Tuesday, April 19, 2001 7:15 pm
Upon getting home from the hospital and the Price (and hours) Chopper, I take the laxative and decide to devote the next day to the consequences of that act. I turn off my cell phone. When the next day ends, I don't feel so bloated. Thursday, I turn my phone back on and start answering calls in order. Paul Stanchfield, PA, leaves a message saying he called last week and left a message saying my X-rays were normal. I don't believe him because I picked up the X-ray orders from him at the receptionists' desk Thursday afternoon, took them right over to the hospital, had my X-rays, and was told by Brandy, the tech, that it would take 48 hours for Paul to get them. Unless the X-rays were received at Physician's Group on Saturday (it is not open on Saturdays) and Paul were there, there's no way he could have gotten the X-rays last week. Plus, his supposed response was suspect: the X-rays were normal. Bye. That's it? Was I expected to tell that to me lack of a bowel movement but only pellets and the bloated stomach and the slight stomach ache, and they were all supposed to shape up? What was the next step, Paul?
Paul also said I should go through Mark, and it was all right if I didn't want to, but I should anyway. Well, that's very accomodating. I should be content with being rude to by Mark? Paul said that if messages went through receptionists, they tended to get lost. Not in my experience. The receptionists are very dependable.
Then I listen to a message by Rena who says she transmitted my prescription to Walmart on Tuesday night and had a written confirmation of a successful transmission. I don't see how that's possible unless Walmart was wrong.
I call Jodi Dodge, administrator, back. She throws me a very small bone by agreeing it was rude of Paul not to introduce the young woman with the machine. I would have said nothing about it if Mark hadn't been so rude to me. As I've said, he refused to answer a direct question -next time, I won't let him get away with it- and then after he pored silently over his laptop a minute or so, he got up and left without saying a word to me. I read the WSJ daily and listen to John Bachelor at night. I am very worried about the Islamic Caliphate that Obama has allowed to happen by his "lead from behind" approach. We're behind alright! Was it the last caliphate that almost conquered Europe, only being stopped in France? When Nurse Mark abruptly and silently left, I wondered if he had read a "bomb in the building!" alert and wasn't just leaving me behind. I listened to hear if other staff were leaving the ship too, just forgetting about the patients so they wouldn't have to compete with them on the stairs and in the elevator. I didn't hear anybody sneaking away out in the hall though. So I was very much on edge when PA Paul and the very young lady with the machine in her hands came in.
I tell Jodi that I wanted to try to work with Mark and Paul. I had always found Mark a little prissy, but knew I had my own inimitable style too. I liked Paul's seriousness even if he did push my Chronic Kidney Disease Stage 11 harder than Dr. Rinder did. I tell her I hope we can all work together again. I tell Jodi I didn't expect we would have the same problems again. When I get home, I get a call from Rena who identifies herself as Paul's scribe. I'm tired of being so assertive and don't ask what "scribe" means in her context. She says she's heard that there was a problem with my insurance and the Paxil. I say there's no problem, that when I got the Paxil, I just took it and ran. She sounded very nice, and I didn't think we'd have any more problems.
Peter Nickerson, Philosophy Major, Class of '68, William and Mary
MS at VCU, 1975 and MSW at NSU, 1993
Tuesday, April 19, 2016
Friday, April 15, 2016
Bowel Obstruction #4
!:45 pm Friday, April 15, 2016:
The receptionist for the emergency room asked me maybe two simple questions and said to go on into the ER. All day, I had been practicing deep breathing to try to calm myself down. I walked in, was shown into my room by a male nurse, walked into it with him, and a medical doctor was right behind us.
