Martha Who?

or...who really has it all, while keeping it all together?

Name:
Location: New England, United States

Saturday, September 22, 2007

You're Never Too Old to Take Your Middle Aged Daughter to the ER in the Middle of the Night...

Back in May, Mr. M-Dub was traveling for work and was away for a week. BabySister developed some sort of nasty bug and wasn't keeping any milk down or in her little body. I could tell she was dehydrating so I called in the babysitting favors from friends and family so someone could watch MiniMe while I took BabySister to the ER. It was horrible -my baby wanted to EAT but they wouldn't let me feed her because she kept projectile vomiting all over the place. They wanted to run an IV -- about the worst thing I could imagine on a tiny little almost 5 month old body. I was a wreck. They made a deal with me -- they gave me a tiny 4 ounce bottle of pedialyte (the gatorade of the pediatric world) and said if I could get it into her, and she kept it down, then they'd let us go home with a gallon of the nasty stuff.

Long story short, it took 2 hours to get 4 ounces of liquid into, and then another hour to wait and see if she absorbed any of it... but it worked and everything ended up being fine a week or so later.

About the third hour into that five hour adventure BabySister stopped screaming (from sheer exhaustion methinks) and passed out in my arms (thereby making the bottle feeding go very slowly). It was an enormous relief to everyone in the ER because she had been RAGING against the machine for at least two hours straight. I'm pretty sure the ER staff thought there had been some sort of delayed post-partum (post-post-partum?) murder suicide thing going on because the noise stopped so suddenly, and people kept poking their heads in the room ..."just to make sure we were still there..."

Anyway... back to that delicious silence that we suddenly found ourselves in. In that coccoon of that tiny room in the ER, I listened -- for almost three hours -- to a man across the hallway with a migraine. A former migraine sufferer myself, I felt enormously sympathetic to this unseen, unknown man. His demeanor (his voice, anyhow) was professional and genteel. He seemed to be of above-average or quite intelligent on the brains front. Professorly even. Sounded like he was maybe in his fifties or so. I felt very guilty that BabySister had been screaming for so long -- even with both doors closed it must have exacerbated his migraine horribly.

So I listened -- as he told his pathetic and unenviable migraine history to the nurse and the doctor on duty. He told them of the full range of his migraine episodes in the past -- the different types of pain and the medications and treatments that had worked for him in the past. And the ER staff kept telling him to stay still, lay down, they would turn the light outs, give him some motrin, a cool compress... nobody was disputing this man's migraine complaint. But nobody was listening it seemed to what he was telling them about what works and what doesn't.

And he just kept telling them and telling them. Over the next several hours I listened to him repeat and repeat his migraine history to a bevy of nurses and doctors who were rotating through the department. And slowly I came to realize that as professional and academic and just as nice as this guy sounded from across the hall where I couldn't see him in his dark cool-compressed cave, he was suffering from some sort of addiction issue. His migraine history never changed when he told it... what sounded at the beginning of the evenng like a laundry list of drugs that worked for him began to sound more like a shopping list of the drugs he'd like to leave the ER with that night. He wasn't asking for one or two painkillers to get him through this episode. He was asking for one or two of each -- Vicodin, Oxy... the list was staggering actually.

And that's when I realized that the ER staff was listening to Mr. Migraine... and that they had spent an amazing amount of time with him given the nature of his calmly presented yet still desperate request. I surmised he was probably a repeat visitor to this ER. They seemed to know him. They gently explained to him over and over again what they could and couldn't do fo him. They could give him two Vicodin in the ER but not a prescription. They could write him a prescription for 1 dose of Oxy but no more than that. Something to do with his record, and some vague state of Maine law or something. I don't know...

We left the ER before Mr. Migraine did so I never found out if he got his fix. If he wore everyone down to the point where they just gave him a cocktail of everything he requested. But I did leave feeling like even though my own life had been so stinking horrible that day, his was definitely worse.

This week, Mr. M-Dub has been away for a whole week on business. And I have been sick all week. I have missed multiple days of work, and have caused or borne witness to at least half a dozen catastrophes during the week. That's for another post though. The point is that my health situation was getting increasingly worse and even though I almost made it through the week without reinforcements, I caved and called my mom and dad on Thursday night. Begged them to come down on Friday after they left their jobs to help me with the kids. Even though Mr. M-Dub was coming home on Saturday, I just needed a break.

