Built To Last

Most friendships I've held throughout the years have ended nearly as suddenly as they began. Let's face it, I'm a hard sell for a lifetime commitment. Just ask my ex-phleb class buddy CindyLooHoo, or my ex-BFF from age 6 months through high school, or heck ask my ex-husband (you know, if you can find him).


Luckily, maybe once or twice in a life time, I've found a friend that I know will always be there for me. My number one position is held, of course, by my Big J.


And number two, you ask... C'mon. We all know it's my Pal B.


So, you ponder, just how does a long tall Southern gal and all her witchy ways manage to snag a wallet-toting Mid-West butch gal for her BFF?


The answer to that question is much simpler than it may appear...


We're both fucking warped as hell!


And besides that, well- you could say we've both been burned before (once bitten, twice shy- served as your daily mixed metaphor appetizer) in friendship and in love, we share the same interest in music and in art, and we have a lot of goodness in our tender little hearts- although we'd rather not show that side. We're suckers for the cause. We want to believe that a true friendship can be held intact, and that what we want in life isn't transient.


I think most importantly we understand each other. Through good or bad we know when to press our limits, there are unspoken boundaries we didn't even know we set, and the non-verbal cues (which um, heLLo we speak on the phone 98% of the time so , like that's important!) we share are better than most old married couples.


And when my pal B says something about the side effect of a random medicine being "diarrhea and incompetence"... well, I know for sure, after picking myself up out of the floor and making myself stop laughing, that we must truly share a brain.


Or half at least half a brain.


--The Milk Maid says at least it wasn't incontinence!

system memory is fantasic!

Faith-ism

(A quote from Faith, said with a slow Southern drawl)...

"Mama, you are soft around the middle like a big ol' ripe blueberry!"

--The Milk Maid will take it as a complement.

Weekly(ish) Recap

To catch up:

I was going to cook salmon and rice for supper, but the salmon had gone bad.

I hear B's voice out there somewhere saying something to the snarky effect of, "But how do you KNOW when fish has gone bad?" and the obligatory "Bllehh retch!" sounds follow that comment.

B, trust me... it tried to swim out of the zip bag onto the grill. Nasty.

Work is work- I still love it, but I guess the euphoria of it all is wearing off a dab. We have one total party pooper at work- we shall call her Tiny Whiny- and her goal in life seems to be to make me miserable and bitch and whine and run her mouth. Constantly. Totally drama queen-o-rama. I'm a no-fly zone when it comes to all that, so you can only imagine what life has been like the past few weeks.

Other than all the above jazz life is pretty calm and quiet. I haven't had much time to run my usual inner-dialogue so my blogging has suffered. My emailing back has also suffered. My doing anything but working and cooking and occasionally cleaning and eating once or twice a day has suffered.

--The Milk Maid says she's a slacker and she knows it (and claps her hands).

retail jobs anyone?

Discussions

Yesterday my dad took Faith to the ribbon cutting of a special sports field and playground facility that is dedicated solely towards children with special needs and handicaps. The baseball field is synthetic turf so it's easily accessible for wheelchairs or other motility enhancing devices. There is a playground that is also wheelchair assessable (and it's a pirate ship- how freaking cool is that?!).

Phil Neikro was at the ribbon cutting and was autographing baseballs, hats, shirts, photos, etc. Faith got to meet him and have some photos made with him. She didn't really fathom who he was, but she understood why he was there (to use his fame to promote something positive for the community).

This whole conversation leads into why children have handicaps. All I could really tell her, without going into a long drawn out genetics talk or trying to explain chromosomes or even that sometimes things happen to children born able bodied and they become handicapped or something of the sort, I just told her that some children are chosen by God to be different than we are.

Perhaps later I will elaborate on all of this with Faith, but without prior thought this is all I could produce as an explanation.

Did I handle this right gang?

--The Milk Maid says do the fandango with fancy jewelry!

The Milk MEAD Does RenFest

MEAD: Honey Wine

After two bottles of this delectable libation at the Houston Renaissance Festival yesterday (shared with my Pal B, of course) I officially declared myself the Milk Mead!

Drunken debauchery, men in kilts taking photos of their bare genitalia, henna tattoos, steak on a stick, Mud Men, and K grounding us from any further alcohol were only some of the highlights of this weekend...