I was taken aback by her very young age, her smallness, and the slimness. I wondered if I was getting a teenage genius doctor. I was my usual direct, open, concrete self with her. Her name was Dr. McFadden. Patricia, I think. Within a few sentences back and forth, I was comfortable with her. I was internally seeing
her as a modern woman but with the spirit and toughness of the Irish. After a week of not feeling safe, I now did. She assured me that she could look at the X-rays Paul Stanchfield had but wanted to order a CAT scan to thoroughly see my lower abdominal area to look for obstructions. The nurse had me lie on the bed, and gave me a remote for the television. The latter is a great treat for me as I can't afford televison. Philosophers don't make much money. I turn on the TV and start watching the History Channel's series on people trying to survive in the wilds of Alaska. This particularly interests me as my father and mother were in Alaska in the 40s preparing to homestead in the boonies when mother got pregnant with me and insisted we return to the USA. The needle poker comes in and makes a hole for the IV. The nurse sets up the IV and then starts setting me up with a machine to take my blood pressure. Immediately, an alarm goes off. "Your blood pressure is too high," the nurse say. Holding my wrist, he adds, "So is your pulse rate." He fiddles around me and then says, "They're still too high. I'm going for something." He comes back quickly with a bag of water and puts that into my IV. "Let's see if that helps. Give it a little time. I'll be back." I wonder if I'm going to stroke out and try to change the subject mentally by watching how I would have lived if we had stayed in Alaska. It looks cold, lonely, hard, but extremely beautiful. Having sled dogs would have been fantastic. The nurse comes in, takes my vitals, and finds they are acceptable. I wait for my CAT scan while I watch brutal life in Alaska. The nurse checks on me, seemingly surprised that I'm watching such a program. Do I look that much like a sissy? Soon my bed and I are wheeled over to the CAT scan room. It takes only a few minutes and I'm wheeled back into my room. The "teenage" doctor comes in and tells me it will take about 10 minutes for the Dartmouth hospital in New Hampshire to read and interpret the scan. I ask about Paul's X-rays, and she says she's having a little problem with that and will try again. Immediately, she's back with a piece of paper apologizing, "All I had to do was push another button." I look at the paper and think, "That's all Paul had to do, and he wouldn't?' By now I am very respectfully calling Paula "Doctor." I'm impressed with her, the rest of the staff, and the machines. The paper says there's nothing wrong except that there's a rough area in my ureter. I even think I hear the words, "a bend." I say I'll tell my urologist about it. Two different people talk to me about getting a primary practitioner, one giving me a phamplet of how the hospital will do it for me. I find "needing a primary practitioner" ironic. The doctor comes in to discharge me, asking me for questions first, and then suggests I take Milk Of Magnesia for constipation. I agree, thank her, and she leaves. Then a worker takes out my IV and tells me I can go. Greatly relieved, I walk to my truck and call Wendy, my daughter in Florida -the veterinarian-to-be. No answer so I leave a message. Then I drive to Price Chopper to get the laxative. The store is now no longer open 24 hours but is closing at midnight - in ten minutes. A worker marches me around the store to find the laxative and go to checkout. I see that there are no checkout clerks anymore. They've been replaced by about four self-service checkouts. I see this and mentally ask, "And they want workers to get $15 an hour? There won't be any more workers. But the crazy socialists can't see that. They think they can legislate anything, and it will just magically happen because they passed a law!"
Peter Nickerson, Philosophy Major, Class of '68, William and Mary,
MS at VCU, 1975 and MSW at NSU, 1993
The receptionist for the emergency room asked me maybe two simple questions and said to go on into the ER. All day, I had been practicing deep breathing to try to calm myself down. I walked in, was shown into my room by a male nurse, walked into it with him, and a medical doctor was right behind us.
I was taken aback by her very young age, her smallness, and the slimness. I wondered if I was getting a teenage genius doctor. I was my usual direct, open, concrete self with her. Her name was Dr. McFadden. Patricia, I think. Within a few sentences back and forth, I was comfortable with her. I was internally seeing
her as a modern woman but with the spirit and toughness of the Irish. After a week of not feeling safe, I now did. She assured me that she could look at the X-rays Paul Stanchfield had but wanted to order a CAT scan to thoroughly see my lower abdominal area to look for obstructions. The nurse had me lie on the bed, and gave me a remote for the television. The latter is a great treat for me as I can't afford televison. Philosophers don't make much money. I turn on the TV and start watching the History Channel's series on people trying to survive in the wilds of Alaska. This particularly interests me as my father and mother were in Alaska in the 40s preparing to homestead in the boonies when mother got pregnant with me and insisted we return to the USA. The needle poker comes in and makes a hole for the IV. The nurse sets up the IV and then starts setting me up with a machine to take my blood pressure. Immediately, an alarm goes off. "Your blood pressure is too high," the nurse say. Holding my wrist, he adds, "So is your pulse rate." He fiddles around me and then says, "They're still too high. I'm going for something." He comes back quickly with a bag of water and puts that into my IV. "Let's see if that helps. Give it a little time. I'll be back." I wonder if I'm going to stroke out and try to change the subject mentally by watching