No-Go on Jess

So it's been a hard week of dry runs for the cystic gals. Piper's lungs were a-no-go, Jess' lungs were a-no-go. But CF Steph is kicking ass and taking names at the hospital where I go!!

Piper was quite eloquent in pointing out to all of us that when it is not our time, it is another person's time. Jess was quite silly in pointing out that 12 hours after being NPO, you are a ninja of hungriness and might just feel a little bit like, "No Lungs, No Peace." That is our mantra!! No matter how many times we text it, we get a giggle out of NO LUNGS, NO PEACE.

Also, "All we are saying, is give lungs a chance." That's pretty funny too.

Tomorrow is my poetry reading. I am super excited and only a wee bit nervous about it. Cookies will be served.

Today I had both doctors (cf and tx). Ugh. I don't know what continues to be so wrong with my brain. No matter how many times I go to the doctor, no matter how many times I think, "I will remain calm and polite at the doctor," it does not happen. If any little thing goes wrong (and 5 things always go wrong,) I get all panicky and sweaty and "don't touch me," and "please don't call me sweetie," and I just make the whole situation bad when it is actually just fine. I mean, I am so sick of myself about this issue. I cannot endure me at the doctor. Imagine my poor mother, the doctors and nurses, the PFT person!! I might as well wear a t-shirt that says, "I am a crazy biotch." I also get this really dark sense of humor that no one seems to enjoy but me. Ughie.

Public apology to all : I'm crazy at the doctor. I'm working on it! I'm freaking sorrrry!

Goodnight, CG

You Are My PCP: A stream of consciousness post

NEWSFLASH!
Remember those, longtime CG readers?
NEWSFLASH!

"Unto the East" now to include an introduction by Piper Beatty and cover art by Salina Marie Gomez! So exciting! Do NOT miss your opportunity to pre-order the chapbook! It's the only way to guarantee you'll get a copy of this limited edition print! Orders will be held for purchase when the book is released in March.

Click HERE. to order!

Onward . . .

About my appointment today, kinda, but really just a reflection on the idea of the PCP. This is a creative piece and not literally what happened today. But everything below has happened to me at some point in my life.

You are my PCP and despite your name you are not a drug I did in the 70s, you are my primary care physician. You must see me because you are my physician of record, and I must see you because my insurance requires it. We do not want to see each other again, we are adversaries. I regard you like an elementary school principal and I am a naughty seven year old. You regard me like a nuclear grenade and you are a soldier required to throw me, not able to decide which direction. I will walk into the room and you will cautiously shake my mother's hand, oh good, you brought your mother. You will wonder if I am a child or if I am an adult and you will remark that you are not quite sure how I was assigned to be your patient, you will smile and then ask me casually to review my "full medical history." I will stare back at you, where should I begin? I ask this literally, you think I mean figuratively, and I start to tell you how I was born in 1980. Why were you diagnosed?, you will ask me. Any surgeries?, you will ask me. You will ask me strange questions like how did I come to have this disease if neither of my parents did, if I ever worried about my cholesterol since I eat "so much fat," if I am bulimic or have a history of it. You will look at my fingers over and over again and you will hold onto my skinny wrist. I will wonder where you went to med school and how you ever finished and know that the answer is simple: barely. We will spend the better part of thirty minutes working over my history, I will watch you toggle frantically from the notes you are typing to the notes you have received about me over the year. I will remark that you must not have ever read them, and you will deny this is true. Of course I have read them, I am your physician of record. I have written all of your referrals. I am in charge of your care. Of course, I will reply. Of course you are. You are in charge of me. I will smile politely and after bringing you up to speed, after telling you about my 29 years of life, after noticing that you are about five years older than me, you will ask to listen to my chest and I will say, what for? I thought you didn't want to see me. Just kidding. And you will put your clammy little hands on my gorgeous chest under my thin cotton shirt as though it really makes it easier to hear, as though what you hear in my chest will change everything between us, and for that penance along with the drive and the talking and the two oxygen tanks I have wasted, I will walk out with a piece of paper from you that says I am allowed to live.

