An open letter to Barack Obama

Barack Obama, you have created a monster. You have awoken me. You have galvanized me. You have politicized me.
In the last two months, I have emailed my Congressman twice, signed petitions and volunteered for your campaign, put a yard sign out in your support, and now I've written my Senator about energy policy and the oil lobby.
I'd like to share that letter with you:

Dear Senator McCaskill,
We've all heard the chanting from the Republican National Convention echoing in our memories: "Drill, baby, drill!" It's a short-sighted, and one-sided, solution. In fact, it's no solution at all. Drilling in the Arctic Refuge will not impact our current energy situation, and will eventually do little to reduce the price of heating oil and gasoline in the next several decades. We won't even begin to see peak production the ANWR until well into the late 2020's or early 2030's. Additional off-shore drilling will similarly not have a significant effect in the near future. The answer is not to just reduce dependence on foreign petroleum, it is to maximally reduce dependence on petroleum from any source, period. I'm tired of subsidizing the oil companies' profits, and I'm tired of subsidizing petty and dangerous oil rich dictators like Chavez. We need to stimulate research and development of alternative energy sources, provide incentives for conservation and strive to protect and cherish the wilderness areas that survive, rather than sacrificing them on the altar of political expediency. Thank You for your kind attention.
Sincerely,
Jacqueline B. Watkins, RPh
Springfield, MO

Look what you've done.

Time to pay up or hang up the pestle

It's pharmacist license renewal time again. I've already renewed my "license by exam," a.k.a. my original pharmacist license earlier this year, and now it's time to pay The Man in the state where I actually practice. It's a rite I repeat every two years to assure my continued ability to make a very decent living in a profession that shows little sign of slowing down with the economy. As long as my generation keeps on keeping on, there will be work for me and my colleagues aplenty. I really shouldn't complain about forking over 375 clams every two years, but it does make me whimper a bit. I'm secure in the knowledge that should my Board ever decide I've been a bad pharmacist, they will most assuredly be able to afford lots and lots of rope with which to hang me.
Cheers!

Obama's newest volunteer

Me!

I haven't done this since college. I'm so darned excited I could burst!

Feels good to be just a little bit subversive again.

This little piggy went *crack*

About six weeks ago, I was climbing over some stuff on the library floor, potential ebay merchandise actually, trying to not knock over a camera tripod while stretching to reach a lamp that was left burning. I was wearing my very comfy and squooshy terrycloth flip-flops, and put my right foot down in such an awkward position that I when I shifted my weight, I somehow managed to break my third toe. It was quite sore and swollen and VERY purple for a few weeks, but lately has felt pretty much like new.

Soooo....... Yesterday I spent most of the day putting stuff away in my newly remodelled kitchen, as well as moving some of the living room furniture into the new sitting/media area adjoining the aforementioned new kitchen. We then were able to set up the dining room furniture in what was the living room; it's still carpeted in there, so I had my trusty canister vac with me to suck up whatever little mummified bits had been hiding under sofas, chairs and tables for however long. I was wearing my sensible house slippers, with the fleece lining, but my feet got really hot in them, so I figured, "Huh, what are the chances lightning will strike twice?" and changed into my flip-flop slippers.

Yup. I did.

Wasn't five minutes later, I reached out a little too quickly with my right foot to hit the OFF switch on the vacuum, and instead whacked my fourth toe on the hose connector sticking up from the top of the vac. It is, I am certain, quite broken. It hurts worse than before, and although it has yet to swell, it is a most vivid shade of purple and is giving me great discomfort when I have to wear actual shoes. I have it taped to the neighbor toe (the one that just healed) and have myself on scheduled doses of naproxen twice a day, with Ultracet at bedtime.

I hope my two big toms don't feel the need to bodyslam my feet in the middle of the night for a while.