how I would have lived if we had stayed in Alaska. It looks cold, lonely, hard, but extremely beautiful. Having sled dogs would have been fantastic. The nurse comes in, takes my vitals, and finds they are acceptable. I wait for my CAT scan while I watch brutal life in Alaska. The nurse checks on me, seemingly surprised that I'm watching such a program. Do I look that much like a sissy? Soon my bed and I are wheeled over to the CAT scan room. It takes only a few minutes and I'm wheeled back into my room. The "teenage" doctor comes in and tells me it will take about 10 minutes for the Dartmouth hospital in New Hampshire to read and interpret the scan. I ask about Paul's X-rays, and she says she's having a little problem with that and will try again. Immediately, she's back with a piece of paper apologizing, "All I had to do was push another button." I look at the paper and think, "That's all Paul had to do, and he wouldn't?' By now I am very respectfully calling Paula "Doctor." I'm impressed with her, the rest of the staff, and the machines. The paper says there's nothing wrong except that there's a rough area in my ureter. I even think I hear the words, "a bend." I say I'll tell my urologist about it. Two different people talk to me about getting a primary practitioner, one giving me a phamplet of how the hospital will do it for me. I find "needing a primary practitioner" ironic. The doctor comes in to discharge me, asking me for questions first, and then suggests I take Milk Of Magnesia for constipation. I agree, thank her, and she leaves. Then a worker takes out my IV and tells me I can go. Greatly relieved, I walk to my truck and call Wendy, my daughter in Florida -the veterinarian-to-be. No answer so I leave a message. Then I drive to Price Chopper to get the laxative. The store is now no longer open 24 hours but is closing at midnight - in ten minutes. A worker marches me around the store to find the laxative and go to checkout. I see that there are no checkout clerks anymore. They've been replaced by about four self-service checkouts. I see this and mentally ask, "And they want workers to get $15 an hour? There won't be any more workers. But the crazy socialists can't see that. They think they can legislate anything, and it will just magically happen because they passed a law!"
Peter Nickerson, Philosophy Major, Class of '68, William and Mary,
MS at VCU, 1975 and MSW at NSU, 1993
Thursday, April 14, 2016
Bowel Obstruction? #3
11:53 am Thursday, 4/14/16
I typed Tuesday's events in the afternoon into this blog after talking to Kate who told me she was so sorry this was happening to me. I took a copy of it the posting plus Bowel Obstruction #1 to Brattleboro Memorial Hospital to give Kate.She had gone home, but the receptionist - you see how constantly I have to work with receptionists- put the two posts into an envelope to give to Kate Somebody.
It was five o'clock and the Physicians' Group closes then, I believe, so I called Walmart to see if their prescriptions employee had sent my Paxil prescription over. She hadn't. I considered going to the police station to make a complaint against her for withholding medical care to a senior, but talked on with the Walmart worker. She's says they will prepare some Paxil for me. I am greatly relieved. I told her I had to rely on Paxil last night that had been out in the cap of my truck for two years so I didn't know how good it was. She remarked, "Oooo!"
I was greatly relieved to know I had my Paxil.
I checked my voice mail and listen to a message from Kate Somebody who is the other hospital administrator besides the CEO. She tells me about all the people she has talked to concerning Paul Stanchfield who refuses to return my calls so I can know what the X-rays for my stomach obstruction say and who also doesn't call to tell me why he's not returning my calls even after my ex calls from Florida to ask him to contact me about my X-rays and to get my prescription over to Walmart. Of course, she isn't able to talk to him, only a receptionist. Is anyone available besides the receptionists?
Kate also says she has talked to a Ms. Peterson, supervisor of the practitioners at the Physicians' Group, and Ms. Peterson will be callling me.
I call Kate back. She's not there, of course (but I bet the receptionists are!) so I leave a voice mail telling her of the prescription clerk employee not sending into my pharmacy just like yesterday. Now that employee has exceeded the 48 hour cushion in which to send in prescriptions. I tell her I have considered making a police complaint of abuse by withholding medical care to a senior with a disability for both Paul Stanchfield, a physician's assistant employee, and the prescriptions clerk, also an employee. I tell Kate that this situation is so stupid and malevolent that it scares me. We hang up. Unfortunately, I get flustered and anxious very quickly. Maybe it comes from having a father who started threatening me with death at age 2 and continued that threat and the threat of reform school until I went to college at 17. Unfortunately, they didn't have child protective services in those days. Isn't it telling that I went on to become a child protective services worker? Despite my high anxiety about what Paul Stanchfield and the prescription worker are doing to me by deliberately neglecting me, I'm standing up to their abuse whatever the consequences.
I go home, and since I have felt like I need to go to the bathroom constantly for the last month, I go to the john. I strain and push out a couple of pellets of poop and look down at them. There is pinkish blood around one pellet. That's enough! I get back into the truck and drive to the emergency room at Brattleboro Hospital. In the parking lot, I first call my daughter, Wendy, in Florida,who is studying to become a veterinarian. I tell her where I'm going, just in case I have to have an operation. I promise to call her back if it's not midnight. I enter the emergency room and go up to the receptionist. Thank God for the receptionists!