What You Doin'? Home IV Therapy Schedule.

Well, it's been about six weeks of home and hospital treatment, and yesterday I finally got my port de-accessed. I am on a leave from work until I can be sure that I am up to returning (more details to follow . . . ), and I have been meaning to write a post that answers the question,

What do you do all day during your home IVs?

Here is my schedule from last week, without the med names to keep it simple.

8AM:
Take IV number 1. (30 mins)
Take inhalors and nasal sprays.
Do nebulizer 1 (10 mins)
Do airway clearance and manual postural drainage/cpt (20-40 mins)
Do nebulizer 2 (20 mins)
Take oral antibiotic, steroid, stomach medicine, special cf vitamin, probiotics and other meds for tummy, blood pressure pills (2), antihistamine pill to counter drug interactions, take vitamin K to prevent bleeding.

9AM:
Personal Care Routine: Shower inc. more airway clearance, Hair, Dress, Become generally glamorous

10AM: EAT

12:
Cardio Exercise, then eat more.
Take more probiotic
Sometimes, I would take a nap following my exercise.

3PM: Go to CVS.

4:
Sometimes I would have a nursing visit at this time to change my port needle, and to draw blood work.
Take IV #1 (30 minutes)
Do nebulizer 1 (10 mins)
Do airway clearance and manual postural drainage/cpt (20-40 mins)
Do nebulizer 2 (20 mins)
Take more probiotic

5: Take IV #2 (60 mins)
Talk on the phone with CysticLady and CysticMommy

6: eat

7: yoga.

8: Take more probiotic, cf vitamin, tummy meds, inhalors (2).

11: write my blog :)

12/"nn":
Take IV 1, 30 mins.
Final airway clearance. (10 mins)
Take antihistamine.
Get ready for general nn including sinus rinse. ew.

Also: at waking, noon, four, eight, "nn" and after exercise, I would take my blood pressure, check my oxygen and pulse.

Other medical things that happen during the week:
One appointment at the CF clinic (or three:); calling the oxygen company to get needed supplies; calling the nursing coordinator to schedule all this sort of stuff.

It's a busy job, but I have to do it!

More tomorrow, loyal readers! Love, CG

Stream of Consciouness Is The Best Way To Write

When you write so much and so fast and you try not to stop and don't stop if you spell something wrong except for when you type sometimes it happens auto-matic-ally so usually i don't do this type of writing on a keyboard i prefer to do it with my hands so this is really an experiment and the one thing you try not to do and by you and mean i try not to use any sort of punctuation just try to get the juices flowing since it is 11 o'clock at night and though i like to start to write at ten, 11 o'clock at night will do today was hard.

well there we go.

today was hard and i went to the doctor and also i brought my friends one was human and one was pharmaceutical and both made passing the time easier except for that i was still bitchy sometimes on accident and playful sometimes on accident which really isn't that much different than the way i am in real life

like not at the doctor

it is weird that my type type typing fingers had to spell

doctor

twenty thousand times they could not get it right

write

so i went the doctor and brought my two friends t and v

t money
valium

and we had a lot of chatting and i told them i was collecting advice
i am like a tollbooth taker of advice and please would every one throw a coin in and also
don't forget that i am a monarchy
i make all the decisions
but you can't pass by without throwing a coin into the cup of
what to do about me

so i collected lots of coins today and that is a
metaphor that works so maybe i'll
write a poem like that tomorrow

and then i went home from the doctor with my full bag of coins
and stopped to make some art
or talk about hey do you want to make some art
on the way
which was good and i had my dance pants on and all
you can still wear dance pants if you have a nice ass
and an oxygen tank
it's ironic and fabulous
especially wearing pink

and i talked a little talk about hey let's make some art
and also collected a coin or two from a very nice man who says
you know the thing about art is you could always say
well i was just making some art, you know

and then i came home
called my mother
and my father
and my sister
and not yet my brother
because with all this news there was really no news to report
and he mostly has time on the weekend
my brother

he is busy collecting coins of his own ;)

Goodnight from my brain to yours,
CG

I'm Ok, You're Ok

Thanks for the messages and tweets sayin', "Hey CG, where you AT?!"