There was also drunk dialing, discussions (in depth) of Brazilian waxing, the whoring of Christoper Titus' comedy on You-Tube, drinking before noon, and the waking up of people who had to go to work today (late last night = getting yelled at).

Tomorrow is back to reality. I fly back home later tonight and leave H-town until a date to be announced much later.

I leave my friends B&K, I leave the city I've come to love, I leave company I am at home with.

-The Milk Maid says party on til next time Garth!

It's All Relative

I called my mother not long ago to let her know that Jef will drop Ava off around 11:30 tomorrow. She answered the phone with a bump and a bang and then a very sleepy sounding word that came out more like "huhhlow?" than her usual "helloooo!".

My poor mother watched Ava for a whole 5 1/2 hours today. My mother could barely form words into a coherent sentence because she was so exhausted from her day of keeping up with Miss A. Less than six hours... with my dad lending a hand the whole time.

Bless her heart... should I tell her we are planning a third child?

--The Milk Maid says dreamer, nothing but a dreamer.

dont let zits get you down: acne pills

Monday Brain Drain...

Why do nipples get all perky in cold weather? Why not hot weather or normal weather or only during thunderstorms? Party cloudy with a chance of headlights.

Is my eldest the spawn of Satan? Would that make my ex-husband Satan? But I know plenty of people who could claim their ex as the Devil Himself. Is there more than one Devil? Is that why there are so many names for the Devil- i.e. Satan, Beelzebub, Dark Prince, etc? Or do we just live in a world of synonyms? What is a synonym for synonym?

How do I convince Ava that my arm freckles are not boo-boos? And if Ava continues to poke my freckles while calling them boo-boos will I eventually get boo-boos for her to point at and yell boo-boo?

Is it strange that as I walk around during the day at Super Large Clinic Site I always chuckle the following to myself (or occasionally out loud if my pals are near) when I see one of the OB/Gyn docs: "That person has seen my vagina!". Once I even got to exclaim, "That person has seen a HUMAN HEAD fit through my vajingo!".

--The Milk Maid has lots to ponder...

MBT shoes

The Small Things In Life

She turned the corner in a hurry. It'd been a hectic day, as usual, but she presented a sincere smile as she turned the corner.

She wasn't sure if what she saw sitting in the woman's lap was a real human child or a baby doll. Perhaps the real kid was hiding under the chairs in the waiting room.

A tiny whine came from the small figure. It was a real baby. The smallest child she'd ever been face to face with.

The mother explained to her that P*rter was nine months old. P*rter had weighed 1.2 pounds at birth, and was now a whopping 4 pounds, 14 ounces. P*rter had also been born with pri*mordial dwarf*ism.

She couldn't help but notice P*rter's sweet face being cascaded in a full head of what she could only describe as "Clay Aiken's hair". Honey brown, sticking out in all directions, and just too adorable for words.

The following day was much the same, only she was working inside instead of with patients. Tiny P*rter needed blood drawn for various tests. Luckily, a heel stick was all that was needed and not a venous draw. The girls in the lab fawned over Mr. P as he was nicknamed. That was Friday.

Monday started like any other day... Patients filling draw rooms, specimen counters were full, people were running left and right and back and forth looking for this and helping that person and calling doctors with STAT reports.

When Dr. Joe walked into the room no one noticed him at first. It's not unusual to see Dr. Joe scooting around the lab. What was unusual was seeing no smile upon Dr. Joe's face.

Everyone paused, sensing some news was coming that no one wanted to hear...

You can stop reading this post now, imagine the outcome of the story, count your sorrows and move along or you can continue to read this post and perhaps be touched in the same way by Mr. P as I was...

Dr. Joe started by saying that he was very sorry to tell us this news. P*rter had passed away in his sleep from complications stemming out of his dwarfism and his prematurity. He continued with he hoped we all got to meet P*rter and celebrate the short time we were blessed with his presence. Dr. Joe wanted to continue, but with a tear in his eye he wished us a good day and quickly walked away leaving everyone in a state of shock.

I couldn't understand how this could have happened. He was just in the office. He was just right there. I had just talked about that sweet baby and how I'd fallen in love with him the moment I'd seen him.

