I wanted to bypass any discussion of obesity in my blog, but clearly it is unavoidable. I'm not talking about the kind of obesity that is determined by life insurance companies. You know, the BMI stuff? I'm not talking about the chubby or those with a little "extra junk in the trunk". I am talking about morbid obesity. I am referring to people that are rotund, porcine, avoirdupois, extra fleshy! Did you know that the smallest Icee available at Circle K is 32 ounces? 32 ounces?! That is equal to 1/2 of the minimum amount of water we should be drinking each day. Instead, they are selling 32 ounces of adulterated sugar to children. It is sugar embellished in a kaleidoscope of icy colors, created to silently entice people of all ages to indulge in over 400 calories of fuel, that will enthusiastically migrate to fat cells.
I am not free of blame. Of course, I "nourish" myself with the occasional cup of MoJo yogurt, which wouldn't be terrible if it was not simply a vessel for a substantial tower of peanut butter chips and Oreo bits. And I can't deny the iced latte that I consume daily or the "I really don't have time to eat" grilled cheese from the cafeteria grill. BUT, I am cognizant of times when I treat my body, which is a temple according to the Bible, as a hazardous waste bin. I move a little more and eat a little more from Mother Earth. I know what my fasting glucose is, and maybe that is because I am in the medical field, but it shouldn't take a medical education to know that fat is FAT. Anyone with eyes can see the effects of daily gluttonous feeding. I can see my MoJo love handles, but when it becomes impossible to differentiate between love handle, back fat, breast, and abdomen there is a problem, a BIG problem.
We are a fat nation, thus we are a sick nation. Already, type II diabetes is being diagnosed in young, under the age of 10, kids. It is NOT juvenile diabetes, it is type II, "your 10 year old is 50 pounds overweight" diabetes. The top 3 causes of death are inescapably related to obesity. Daily, I walk through the hospital halls and am witness to spandex, painfully stretched over fleshy curves not intended for the human race to possess. Slow moving, huffing and puffing spandex enshrouded flesh, carrying trays of 32 ounce cups of incognito sugar accompanied by animal flesh cooked in animal fat with a side of starchy tubers lubricated in animal grease. YUM But this is what "they" sell to us. Try to think of an authentically healthy fast food drive through. I have yet to come up with even one.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Agnus 980
Last night, as I listened to the even breathing of at least 3 living beings, and the occasional snore or dream induced growl, I watched the movie, "Neverwas". I had zero expectations for this movie and had absolutely no idea what it was about. It was a randomly chosen 2:00 AM netflix "play now" flick that has surprisingly left me contemplative.
The movie, well, it was a curious mix of real versus fantasy. The plot included psychiatry, children books, suspense, love, and mystery. Just the mere fact that fantasy and children books were intertwined through the story line is enough to make me skip right over this movie, but it was 2:00, and things are different at 2:00.
A brief synopsis: A psychiatrist takes a job at the mental health hospital where his dad stayed many years ago. The psychiatrist's dad wrote a very famous children book prior to committing suicide when his psychiatrist son was only 11ish. Upon returning to the mental health hospital to work, the psychiatrist is quickly drawn into the delusional world of one of his patients. Ultimately, this very "sick" and delusional patient is granted happiness in the simplest of ways.
I almost cried during this movie. Instead, I lied in bed quietly, thinking. My heart was affected, I could feel it swell with warmth. This movie reminds me of a patient I once treated for a very rare illness, so rare that if I were to disclose the details here, I would risk breaking HIPPA. And God knows that would be the ULTIMATE sin! (haha)
My patient was a 980 (I think that is what the EMS run sheet said). I had no idea what a "980" was, so I nonchalantly began to ask around. "It's a crazy person!" Apparently, this is common knowledge? This patient, I will call her Agnus, was my patient for many weeks, in fact I was beginning to believe that she would never return to her accustomed way of life. Agnus was "crazy"! I don't use that word often, but Agnus was! Each day I would round on Agnus and each day I was met with the incensed staff, who were very good at staring at me with exacerbated expressions. "What did she do?" was my typical welcoming question. The list was long. I could hear Agnus from down the hall. She was screaming and shouting about unfathomable events that had taken place in her microcosm of thought. Often times she was naked, and managed to make grown men blush. It was evident, simply by looking at Agnus that she had lived a challenging life. I poured medications into Agnus in a desperate attempt to afford her some peace. Nothing worked! Of course, until something finally did.
