Gynomite!

I think my gynecologist has now placed a permanent flag in my chart indicating that I am a "difficult patient."  Even though I am not.  I don't really like confrontation--especially in medicine.  I've always just gone along with things.  Except when I haven't.  And unfortunately for my poor Gynocologist, those moments have been at her office.  

Backing up a few years...I had dutifully gone in for the annual pee in a cup and stick a swab up your hoo-haw celebration, and got some labwork done in the process (I started down the menopause road at 34--but that is another post altogether).  Two weeks later, I was summoned in to the office to review my lab results with the doctor.  I checked in, and as per usual, was told to go pee in a cup.  

For those of you of the female persuasion, you know what this entails.  For me at least, it generally means contorting myself into an awkward position for the pleasure of peeing all over my hand, writing my name on my little cup, like you did for a grade school science experiment, and leaving it in a secret little door in the wall for someone to grade.

I also know that the only reason this is done, is to check if you are pregnant.  Now, having already gone through this joyful ritual a mere two weeks earlier, knowing even then, that I was not and could not be pregnant then, only to be asked to go through the ritual again so that I could review the blood work results with my doctor "stuck in my craw" as they say (who "they" are, we've yet to understand).  

Therefore, I politely declined.  The office admin looked shocked.  I asked why they needed my pee again?  She said that insurance requires a pee test for every visit.  I politely stated that I doubt the insurance company wants to pay for unnecessary tests unrelated to the nature of my visit here today--unless the doctor wished to discuss my labwork over a particularly strange cocktail mixed in a paper cup with my name written on it (I didn't say that last part).  Again, shocked look as she said she would let the doctor know.  Is it really so uncommon that someone refuses to pee in a cup?  Have we all become lemmings, wherein we leave all dignity at the door of the doctors' office?

To her credit, when the doctor called me back, she apologized for her staff and confirmed to me that they did not indeed need a urine sample to review my blood work.   Nonetheless, I imagine there was some sort of flag placed in my chart at that time (....uncooperative, refuses simple requests, asks too many questions....)

Fast forward to last year.  I showed up, dutifully peed in a cup (I think I might start making refusal of that one a regular occurrence though--seriously people, unless we want to revisit immaculate conception in this century, I'm not pregnant), dutifully had my hoo-haw swabbed, then had "the talk" with my gyno.  Let's be clear--I really like my Gynecologist.  She's great--I mean for somebody who chose as a profession to stick there hands up you-know-where--I'm not going to invite her to dinner (without asking her to thoroughly scrub up at least), but she seems to know her stuff, is kind and not condescending in any way.  

Notwithstanding all that, after my lady bits were properly swabbed, she looked at me seriously and commented that in the years I've been coming to her practice, I'd put on some weight.  Thank you captain obvious.  I told her I was seeing a dietitian currently, and that she was on it.  She then proceeded to have a long conversation with me about various methods of weight loss.  How she had recently lost some weight, and how I could go online and google various things to help me figure out how to loose weight.  I participated politely in the discussion, that went on WAY TOO LONG.  And left.  

I mentioned this conversation later that week to my dietician who about lost it.  She was ready to march on over to my gynecology practice and read my doctor the riot act.  And I realized she was absolutely right.  I should have been a bit more bothered by the whole interchange with the gyno and should have created better boundaries in that discussion--as in refusing to engage in that discussion.  For example, my dietitian pointed out--if something suspiciously canceresque had appeared in my lab results, would she have called me in and discussed googling cancer treatments with me, telling me what she had done to deal with her little bout of cervical cancer?  Absolutely not!  She would have referred me to a specialist and left it at that.  Why does every doctor out there seem to think that A--not only is being fat in and of itself a disease, and is the cause of every other disease, and B--that either by simply telling you to lose some weight, or to diet and exercise, that you will magically be cured of the disease of fatness?  Do they often prescribe treatments with a greater than 90% fail rate?  Because that's what diets are.  By and large the result of dieting is weight gain.  WHY DO PEOPLE, ESPECIALLY DOCTORS KEEP TELLING PEOPLE TO DIET?!!?  