I didn't sleep very well that night. I wrestled with the demons that were trying to tell me that maybe I should have done something different or better or maybe I'd made him sick somehow and it was MY fault that he'd passed away. In that normal area of stillness between dusk and dawn there was turmoil and sadness. How could God have taken this baby away from his parents? The parents who obviously were so filled with love and adoration for their child. If I was feeling this level of sadness and anger then what must his family be feeling?

This morning my feelings shifted from anger and not being able to even fathom the why of it all to something completely different.

How can I make this better? How can I fix this?

My mind raged with ideas from the mundane to the insane. Words like egg donation and surrogacy, as well as concepts like scholarships and fundraisers swirled in the endless abyss of my thoughts. Even the image of a Stephen King's Pet Cemetery style reincarnation came to mind, albeit briefly.

After much debate and lots of inner-monologue-style discussions I will be attending the memorial service in honor of Mr. P's life on behalf of the lab department. It wont fix anything and it wont change anything and it won't bring P*rter back, but it is the least I can do. If for no one else but myself.

Blab From The Lab

You know you have had a long day at the lab when:

• You compare a small child's hair-do to Clay Aiken's tousled tresses
• You look forward to changing your tampon just to get a moments peace and be able to sit down for longer than half a nano-second
• You attempt to put the step culture plates into the microwave
• You only realize it was the microwave when a co-worker goes to reheat her coffee and calls the fact out to you
• You really don't care if you put the plates in the microwave because it's basically the same as an incubator
• Except you eat food from that microwave and you do not want strep germs in your potato soup tomorrow
• And you really (really) had to think about just how much you didn't want strep throat to walk the whole 12 feet back to said microwave and correct your mistake

--The Milk Maid says these boots aren't made for walking.

audio book

Pass The Cup

It's a question on every one's mind, I'm certain. You have been there, I'm positive.

Imagine yourself sitting with your legs spread open in a public bathroom, holding a sterile cup under your stream of urine, trying your best not to wet your hand. You start to pee, hitting your hand (of course) and then repositioning the cup. You stop peeing, you bring the cup up to eye level to judge the amount of urine in the cup.

How much IS enough? You don't want to under fill the cup... that's got to be a sign of bad manners or ignorance or something awful, right? But on the other hand, you don't want to put too much in the cup either!

You put the cup back between your legs, wet your hand again, and finally get what seems to be an appropriate amount in the cup. Until you bring it to eye level again and it seems like too much now!

So you dump some out.

And now there isn't enough.

Would you like to know just how much is enough for a urine specimen cup? Sure you do!

Usually, and this is based on my personal experience as a urine dipper/micro-analyzer/urine culturer at Super Huge Clinic and not on any fact or written medical guideline (merely my own opinion as someone who sees a lot of piss during the day), I say aim for 1/3-1/2 full in the specimen cup.

Wanna know WHY? I'm telling you anyways, so listen up:

The pee is first "dipped" to test for leukocytes, blood, glucose, pH, and some other junk. The dip strip is about 4 inches long (ours gets run through a nifty bar code based auto scan machine!). The best way to make a 4 inch long flexible dip strip get covered uniformly in pee pee is to tilt the cup. Not enough urine makes me work to hard. Too much urine means that I get pee on my gloved hand, the counter, my shoes, my scrubs- you get the picture.

Next, if you have wonkie outta-whack pee (highly technical term there) it will either need (a) a micro (looking at your tinkle after spinning it in a centrifuge to see all the nasty in it at 100x magnification or (b) a culture. That means a little more pee than just a spritz at the bottom.

Lastly, if your pee is really messed up- like loads of blood, nitrites, leukocytes and that whole deal, then option (b) will be performed and you will have your wee-wee sent off in a "culture" tube. The culture tube is the same size as a smaller blood vile and works pretty much the same way- through a vacuum that slurps the pee into it and mixing it with a preservative. You need more than a sprinkle for this, most definitely.

Ok, so perhaps I got a little more technical than I was going for in all of that, but I just can't help myself sometimes. Everyone of us has had that moment in the bathroom wondering just how much is enough and how much is too much.

And if you were wondering, yes the lab tech will laugh at you if you send out an overflowingly full cup of tinkle. Especially is it is wet on the outside. Because we know you didn't wash the pee off the side of the cup. And if you hands are wet then you are just waaay gross. Because it's not water- oooh no! We know better.