Peter Nickerson, Philosophy Major, Class of '68, William and Mary, MS at VCU, 1975 and MSW at NSU, 1993.
I typed Tuesday's events in the afternoon into this blog after talking to Kate who told me she was so sorry this was happening to me. I took a copy of it the posting plus Bowel Obstruction #1 to Brattleboro Memorial Hospital to give Kate.She had gone home, but the receptionist - you see how constantly I have to work with receptionists- put the two posts into an envelope to give to Kate Somebody.
It was five o'clock and the Physicians' Group closes then, I believe, so I called Walmart to see if their prescriptions employee had sent my Paxil prescription over. She hadn't. I considered going to the police station to make a complaint against her for withholding medical care to a senior, but talked on with the Walmart worker. She's says they will prepare some Paxil for me. I am greatly relieved. I told her I had to rely on Paxil last night that had been out in the cap of my truck for two years so I didn't know how good it was. She remarked, "Oooo!"
I was greatly relieved to know I had my Paxil.
I checked my voice mail and listen to a message from Kate Somebody who is the other hospital administrator besides the CEO. She tells me about all the people she has talked to concerning Paul Stanchfield who refuses to return my calls so I can know what the X-rays for my stomach obstruction say and who also doesn't call to tell me why he's not returning my calls even after my ex calls from Florida to ask him to contact me about my X-rays and to get my prescription over to Walmart. Of course, she isn't able to talk to him, only a receptionist. Is anyone available besides the receptionists?
Kate also says she has talked to a Ms. Peterson, supervisor of the practitioners at the Physicians' Group, and Ms. Peterson will be callling me.
I call Kate back. She's not there, of course (but I bet the receptionists are!) so I leave a voice mail telling her of the prescription clerk employee not sending into my pharmacy just like yesterday. Now that employee has exceeded the 48 hour cushion in which to send in prescriptions. I tell her I have considered making a police complaint of abuse by withholding medical care to a senior with a disability for both Paul Stanchfield, a physician's assistant employee, and the prescriptions clerk, also an employee. I tell Kate that this situation is so stupid and malevolent that it scares me. We hang up. Unfortunately, I get flustered and anxious very quickly. Maybe it comes from having a father who started threatening me with death at age 2 and continued that threat and the threat of reform school until I went to college at 17. Unfortunately, they didn't have child protective services in those days. Isn't it telling that I went on to become a child protective services worker? Despite my high anxiety about what Paul Stanchfield and the prescription worker are doing to me by deliberately neglecting me, I'm standing up to their abuse whatever the consequences.
I go home, and since I have felt like I need to go to the bathroom constantly for the last month, I go to the john. I strain and push out a couple of pellets of poop and look down at them. There is pinkish blood around one pellet. That's enough! I get back into the truck and drive to the emergency room at Brattleboro Hospital. In the parking lot, I first call my daughter, Wendy, in Florida,who is studying to become a veterinarian. I tell her where I'm going, just in case I have to have an operation. I promise to call her back if it's not midnight. I enter the emergency room and go up to the receptionist. Thank God for the receptionists!
Peter Nickerson, Philosophy Major, Class of '68, William and Mary, MS at VCU, 1975 and MSW at NSU, 1993.
Tuesday, April 12, 2016
Bowel Obstruction? #2
I called Walmart until about closing time last night. The worker did not send in my order for Paxil even though she said herself that she knew I only had one and would expedite things. I made copies of the last posting and went to Brattleboro Memorial Hospital Emergency Room. The receptionist was busy on the phone so I just put the copy on the desk, saying to her, "If I come in unconscious tonight, you'll know what's wrong." I went out to the truck and found an overnight bag that I had used with a girlfriend two years ago. I found some Paxil, but I have no idea how old and potent they were. They put me to sleep until 2:30 and then I was awake until 5 at which time I took ZZZ-Quil and got back to sleep.
I waited until noon the next day for PA Paul Stanchfield to call me back and started making calls myself. I tried to call the prescription worker at 802-257-26111 to find out what happened with my no Paxil last night at Walmart. I had to leave a message. It's 3:05 now and she hasn't called back. I also called the hospital at 802-257-0341 and asked to talk to the president or CEO. I was shunted to "Kelsi Gatley" who was not there. I left a message asking to call me. No response yet. I then called back to see if there wasn't some administrator on duty. I got shunted to "Jody Dodge" who was not answering and had to leave a message. I called Josyln Smith, the receptionist back who advised me to wait two hours and if I didn't hear from them, call her and she would hunt around for me.