So being the wonderful 'rents they are, they obliged. I tried all day to get an appt with my PCP to no avail, and by the time my parents arrived I was miserable. I went off to bed and woke up around 10PM with the worst pain of my life in my tonsils and felt like my throat was starting to close up. So my Daddy took me to the ER. Like I was still 10 years old and living in their house. Like it was his sacred duty to do so. He even dropped me off at the ER entrance while he parked the car. He waited in the waiting room (for 2.5 hrs) while I was seen. What a great Dad. I could write another post about that.

I had a rapid strep test which came back positive (lucky me!) and while I waited for the doctor on duty to write a scrip and send me on my way I was admitted into an ER room.

It was the same room I sat in with BabySister back in May.

And without a screaming dehydrated banshee in my arms, I sat in silence by myself for the whole time. And while I reflected on how annoying it was to be sick and just how sick I was of being sick, a door opened across the hallway.

NO, it wasn't Mr. Migraine. That would have just been WAY too weird.

It was three people -- a young man and woman, not married, but friendly, maybe in their late twenties? and and older woman who was obviously profoundly mentally retarded. I listened to them for a long while and couldn't figure out why they were in the ER at all -- they were all laughing happily. I couldn't figure out the connection between these two kids and this older disabled woman - but they were fawning over like best friends which was really lovely to witness (albeit through a door). They were making jokes and telling stories and really making this old woman laugh.

My best guess was that something had happened to the old woman and these two kids were either aides or caretakers of some sort who had brought her in and were keeping her company. They didn't talk as though they were relatives.

Then, as I was leaving my room I heard an ER doctor speaking with them about their "options" -- as it turned out, they had been evicted from their apartment and had no place to go. The doctor was laying out several potential scenarios, though it was clear that the motley trio was not interested in any of them. They seemed defiantly in denial of their homelessness. There was some talk of leaving the old woman at the hospital overnight, but they could not accommodate the younger pair (who were not really a pair methinks).

I happened to catch a glimpse of them as I left my room. I couldn't see the old woman, but the two young people were professional, neat, decently dressed, looked like any fine upstanding law abiding citizen you'd see any day on the street. They did not look to me like the "face" of homelessness. I never learned what happened to them last night either. Whether they were relatives. Friends. Neighbors. People just looking out for each other. But at the end of the night my little strep throat case didn't seem so bad.

And I walked out to the waiting room, with my super-phat insurance card in my vera bradley wallet in my LV handbag, toward my Daddy, feeling every bit like a child.

Tuesday, September 04, 2007

What Men Really Want.

Actual CNN Headline today:

"men want hot women, study confirms"

I mean, seriously. Is this NEWS, CNN?

Jesus.

Monday, February 26, 2007

THE Biggest Threat To Homeland Security You Never Knew About

SETTING:
Airport security line. Mr. and Mrs MARTHAWHO are on their way to NYC for the weekend. MR. MARTHAWHO has sailed through the security line. MARTHAWHO is pulled out for a bag check much to MR. MARTHAWHO'S chagrin. A voice on the loudspeaker indicates the NYC flight is boarding.

BAGGAGE SCREENER:
(pulling a black backpack off the belt)
This your bag, ma'am?

MARTHAWHO:
Yes.

BAGGAGE SCREENER:
Bag Check!

TSA AGENT:
(taking black backpack)
This your bag, ma'am?

MARTHAWHO:
Yes.

MR. MARTHAWHO:
(getting antsy)
I'm gonna run to the gate and tell them to hold the plane.

MARTHAWHO:
Don't be ridiculous. They're not going to leave without us. That would be ridiculous. It's not our fault the line was so long and now I'm getting pulled out.

MR. MARTHAWHO:
Still.

TSA AGENT:
(carrying the bag to a separate table)
Is this a breastpump?

MARTHAWHO:
Yup.

TSA AGENT:
I'm going to have to go through the bag ma'am. Is that okay?

MARTHAWHO:
I don't suppose I could say no.

(TSA Agent silently unzips the backpack)

MARTHAWHO:
Yeah yeah, sure whatever. Go ahead.

MR. MARTHAWHO:
Oh come on...

MARTHAWHO:
Would you relax? This is going to take 2 minutes. They're not going to leave without us.

MR. MARTHAWHO:
They're not going to hold the plane if they don't know we're here.

(TSA agent is removing all of the parts of the breast pump and spreading them out over the table)

MARTHAWHO:
They do know we're here because we checked in with them.

MR. MARTHAWHO:
So?

MARTHAWHO:
So they'll page us or something.

MR. MARTHAWHO:
I doubt that.