And don't hide your pee cup in a paper towel. You made that whizz, be proud and show it off!

And if you are on your period TELL THE TECH... no body wants you to pee Hawaiian Punch in a cup- fo' reals yo!

Maybe tomorrow I will cover the do's and don'ts of all tests involving poop!

--The Milk Maid says she's just pissing off these days.

(acne cures for all!)

Random Lyrics

The song in my head today was Belinda Carlisle's I Touch Myself.

Well, that was the song in my head. The lyrics seemed to change once I got home and started coughing (like I've been doing on and off- mostly on- for a couple weeks now). It was more like:

*

When I cough around you I pee myself...

*

Oh sure, there was a lyric in there somewhere about running out of clean shorts, and being in need of Depends, and what the fark did my children do to my blader?... but I've given you enough of a mental picture for today, right?

*

--The Milk Maid says pee is always good blog fodder.

*

*

unlocked cell phones are HERE!

6 Fabulous Years!

Happy Anniversary to my Big J...

It's been the best 6 years of my life, and I'm looking forward to many more happy years together!

Love ya,


The Milk Maid

Catching Up

Now that I have this thing called a job (that I still love, blahblahblah you know) I just am not making the time for blogging. It's much easier to come home and collapse into a pile of brainless slop on the couch. By then end of the day I am not only fulfilled beyond beyond belief, but also unable to make a coherent sentence.

When Faith asks me to do things like proofread her homework all I can do is flop violently on the couch and yell "WORDSWORDSWORDS - MAKE THEM STOP!". Of course that makes no sense to say when she's doing math, but I do suppose I still get my point across.

I told you that to tell you this story...

Faith broke her arm. Ok, sure that wasn't a very good lead in, but remember that part where I was all blahwordsblah?

Anyways, long story short Faith was on the playground playing with some friends who spun her around and around in circles when suddenly the school heffer appears and tackles Faith causing Faith to land on her elbow which causes a fracture near the growth plate at the elbow and some other place (Doc said it wasn't an important detail so I kinda blahblahed on that point) and the other Doc (orthopedist with nice ass and shorty socks (and lots of WORDSWORDS!)) said it's better be safe than sorry so (one very tedious run-on sentence later) Faith has a half cast covering from her elbow to her wrist for the next two weeks.

The above story informs the whole point (blahWORDSWORDSblah) of this post:

I was bathing Faith earlier when I tell her to make sure and wash all of her girl bits... like her hoohoo. She asks me WHY we have to bathe our hoohoos so much and then, before I can even respond about general cleanliness and hygiene and etc., she questions, "Why are hoohoos always getting dirty?"

I told her they were "self-cleaning on the inside, sort of like ovens", and with "so many folds (like hospital-cornered sheets)" they were "bound to get..." (thinking), "umm, what's the word?"

Faith says, "Boogers?! Boogers in your toot?!"

(:::Silence as I try to bounce back seamlessly from my deer-in-the-headlights-stare:::)

"Oh, and mama- on that subject I think you need to dig for gold in my nose later... If you know what I mean!"

--The Milk Maid says she still has no snark to quip at her daughter.

acne treatment

Either The Lexipro Is Working Or I'm Just Really Getting Soft In My Old Age

Every single day I am amazed...

... I am amazed at the love I feel for my daughters. Faith asks me the most interesting questions. She really makes me think about ideas and life in a way I've never done before. From innocent questions on how to deal with kids who are bullies at school to astute questions on anatomy, the human body, and the whys and hows of life. Most of those let me get my A&P book for that kind of questions come after watching shows life Dr. G Medical Examiner or CSI. Both shows she probably shouldn't watch, but nonetheless you must feed the hungry with whatever can quieten their pangs. Faith now wants to be a pathologist. Or work for the Houston SPCA. Maybe both, she can't decide right now.

Ava amazes me with her energy. She surprises me with how fast she learns things. My pal B once said, "You didn't want a stupid kid, did you?". My reply of course was No!". However, I went on to elaborate about how "I didn't want a kid that could outsmart me 99% of the time by the age of two either. I guess it could be worse (insert huge grin here).

