Sometimes doctors fix ya and sometimes they don't

It was some seventeen years ago when I had a caesarian section. At the time I was under the impression that they were done rarely and only in cases of absolute need. At the time I thought mine was one of those. Since then I’ve learned how pitocin (given to induce labor) actually induces stress in the fetus creating a need for C-sections. (Google Pit to Distress). If mine had been an actual emergency, my C-section would have happened as soon as they discovered the stress in my baby, not three hours later, after office hours, when it was more convenient for my OB.

As a result of my unnecessarian, the muscles cut in my midsections are weaker than they should be, an imbalance that’s caused seventeen years of lifting, standing, running and walking incorrectly. Not totally responsible but certainly contributing to the arthritis I’m now sporting in my lower back.

As a result of my arthritis, I went to another kind of doctor, a rheumatologist who assured me that certain pain meds were safe if taken with food and bla, bla, bla . . . etc. etc. etc . . .  all advice I followed to the letter. “If they stop working,” he advised, “we’ll find something else for you.”

Well, they never stopped working, they kept me happy, pain free, and functioning normally. Until the day I wound up unconscious on the floor and had to be hauled away in an ambulance. Turns out I had three bleeding ulcers and had lost two pints of blood. Turns out NSAIDs are actually responsible for some 16,000 deaths a year. (see previous post about that.) 

  

While I was in the hospital getting my bloody stomach fixed, I was assigned a GI doctor who I like immensely (in spite of the places he’s been). He helped heal up the holes in my stomach and then kept seeing me for regular check-ups. Every time we talked he asked if anything else was going on. So I eventually got over my embarrassment and told him about a certain “other” chronic problem I was having (and I’ll spare the details here).

I told him how doctor number one (the OB) had suggested that this "other problem" is caused by a tilt in my uterus and the sure-fire fix would be to take the thing out . . . said I’d be fine without it since my baby making days were over and I didn't need the thing anyway. He said artificial hormones would compensate for what I’d lose and they’d be safe as long as I took them according to directions. And bla, bla, bla, . . . etc, etc, etc . . . 

Gee, where had I heard that before?

In the long run, my GI doctor (did I mention how much I adore him?) has suggested certain dietetic changes and other sundry, natural stuff that has everything working as it should. No surgery, no drugs. Just me, my weakened ab muscles, my arthritic back, my compromised stomach, and my diet.

So yeah, I have some back pain. I have some issues with my posture. I have a few regrets—okay, maybe lots of them. But I also have a big strapping seventeen year old boy. And what could be wrong with that!?

And I have a much more cautionary relationship with our "healthcare" system.

Walks along the bayou

One thing I like about Houston's suburbs is its sophisticated system of channels that drain the once copious amounts of rain away from the thousands of homes that live here. They're not really bayous . . . that's just my pet name for them. My dogs love them as much if not more than I do and they pry me away from my computer for their daily romps. It's an interesting enough adventure that I've taken to carrying my camera along.

Here are some of the things I see during my adventures on the bayou . . . lots of birds, lots of turtles and lots of water.

Day after a big rain

Piper LOVES chasing the Blue Herons and the Ibises (or sould that be Ibi?) 

Such are our walks on the "bayou." Lots of exercise for everyone. Even, begrudgingly . . . the birds!

I found Jesus!

It's true! And you'll never believe where!

My family went to the Texas Renaissance Festival last Sunday. Actually we go every year, sometimes two or three times. So yeah . . . as weird as it sounds, that's where I found Him - at the Renaissance Festival right here in Texas. The place where chain-mail clad women strut around wearing next to nothing. Where jousting and head lobbing are daily occurrences. Where wine flows freely (oh, but Jesus is used to that) and where two men compete by diving face first into a mud filled pit. That's right . . . face first.

And THAT is exactly where I found Him. Right there in the Sturdy Beggers Show.

You can check it out for yourself... it was right at the end, right after they'd taken their last dive into the mud, right after the one begger actually wolfed down a mouthful of the stuff and then kissed some unsuspecting audience member (no, it was NOT me this time!). But that's not what we're talking about here, is it?

No, we're talking about finding Jesus. And finding Him in the least likely place. You'll just have to see for yourself and let me know if you agree.

This is the image that squeezed out of the mud as the Sturdy Beggers made their final exit, ending the last show of the day.

So... what do you think? Jesus? 

Or just too much wine? 

Let the Buyer Beware!

Today's post is brought to you by way of Fred Haas Toyota out here in Houston, Texas--a store I will henceforth avoid. 


See, last month I bought a truck for my son . . . his first vehicle! LAST MONTH! Excited for him, anxious about this next step toward adulthood. Intentionally opting for a truck, something used, something I wouldn't be too upset about if he wrecked, being a new driver and all. 


And okay, so I'm a naive shopper. Okay, so I trusted the young man with the nice, honest looking smile. And so what if I thought he was listening when I told him how special this vehicle was for my son. 


And what if I've always had an underlying belief that all people are inherently good. 


And yeah . . . it didn't quite work out that way this time. Hindsight, I should have listened to my husband who wasn't as enamored with the truck or with the "deal" as I was. But I didn't . . . listen to him. Instead, I got to learn something! I learned that a warning indicator, one that suggests the catalytic converter has gone bad, can actually be temporarily reset. Go figure! And sure, I'll never know whether it was the dealer who reset it or the previous owner. 


But none of that really matters now, does it? What does matter is that I'd much rather be the kind of person I am, one who believes in the inherent goodness of people, than the kind of person who cheated and misrepresented the value of the truck. And yeah, sure, my mistake hit me in the pocketbook. But at least I still have my ethics intact. 


And here's a funny thing (see how I'm trying to find humor in all this!): the dealership actually wanted me to leave the truck with them to do the repairs! Are you kidding me!! What's that saying? "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me." 


I do have to admit though . . . that's a pretty sharp looking container for a shiny new catalytic converter! 

Parting thought: My new mechanic says that any time a car salesmen opens their mouth, they're lying. 

I'm gonna have to remember that from now on.