Abusive Doctors

Doctors like Priests and Lawyers are given not only our sacred trust but the most intimate secrets of our being; our personal medical mysteries and secrets. While the discovery channel has us look in high esteem at these self effacing, brilliant, charitable Doctors who defy all odds to make medical miracles happen the reality check of real life is that many are found wanting, and are the antithesis of what Physicians should be.

Have you ever been afraid of your doctor or felt side-swiped by their lack of compassion and understanding? Today I ventured hopefully through the doors of my *new gynecologist's office for the first time; I will not pass that way again. While I arrived early it was not early enough. She sat down next to me 40 mins past my scheduled time and told me because I had not come the full 15 mins early she required, she had let the next patient (scheduled a half hour after me) see her first.

I am 60 years old. I do not need to be punished by my doctor for breaking her 15 min rule.

She proceeded to take my medical history. I have had a Hysterectomy (no ovaries- no estrogen); I was on Hormone Replacement Therapy until Breast Cancer made me ineligible for continuing with it.

I mention that only because, with her less than delicate examination, when she drew blood, it was my fault for being estrogenless.

She was haughty and cold and truly eligible for that 4 letter word nice people don't use when talking about women. She made me ponder my relationship with Female Doctors of which I have now had five. I can truly say though I have been a feminist since the '70's, I have only had one female doctor I would not only recommend, but praise.

The others have been cold, lacking that humane loving bedside manner and unable to communicate any feeling of compassion. In their desire to be as efficient and as tough as their male counterparts they seem to have lost the tenderness and nurturing that should be part of their makeup.

They certainly don't seem to see a difference between a healthy person needing a firm hand and a person who goes in and out the revolving door of doctor's offices because of a myriad of issues, who needs a gentle touch.

I do; and I shall NOT be choosing another female doctor.

Phans

As long as I can remember I have been the epitome of a loyal, diehard, emotionally invested fan. From the age of 5 I was going to ball games with my parents and watching those phabulous philadelphia phillies - then known as the whiz kids. One of the players owned a bowling alley and we went there - I could name them all back then - Stan Lopata - Robin Roberts - Richie Ashburn - I think all of the players were white. Costa Rica and Puerto Rico and the Negro League were not even whispered in hushed tones. I think their second baseman was involved in a minor sexual scandal with a 13 year old girl (he was probably from Arkansas where they didnt know any better anyway). But no one really talked about it. You went to Connie Mack Stadium and you kept score. Not in a magazine but in one of those fold over cards with one of those awful stubby yellow pencils; and everyone really paid close attention cause this was important stuff.

And you grew up and the phillies pholded in September like Phil Mickelson did in the Open last Sunday - a phenomenal implosion that is still talked about and compared to the biggest chokes ever. But they were tired and the pitchers had no relief and Gene Mauch did the best he could.

And you moved away and there was no internet and no one in Chicago cared about the Phillies except you. And you couldn't become emotionally invested in the Cubs because the Phillies were already sucking the life blood out of you. Always giving you hope and then dropping you from the skyscraper of dreams into some horrible huge crash onto pavement; to be pitied for once more believing in them. Mike Schmidt came to Wrigley and smashed 4 home runs in one day and you wondered at this "superman" (gee i hope he didn't take steroids and hgh) and they gave you Kruk and Daulton and Dykstra and all was great cause now everyone loved the Phillies just like you.

Back to the Abyss and roller coaster ride and all the players who hated playing there or wouldn't even go there starting with Curt Flood and JD Drew; Rolen couldnt get out of town fast enough....They knew. Phillies and their Phans were in Sports Purgatory.

Finally, in my late 50's I had to give them up. They were going to kill me - emotionally I was vanquished. I divorced them and though I listen to them on the internet and I follow their exploits I can't invest - not like I used to.

I turned my attention totally back to college sports and just as I was now going overboard in my emotional investment in Penn State Football; Joe Paterno forgot how to recruit or coach and I thought I would die. That was the one area where we could be cocky - sitting on the top of the College Football Sports world was "our entitlement" because Joe did it right. He recruited only good kids, who studied and never had sex, never committed crimes and always showed respect for their elders. Then it all imploded at once. Bad Kids - lousy recruits - - kids in trouble - and we couldn't beat Michigan. When we couldn't beat Northwestern - when we could only get 2 safeties against Iowa. I thought death could not come soon enough. I had been reduced to being worried about Akron. Temple played us tough. We lost to a MAC school. Where would the humiliation end?