TSA AGENT:
(unzipping the cooler for baby bottles and removing a frozen bottle divider)
This an ice pack?

MARTHAWHO:
A what? No, no... it's not a regular ice pack or anything. It's just a frozen divider to keep the milk cold.

TSA AGENT:
Do you really need it?

MR. MARTHAWHO:
No. Just throw it away.

MARTHAWHO:
(glaring at MR. MW)
Do NOT throw it away. I do need it because I'm planning on pumping milk in NYC and freezing it there, and bringing it back for my 3 month old baby.

TSA AGENT:
I don't see any milk in there right now, though.

MARTHAWHO:
Well, that's because I haven't used the pump yet, right?

TSA AGENT:
Well if the ice pack isn't keeping anything cold right now, then it doesn't seem to be essential to this cooler.

MARTHAWHO:
You're not serious.

MR. MARTHAWHO:
Throw it away. Just throw it away.

MARTHAWHO:
Shut up, honey.

MR. MARTHAWHO:
Seriously. We'll buy a new one when we get to New York.

MARTHAWHO:
As if! Like there is a Medela breastfeeding store on every corner in Manhattan? Jesus.

MR. MARTHAWHO:
Oh you can find anything in New York.

MARTHAWHO:
(getting pissed)
You are so stupid!

MR. MARTHAWHO:
Then we'll just find something else. We're going to miss the flight.

MARTHAWHO:
Oh for Christ's sake just go to the gate.

MR. MARTHAWHO:
(Sprinting off)
Throw it away. Seriously. This is ridiculous.

TSA AGENT:
So....?

MARTHAWHO:
So.... you were telling me that because I didn't have any milk in here the ice pack was not, what was the word.... essential?

TSA AGENT:
That's correct.

MARTHAWHO:
So if I had one bottle of milk in there, it would be OK to bring the ice pack on the plane?

TSA AGENT:
Yes. I think we could allow it then.

MARTHAWHO:
Excuse me but that doesn't make any sense.

TSA AGENT:
I could ask my supervisor.

MARTHAWHO:
Yes. Please do that.

(The TSA Agent walks off. MARTHAWHO looks across the terminal to the NYC gate and sees MR. MARTHAWHO standing impatiently staring back at her).

TSA AGENT:
(returning)
Sorry. You can't bring this on the plane.

MARTHAWHO:
You are really classifying this as a liquid? It's completely frozen, and I think when it's melted it's like one ounce of water inside a sealed, un-openable divider. Seriously -- look at it -- it cannot be opened. It's solid. I couldn't even puncture it if I wanted to.

TSA AGENT:
(returning other items back into the backpack)
Sorry. There's nothing I can do.

MARTHAWHO:
You do understand that if I don't take this divider I will not be able to keep anything cold and I'll have to throw away all of the milk before I come back?

TSA AGENT:
Maybe you could add some ice cubes to the back before coming back?

MARTHAWHO:
Whatever. Just throw the fucking thing away.

TSA AGENT:
I'm really sorry about this.

MARTHAWHO:
Whatever. We're late.

TSA AGENT:
(separating out a ziploc bag)
And this too... this will have to go.

MARTHAWHO:
That? That is a pack of antibacterial wipes to clean the parts while I'm traveling. It's not a liquid!

TSA AGENT:
There is some moisture here in the ziploc bag.

MARTHAWHO:
It's like condensation or something -- seriously. This is ridiculous.

TSA AGENT:
Well the wipes are wet aren't they?

MARTHAWHO:
Are you serious??? I mean, you'd let me bring regular diaper wipes on the plane if I had a baby with me wouldn't you?

TSA AGENT:
I'd let you bring all of this stuff with you on the plane if you had your baby with you.

MARTHAWHO:
What?

TSA AGENT:
The TSA rules say that if you're traveling with your infant you can have all of these items with you. There are allowances for larger amounts of liquids and baby food and supplies, etcetera.

MARTHAWHO:
If I was traveling with my infant, I wouldn't need to bring a breast pump with me, now, would I?

TSA AGENT:
I don't make the rules, ma'am.

MARTHAWHO:
(pissed)
Let me get this straight then. Just so I'm clear the next time. It's OK for me to bring the actual pump on the airplane. With the motor, and moving parts, and plastic tubing, and 12 double A batteries and an AC Adapter and various metal pieces etcetera...?

TSA AGENT:
Well, yes ma'am. It's obviously just all parts of the pump itself. It would be like us saying you couldn't bring the adapters and spare batteries and chargers for cellphones and laptops. You could imagine the outcry we'd have then.