... My job amazes me. I'm amazed to have been blessed with a job that I actually crave. I dream of my job- drawing blood, running samples, talking to people. I'm fortunate to know that the smallest smile or simple gesture of kindness can make some one's bad day a little brighter. I have so much compassion for people from all walks of life. I suppose my parents raised me right. I reckon that I've seen enough bad to know that it doesn't take a lot to do good. I can comfort those who might be very ill by being gentle and polite and respectful. I can not bring up the obvious and induce the tears of ladies who might be enduring a possible miscarriage and have betas drawn every couple of days. I can calm a child who is frightened. I can dance with a child who is happy. I can ease the jitters of mothers with very small, very sick children. I can do all this mostly because I have been there or I have friends who have been there. I guess the dancing part is just my nature.

... I am amazed that I have so many friends out there. There you are- I see you! I make friends easily, but find it very difficult to trust the majority with my true being. Character flaw? Maybe. Once bitten, twice shy. More likely. At a moments notice I could flip through my phone and dial ten people who would come to my rescue. Or at least send money via Western Union so I could make bail. I know of one person who'd be sitting right beside me in that holding cell. We'd be giggling until our significant others came to drag us home and scold us. Scold is a nice term I'm using in place of "beat our asses".

... I'm amazed at the level of patience I have gained in the past year. I don't know if it was the regimen of school, the enjoyment I get from my job, or just getting older and wiser, but there has been a great shift. I'm not saying I'm one of the Old Wise Ones by any means, but I do seem to have a few more answers for my questions regarding life as of late. I can't say that I'm a sage or a seer, but the future looks a little less cloudy than it did a year or two or three ago. I don't give much advice, but I am more apt to share an experience with my friends and let them draw from my mistakes and successes as needed.

I hope this post makes a little sense to everyone. The words have been circling my heart for some time and they needed to be freed. By no means am I tooting my own horn; I am merely counting my blessings. I have so many blessings in my life. It's hard to always take the time to smell the roses, but something tells me I need to slow down and enjoy these moments. I need to savor all of my life- the good, the bad, and the ugly.

--The Milk Maid says a lot without saying a word.

Canon Powershot

Two

Ava turned two in Friday.



I have been looking for the words to blog our journey over the past couple of years, but I can't articulate all of the love and joy and laughter she brings to me. The thoughts and feelings are in my heart, but I can't make them hold still long enough to journey from mind to screen.



So I guess for maybe the second or third time in my life I am completely speechless except for the words...

Happy Birthday my Ava!

You Will Become VERY Sleepy...

This working from 7:30 or 8 until 6 or 6:3o is taking a bit of a toll on me. Don't get me wrong- I still absolutely positively wonderfully wholly love my job (!!!!), but as of late I've been on my feet at the pediatric counter logging specimens, running CBCs, Hgbs, Urines (dip, micro, and culture), A1Cs, Creatinine Ratios, leads, hCGs, monos, and streps (rapid test and culture), and FOBs.

Most of those any one of you can figure out what is what in the above list, but just FYI the FOB means "Fecal Occult Blood". That means POOP. I take a card where someone has slathered their POOP all over the special paper and analyze it to see if they have blood in their stool which might be a possible indication of colon trouble (trouble meaning cancer).

Any one want to guess how week old poop that has been in a mail box for days smells? I can tell you. You don't have to guess. I know you are DYING to know. Yes you are.

--The Milk Maid says if that's the only shit she's getting at her job, then she's doing darn fine!

futures trading

Tales From The Clinic

My first week at work went exceptionally well. I learned that a PRN schedule (which is Latin for something-er-other meaning "as needed") does not mean part time. I have seen more days start at 7:30am and end at 6pm this week than I care to recall, but I can't complain about any of it.

I'm enjoying my work immensely. Truth be told, I'm certain that I've found my calling. To delve deeper into that truth, my true true calling is on the pediatric side of the lab. As much as I love MY kids, it's some times hard to channel those feelings towards other people's brood, especially in a doctor's office setting where the children are scared of the sharp things I'm about to make them bleed with.

I can do finger sticks with my eyes closed, I have no problem doing venous draws on children ranging in age from 6 months to adulthood, I can point to the bathroom while cheerily saying "pee in this cup", and I'm quite adept at mopping up all the piss from little boys who can't drive their weeners.