I waited the two hours and called Josyln, who was still friendly and engaged with me. She called around but could find neither. "Do you mean you have no administrators on call?" I asked. This is not an exact recording of what was said.
"Well, they're at meetings and things."
"And I'm supposed to be ignored?"
Well, no, but they have things to do."
"Do you realize the millions of dollars and hours of time it would take if I died and a suit was brought against you - the hospital."
"Just a minute, I'm going to have you talk to my supervisor."
"Thank you very much."
I waited and a lady said, "Kate."
Pen in hand, I asked, "Who is this?"
"Kate."
"And you are?"
"Patient's Access Supervisor."
"You are exactly what I need! Kate I am really worried about this going too far and it will be such an egregious mistake that Paul Stanchfield and the hospital will deny it and try to turn it back on me by villifying or demeaning me."
"Well, what is your problem, Mr. Nickerson,"
I explain including the bowel obstruction, as I suspect it is, and the blood in the toilet last Sunday, and having only one Paxil left yesterday and the worker not callilng over to Walmart even though she knew that. Kate wanted to know what worker told me Monday morning that Paul had the X-rays, but there was no way I was going to remember that. She was already head-hunting but for someone way down on the
totem pole whom it's no problem to discipline. Kate disarmed me by sounding warm and genuine and repeating "I'm so sorry this happened to you." She promised she would look into the problem right away. I told her I didn't like being in an adversarial relationship with my PA, his staff, and the hospital with whom I had enjoyed a lot of warmth and brief comments. I asked her too to think of the possible conseqences if I were to die. I told her I was walking around feeling like I needed to go to the bathroom all the time plus my stomach ached a little. I told her something had gone wrong, and I felt they didn't like me anymore. That there was now something about me that they didn't like. I told her all that I wanted was Paul to call me about my X-rays and the woman worker to call Walmart and authorize my Paxil. I said, "It's all so easy. So quickly done." She promised to look into it and call me.
I had called my daughter earlier to call Paul on my behalf. She didn't pick up but I left a message to Wendy that I needed help. I heard from her mother that Wendy was getting her nails done, so my number, and immediatley called her mother, Lee, to see if she was allright. I've called Wendy before when I can't reach her mother. I worry about my ex running 10 miles or so every day out in the boonies without a gun. She's had some bad experiences. I then called Lee asking her to call Paul and say that I'm waiting for his call and my medicine. She talked to Denise whom she didn't find particularly warm. She also heard a male with a high-pitched voice kibbitzing Denise. I told her that must have been nurse Mark. I also wanted to impress upon the staff that I wasn't just a poor piece of shit but I had an intelligent, assertive family as well. I told that to Lee. Lee said that Denise had perked up in interest when she said I had clinical depression. I was not happy to hear that because it is my fear that these people are going to deny me medical services because they don't like me anymore for some reason. They also aren't going to admit their negligence but try to put the whole thing on me. Taking a macro view of these events, I am seeing that structurally the hospital is more designed in some areas to protect the staff rather than provide
services. Look at all the positions, and no one for me to call for hours.
Earlier, I had called my daughter to ask her to call Paul Stanchfield. I worry about. I apologize for the typing. Running out of time and left my glasses in the truck.
Peter Nickerson, Philosophy Major, Class of "68, William and Mary
I waited until noon the next day for PA Paul Stanchfield to call me back and started making calls myself. I tried to call the prescription worker at 802-257-26111 to find out what happened with my no Paxil last night at Walmart. I had to leave a message. It's 3:05 now and she hasn't called back. I also called the hospital at 802-257-0341 and asked to talk to the president or CEO. I was shunted to "Kelsi Gatley" who was not there. I left a message asking to call me. No response yet. I then called back to see if there wasn't some administrator on duty. I got shunted to "Jody Dodge" who was not answering and had to leave a message. I called Josyln Smith, the receptionist back who advised me to wait two hours and if I didn't hear from them, call her and she would hunt around for me.
I waited the two hours and called Josyln, who was still friendly and engaged with me. She called around but could find neither. "Do you mean you have no administrators on call?" I asked. This is not an exact recording of what was said.
"Well, they're at meetings and things."
"And I'm supposed to be ignored?"
Well, no, but they have things to do."
"Do you realize the millions of dollars and hours of time it would take if I died and a suit was brought against you - the hospital."
"Just a minute, I'm going to have you talk to my supervisor."
"Thank you very much."
I waited and a lady said, "Kate."
Pen in hand, I asked, "Who is this?"
"Kate."
"And you are?"
"Patient's Access Supervisor."
"You are exactly what I need! Kate I am really worried about this going too far and it will be such an egregious mistake that Paul Stanchfield and the hospital will deny it and try to turn it back on me by villifying or demeaning me."