MARTHAWHO:
Oh yeah. We don't want to piss off any business travelers with all of the essential electronics that could also come in handy with bomb making. But I cannot bring a package of 12 antibacterial wipes, or a frozen non-liquid bottle divider with me.

TSA AGENT:
Not without the infant, ma'am.

MARTHAWHO:
(sarcastically)
Not without the infant then. Yes. Okay. I see. This all makes just perfect sense.

TSA AGENT:
It's out of my hands, ma'am. I'm sorry. Here's your bag.

MARTHAWHO:
Whatever.

TSA AGENT:
I hope you have a really great trip.

(MARTHAWHO looks at the gate where MR. MARTHAWHO is waving wildly like he's going to leave without her)

MARTHAWHO:
Yeah.

(MARTHAWHO walks off toward the gate, feeling largely like a second-class citizen in her own country).

###

Monday, January 29, 2007

Some Bloggin' Props...

A break from our regularly scheduled "Every-day-is-a-screenplay" format to toss some props around the blogosphere for a bit...

**First of all -- my cousin is now, like, in the political super blogger land in DC. If you haven't checked out his link in my sidebar, the time is nigh! Scott has been putting some great material out in the last several months -- and garnering quite a bit of press and attention for himself and the publication he's affiliated with. I'm proud to be related to this guy. (...And glad he still speaks to me after my misguided "thought I was a republican" period many years ago... )You can find the Democratic Strategist himself, here.

**A new addition to the sidebar -- a community theatre buddy up here in Portland. Henrik is a great soul, and an extremely fine character actor. I've had the good fortune to see him perform twice recently -- once in the Little Shop of Horrors ensemble, and once just this past weekend in the title role of The Wizard of Oz. He was outstanding. The show was actually quite beautiful and I would be remiss if I didn't also toss the props over to the Belle Of the Bawl for her terrific turn as the sexiest crow this side of the Mississippi. :) Henrik also happened to post a photo of MiniMe's BabySister a few weeks back, and since I'm pathetically remiss in adding graphics to this site, you can visit baby chloe here. His posts are wistfully wonderfully written musings about all sorts of interesting things.

**And last but not least, indie music fans should visit Martha's brother's site, where you can find a link to his MySpace Music site for sound clips of his soon to be released and highly anticipated full-length CD. And for those of you lucky enough to live in New England, you can check out his schedule and catch a live performance.

Ok. MarthaWho Out.

Saturday, January 27, 2007

How Do They Let these People Leave the Hospital With Babies?

SETTING: Interior food court exit of shopping Mall, evening. Temperature outside is below freezing. MARTHAWHO is putting her scarf and gloves on. A nervous man with an infant carseat is standing next to her.

NERVOUS MAN WITH CARSEAT:
(in MW's general direction, but to nobody in particular)
It's fucking cold out there tonight.

MARTHAWHO:
You got that right.

NERVOUS MAN WITH CARSEAT:
My wife went to bring the car around. Too cold to drag the baby across the parking lot.

MARTHAWHO:
That was nice of her. How old is your baby?

NERVOUS MAN WITH CARSEAT:
Bout two months.

MARTHAWHO:
I have one about the same age at home.

NERVOUS MAN WITH CARSEAT:
Better place for her in this weather.

MARTHAWHO:
Well it looks like you've got her bundled up great. I'm sure she'll be fine.

NERVOUS MAN WITH CARSEAT:
I hope so. I hate the idea of her little lungs getting pneumonia.

A car pulls up outside. MARTHAWHO opens the door for the NERVOUS guy.

MARTHAWHO:
Well, good luck.

NERVOUS MAN WITH CARSEAT:
Thanks. Stay warm.

NERVOUS MAN runs out into the night toward the car. NERVOUS MAN'S wife gets out of the car, attentively opening the rear passenger door and helping to get the carseat snugged in just right. NERVOUS MAN'S wife turns around and MARTHAWHO sees she is smoking a cigarette.

MARTHAWHO:
(to nobody in particular)
Yeah. Like I said. Sure her little lungs will be just fine.

###

Sunday, January 21, 2007

Murray & Sol Take the A Train

SETTING: MARTHAWHO and BABY-ME are sitting in MINI-ME's room watching MR. MARTHAWHO and MINI-ME make up stories before MINI-ME goes to bed. (Side Note: the MARTHAWHO family members are descended from Catholic ancestors...)