I had a poopy appointment at the doctor yesterday and I've been in a bad mood for two days. Hence, I have not posted anything. Yet, I am fine. More later today. I'm gonna try to write today while I do my meds even IF I'm in a bad mood about it.

So there.

And my cat is acting old and sick.

:( That doesn't help.

At the doctor yesterday, my anxiety was really kickin' in. Plus two drugs I'm on increase my blood pressure. So my blood pressure was high and we thought, let me take some time and CTFO, chill the f out. During this CTFO time, they brought me jelly beans.

Coincidence?

I think not.

More later.

My CF Firsts

Another bloggy did this list, so I thought I'd take a crack at it. Shout out to Casey's blog. Check him out!

Since I first published this, other CFers have been posting their firsts. Here is one mom's account of her baby girl's CF firsts. It really shows how things have changed since Cystic Lady was born in 1976, and I in 1980: A Day In the Life of a CF Mom;

I have also updated my firsts to include their firsts to we can all compare :)

Here are some of my CF "firsts." I based my list on my own knowledge and memory, though Casey, I suspect, had to ask his parents for the info. (Uh...my parents still don't know about my blog). I will also share any memories I have.

My First . . .

Breath- 1980

Pancreatic Enzymes- As early as they could put 'em in my formula, I think.

Diagnosis- 6 months old. Earliest they could do it in 1980, I think.

Daily Vitamin- Age 3. Flintstones Complete.

Oral Antibiotic- Age 6 or younger.

First Asthma attack- 7 years old.

Halloween Costume in hospital - 8 Years Old. I was a red M&M. I remember the face of the nurse who helped me make it. It was a project for us.

CF Doctor and clinic- 6 mos. Dr. Gibson at Rush Presbyterian St. Luke's Medical Center, Chicago. He was the best doc I ever had.

Formal Exercise other than sports: Age 4. My mom made me and Cystic Lady (then more of a Cystic Kid) do this Mickey Mouse Club Exercise. It was lame. Following that (Age 8ish), she made us do this "Get In Shape, Girl" exercise for kids. It was similarly lame.

PFT- Not sure. I do know that Dr. Gibson said that according to my first try at a PFT, I was already dead. I have never been good at them.

Nebulizer treatment- Age 7 or 8?

Dose of Pulmozyme- About 13 years old.

CF Sibling: At birth, came to realize I have a 4 year old sister, Cystic Lady.

Non-CF Sibling: At birth, came to realize I have a 18 month old brother, Cystic Sibling.

Hospital Stay "Clean out": Age 8, where I really began to be afraid of hospitals.

Bad memories: being forced, screaming and in full tantrum (and I could create some doozies well into my pre-adolescence), into Chest PT with a machine. I had never seen a machine before. It was very loud. The PT woman was mean and hurt my wrist and I still sorta have a hatred for her; Remember being alone a lot and watching L.A. Law on tv; My sister having a separate room from me, as they just started to separate CF patients' rooms and/or they were afraid we would fight, me 8, she 12; my room was always dark; My IV came out in the middle of the night and soaked my bed with liquid. I had to get a new one in the middle of the night. Even then, I knew this was ridiculous; Nurse lady took me outside to a park and we played on a swing. Even then, I knew that this was supposed to be a kid-like experience for me in the middle of a bunch of adult-like experiences. I was not amused but put on a "wow, thanks," expression; Meeting two teenagers both w/ CF but I think they were unrelated. They had these horrible IVs in their arms that were some sort of long term IV that you could see run up the arm along with the vein and a sort of huge tagaderm over the whole thing. Their room looked like a dorm room and I thought, they must live here. They had posters on the wall and everything. I worried my sister would move in with these CF teenagers in their CF teen room; The word clean-out and me thinking it meant they were gonna go in me and get something out of me; Going back to third grade and doing show and tell with a stuffed animal mouse I got, and saying I got it in the hospital, then not wanting to answer when someone asked me why I was there, my third grade teacher, who I actually adore, then scolding me, "Why did you bring it up, then?"

