Is Carine looking for love in all the wrong places? Or could angels be guiding the way?
A study I read revealed that patients who feel their doctors care about them tend to recuperate and heal faster than those who feel like they’ve just taken a quick hop on-and-off a conveyor belt. Trying to find love from your healthcare provider is an iffy and trying proposition; and I’m here to report on my recent routine annual physical examination with a general practitioner, courtesy of my brand new HMO plan. Did you say $40 co-payment for all office visits and lab tests? I was already in love (even though I resent not being able to go to my regular GP and gynecologist because they’re not in the damn network).
My visit with the doctor went like this: in the less than 15 minutes it took for me to fill out the requisite forms, I observed no less than three pharmaceutical salesladies trot in to dole out free samples to the doctor, who, in fact did offer me a drug for osteoporosis before deciding whether or not I even needed a bone density test. I think I’m pretty in the know about the reciprocal back-scratching that goes on in the medical field, but I must admit to being kind of shocked when one of the salesladies in question whipped out her appointment book and notepad to take lunch orders for how many people did you say are working in the office now? Read more
Prudence’s personal story provides a morality tale for America today
This is a story about a baby I call Jesus. No, not that Jesus—the other one, pronounced “Hey, Zeus.”
I admit this may not be his name and he may not be a he; I don’t know. All I know is that somewhere out there in the world is a teenager I call Jesus and his birth certificate is almost identical to my son’s. And what better time to have a Jesus story than now—on the eve of the holiday season that culminates with the birthday celebration of a man so many Americans claim to know personally, the other Jesus, Jesus Christ.
Jesus (the Hey Zeus one) was born April 6, 1995, at Good Samaritan Hospital in Los Angeles—the same hospital, the same day, the same hour as my second and last child, Casey. The reason I know about Jesus is that my labor and delivery nurse helped bring him into this world. Read more
I’d rather be in Stalinist Russia, drinking human blood at Satan’s ball than be in Obama’s shoes. It’s been a year and a half since he inherited an America that is only turned on by extremes, sensationalism and exaggeration, along with a people crippled by fear and impatience. Even I, one of his most ardent fans, found myself screaming at the radio during his Oval Office address on the oil spill.
“Say it!” I shouted, “Say it!” I wanted a bold retraction of his previously announced (and obviously dunderheaded) plan to open some offshore waters to oil drilling. I was so disappointed. And then the next day, I heard someone on NPR saying that Obama’s six-month moratorium on deep water drilling was affecting some 50,000 people’s jobs in the already devastated Gulf. Pass the blood, please. Read more
NASCAR is not a sport, Ann Coulter is not a woman, 98 percent of people who drink diet sodas are fat and there is no such thing as a healthy tan.
People who say, “To tell the truth…” are about to lie. Ditto for people who begin with “Truthfully,…” and “To be honest,….”
When an armed, confrontational policeman can enter your home without a search warrant, handcuff and arrest you for freaking out that he’s even there to begin with, our nation is already suffering from a more insidious form of government than the threat of a government willing to offer each and every American universal healthcare. Read more