Pharmagoths

As of tomorrow, September 1, each department in the hospital where I am employed must enforce a uniform scrub color policy. All nurses wear whatever shade of blue their particular floor or unit chose. All respiratory therapists must wear grey scrubs. And all pharmacy technicians and any pharmacist working in the clean room/IV room or compounding must wear black scrubs. Just like that, we're all about the goth.
Do you know how hard it is to get from my bedroom to the car of a morning without getting the hair of one of my six house cats (plus the white yard cat) all over at least one leg of my new black scrubs? They do look kind of classy, though.

Happy Birthday, darling daughter

Happy Birthday to my other amazing daughter! She turned, well, I won't spill it, but it was a big birthday for her. She and her family are visiting relatives in Nova Scotia at the moment, far from their home in Vancouver. She brings a spark of joy everywhere she goes. She is a wonderful wife, mother, symphony administrator and, oh yeah, a kick-ass French hornist.

Sarah, if you read this, I'm sorry it's a day late. I have lots of excuses, but no good reason. I love you and miss you, sweetheart.

A little teaser

Just a little glimpse. It's almost finished! I want those counters to stay clear forever. Aren't they pretty?

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

First, if you'll bear with me, a little background.

USP 797 is a regulation impacting any pharmacy that makes "compounded sterile products," for example, intravenous drips and medications, extemporaneous ophthalmics, epidurals for pain control, and so on. If you're interested in reading more about it, or just in need of a good snooze, click here: http://www.usp797.org/

Our hospital pharmacy has been undergoing an enormous remodelling effort to bring our rather large IV room into compliance with USP 797. The construction commenced back in early March. In the meantime, all our equipment and IV personnel have been crammed into what was our lunchroom, a space roughly 1/6 the size of the original work area. The environmental consequences have been remarkably unpleasant, as the four hoods, three refrigerators, two computers and anywhere from three to seven human beings put off more heat than the cooling system can handle. We all have to be masked, bonnetted, bootied, gloved and dressed out in scrubs while we work in there, thus adding to the misery. That heat migrates like a polluted miasma throughout the adjacent part of the pharmacy, which is also remarkably cramped and noisy. It's been a somewhat challenging place to spend 8 to 12 hours a day for quite a while, and our collective nerves are frayed.

Anyone who has remodelled a space knows that no matter how thoroughly you think you've planned the project, there are always surprises. There have been some big ones involved here, most spectacularly the HVAC issues, but I'll spare you that story. The point of all this is to share the adventure that was my shift on Tuesday evening. Even by second shift standards, it was hell. At any given moment, we were at least 130-160 charts behind. The phones would not stop ringing. I was the IV room pharmacist, so I was responsible for keeping an eye on a newbie IV technician who continually failed to meet the expectations I clearly laid out for him at the start of shift, and who also couldn't keep his damn drawers up. Drawer droop is not good aseptic technique! Visible ass-crack is sexual harassment. Ah, well, that got turned over to a higher power, and it's really not the point I'm striving to make. I just had to vent a little.

So..... Along about 11PM, which should have been my quitting time, two construction workers showed up to drain a water line so it could be re-routed to the Clean Room area of the newly remodelled IV room. (That was the latest afterthought. Water. Gee.) Gomer and Cletus had no idea it was pressurized. They also had no idea it was 180 degrees. They had no way to turn off said pressurized hot water after they drilled a hole in the pipe directly above our counter full of computers, where the four of us were furiously trying to whittle away at that horrendous backlog of orders. The ensuing torrent was spectacular.

Thankfully, no computers were harmed. Only one pharmacist got sprayed, and the water wasn't hot enough to scald her through her clothes. And my concern for the guys that were by then desperately trying to contain the spray of hot water in a plastic bucket kind of evaporated when one of them showed me a gap-toothed grin and called me:


Darlin'

I can haz desk, plz?

This is supposed to be my new workspace. The local chapter of the Feline Audubon Society thinks otherwise. They utilize a somewhat different system of avian taxonomy, based on size, situational awareness, speed of flight and flavor. It's more like "taxo-nom-omy."

I should note, the kitties are all confined to the indoors, so the only thing they kill now is time. And the occasional bug. Nom, nom, nom.