I digress.  My dietitian informed me that I have a right to refused to be weighed, and to refuse to discuss my weight with practitioners that do not specialize in nutrition management.  So it is with much angst that I have approached my annual hoo-haw swabbing ritual this year.  As I said, I am at heart non-confrontational.  I've had a lot of doctors appointments lately (long story), none of whom insisted on discussing my weight in depth, all of whom insisted on weighing me.  Which brings me to a doctor appt I had two days prior to my annual Gynomite visit.  

Here's the thing--I have not weighed myself in well over a year.  I have learned that the drawbacks to weighing oneself regularly far outweigh any benefits (again, topic for another post).  So, because I don't like confrontation, and I know these other doctors are going to be satisfied by simply telling me I should loose weight  to solve all my problems, but back off when I mention I'm seeing a specialist, I've suffered myself to be weighed.  I simply close my eyes while on the scale.  Except last week.  I stepped on the scale, closed my eyes, and lost my balance.  So I opened my eyes and saw the reading.  Again a topic for another post, but this triggered a bit of a mental freak out.  

Knowing therefore that I was to go see Dr. Gynomite in a mere two days, I steeled myself.  I was going to refuse to be weighed!  I submitted to the cup peeing because I like to limit myself to one confrontation per doctor's visit, but then when the attendant told me to step on the scale, I said--politely, that I would not like to be weighed.  Just real fast she replies.  Like doing it fast means it didn't happen.  I asked why she needed my weight, and she said because they need it for the chart but wouldn't be discussed in my visit.  I explained that it was my understanding that a doctor only needs a weight when prescribing weight based medications, and since the only medication I get from this doctor is non-weight based, that I didn't see it as necessary.  And further, that it was my experience at this office that the doctor does discuss weight during my visit, and since I have other healthcare practitioners concerning themselves with my weight, I didn't need another one in the mix...thank you very much.  

Again, blank stare.  She said she's never had anyone refuse to be weighed.  REALLY?  NEVER?  Again ladies, what have we become? Sounds like we need to be more self-assertive.

So I had my bits swabbed, and didn't discuss my weight.  Granted, my doc suddenly "was called to the hospital" so I saw her partner.  I'm pretty sure that little flag in my chart, just got bigger.  

Tune in next time for the Smashburger lunch I really am going to host post mammogram:

"Get your girls smashed, then come get a smashburger with the girls!"

I Can Breathe for the First Time; or Sleepovers With Luis

I spent two nights away from my family last week....with Luis.  He was so gentle with me.  He took time to calm my fears.   He ran his hands through my hair, touched my face, my neck, plying me with alcohol...wipes, and glue.  Lots of glue.  He ran wires down my clothing, made me wear a mask, watched me sleep, and brought me breakfast in bed.

It feels so very illicit, and a little kinky.

But it's not really.

You see, I think I have a problem.  Breathing.  Luis thinks so too. Though he won't say.  He's not at liberty to discuss results with me.

So next week, I'll go see the sleep doctor, and tell her about my two nights at the sleep center with Luis, watching me breathe.  And she'll tell me what Luis already knows--that I have sleep apnea.

And every time I put on my sleep mask by myself, I'll think of Luis.  And how since he's been gone, I can breathe for the first time.

Coming Out

I remember when the TSA full body scanners came out and complaining about them on social media was all the rage.  I also remember thinking, "what's the big deal? If I get scanned and the virtual mini-me that shows up on the scanner's screen looks all lumpy, are the screeners (or anyone else within view of the screen) going to point and giggle and say "look!  she's fat!" as if we're all surprised.  As if no-one noticed as I slid gracefully into the scanning booth that I was fat, and were shocked to realize that, contrary to the optical-illusion created by my clothing, there was indeed a fat person hiding in there.

I don't want to write about full body scanners today.  What I want to write about is this myth that fat people seem obliged to participate in in our society.  This myth that I'm not really a fat person, I'm just a thin person waiting to be uncovered (I think Oprah said something to that effect).  The myth that every fat person is actually an unhappy thin person, trying to get back to their thin body.

Guess what?  I've never been thin.  Nope, never.  Okay, so maybe for a fleeting moment as a toddler--I'll have to ask my mom on that one.  But every memory I have of myself is as a fat person.  And oh so many of those memories are of a fat person who wants sooooo badly to be thin.  Who believes that if she just does A,B, and C, thinness will be hers.  And that thinness is indeed the ultimate prize, and that somehow, I've just always failed.  That although I am quite successful in a great many other areas in my life, that I am still a failure at heart, because I've failed to achieve the elusive and magical state of thinness.