Agnus began to change. She slowly evolved from "Crazy Agnus" to Agnus. Some may argue that she continues to be a 980, but I disagree. I saw Agnus in a way that the delusional man in "Neverwas" was ultimately seen. Agnus was simple. She was not influenced by consumerism or status. Her dreams were unadulterated and undeniably humble. Agnus would tell me, "I have schizophrenia, I have for 20 years." Then she would scream at me, "I want to go home".
Medicine remains a paternalistic profession. Much like The Fray's song, "How to Save a Life", I lose sight of what is most important, the uniqueness of each of the patients I treat.
"Let him know that you know best
Cause after all you do know best
Try to slip past his defense
Without granting innocence
Lay down a list of what is wrong
The things you've told him all along
And pray to God he hears you"
The remarkable thing is that with Agnus, we all wanted to decide what is best for her, but I have accepted that I don't know and neither does anyone else. Only Agnus knows what is best for her. Her dreams are simple; a trailer in a small town with a small dog. She wants nothing more, and the hardest thing to learn is that I cannot coerce her into wanting more.
I miss "980" Agnus.
The movie, well, it was a curious mix of real versus fantasy. The plot included psychiatry, children books, suspense, love, and mystery. Just the mere fact that fantasy and children books were intertwined through the story line is enough to make me skip right over this movie, but it was 2:00, and things are different at 2:00.
A brief synopsis: A psychiatrist takes a job at the mental health hospital where his dad stayed many years ago. The psychiatrist's dad wrote a very famous children book prior to committing suicide when his psychiatrist son was only 11ish. Upon returning to the mental health hospital to work, the psychiatrist is quickly drawn into the delusional world of one of his patients. Ultimately, this very "sick" and delusional patient is granted happiness in the simplest of ways.
I almost cried during this movie. Instead, I lied in bed quietly, thinking. My heart was affected, I could feel it swell with warmth. This movie reminds me of a patient I once treated for a very rare illness, so rare that if I were to disclose the details here, I would risk breaking HIPPA. And God knows that would be the ULTIMATE sin! (haha)
My patient was a 980 (I think that is what the EMS run sheet said). I had no idea what a "980" was, so I nonchalantly began to ask around. "It's a crazy person!" Apparently, this is common knowledge? This patient, I will call her Agnus, was my patient for many weeks, in fact I was beginning to believe that she would never return to her accustomed way of life. Agnus was "crazy"! I don't use that word often, but Agnus was! Each day I would round on Agnus and each day I was met with the incensed staff, who were very good at staring at me with exacerbated expressions. "What did she do?" was my typical welcoming question. The list was long. I could hear Agnus from down the hall. She was screaming and shouting about unfathomable events that had taken place in her microcosm of thought. Often times she was naked, and managed to make grown men blush. It was evident, simply by looking at Agnus that she had lived a challenging life. I poured medications into Agnus in a desperate attempt to afford her some peace. Nothing worked! Of course, until something finally did.
Agnus began to change. She slowly evolved from "Crazy Agnus" to Agnus. Some may argue that she continues to be a 980, but I disagree. I saw Agnus in a way that the delusional man in "Neverwas" was ultimately seen. Agnus was simple. She was not influenced by consumerism or status. Her dreams were unadulterated and undeniably humble. Agnus would tell me, "I have schizophrenia, I have for 20 years." Then she would scream at me, "I want to go home".
Medicine remains a paternalistic profession. Much like The Fray's song, "How to Save a Life", I lose sight of what is most important, the uniqueness of each of the patients I treat.
"Let him know that you know best
Cause after all you do know best
Try to slip past his defense
Without granting innocence
Lay down a list of what is wrong
The things you've told him all along
And pray to God he hears you"
The remarkable thing is that with Agnus, we all wanted to decide what is best for her, but I have accepted that I don't know and neither does anyone else. Only Agnus knows what is best for her. Her dreams are simple; a trailer in a small town with a small dog. She wants nothing more, and the hardest thing to learn is that I cannot coerce her into wanting more.
I miss "980" Agnus.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Can You Hear Me Now?