"Well, what is your problem, Mr. Nickerson,"
I explain including the bowel obstruction, as I suspect it is, and the blood in the toilet last Sunday, and having only one Paxil left yesterday and the worker not callilng over to Walmart even though she knew that. Kate wanted to know what worker told me Monday morning that Paul had the X-rays, but there was no way I was going to remember that. She was already head-hunting but for someone way down on the
totem pole whom it's no problem to discipline. Kate disarmed me by sounding warm and genuine and repeating "I'm so sorry this happened to you." She promised she would look into the problem right away. I told her I didn't like being in an adversarial relationship with my PA, his staff, and the hospital with whom I had enjoyed a lot of warmth and brief comments. I asked her too to think of the possible conseqences if I were to die. I told her I was walking around feeling like I needed to go to the bathroom all the time plus my stomach ached a little. I told her something had gone wrong, and I felt they didn't like me anymore. That there was now something about me that they didn't like. I told her all that I wanted was Paul to call me about my X-rays and the woman worker to call Walmart and authorize my Paxil. I said, "It's all so easy. So quickly done." She promised to look into it and call me.
I had called my daughter earlier to call Paul on my behalf. She didn't pick up but I left a message to Wendy that I needed help. I heard from her mother that Wendy was getting her nails done, so my number, and immediatley called her mother, Lee, to see if she was allright. I've called Wendy before when I can't reach her mother. I worry about my ex running 10 miles or so every day out in the boonies without a gun. She's had some bad experiences. I then called Lee asking her to call Paul and say that I'm waiting for his call and my medicine. She talked to Denise whom she didn't find particularly warm. She also heard a male with a high-pitched voice kibbitzing Denise. I told her that must have been nurse Mark. I also wanted to impress upon the staff that I wasn't just a poor piece of shit but I had an intelligent, assertive family as well. I told that to Lee. Lee said that Denise had perked up in interest when she said I had clinical depression. I was not happy to hear that because it is my fear that these people are going to deny me medical services because they don't like me anymore for some reason. They also aren't going to admit their negligence but try to put the whole thing on me. Taking a macro view of these events, I am seeing that structurally the hospital is more designed in some areas to protect the staff rather than provide
services. Look at all the positions, and no one for me to call for hours.
Earlier, I had called my daughter to ask her to call Paul Stanchfield. I worry about. I apologize for the typing. Running out of time and left my glasses in the truck.
Peter Nickerson, Philosophy Major, Class of "68, William and Mary
Monday, April 11, 2016
Bowel Obstruction? #1
I made multiple calls today to my physican's assistant's office and to the Walmart pharmacy with no success. This looks like it's going to be ugly so I want to start documenting now.
The male nurse, Mark, came out to the reception area to get me. I had just finished kidding with Mickey, one of the receptionist. Joking, she had seen me come in and got off her stool to hide behind it. I laughed, and she brightened up my day. Mark escorted me down the hall, asking how I was. I replied appropriately. He pointed to a room and went into it, sitting in a chair. "Not that. There," he said, pointing to the examining bed. I go up and sat on it. Without a further word, he sat down at a chair and opened up the laptop on the desk. As he pored over the laptop, I finally opened my Wall Street Journal and began reading too. Then I felt him staring at me. I looked up, and he asked rather haughtily, "Are you ready?"
After he took my vitals, he returned to his laptop. I said, "Just tell me when you're ready, okay?" He refused to reply. I picked up my newspaper and started reading again. Suddenly, he got up and without a word, left the examining room. I had no idea what was going on with him. In a few minutes, Paul, the physician's assistant and a very young woman carrying some sort of machine entered the room. Mark didn't bother to mention her, her machine, or why she was there. It was cold, especially after Mark's rude behavior. Mark had silently left the room to get Paul because I had broken through my first blood pressure pill, which I knew, and would have to begin a second one.
This is the beginning of a story written because I am feeling like I need to go to the bathroom at any moment. My stomach feels full, but in the last three days I have had one Subway sub and a PBJ sandwhich. I have no appetite. Sunday, I had blood in the toilet after a "bowel movement" - a couple of pebble sized pieces. I called Mark last Friday to discuss my symptoms and tell him I thought I had a bowel obstruction. When he called back, he said, "One thing I can tell you is that you don't have a bowel obstruction because you're going to the bathroom." I thought that was a rather snarky observation. How about a partial obstruction? He ordered X-rays. I immediately drove over to pick up the order and went to the hospital to have them done. Paul would have them in two days. I started calling at 9:05 today. I've learned that Paul has them, but he didn't call me back today. I am out of antidepressants but can't get any because Paul didn't send over to Walmart notification that I had increased the number taken per day.