That's the myth.  That's the lie society is telling us.  That we are all just over-developed thin people, and we should be ashamed.  Guess what?  I'm done believing that myth.  If there is one thing 43 years has taught me, it is that I am fat.  There, I've said it.  I've come out:  I am a fat person.  I'm not a fat person trying to get thin any longer.  I'm just Jen.  And I am fat.  And I'm working every day to be okay with that.  I feel much better already.  Thanks for asking.

There was a period in my life when I was okay with that.  It too was fleeting.  I'm not sure how I lost it, but in the past several years, I've managed to lose that comfort in my own skin.  I'm working to find it again.

I intend to resurrect this blog and perhaps spend some time on this little journey of mine, and will give you other little nuggets of my thoughts and experiences, but for a coming out party, I think this will suffice.

Child Shaming and the Fabulous Gown

Today I made a bet with my child.  The premise of the bet is unimportant.  The outcome is key to my parenting philosophy of late:  shaming and embarrassment makes kids tougher.  I'll tell him to ask his therapist in 20 years how that worked for him.

Needless to say, I won the bet.  And my child did the walk of shame to the mailbox to collect our mail--at the end of the cul de sac,  wearing my shimmery mu mu (aka the Fabulous Gown), curtsying politely to the neighbors every few steps to calls of "Hey Elliot, why are you wearing a dress".  It was epic.  He pulled it off like a champ.

I filmed the whole thing on my phone.  If I ever get that tech-savvy, I'll post it here.  But in the meantime I'll just save it for that special occasion when we put together the clip reel to loop at the sign-in table at his wedding reception.  I may also play his infamous scat solo, recorded while he was on the toilet, titled "Everybody Poops."

To his future bride, and his future therapist:  you're welcome.

Of Hills and Hamstrings

We just returned from what I like to call my annual "voluncation" where I go upstate New York and get to be a stage director again for an enormous theatrical/religious undertaking called The Hill Cumorah Pageant.

I am in no shape to be climbing hills and stages.  And yet, I went.  Next year, I will be lighter.  That is my vow.  But this year, not only was I too fat for the Hill, I had also suffered a serious injury just prior to departing.

I'm calling it a sky-diving related incident.

I'll save you the awkward details of the lead-up to the incident, and simply explain that, while walking on a rain-wet surface, I slipped, and went down.  All. the. way.

Fat people should not do the splits.  I thought I was fairly limber.  I'm not that limber.

In my mind, this is what I looked like when I fell:

In reality, it probably wasn't that glamorous.  My poor son who was with me, managed to assist his fat old mother upright, up a few stairs and a couple blocks to the car, whereupon I had a good cry, then drove the 60 minutes home, groaning in pain every time I had to apply the breaks.  I thought surely this meant I wouldn't be able to go to pageant.

But, my hamstring was only severely strained.  Which heals rather quickly, even though it left a very, very ugly bruise. But, by the time my flight left for New York, I was barely limping and was beginning to do stairs.  Slowly.  I took the hills and stairs slowly all week, mincing steps like a little old lady, and avoiding the highest stages at all costs.  But I did it.

Next year, I won't be so stupid, nor fat.  I showed the picture to my boss and his response was:  "well, at least you stuck the landing."  True that.

Dottore Pants

My husband and I spent four hours at a medical clinic today.  No, it's not Valentine's Day, thanks for asking. I know that's a little romantic tradition of ours, but today was even more special.  Today we met Doctor Vasquez.  I couldn't stop staring.  When he entered the room and shook our hands, I suddenly felt a little breathless and unsure of where I was.  Doctor Vasquez looks like what you think a doctor in a telenovella or soap opera should look like; young, handsome, latin, smooth, and very well-dressed.

I kept expecting him to say:  "No, I am not a Doctor, but I play one on television."

Instead, in response to every answered question he would say: "Good.  Muy bien."  And "shit".  He said "shit" several times, which is not what I'm used to hearing from a doctor.  But he said it in such a way that it wasn't offensive in the slightest.  He said it in a way that made me want to say it too.  And giggle.