Good memories: Making M&M halloween costume with a nurse. She brought the poster board and we made the straps out of ties from a hospital gown; Skating on my IV pole down the hallway; Learning to play pool in the "lounge;" Watching adult tv like L.A. Law and Thirtysomething all day and night; meeting my black roomate who had something really bad wrong with her, and no visitors. We got along great and my 8 year old brain thought she looked just like Tracy Chapman because they had the same hair; Someone gave me really adult nice-smelling shampoo to use; Visiting the nurses and eating candy from them; putting hospital-issue deoderant on the inside of my wrist to my elbow because that is where I thought my "underarm" was, then smelling powder fresh all day; Getting gifts like balloons and stuffed animals.

[...]

Dose of Tobi- I think, 12 years old. Prior to that, inhaled tobramycin mixed with saline and a needle, the old fashioned way.

Read "Alex: The Life of a Child:" Age 8.

Started thinking about mortality: Age 8.

Started realizing I'm gonna live through this chapter and then the next one too: Age 20

First loss to transplant: Age 13, my Godbrother. He was 19.

First time I really remember FEELING sick: Age 9 or 10 when my Gramma was visiting.

First hemoptysis: Age 22, at work filing papers: Gurgle Gurgle.

First major bleed (later diagnosed as Pulmonary Endometriosis): Age 24

First home IVs: Age 20

First home IVs with no hospital time: Age 29

First time I freaked out about my fertility: Age 24

First time as public advocate for CF Adult issues: Age 12. Ha! Youngest member of the Chicago "Chosen Few" group, who had to change their name after we realized, it wasn't "a few" people that were making it to adulthood with CF.

First time a relationship changed dramatically during/immediately following big changes in my health: Age 8.

First time without health coverage: Age 21, following graduation from college and without a job (Also, my last time.)

First PICC line: Age 20

I could go on!! Maybe I'll add more tomorrow.

What are your CF firsts?
CG

"And on the seventh day . . . "

"And on the seventh day . . ."

Cystic Gal took a nap.

It was just the day before yesterday that I wrote The Vow of the Cardio, and only yesterday that I revised it. Yesterday. The seventh day that never was. My entire reason for making The Vow of the Cardio was to break my bad habit of taking a day off from formal exercise. I do this every week. It is like a mental block or a secret desire to complain the next day or something. It is ridiculous. It is inexcusable. Yesterday, I DID NOT WORK OUT.

Yesterday: I sat in the sun for 1 hour, 15 minutes while reading; I took at 2 hour long nap; I fooled around with my blog here and there and all day long for certainly an hour or so total; I talked on the phone a lot; I made a contract for a gig coming up; I started the process on getting another contract for my new colleague; I had my friend T-Money over and even actively thought, "it is a perfect amount of time to work out, while she drives over!" BUT DID I? OH NO!

And my lungs were double mad at me for this decision. They were wheezy and making a crinkly noise by the time I went to bed despite my airway clearance. They were an f-in' nightmare this morning. They were glarpy and glorpy during rehearsal. They gave me shit during airway clearance today. They were pissed, and I could not blame them. My lungs can be real bitches when they've been ignored and lied to.

Of course, there is another side to this. Looking over my list of the Top Ten Reasons Not To Exercise With CF, I left one off, which I will now add. My rationalization yesterday is that my life comes first. Meaning, my social-spiritual-emotional-artistic LIFE. My LIFE comes before my health. I stay healthy so that I can live my Life. I don't live my Life to prove that I can stay healthy. This, I know, is something that not all CFers, CF parents, or CF caregivers (medical or non), agree with. They would say, "You have to stay healthy so that you can live your life," which on the surface, sounds true. Well, it is true. You have to physically stay alive so that you can continue any kind of a living breathing life whatsoever. However, my life with CF is about choices, grande sweeping conceptual ones like "My Life comes before my Health," and smaller ones like "I really want to spend time laughing with my friend tonight. I'm really enjoying this. I don't want her to go home yet," or the opposite, "I'm not going to that birthday party. I simply cannot. I have to stay home and take care of myself tonight."