On that note can I just say to all the males in the universe:

It's a CUP. It's DEEP. Hold the cup in one hand and drive your penis with the other. Yes, go on... stick it waaaay down inside that cup. I don't care how lacking you are in the size department, you do NOT have to piss all over the toilet, the wall, the sink, and the toilet paper. If I can pee in a gallon milk jug while riding down the road in the cab of a tractor trailer then by golly you can hit that 3 inch opening.

--The Milk Maid says her soap box makes her about 6 feet tall!

digital cameras

There Is No Flea At The Market

We took Ava to the local Flea Market today with the idea of letting her ride one of the ponies on the roundie-round thing. Little did we know that she would scream... Not because of the horses- oh no. When the time came to get off the pony they poor child wailed like a banshee! And then she tried to hop off the other side of the horse so I couldn't get her!

Obviously, her dada thinks she needs a pony now. Well, maybe I think that too. And her birthday is coming up. And there are some free and cheap 4-footed friends on the List of Craig.

Can everyone guess what is written across the top of our foreheads? Yes, that's it... it says:

S-U-C-K-E-R-S-!

--The Milk Maid says she might just live to regret this decision!

Saturday

Jef is off this weekend... a three day weekend at that. I'm glad to have some time with my guy... and goodness knows that is about all that is going right these days.

I will start by sending love and comfort to all my friends who have had losses and let downs. It sucks and there isn't a damn thing I can do for any of you except just be mad at the world with you.

Next, let's talk about people that I thought were my friends. CindyLooHoo, the girl from my phlebotomy class, recently decided to move about 5 hours away to live closer to her boyfriend. She asked me to help her pack up and do a few repairs around her house. She offered to pay me, put gas in the truck I borrowed from my dad, and feed me. We worked from noon until 8pm. She never paid me, she never fed me, she never put gas in my dad's truck. She didn't even say thanks. As far as I am concerned, I'm done with her. I would have gladly helped her moved for free- that wasn't the issue I guess. She made a HUGE deal of paying me something for it, and well- I just think you should be true to your word.

I've been having nightmares as of late. Very vivid, very real nightmares about death, sickness, and just plain awful things. I awake in a sweaty frenzy. I hate that feeling.

--The Milk Maid says the Shit Storm of 2008 continues to destroy all it touches.

Kohler faucets

The Super Large Clinic Site Is Mine, ALL MINE!

I am officially employed (pending my background check and drug screen)!

I have negotiated a salary, filled out all the needed paper work, peed in a cup, and sworn under oath (metaphorically speaking) that I am not a crook. I even resisted the urge to do my best Richard Nixon impression when I signed the background check form.

I am a phlebotomist! I am a phleb at the place I wanted to be a phleb! I am so cool today that, if I didn't have a rollicking headache from skipping breakfast so I could go put the finishing touches on everything at the Super Large Clinic site, I would do some crazy dance and upload it here for you all to make fun of!

It feels good- lemme tell ya! I went to school, got an edumakatshon, and then I got a JOB. It's so storybook I know, but that's about the only thing in my life that's gone according to plan. The plan took a lot of time (2 months from putting my application in), but who the heck am I to complain. I don't have to be a waitress now. There will be no serving booze to old men who look at my tatas. Well, unless I want to do that.

My intro to venipuncture teacher even called me to congratulate me! Even my mom was proud!

And speaking of my mother, she made a great effort to be nice yesterday... She asked if "my friend" (she can't remember My Pal B's name) was in "any of that big weather that hit" meaning Hurricane Gustav. I'm putting a great big gold star by my mother's name alongside the E for effort.

And on a side note: Has anyone ever heard of the "3 days and $75 method" for potty training? Basically you take 3 days, add in one completely nekkid toddler, mix well in a confined area with a sprinkle of a training potty and let stew. At the end of 3 days you are supposed to have a potty trained kiddo. And the $75 is for?... Carpet cleaning of course! I'm thinking of giving this a whirl. Ava keeps ripping off wet diapers and telling us before she poops, so I'm thinking she's ready. Now the question remains, "Is mama ready?". Mama may need some new home furniture after this.

--The Milk Maid says I'm gonna poke everybody!