There was this glorious resurgence in 2005 at Penn State. The season flew by. Every game, except one, turned out right for the guys in the white helmets. I do have my beloved Nittany Lions who even in the worst of times are the epitome of sportsmanship. I now follow every NFL team that has a Penn State Player; Sundays are fun with out any emotional drain. Ah! The pure Joie d' Athletic.

Now I thought, with a new coach in Philadelphia maybe I could turn my attention back to the Phillies. Nope. It is always something. They have the bats but no pitching. They have the pitchers but they are all on the disabled list. They lose leads and turn slaughters into nail biters. I see now it isnt about the Sundays; it isn't about the Saturdays. The Phan thing that started it all will always be about those dysfunctional phillies and my emotional investment and the Sports Baggage I carry with me.

Grown Up Guilt

When you are small, meaning a non-adult; pushed around child - Guilt is thrust upon you. Those starving people in Africa (the non-dieters). You take on - all the "what have I done to deserve this stuff?"If your father only knew - I think Guilt is especially dealt by Moms, don't you? You arrive at adulthood and you do all the wrong things, but you can't admit that.... Cause YOU're the MOM. But you feel it. Deep Down you know. You weren't there for their first basketball game, or any subsequent game. You were too busy dealing with the Karma of a horrible job, or a really bad marriage. You needed to escape and there weren't anymore pieces of you left to give away - YOU were drained - devoid - in your thirties being the super mom - who worked and cleaned and cooked - and got little love or attention - you were supposed to vanish in thin air. The MOM MYSTIQUE.

And then you are fifty - the marriage is over - you have changed jobs - you have moved and given up the hobby that took you away from the misery (whether it was bridge or volleyball or a raucous affair)

And you feel that gnawing GROWN UP GUILT and you need to make it up to the kids. Forget the husbands it was always all their fault right from the GET GO. Their fault you went through labor and got fat and made you feel undesirable and didn't earn enough so you had to work and do everything.

So now you are Guilt ridden and think can I fill up their weekends and be all things and everywhere? Can I help them clean and take them to dinner and anything else because I have this Guilt and Maybe just Maybe if I am all that self sacrificing Mom to them now they will forget I wasn't there when they were little.

Nah it ain't gonna happen. You are lucky if they like you. It would take special dispensation from somewhere not of this world, to get rid of that Grown UP Guilt.

Intellectual Curiosity

So I don't know what turns techno teens on - I doubt any of them (being all A.D.& D. and on Ritalin) could sit still long enough to read the encyclopedia. I know when I was young I had lots of friends who spent half their free time looking obscure things up and knowing stuff no 12 year old in their right mind would know.

I for one, did my 8th grade science presentation on lobotomies because I had read my brother's college psychology text book and found it fascinating. But I digress from the real motivation for this blog.

I got suckered in by the DNA hype i was reading about on CNN, and in the Newspapers - and about the National Geographic Genographic project. I needed to be the first person on my block to DNA swab so I could tell my family where we went Out of Africa - what route we took - and who were in our Haplogroup.

I was driven. I did it - I got the kit - was assigned a number - did the swab thing and checked on the Internet Daily for my Results. I read the FAQ's and was delighted I hadn't been sent back from DNA analysis all the way back to batch control. I was patient and conscientious about the project. Friday I got my results.

MY DNA never got out of Africa. I this red-haired pale freckled white woman had the DNA of African Americans - My starting point was the Bantu's in East Africa. I do not know if it is fashionable to be a member of the L2 Haplogroup and the fact that we never got out of Africa doesn't surprise me as I move very slowly.

They are so vague and the universality of being an L2 haplogroup leads me to believe midgets in Cambodia have my DNA so there you go another Diana Ross wannabe hiding in a Nitzberg body.

So when I found this out on Friday just before I left work my first thought was (since this group is indicative of African Americans) that I should start walking up to Black Women - call them sisters and tell them I was a Bantu and hope they didn't call 911 and try to have me committed. But instead I turned to one of the white women on my team and said I am just gonna get my black ass out of here - have a great weekend.