The way that I take care of myself on one day may mean to stay up late hysterically laughing with my girl friend talking about boys (and yes, I'm older than 15), and some other day it may mean skipping out on an event I was really looking forward to, in order to work out and do meds and really push the airway clearance.

I will never be the CF patient who chooses only the second option. I will always live my Life first.

This got me thinking, how did I get here? Why do I feel so strongly about the Life element in my . . . well, life? Here is the first chapter of Cystic Gal: the future book or something.

Until my mid-teens I was under the care of physician Dr. Lewis E. Gibson and his nurse, M-huggy. His name is probably the only real doctor's name that I'll use on this blog, and I use it now because he passed away in 2008 and I know inexplicably that I will only say complimentary things about him. He was a pioneer in CF medicine for a lot of reasons, including his invention of the sweat test used to diagnose CF, and his study of many of the common practices in CF care including the use of mist tents on patients in the 1970s and prior years. During the time that he practiced medicine, he saw the expected age of mortality for CF patient go from younger than ten years old, to older than thirty. CF went from a "childhood disease" to a "genetic disease affecting 30,000 adults and children nationwide." I think of his mind as an extraordinary timeline filled with data, pictures of patients, difficult conversations with patients, patient conversations, wellness, illness, death and Life in CF with its successes, failures, and choices made in CF care.

A side note: Dr. Gibson often told the same stories over and over again. You will know a patient of Dr. Gibson's if you can get his account of where "the shot heard 'round the world" was fired from. He told me on more than one occasion that his motivation for studying the long-term use of mist tents in CF was not really motivated by the moisture levels in the lungs and bacteria growth and all that, but that, "it just didn't seem right anyhow," and "practices like that can do a lot of damage to the patient's sense of normalcy." He was interested in getting rid of the mist tents because they were terrifying to look at and made the kids feel like they were dieing. Oh, and they were actually helping grow the Yukkies. That too. Dr. Gibson cared about how the science served the patient, not just how the patient reacted to the "best science."

When Dr. Gibson retired, he wrote a poignant yet professional, emotional yet instructive letter to families and patients under his care. Though I don't know for sure (and I'm sure somebody could look it up), I doubt his practice had a great attrition of patients from year to year. He cared for me for 15 years from the day he met me at 6 months old and wrote, "Baby [CG] in good spirits reporting her chief complaint to be recent diagnosis of Cystic Fibrosis," until his retirement party in 1995. He cared for my sister for approximately 18 years until she left for college. He cared for my God brother until his lung transplant in 1994. My family and others made extraordinary sacrifices to remain under his direct care.

In his letter to families, after approximately fifty years of crafting, evaluating and revising CF care in his centers and for others, Dr. Gibson wrote a letter that reminded his patients to put their Lives, their families, their relationships, their happiness first. I am paraphrasing now, but will revise later - he said that care should never become so costly, so time-consuming, or so personally overwhelming to patients or families, that patients are not able to enjoy life.

I will always put my Life first because I want to enjoy Life.
My Life keeps me healthy.

(which is not, truly, the reason that I did not exercise yesterday. I did not exercise yesterday because I was being a bloggy, tanning, phone chatting brat. But I think this line of thought that I began here, is more valuable than that particular Epiphany.)

Goodnight. From Day One,
CG

Growing Older With CF

NEWSFLASH!

Read this article! Boomer, CysticLife, Ronnie and all the Twitterers are tweeting about it. AND, it's about ME. Well, a generic version of "about 30 year old CF Patient" ME. If we can't find ourselves in our demographic, where CAN we find ourselves?!!

