked at me as if I was an idiot, or an insect. "NO. EVERYONE knows that you write it, 'loveeeeeeeee,' '' Her Highness said. Further attempts at communication were ineffective. At a certain point, you have to realize that the brick wall will damage your head, and move away in graceful defeat.

For the love of sanity, I don't care if "everyone" writes multiple silent letters, please believe me that I'm correct about this! Otherwise, you look uneducated, and not very bright to boot. If you are elongating the word "long," it looks like this: "looooooooong." If you are elongating "fire," it looks like this: "fiiiiiiiiiire." If you are elongating "love," it looks like this: "loooooove."

"Elongate" means "to make longer." If you break the word apart, you'll see the word "long" right there in the middle. This is called a "root word," a small word that you add onto in order to make bigger words.

That's another lesson, involving prefixes and suffixes. Right now, just remember: "lo" is a word. It means "look." "Xeriscape" means a man made landscape that needs little water. In order to make a word sound longer, you exaggerate, draw out or (our vocabulary word for the day) elongate the vowel sound that you actually hear: for instance, "looooooove."

Please, PLEASE tell me that we don't have to go over what a vowel is.

Vacation Photos

It has been brought to my attention that, for a photographer, I have very few photos in my blog. I'll try to fix that.

We admit it - we're spoiled. We carry the big cameras on vacation - usually two or three of them. Yes, this is us at the beach this year. The camera taking the photo is pretty much the same as the one over my shoulder. We refer to these as "the heavy artillery."

My middle daughter looked at some of the photos taken by someone else on her brother's student ambassador trip, someone who'd taken only a camera phone, and said, "If those were the only photos Alex had, he'd cry."

It takes more than a nice camera, though. We're all pretty good at this because we love it.

In the last decade or so, the average person has gotten much better at photography for two reasons - they're taking far more photos, and cameras are becoming more and more foolproof. My parents may have shot a dozen photos of me between birth and age eight, on cameras that are horribly limited by today's standards. The average parent today shoots almost daily photos, with cameras that don't even require a flash.

Still, we often surprise or puzzle people. My son was 16 when he went to Europe. When he showed people his scrapbook, they said things like, "Did you buy postcards and scan them?" They seemed amazed when he said, "No. I took these."

When his leader saw this one, she couldn't get over it. "You shot this from the bus? How did you manage that? Nobody gets good photos from inside the bus!" This is exactly as he shot it.

He's been surprising people for years. When he was about 11 - but admittedly looked younger - we went to Six Flags Discovery Kingdom. In the butterfly house, we handed him the good camera, the one we use for business, with the same stipulation we always gave to our kids: Put the strap around your neck, and be careful. He quickly voiced displeasure - his dad had the new zoom lens.

He marched up to his father with vocal complaint. "You gave me the crappy lens! How am I supposed to shoot anything decent with this?" He was truly outraged. The man standing next to this scene was probably in his 40s, holding a little 4 inch wide, half inch thick point and shoot camera. He looked at my son, looked at the 6 inch long "crappy" lens, raised his eyebrows up into his hairline and slunk away.

I've taken photos that I truly love on little disposable cameras, but boy, do I love my good camera.

Traveling in a group is sometimes difficult for photographers. When my son went to Washington D.C. with his Scout troop, he spent a lot of time saying, "Wait up!" and they spent a lot of time saying, "Come ON, Alex! Are you shooting more pictures?"

Of course, once they got back home, everyone wanted copies of his photos. We burned discs to share.

As you can see, people are not his favorite subjects, and he rarely thinks to get photos of himself. I insisted, for that Scout trip, that he occasionally hand the camera to someone else and get in the photo. We have two photos with him in them, including this one (my favorite of the two).

(My kid's the good looking one in the tan uniform.)

He is not an enthusiastic model, but he is usually obedient.

Frequently, my kids get asked, "Where was this?" by people who were actually along on their trips. One girl asked so often while looking through his Europe scrapbook that I finally said, "Did you go to Europe?" "Well, yeah," she said, "but I didn't see any of this."