K thnx, bai.

The fog comes on little cat feet

But sometimes it's just dust.

I feel so...... valued

Dear Ms. W______:

Thank you for contacting Whirlpool Consumer Direct Sales.

I apologize for the frustration you have experienced with your broiler pan. I
will certainly pass this information on to our management team.

Whirlpool is constantly striving to improve our customer service and your
feedback is valued.

You may also contact us by phone at 1-800-442-9991. Our hours of operation are
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You are a valued Whirlpool customer and we appreciate your support of the
Whirlpool brand.

Linda H.
Whirlpool Consumer Direct Sales

Shenanigans!

As some of you know, we are remodelling our kitchen. Not so much remodelling as reconstructing that entire end of the house, including garage, new pantry addition carved out of said garage, kitchen, dining room and laundry room. We are keeping the gorgeous old Bosch dishwasher, but everything else was replaced with new KitchenAid Architect II series appliances. Only the double wall oven is actually installed at the moment.

You know what? These days a 3K oven does not come with a broiler pan. That's right. I'll repeat it: A three thousand dollar oven does NOT come with a broiler pan. It does come with a redemption coupon so you can call a toll-free number and have a "complimentary" broil pan, broiler grid and roasting rack combo shipped to you, but here's the catch. They charge $15 shipping. Out of curiosity, I visited the KitchenAid website and learned that the very same product could be purchased online and shipped to my home for $8.95.

It's identical to the broiler pan and grid I had from my old Whirlpool range. It was in excellent condition, and I would have kept it had I known I would not be receiving one along with my high-end wall oven. I mean, really, who would have thought to ask if the broiler pan was included? They always have been in the past.

I did email KitchenAid and told them I am calling shenanigans on them. Perhaps my next email should be to my state's Attorney General's office.

January 20, 2009 cannot come soon enough

Ah, just a little piece of the Constitution stuck there, sir.

Happy Birthday, dear daughter

Happy Birthday to my darling daughter, Emily, shown here with her niece, Abigail. She's expecting her first baby in December. Besides that, she is a passionate and accomplished musician, teacher, fund-raiser, activist and all-around amazing young woman. I am in awe of her. Many more happy returns of the day, sweetheart.

"No more cats, Mom"

That's the posting my beautiful, and catless, younger daughter left on my facebook wall.

Like I have any say in it.

The little calico cat that has been hanging around, looking in the windows and eating my catfood is one of the rarer of the rare, a male tricolor. This is exceptionally good news, as male calicos and tortoiseshells are almost universally sterile, so I do not have to trap this fellow and get him neutered.

Last night he was back, looking in the patio door, just like Longshanks did last winter. Goose was desperately trying to get his attention, grey paws insistently pummelling the door glass, the panhandler dozing, sprawled on the warm brick terrace with his back turned toward the door, oblivious to kitten overtures and curiosity. He is wary, this one, and will not have commerce with the two-legs, preferring to skulk through the tangled beautyberry and appear again at a time of his choosing. Where did he come from, how have I not seen him before this summer? So thin, so thin.....

Mad gardening skills

I cannot believe it's late July in the Missouri Ozarks and our little garden bed tucked in at the corner of the house looks like this.
Our summer has been so much cooler and rainier than usual, up until the last two weeks or so. The past several days have been absolute steambaths, with temperatures well into the nineties and high humidity. Today we had a significant rainstorm and the air feels clean and cool again. If this is climate change, bring it on. I'm very glad I got the beds mulched three weeks ago, so they were able to withstand the heat wave and still look wonderful. I usually have a yard full of crispy critters by late July.

Another kind of critter is on my radar, though. There's a little calico cat hanging around the house. I thought perhaps she lived up the street, but she's looking gaunt and acts more like a feral than a stray. She's very hungry and seems to be looking for a quiet, safe place to rest when she's over here. I think she may be related to our big tom, Longshanks. They have similar coat coloration and the same haunting, pale turquoise eye color. We currently have six cats: Longshanks, Lily, and their four offspring, Rooster, Goose, Willow and Rowan. Rowan has a different daddy, a feral fellow we call Scrapiron. We haven't seen Scrap for over four months now. I'm a little worried about him.