As everyone's network continues to grow we all become more connected to the world. Our rather large spherical land has become deceptively small. With a few quickly pressed buttons, invisible data is expelled through the air to the intended recipient. It is an action that occurs within milliseconds and one that I fail to comprehend. How is it that somebody located 1000 miles away can be expected to receive a text in only seconds after I hit send? Regardless of the science behind our electronically dominated communication system, it is an impressive powerhouse for efficacious interchange.
Powerhouse might be an understatement. Electronic communication has caused a complete metamorphosis in not only the way we communicate, but also the way we live. For example, I remember the days when a pager (which certainly meant I was a drug dealer) announced that I needed to start looking for a pay phone, in a not too scary area of town. Now, Pandora, which is streaming through my Blackberry to my car stereo, is interrupted to enthusiastically proclaim that I have a call coming. At stop lights I muse at the knowledge that every person around me is frantically texting away. Are our thoughts and ideas really so important that we must jeopardize our lives by compromising our attention? I say this in a completely non-judgmental way, as I am not free of blame. I too have engaged in DWT (driving while texting).
Can you hear me now? We ask this when that enigmatic signal in the air starts to falter. But is it possible that we also ask that because amongst endless ways to electronically connect we still don't feel heard? When did we become incessantly married to our phones, I pods, laptops, bluetooths, social networking sites, social networking site games, etc? Right now I can think of at least 5 ways to "catch up" with my friends and family, and honestly, a face to face visit doesn't seem to be an acceptable option. Why spend the time to actually visit with someone in the flesh, when I can complacently visit with others from the comfort of my way too soft vortex, AKA couch? I love and abhor our society of electronic communication. I experience mild panic when I realize that I left the house or my office without my Blackberry, but I CAN sever the the Blackberry, I-Mac and I-Pod bond so that I may spend time interacting with the live, corporeal world. Can you?
Powerhouse might be an understatement. Electronic communication has caused a complete metamorphosis in not only the way we communicate, but also the way we live. For example, I remember the days when a pager (which certainly meant I was a drug dealer) announced that I needed to start looking for a pay phone, in a not too scary area of town. Now, Pandora, which is streaming through my Blackberry to my car stereo, is interrupted to enthusiastically proclaim that I have a call coming. At stop lights I muse at the knowledge that every person around me is frantically texting away. Are our thoughts and ideas really so important that we must jeopardize our lives by compromising our attention? I say this in a completely non-judgmental way, as I am not free of blame. I too have engaged in DWT (driving while texting).
Can you hear me now? We ask this when that enigmatic signal in the air starts to falter. But is it possible that we also ask that because amongst endless ways to electronically connect we still don't feel heard? When did we become incessantly married to our phones, I pods, laptops, bluetooths, social networking sites, social networking site games, etc? Right now I can think of at least 5 ways to "catch up" with my friends and family, and honestly, a face to face visit doesn't seem to be an acceptable option. Why spend the time to actually visit with someone in the flesh, when I can complacently visit with others from the comfort of my way too soft vortex, AKA couch? I love and abhor our society of electronic communication. I experience mild panic when I realize that I left the house or my office without my Blackberry, but I CAN sever the the Blackberry, I-Mac and I-Pod bond so that I may spend time interacting with the live, corporeal world. Can you?
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Tupac
I watched a Tupac documentary on Paladia today and have turned into a West coast gangsta wannabe. I am bobbing my head to some old school, think late 1990's, Pac. I am contemplating the purpose of the bandanna tied just inches above the forehead that immediately brings back memories of West coast vs East coast rhymes. Pac, regardless of his time in the pen and gangsta following was an amazing artist. His raps can actually ooze of sappiness. Take Dear Mama for example. "You are appreciated...and even as a crack fiend mama you always was a queen mama..." Then there's the inspirational song, "Wonder Why They Call You Bitch", which teaches the kids that being a whore, or walking the blade, is NOT they way. "Keep your mind on the money and enroll in school." Not only does Pac love his Mama but he is authentically concerned about the education of our kids. So, I wear my backward bandanna with pride, flash "WESTSIDE" and say RIP to Pac.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Back in the day, I use to be a bit of a writer, nothing special just free flow thoughts with the occasional short fiction story. I enjoyed writing and even won a few contests for writing and giving speeches...so I have decided to try it again. I am out of school for the first time since I was 3 and need new hobbies. Here is hobby number 1...I will become a blogger or is it called a bloggie? I will admit that this idea was actually Betty's, you know, Betty from Ugly Betty? Nonetheless, I will blog.
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