It's a really great article!!

Growing Older with CF

By Mike Bederka

Anger: Tell Me How You Really Feel

NEWSFLASH!
A big day for CG!
CG Welcomes New International Readers!
Hello, Australia and Netherlands!
*Also, hello to new readers in Canada, UK and Turkey*
**First time EVER, 37 UNIQUE READERS TODAY!**
******************************************************

One of my first reader inquiries came from KR, who wrote, "Hey, CG, hope you'll say more about why you think you've been feeling angry of late, since I suspect the reasons will be complex and insightful. An impulse not to be angry--to do one's best to keep-it-positive--is admirable, but sometimes anger is the most honest and justified reaction to a situation. And it's often a productive one. To whit: maybe anger is one of the big reasons that you started this blog, and that's nothing to apologize for/feel bad about. Just sayin'."

I have been meaning to follow up on this comment for a while. I needed some time to think on it. This posting will be incomplete and I will have to follow up in later posts, because it is already very late and I am trying to keep myself to a post-by-midnight type of schedule.

So . . . I think that I have been increasingly angry over the last three years about having CF. I was so angry a few years ago that I was turning away, pretty dramatically, from the medical establishment altogether. I was meeting with doctors only to get prescriptions, and on a pretty hard-core self-management bend from about 2005-2008. Thankfully, during this time I suffered very few periods of illness, and no real exacerbation or crisis. Unfortunately, I also lost a lot of my lung capacity during this period, which must have slowly sort of eeked away from me while I harnessed my fear of doctors and drove the ship of my personal life and career.

Looking back, I am not sure that I would have done it any other way, or that staying tethered to the CF Clinic would have changed my health outcome. From 2005-2008 I led a very productive, very physically active life that has propelled me into the lifestyle that I have now. If I had followed the medical advice I was getting at that time, something in my spirit and in my logical mind tell me that I actually would have suffered a worse fate.

So, I became angrier and angrier at the medical community, at the entity of CF, and at people in my life who were asking me to make CF a greater focus. I had been lied to by the medical community. They told me that my life was ending, and they were wrong. My life is still going, years later. They told me that the things I enjoyed: teaching, rehearsing, socializing - were contributing to my poor health. I believe that these things actually are my strongest reasons to live.

I have much more to say on this topic, but I will leave it for another day, as it is time for sleep and past my "publish post" deadline!

But this is the point: I was angry, and am angry, because I am having trouble resting in the middle of my distrust with the medical community, and my need to be involved with them, my fear of doctors in general, and my security with my current medical staff. I am in a place that to me, at this point, seems innavigable. And I'm not used that. I'm a very directed, very forward-moving type of person. Being unable to drive my own ship, and being forced to have a partner who I will never really trust (the medical community) makes me so so so angry.

Goodnight,
CG

NOTE IN FOLLOW UP 7/3/09: I do currently trust my CF Clinic staff, I think, as much as I am capable of trusting medical professionals. I am not looking to change clinics right now. I think that would make my "issues" worse. But I welcome tons of suggestions, so keep 'em coming, people.

Florence Nightingale Syndrome: What Can IT do for YOU?

I have a confession to make and I trust that it will stay within the confines of this blog posting and my blog's very exclusive, very private readership*:

I'm madly in love with my Valvoline service professional. He's so kind, so caring. He always calls me "sweetheart," he sends me correspondence if he hasn't heard from me in awhile, he is always honest with me - about the status of my air filter(1). He is honorable.

Also, I have this thing on the side with my laundry man. He does my laundry week in and week out. He is committed to me. He folds my clothes so nicely and he even lifts them into my trunk, he is unending in his laundry ways. He doesn't make eye contact with me because, well, he has a wonky eye (2), but still, I can tell he shares in my feelings. And for only a dollar a pound.

I have been considering a lifestyle change due to my lovely maid, Wanessa (3). She is adorable in her fitted sheet changing techniques. She bravely vacuums my curtains and behind my couch once a week. She shows her true strength of character in bathroom and litter box areas. She has changed all of my views - on cleaning.