A year ago at Christmas, my oldest daughters went to Disneyland with a group of 20-somethings. One of their friends went in another group about the same time. When they got home, they compared photos.

"Where is this?" asked a friend who traveled with the other group.

"It's right before you head down Main Street, headed away from the castle," my daughter told her.

"I've never seen that, and I've been to Disneyland before," the girl said.

She had the same questions over and over. "Where is this? Where was that?"

Finally, she said, "Oh, well, we were only there for 3 days."

"We were only there for 3 days," my daughter said. "So not fair! I'm going with you next time!" her friend replied. (In all fairness, my daughter has lived in her current home for over 2 1/2 years, and I'm sure she knows Disneyland better than she knows her own back yard.)

Yes, we carry the big cameras through amusement parks. I want shots like these.

When we went to Oahu with my brother, a scenic and wildlife photographer, he remarked on how nice it was to travel with other photographers, people who were willing to just stop on the side of the road and wander.

We spent a couple of hours one day on a single beach, just shooting the waves as they came in.

"You're not supposed to be tourists!" someone once said to me, admonishing me to put the camera down. "Experience things."

I am experiencing them. So is my camera. So, vicariously, can everyone else.

Illness, Part 5: Caring for My Health

I hope that I never need any kind of surgery again, because I've undoubtedly alienated a significant proportion of the office staff at my surgeon's office. I finally badgered and browbeat and just generally annoyed the woman I usually got on the phone to simply freaking pass on my request to the doctor himself. I mean really, is that unreasonable? Yes, it was complicated by the fact that he was out of the office - out of the country - but for heaven's sake, either feel empowered to make a decision or pass me on to somebody who can. It's not tough. It should also not come as a surprise to anyone that, hey, patients will occasionally need care when the doc's out of the office. Have a plan in place that does not simply consist of, "We'll ask when he gets back."

I mean, here it had been impressed upon me that one of the most serious complications of an out of whack thyroid was irregular heartbeat, it had been made clear to me that irregular heartbeat was to be avoided, and now hearing, "This medication is giving me irregular heartbeats" was met with a collective yawn. When I asked to go back to the old dosage, I was told, "Oh, you don't want to do that. It would be a huge shock for your body, to cut it way back like that."

"Was it a huge shock to my system when I went up from the old dosage to the new one?" Silence. "I mean, that happened all at once." More silence.

As I suspected, the doctor okayed my request to go back on the dosage of my thyroid meds that I'd been on previously. I got a message on my machine from him, saying, "No problem. We'll switch you back."

THANK YOU.

The pharmacy had been faxing my requests for literally weeks, and the pharmacist had said, "It really isn't a big deal, what you're asking." It didn't feel like a big deal to me, either. I wasn't asking for new medication, narcotics, addictive substances, a diagnosis over the phone - anything outrageous. It was just, "This new dose makes me feel miserable. Can we please go back to the previous one, at least until I can actually come in to the office?"

When I went in to the pharmacy to say, "My doctor called; he okayed the switch back to the old dose," I assumed that someone would have sent a notice of this to them, so that I could get the meds. No. It took 24 hours and another call to the nurse. (Gee, that was fun for both of us.)

This conversation marked the second time I had said to the nurse, "Do you actually have my chart in front of you?" and been met with silence. When someone asks me things like, "When was the surgery?", says, "Generally, what happens is..." and draws a blank when I ask, "What was my old dose?", I think it's a pretty good bet that they do not have my chart in front of them.

Health "care" providers: I don't care if your employer or the federal government or your mother requires you to have a patient's MEDICAL (not billing) info in front of you when you speak to them. It's just generally a good idea. Before you call me to talk about my treatment, pull my file. Realize that if you do not have info about me and my body in front of you when you give me advice and "care," I will think less of you, and of said advice and "care."

Since I don't need to see the surgeon again, barring any more needs to remove any more bits of myself, now this conversation will be taken up with my primary doctor. I don't think it'll be as maddening (but maybe I'm wrong).