And if ever there was a man who knows how to wear pants, it is Doctor Vasquez.

In the United States, men have not yet mastered the art of pants-wearing.  They are always too long, too short, too tight or too loose.  Not so for Doctor Vasquez.  It made me think just for a moment, that maybe I was in Italy again.  Or that I wanted to be wherever he came from.

The good news is that we anticipate seeing quite a bit more of Dr. Vasquez in the next few months. I'll let you know how it goes.  Muy bien.


Next time maybe I'll tell you about Miguel, my boyfriend in the Canary Islands.

New Ideas from Dead Public Administrators

I'm sure I haven't mentioned that I have gone back to school--in a manner of speaking.  I have embarked upon a Masters of Public Administration.  Long story.  One of my professors, recognizing that Public Administration theory is particularly dry, likes to shake things up by assigning us "Creative Applications" rather than research papers.  I have to admit, I rather enjoyed the first one.   The assignment was to write the "transcript" of a fictional talk show hosting three PA theorists.  I've made meager attempts at writing novels or even short stories in my life.  What I've found is that everything seems to come out dialogue.  So recently I've begun to think I'm actually a playwright at heart.  I digress.  I did enjoy this assignment (as much as one can enjoy something like this).  So indulge me if you will (it is my blog after all) and enjoy my "Creative Application No. 1" or as I like to call it, New Ideas from Dead PAs  (see if you can guess the talk show host who most inspired me in this endeavor for some Jen bonus points): 

The following is a transcript of a very fictional radio talk show based on very real historical figures.

Jennifer:  Welcome back everyone!  My next guests are here in the studio with me; they’ve travelled a long way to be here with us.  Sometimes I wish this was television and not radio because this is hard to believe without seeing it, but our next guests are actually dead—and have been for some time.  It is my privilege to welcome Max Weber, Frederick Taylor and Luther Gulick, all brilliant minds, forefathers in the field of Public Administration.  They’ve travelled all the way from the afterlife ladies and gentlemen, to talk to us today. I hope our current public administrators are listening today because I think we all need to hear what these men have to say.  Mr. Weber, I’d like to begin with a question for you.

Weber: Please, call me Max

Jennifer:  Certainly, Max I see here you were born in 1864, and died quite young at the age of 56 (Fry & Raadschelders, 2008). Yet, considering your relatively short life, you were a prolific writer.  How did you manage that?

Weber:  I started quite young, and felt I had a lot to say.

Gulick:  He’s a windbag—brilliant, but pedantic.

Taylor:  Why say in two words, what you can say in 30?

Weber:  Don’t mind them—I certainly don’t.   The afterlife has provided plenty of time for my search for lightheartedness.  You see, I was quite serious about, well, everything in my mortal life, so I’ve made a concerted effort to find humor in death.    

Jennifer:  I’m glad to hear that.  I do have to admit that I found your writing to be somewhat difficult to get through at times.   

Gulick:  Admit it, you fell asleep didn’t you?  Happens to me all the time.  It’s dry stuff.

Jennifer:  Let’s just say that it was so interesting, that I had to read much of it twice.

Taylor:  It helps if you only read every other paragraph—you get the gist but in half the time.

Weber:  Laugh it up Speedy Gonzaga, you’ll have your turn. 

Jennifer:  It seems you’ve all become friends in the hereafter.

Weber:  Oh most certainly.  I never had much time in my mortal life to get to know these two—and of course Frederick and I died about the time Luther over there was just catching his stride.  But for all their frivolous mockery, I daresay they both studied my writings extensively in their time, so I imagine something I said was useful to them in their work.

Jennifer:  So during the decades since your death, have you had an opportunity to follow much of our current state of affairs in this country?

Weber:  Undoubtedly.  I find it quite fascinating to watch principles, the study of which I dedicated the better part of my life, manifest themselves posthumously.

Jennifer:  Can you give us an example?

Weber:  For instance, I’ve always considered democracy not as “the end of the historical process, but as a precarious condition” (Titunik, 1997).

Jennifer:  How so?