And last night I had a short-lived thing with a waiter at Legal Sea Foods (4). It was a brief affair - over by the end of my surf and turf. I will always think back on him kindly.

Oh, and that guy from the Arby's who gave me the extra cheese sauce. He was so handsome. I wish it could have lasted - the cheese sauce that is (5).

And don't even get me started on Barack Obama.

I also have to confess, I do have this small thing for my CF doc, Dr. U-Bird^. He is always honest with me. He listens to me even when I'm a crazy coockie biotch. He always informs me if he talks behind my back - to the other CF Clinic staff - in creating my treatment plans. He also cares about how I feel. And he has earned my trust.

In all but one of these situations, I had a small, mostly fictitious crush on my caretaker, because you know what? It works for me. In the Legal Seafoods situation however, in full disclosure I must say, I had an actual crush on the guy.

I would like to encourage all of the CFers out there to ask,

"What can Florence Nightingale Syndrome do for YOU?"

a) It can make you more highly productive in getting things done like oil changes!

b) You'll never do laundry again!

c) You'll have less dust and pet hair in your house and not inahle fumes cleaning the bathroom. Bonus: less germs in the bathroom and kitchen!

d) Clearly, it can make you eat more by constantly seeking that Nightingale Waiter Love high.

e) You will become addicted to cheese sauce. This can only help your calorie intake because cheese sauce is only available in high calorie situations.

f) You will become more politically active and aware! YES WE CAN steal him from Michelle, you'll say.

More importantly . . .
g) It can make you more likely to attend clinic, and to do so with your healthiest, best self present.

Now, obviously I am not suggesting that I, or anyone, should develop actual romantic feelings for their doctors (or their Valvoline service professionals, for that matter). But you should develop a trust for them. If you find that your doctor is not honest, does not listen, does not properly inform you of your care, or doesn't care about how you feel, it is time to find a new doctor. The same is true for your Arby's cheese sauce administrator.

SEVEN Ways To Develop Florence Nightingale Syndrome
In Your Medical Environment:

1) Ask the doctor if you can call her/him by a former lover's name (one you still like).

2) Try to figure out if your doctor looks vaguely like any attractive famous actors. Then squint at clinic.

3) Get dressed up for clinic including perfume. Blatantly ask, "Don't I look great?"

4) Entertain yourself with inappropriate sexual jokes and/or advances during a bronch, PICC placement, or other procedure, then blame it on the "ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-Sedation Meds(6)."

5) At the beginning of your clinic appointment, boldly state, "Let's just keep this between us."

6) At the end of your clinic appointment, ask your doc, "Was it good for you?"

7m) Sneak out of clinic before it's over so you don't have to, you know, talk about it.

Okay that last one is just for the male CF patients out there. This alternative is offered for the girls.

7f) Stay at clinic 'til the next morning. Shower there and then make a breakfast even if your doc has left for "rounds."

Okay Okay Okay, so this might sound a little extreme. I guess what I'm trying to say here is, YOU need to find YOUR way to love CF Clinic. This is my subtextual way. It and Eminem. And the Valium. And it's working for me so far.

Goodnight, Y'All. Mystery Solved,
CG

Notes:
*Duh, everyone can read this blog in the whole world.
(1) Okay, so one time I think he was ripping me off.
(2) I think wonky eyes are adorable so this is not a put down.
(3) Her real name and I'm really straight.
(4) I would have actually done this guy if the topic came up. I waited, it didn't.
(5) My affair with the LS guy lasted longer than that damn cheese sauce.
^A pseudonym I made up according to the secret CG pseudonym creation equation. I sincerely hope Dr. U-Bird gets my tone here. And doesn't sue me for a little humor.
(6) This true CF clinic folklore submitted by Cystic Lady. Available via google chat: 12:01 a.m. 7/2/09

Note to all: I'm just kidding here. Go satire, get your groove on. Best of all, I think I'm the target of my own satire here. Ha!