I love our family doctor, I really do. There's reasons we chose his practice, and there's reasons we eschewed a pediatrician for our kids in favor of a GP who sees the whole family. Still, I occasionally feel overlooked or unheard. I've had repeat tests ordered more than once, even though I've pointed out that they're repeat, because the doctor has said, "Well, let's just see if anything's changed." In a way, I get that, because my symptoms have tended to be at odds with my test results. The doctor is both trying to make sense of things, and to justify treatment to the insurance company.

It's that last bit that tends to annoy me. Last time I griped to the receptionist because the insurance mandated a repeat office visit instead of simply relaying lab results over the phone, she said icily, "We do have to comply with the law, you know." Yes, I know. I just think that the law cares more about documentation than about people.

I have been referred back to the same endocrinologist I saw (inconclusively) years ago. I hear that she's very good. I remember liking her. Her office staff is also making me furious. In fairness, it's not entirely their fault. It's the culture of Documentation as King.

I was referred nine months ago. Let's say that again - I was referred nine months ago. I have yet to see the doctor. I could have created an entire human being, from scratch and from items I already have around the house, in this amount of time, yet I can't seem to get an appointment with a doctor.

I phoned her office, nine months ago, and predictably got voicemail. (Do not ever tell me that current technology means that people are "constantly connected.") I left a message - "My name is X. I have been referred by Dr. Y. I need to be seen for (list of symptoms)." I got no response - no call back. My kids blamed this on the fact that I don't carry a cell phone, but if they did NOT call back my home number, I think it's a safe bet that they would NOT have called back a cell phone. I left increasingly irritated messages as the weeks, then months, went by, and I still didn't hear back from them. Twice, I finally got a message on my answering machine. They said, "This is Dr. So and so's office, returning your call," but nothing else - nothing with actual content (or an appointment). I started saying things to their machine like, "Just choose any day and time. Leave the message on my machine. I WILL show up." Nothing. In five months, I never spoke to a human being.

Finally, I spoke to a receptionist, who told me, rather irritably, "We cannot make an appointment for you until we have your records."

"Can you get those from my doctors?" I mean, I signed, at each office, the freaking form that says that they may share my info with other doctors also treating me, without my suing them for breaching my privacy.

"No. You have to send those to us." Like I, personally, have them lying around my house.

"What records?"

"Any records pertaining to your diagnosis."

"I do not have a diagnosis. That's why I've been referred to your office." Honestly, I didn't think this was rocket science.

"Well, we need all your records then - all treatment you've received, any labs you've had done. When we get those, I'll call you back and make an appointment with you."

Sure you will.

So I called my GP and I called my surgeon, and had them send everything. I heard nothing back.

I have had so much figuratively on my plate that I let it slide for months. I finally called back yesterday. "Hi, my name is X. I need to make an appointment."

"OK. What insurance do you have?" I'm used to this being the first question doctors' offices ask, but it still annoys me. "Why are we seeing you?" is usually down about six questions.

I told her; "OK, that's good, then," she said. I explained that they'd been waiting for my records. "Let's see if we have those," she said. She started rattling off items received from each doctor and lab. It sounded complete to me, but I'm a layperson. How do I know if those are "complete records"?

Then she said, "What we don't have is a referral from your primary care physician." Good gravy.

"You should have received that last April. April 2012."

"Are you sure?"

"YES. April 2012."

Shuffling and tapping: "Let me look in the computer." Then, "Oh, here it is. It's still in the computer. It was never printed out. That's weird."

OK. They have it. "So can I make an appointment?"

"Well, no. I have to print out this referral and put it in a packet with your records for the doctor to review. After she reviews it and signs off on the form, you can make an appointment. Can you call back on Wednesday?"

Oh, my gosh, truly? She has yet to see documents that she's had, at a minimum, since September? There's a FORM that she has to sign before I can make an appointment? "Yep, this person needs medical care."

"Sure. I'll call back on Wednesday."

It's January 2013.

I will phone them on Wednesday.

I will be pleasant.

I WILL BE PLEASANT.

I will not particularly feel cared for. "Health care" is something of a misnomer.