If I don't hear something from Paul's office, I'm going over there with this tomorrow morning for the staff's reading pleasure. I'm going to make something happen. But why the difficulty?
Peter Nickerson, Philosophy Major, Class of '68, William and Mary
The male nurse, Mark, came out to the reception area to get me. I had just finished kidding with Mickey, one of the receptionist. Joking, she had seen me come in and got off her stool to hide behind it. I laughed, and she brightened up my day. Mark escorted me down the hall, asking how I was. I replied appropriately. He pointed to a room and went into it, sitting in a chair. "Not that. There," he said, pointing to the examining bed. I go up and sat on it. Without a further word, he sat down at a chair and opened up the laptop on the desk. As he pored over the laptop, I finally opened my Wall Street Journal and began reading too. Then I felt him staring at me. I looked up, and he asked rather haughtily, "Are you ready?"
After he took my vitals, he returned to his laptop. I said, "Just tell me when you're ready, okay?" He refused to reply. I picked up my newspaper and started reading again. Suddenly, he got up and without a word, left the examining room. I had no idea what was going on with him. In a few minutes, Paul, the physician's assistant and a very young woman carrying some sort of machine entered the room. Mark didn't bother to mention her, her machine, or why she was there. It was cold, especially after Mark's rude behavior. Mark had silently left the room to get Paul because I had broken through my first blood pressure pill, which I knew, and would have to begin a second one.
This is the beginning of a story written because I am feeling like I need to go to the bathroom at any moment. My stomach feels full, but in the last three days I have had one Subway sub and a PBJ sandwhich. I have no appetite. Sunday, I had blood in the toilet after a "bowel movement" - a couple of pebble sized pieces. I called Mark last Friday to discuss my symptoms and tell him I thought I had a bowel obstruction. When he called back, he said, "One thing I can tell you is that you don't have a bowel obstruction because you're going to the bathroom." I thought that was a rather snarky observation. How about a partial obstruction? He ordered X-rays. I immediately drove over to pick up the order and went to the hospital to have them done. Paul would have them in two days. I started calling at 9:05 today. I've learned that Paul has them, but he didn't call me back today. I am out of antidepressants but can't get any because Paul didn't send over to Walmart notification that I had increased the number taken per day.
If I don't hear something from Paul's office, I'm going over there with this tomorrow morning for the staff's reading pleasure. I'm going to make something happen. But why the difficulty?
Peter Nickerson, Philosophy Major, Class of '68, William and Mary
Saturday, April 9, 2016
"Free Education"
The sneaky collectivists are now calling the crazy, high tax scheme to give everybody a free college education not as "free college education" but as "free education". I heard radio and talk show host, Tom Hartman, refer to being for
"free education" yesterday. At first, I thought,"What? We already have public education which is 'free' - funded by the tax payers." Then I realized the little weasel was referring to "free college education." He was taking out "college" to mask an unpopular idea. That is called lying by omission, Tom. Shame on you!
Don't you know that most of your listeners are rationally challenged, and you shouldn't be taking such liberties with them? Don't let the human weasels (I love real weasels (especially the wolverine whom I consider the Navy Seal of the animal world) reframe the terms. The collectivists favorite tool as they lack logic, reason, and evidence is to use derision. Use derision back on them. If they say, "free education," you ask back something like "Free college education is what you mean. Why can't you just be honest?" or you pepper it up a little by asking sarcastically, "Why can't you be transparent? You're talking about free college education!"
You don't want to support "free" college education for a number of reasons. Prima facie, it is a lie. Nothing's free except the free lunches at the restaurants that use to offer them. The problem was you were expected to spend a lot of monty on beer with your free lunch, thus making up for the cost of giving you a free lunch. I will bet that if you didn't buy beer and only ate the free lunch, you would not be welcomed for long. The taxpayer will pay for the "free" college education, and so will be the college students when they graduate in four to ten years. You can be sure they will extend their stay in "free" college as long as possible. Second, if there is "free" college, you will have people all over the world sneaking into America for "free" college just as they are presently sneaking in for "free" medical care in our emergency rooms. Have you noticed how more and more emergency rooms are closing because they can't afford to be giving away "free" medical care? Third, providing the government employees to administer giving away "free" college education will be very expensive because federal government employees get salaries and benefits (more money) that are far higher than what most taxpayers get. You get these government employees in, and they will lobby and donate for more programs, meaning more taxes. For example, when I lived in Virginia it was a conservative state. But with the explosion of federal workers working in D.C. but living and voting in Virginia, these federal government employees have changed Virginia's conservatism in the direction of liberalism (high taxes, and increased laws and regulations on the backs of every individual and every business.)