Weber:  In the sense that a democracy, contrary to being simply the panacea of a free society, will eventually produce a new aristocracy—a new elite political class of wealthy, technically experienced bureaucrats.  This is indeed what we are all watching develop in the modern political arena.  The reality is that the working man does not have time and wealth sufficient to govern (Fry & Raadschelders, 2008). Far from a free, self-governing populace, we see the emergence of wealthy career politicians.

Taylor:  Somebody nudge Gulick, I think he fell asleep at the end there.

Jennifer:  Mr. Taylor--

Taylor:  Please, call me Frederick.

Gulick:  Or Freddy.  Better yet, Fred.  It’s more efficient.  He prefers that.

Jennifer:  Okay Frederick.  Teasing aside, I’d like to address this concept of efficiency. You are known as the Father of Scientific Management and renowned for your efforts at creating efficiency in management and industry.  Do you feel that there is ever a limit to efficiency?

Taylor:  In theory no.  In practice, efficiency is limited by many factors of human shortcomings; mostly surmountable with time. 

Jennifer:  So, if we had sufficient time, talent and training, the possibilities of efficiency are limitless?

Taylor: Precisely. 

Gulick:  Be warned, this man is all racket and no balls.

Jennifer:  I’d like to point out for our sensitive listeners that Mr. Gulick was commenting on your tendency towards efficiency at all cost as well as referencing your time as a champion tennis player.  Isn’t that correct, Mr. Gulick?

Gulick:  Certainly, and please call me Luther.  What I was attempting to convey (although admittedly with a dose juvenile levity) is that if Frederick believed that the game of tennis could be played more efficiently by eliminating the tennis ball, he would do so, without regard for the organic necessity of the ball to the game.   

Jennifer:  Yes, I read about this in your work.  Can you explain for our listeners, the concept of organic limitations to the division of labor (Gulick & Urwick, 1937/2012)?

Gulick:  Yes of course, you see, there is a limit to efficiency, particularly in the division of labor.  For example “it might seem far more efficient to have the front half of the cow in the pasture grazing and the rear half in the barn being milked all of the time, but this organic division would fail” for obvious reasons (Gulick & Urwick, 1937/2012).   I’m not sure Frederick over there realizes any such limitation.

Jennifer:  Frederick?  Do you agree with this organic limitation?

Taylor:  Yes and no.  We are limited only by knowledge and time--

Gulick:  You see what I mean?  Tell me Frederick, how exactly do you propose to split the cow?

Taylor:  What I was about to say before I was interrupted—

Weber:  Knock knock?

Taylor:  Good heavens Max, do you really think this is the place to practice your knock knock jokes?

Weber:  Oh, play along, then you can get back to dissecting the cow.  I assure you, it is relevant.  Come on.  Knock Knock?

Taylor: I shall defer to our gracious host.  Max here, as part of his efforts at finding the humor in death, that he found unattainable in life, has been collecting jokes.  Would you like a sampling?

Jennifer:  Certainly, as long as we get back to dissecting the cow.  Alright Max, who’s there?

Weber:  Interrupting Cow.

Jennifer:  Interrupting Co--

Weber:  --MOO!!!  Ha! Ha!  What a clever joke!

Taylor:  Hilarious Max.  Are you finished?

Weber:  Yes, I’m quite finished, please continue.                                                 

Taylor:  As I was say—

Weber:  --MOO!!  Oh, how I love the modern knock knock joke.  I’m sorry, you were saying?

Taylor:  As I was saying, the problem is not in the splitting of the cow.  It’s not that we lack the scientific ability to split the cow in this manner (which, granted we do).  It’s in management’s inability to properly conceptualize the problem.  The manager, who is the dairy farmer in this instance, has not properly gathered the knowledge, or studied out the various parts of the system.   I would venture to say that the inefficiencies of this system lie in the time lost in taking the cow to and from the barn.  But that is the way in which it has always been done by the farmer.  That is the old “rule of thumb” (Taylor, 1912/2012) which management must strive to replace with knowledge.  Luther has confused the division of labor with the division of the laborer.  You don’t take the front half of the cow out to pasture, you bring the pasture to the front of the cow.   I believe they do this in your modern dairy operations.  They milk the animal while it feeds at a trough. Brilliant.  I wish I’d conceived of this in my lifetime.  I would have been the father of Scientific and Dairy Management.