MR. MARTHAWHO
OK pick another letter?

MINI-ME
Okay! Uhhhhhhhhhhh....... okay....... uhhhhhhhh..... how bee bout a "D" Daddy!

MR. MARTHAWHO
Good one. We haven't done that one yet. What begins with the letter D?

MINI-ME
Duhhhhhhh.... Duhhhhhhh..... Duhhhaaaadddeee! Daddy! Daddy begins with D.

MR. MARTHAWHO
Good. What else?

MINI-ME
Duhhhhhhh.... Duhhhhhh.....Duhhhohnut! Doughnut begins with D!

MR. MARTHAWHO
Good one! What else?

MARTHAWHO
Look at baby sister's jammies. What's on her jammies that starts with the letter D?

MINI-ME
Oh. Ducks! Ducks start with the letter D, Daddy.

MR. MARTHAWHO
Good. Should we make up a story about a duck then?

MINI-ME
Yup.

MR. MARTHAWHO
So once upon a time there was a duck and his name was....

MARTHAWHO
Donald!

MINI-ME
Shhhh, Mommy, that is NOT okay. It is NOT Donald.

MR. MARTHAWHO
Yeah Mommy, stay out of it. Go ahead then -- the duck's name is....?

MINI-ME
Uh...... the duck's name is Mmmmmmmurrrrrry.

MR. MARTHAWHO
Murray? Murray the Duck?

MINI-ME
Yup. Murray the Duck.

MR. MARTHAWHO
Okay. So Murray the Duck was walking down the street one day and he decided to ....?

MINI-ME
Take a bus!

MR. MARTHAWHO
Cool. So he takes a bus....? Where does he take the bus?

MINI-ME
Downtown! Downtown begins with D!

MR. MARTHAWHO
Great! So Murray the Duck is on the Downtown bus. And what does he do when he gets there?

MINI-ME
He sees his friend!

MR. MARTHAWHO
Another ducky friend?

MINI-ME
No -- it's a cat!

MR. MARTHAWHO
And what's the cat's name?

MINI-ME
It's..... it's... The Cat's name is Sollllllly.

MR. MARTHAWHO
Sally the cat?

MINI-ME
No Daddy. SOLLY the Cat.

MR. MARTHAWHO
Murray the Duck.

MINI-ME
Yep.

MR. MARTHAWHO
And Solly the Cat.

MINI-ME
Right, Daddy. That's right.

MR. MARTHAWHO
Got it. I think we know how this story ends. Something about a diner and some knishes yadda yadda yadda.

MINI-ME
Right Daddy. Yadda yadda. Good job.

###

Monday, December 25, 2006

Yo Ho Ho, Merry Christmas!

SETTING: The family is watching Pirates of the Carribbean on Christmas night.

MARTHA'S BROTHER-IN-LAW:
I wish I was a pirate. How cool would that be? Are there still even pirates out there?

But then again I'm the most seasick person I know.

If I were a pirate I'd be like the master pirate... like surfing the web and planning and telling the other pirates what to do. Like the marketing pirate. You know -- like pirate direct mail, maybe put together a pirate calendar, that kind of thing.

Sweet.

Merry Gin Day 2006 Edition: Jesus is the Reason for the Season

Original Post Here.

Setting: In-laws' condo in Vermont. Late on Christmas night. Martha Who, Husband, In-laws are in living room. It is quiet. Brother-in-Law enters from kitchen with a fresh gin and tonic for himself and one for Mr. MarthaWho.

MARTHA'S BROTHER-IN-LAW:
Here you go. (handing G&T to Mr. MW)

MR. MARTHAWHO:
Thanks, Man. What is this I'm drinking?

MARTHA'S BROTHER-IN-LAW:
It's a gin and tonic.

MR. MARTHAWHO:
Sweet. Thanks. Haven't had one of these since high school.

MARTHA'S BROTHER-IN-LAW:
You know how to party, man. Merry Gin Day.

(he raises his glass and they both drink)

MARTHA'S BROTHER-IN-LAW:
Ahhhh gin. Like Jesus' nectar.

(MarthaWho's Mother in Law looks up from her book)

MARTHA'S MOTHER-IN-LAW:
Huh? Who?

MARTHA'S BROTHER-IN-LAW:
(sounding it out)
Jee-sus' nect-ar.

MARTHA'S MOTHER-IN-LAW:
Cheeses? Who is that?

MARTHA'S BROTHER-IN-LAW:
Exactly, mom. Exactly.

###