"Free" college education is an immature idea shared by children and adults who want something for nothing. Like the free lunches at the restaurants, it doesn't happen for long. There's always a price. Walk away from "free college education and speak out against it. Don't be a slob who gets drunk on lies.
Peter Nickerson, Philosophy Major, Class of '68, William and Mary
Don't you know that most of your listeners are rationally challenged, and you shouldn't be taking such liberties with them? Don't let the human weasels (I love real weasels (especially the wolverine whom I consider the Navy Seal of the animal world) reframe the terms. The collectivists favorite tool as they lack logic, reason, and evidence is to use derision. Use derision back on them. If they say, "free education," you ask back something like "Free college education is what you mean. Why can't you just be honest?" or you pepper it up a little by asking sarcastically, "Why can't you be transparent? You're talking about free college education!"
You don't want to support "free" college education for a number of reasons. Prima facie, it is a lie. Nothing's free except the free lunches at the restaurants that use to offer them. The problem was you were expected to spend a lot of monty on beer with your free lunch, thus making up for the cost of giving you a free lunch. I will bet that if you didn't buy beer and only ate the free lunch, you would not be welcomed for long. The taxpayer will pay for the "free" college education, and so will be the college students when they graduate in four to ten years. You can be sure they will extend their stay in "free" college as long as possible. Second, if there is "free" college, you will have people all over the world sneaking into America for "free" college just as they are presently sneaking in for "free" medical care in our emergency rooms. Have you noticed how more and more emergency rooms are closing because they can't afford to be giving away "free" medical care? Third, providing the government employees to administer giving away "free" college education will be very expensive because federal government employees get salaries and benefits (more money) that are far higher than what most taxpayers get. You get these government employees in, and they will lobby and donate for more programs, meaning more taxes. For example, when I lived in Virginia it was a conservative state. But with the explosion of federal workers working in D.C. but living and voting in Virginia, these federal government employees have changed Virginia's conservatism in the direction of liberalism (high taxes, and increased laws and regulations on the backs of every individual and every business.)
"Free" college education is an immature idea shared by children and adults who want something for nothing. Like the free lunches at the restaurants, it doesn't happen for long. There's always a price. Walk away from "free college education and speak out against it. Don't be a slob who gets drunk on lies.
Peter Nickerson, Philosophy Major, Class of '68, William and Mary
Friday, April 8, 2016
Obama More White Than Black
President Obama was the son of a white woman and an African male. I do not know if his father's African blood was diluted with Arabic blood. Muslim Arabs entered Africa to capture Africans to take back to Arabia as slaves. While there,they raped many African women and impregnated them. The Muslim Arabs invaded, raped, and took away Africans for Arabic use for hundreds of years. Thus, much African blood is not pure African but Arabic as well. Let's say this is not true of Obama and that he is half white and half African, though his long, elevated nose and magisterial manner remind me of an Arabic prince not an African. However, I say he is more white than black because he was raised by his white mother without his black father. His African father deserted the family to study in America. He could have taken Obama and his wife, but he didn't. There was a large number of years in which Obama's father did not even visit him. Obama's black father remarried and started another family. Obama's mother did not desert Obam by putting him into foster care or leaving him at the door of the local fire station or by going to graduate studies in America. She raised Obama and eventually married an Indonesian, and they left Hawaii to live in Indonesia where Obama attended a Muslim school.
To conclude, Obama was half white and, if his father had no Arabic blood, half black. But because he was raised by a white mother after his black father deserted him to go to school (he could have brought his wife and son with him),
my reason and my precious, though often totally unrealistic, feelings tell me that I am justified in saying that Obama, who is by blood just as white as he is black -if his father had no Arab blood, is by culture more white than black because his white mother stuck with him and raised him, unlike his black father. President Obama, who was never a black president, is actually more white than black thanks to his white mother not abandoning him as his black father did.
Peter Nickerson, Philosophy Major, Class of 68, William and Mary
To conclude, Obama was half white and, if his father had no Arabic blood, half black. But because he was raised by a white mother after his black father deserted him to go to school (he could have brought his wife and son with him),
my reason and my precious, though often totally unrealistic, feelings tell me that I am justified in saying that Obama, who is by blood just as white as he is black -if his father had no Arab blood, is by culture more white than black because his white mother stuck with him and raised him, unlike his black father. President Obama, who was never a black president, is actually more white than black thanks to his white mother not abandoning him as his black father did.
Peter Nickerson, Philosophy Major, Class of 68, William and Mary
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