Jennifer:  You’ve obviously given this some thought.

Taylor:  My life’s work was making the inefficient efficient and the efficient more so.  However I do concede that with eternity now before me, sometimes I wonder at the necessity of all that efficiency. 

Gulick:  Perhaps you should spend some time figuring out how to dissect a cow?

Weber:  MOO!

Jennifer:  Alright, I think it’s time we turned to Luther.  You have at times been called “The Dean of Public Administration.”  This is because your career in the study and practice of public administration spans 70 years; a good decade or so longer than either of your colleagues here even lived.  You only passed away in 1990, which means in your 100-year lifetime, you witnessed nearly the entire history of the modern public administration movement.  It says here that “if there is a single person who personifies public administration in the United States, it is Luther Gulick” (Fry & Raadschelders, 85).  Do you feel this is a fair estimation?

Taylor:  Luther, are you blushing?  I didn’t think dead men blushed.

Gulick:  Whether it is fair or not is really a question for others.  I do say that my life was very fulfilling as a public servant.  I enjoyed my work.  It also felt very long at the time.  Now however, it seems but a blip on the eternal radar.

Jennifer:  I can only imagine.  One thing I did note in my studies is that many scholars in this arena have written about the need to distinguish in practice, the political from the administrative.  This was the prevalent thought among scholars throughout most, if not all of your lifetime.  Yet you consistently advocated for the intertwining of the two?  Why do you differ on this point?  And in observing the politics of today, do you continue to hold to this opinion?

Gulick:  Consider for a moment your government’s current state of affairs with regards to the political and the administrative.  Would you say that they are separate, or overlapping? 

Jennifer:  Definitely overlapping.   

Gulick:  Precisely.  And do you recall a time when administration and politics were successfully separated?

Jennifer:  Well, no.

Gulick:  Thank you for proving my point.  I don’t advocate for separation, first and foremost because I believe that separation is impossible and impractical (Fry & Raadschelders, 86).  I also believe that separation is not only impossible but is undesirable, or is not perhaps the most ideal situation, given the political realities. 

Jennifer:  So do you think the current system is working fine in this regard?

Gulick:  Not necessarily.  I think that the politic can harmoniously be involved in the administrative without being unduly meddlesome, but in the current state of affairs, that line is regularly crossed.

Jennifer:  Politics is presently meddling too much in administration?

Gulick:   To the point of paralysis.  Consider the recent political government shutdown stunt.  What was the impetus?

Jennifer:  The Affordable Healthcare Act.

Gulick:  Exactly!  A law that should have been well into the administration phase of its lifespan, and here it is, forever languishing in the political arena.  Obviously there is political discord over this law, which requires some continued interaction between the political and the administrative; which is why I say complete separation is impossible.  But when we reach the point of government shut down due to a law that is legally on the books, we’ve tipped the balance.

Jennifer:  We’re going to have to let that be the last word as we are out of time.  I have thoroughly enjoyed our visit here today and I thank you all for being here.

Gulick:  Well, thank you.  It has been delightful.

Taylor:  Yes, the pleasure has been--       

Weber:  --MOO!  Sorry, couldn’t resist there.  Of course, thank you. 

Jennifer:  And a special thanks to our producer, River Sticks and our new intern Weeji B. Horde.  I’m not sure how they managed it, but was largely due to their efforts that we were able to have these distinguished guests on our show today.  Thank you, and please join us next time. 

 

 

 

References

Fry, B. R. & Raadschelders, J.C.N. (2008). Mastering public administration: From Max Weber to Dwight Waldo (2nd ed.).  Washington, DC: CQ Press.

Gulick, L. & Urwick, L., eds. (2012). The study of administration. In J.M Shafritz and A.C. Hyde, Classics of Public Administration (7^th ed. pp. 81-89). (Original work published 1937).  Boston:  Wadsworth.

Taylor, F.W. (2012).  Scientific management. In J.M Shafritz and A.C. Hyde, Classics of public administration (7^th ed. pp. 37-39). (Original work published 1912).  Boston:  Wadsworth.

Titunik, R. F. (1997). The continuation of history: Max Weber on the advent of a new aristocracy. Journal of Politics, 59(3), 680.