And Parker has moved on to other spider adventures. She bailed on me sometime last Thursday, and is probably living in the parking garage at the hospital.

Lost my marbles, I has

I am arachnophobic. The sight of a spider bigger than a gnat will induce in me a state of near-paralysis. I keep a broom by the outside door to sweep the air for errant cobweb strands before I walk through, thus avoiding the time-consuming activity of stripping and showering if I brush against spider silk. This is, of course, web-spinning season and I am on high alert in the out-of-doors.

So why am I tolerating the presence of a young spider that has taken up residence in my driver's side rearview mirror? It's an arboreal orb weaver, and my prior experiences with its kin have not been the best. These ladies grow to nearly an inch in length and weave large webs across my front walk, my front porch, my back deck, and between trees in my backyard. These webs are quite strong, very sticky, and the adult spider looks very icky and all accidental encounters with them have resulted in my immediate execution of the spider dance, followed by the ritual referenced in the above paragraph. My mother-in-law reports she has seen ruby-throated hummingbirds encased in these spiders' webs at her house on Table Rock Lake. Ewwwww.

So again I ask myself, why let this arachnid camper reside in my rearview mirror, spinning her web across my window and almost to the door handle? Every day she's bigger, every day that web is anchored closer and closer to the handle. Soon I won't be able to get into my car without disturbing her spidery dreams.

I think it's purely the entertainment value. She's always out in the web when I have to go somewhere. The slipstream catches her and bounces her around like one of those little balls on a rubberband that you hit with a paddle, only much faster. I swear I can see her tense when the engine starts. She has learned to scrabble up the web structure to the safety of the mirror itself, and sits there on the edge glowering (I imagine) at me with her little beady eyes. Up until yesterday, she only made the dash to shelter if I came to a stop. Last night, she was already tucked up for the ride before I left the parking garage. She's a pretty quick study, my little friend Parker. Oh, yes, I named her. Told you I've lost my marbles.

Odds and ends

Let's start with odd....

Ahmadinejad:

"There was no holocaust."

"There are no homosexuals in Iran."

But really, dude, X-ray attacks? In Rome? Now you're pushing it.

Although I have been wondering about the Pope's red shoes. Are they perhaps a weapon of sorts, designed to direct radiation attacks against enemies of Christendom?

Mahmoud, hon, Nana says take your meds.

Moving on.....

Some acquaintances of mine lost one of their beloved cats to a pair of unrestrained dogs who wandered onto their back porch yesterday. One cat escaped and eventually returned home unharmed, but the larger cat was not so fortunate. The dogs tossed him in the air and broke his back. It was all over in a heartbeat. Please, please, if you have dogs, keep them under your control. More than one dog constitutes a pack, and they are pack hunters by nature. This did not have to happen.

And a moment's reflection....

Please remember the patients and medical personnel who were killed in Flagstaff yesterday. May their loved ones, friends and colleagues find comfort and peace.

Today was better

Today was a good hospital pharmacy day. Why, you ask? Well, for one thing, I got to say my two favorite work-related words out loud. No, not those two. And please feel free to say them with me:

Anidulafungin

Alcaligenes

C'mon, it's fun. The second one had the added benefit of an upward inflection at the end, because I was actually engaged in a discussion involving some weird-ass combination of antibiotics my techs were preparing back in the IV Room/Sweat Lodge that I've been stewing away in all weekend. It was one of those, "Yeah, but did she grow out this baby yet?" conversations.

Another reason it was a good day? The Baxa compounder actually worked. Printed mix check reports and everything. We were able to boldly mix TPNs and NICU primaries and move on to smaller but more exciting admixtures. Like anidulafungin. It's a party in your mouth.

Ahhhh..........

Y'all will need to excuse me for a while. My martini is getting warm.