K, so I got no new ideas for TB stories now that I got myself into the commitment of coming up with a week-and-a-half's worth. Oh well.
I'm going on vacation. That's right. Me and my woman are heading west. This'll be the last financial hurrah before we're both graduate students and living in shitty & CHEAP graduate student housing.
We're driving from LA to Seattle and camping along the coast the whole way. That's right, stimulus check: we're taking you to Cali. If you want some of that great roadtrip mail art we're famous for, just let us know where you live and we'll send off something rad from the road.
It'll be a good way to say a final goodbye to Minnesota winter cuz' by the time we get back, the garden should be greener and the temperature should be quite warm. I am so ready!
Showing posts with label story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label story. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Friday, May 9, 2008
8 days
Having latent TB in Minnesota versus having latent TB in California (which is where it was first detected) were distinct experiences. Wouldn't have guessed that, would you have?
I believe four different nurses in California read my skin test results. Three of the four were nurses whose sole job was to work with TB patients. They knew what they were doing and they did it like it was the most important thing in the world.
I imagine them going to happy hour together once in awhile and sitting back to talk about all the TB cases they'd had that week. "Ooh, that blood and septum case, goodness!" One would say, needing catharsis about the most advanced patient of the week. "It's a good thing we can drink 'cuz that guy has enough antibiotics to shut down his liver in a week if given alcohol! We have to call him every day and make sure he's complying with his meds!"
When I did my own research and got scared of the side effects of the prophylactic antibiotics those nurses tried very hard to convince me to start immediately, I stopped talking to that clinic. Then, another county nurse started to call me. About once every two months for a year I got a call from her. She was calling to see if I'd started my meds yet and if not, did I need more information? Was I sure?
The thing about taking the latent TB meds is that it's not required, but due to a worldwide public health campaign to deal with the current TB epidemic, there are all these TB police out there calling people like me. Pimping out their meds. Losing sleep at night over the ones who refuse. Sigh.
In Minnesota: I got a primary doctor, walked in, said, "I have latent TB. I think I want to take the meds." He said, "Oh. I'll get you a prescription after we do another skin test. And, well, since you're not quite 30, we don't have to do any routine blood tests. You'll be fine. Just take it." I had to educate him about the side effects. I speculated that I was the first patient he'd seen with TB exposure. He was scarily laid back about it. Then, I get meds, and nothing more from him or the clinic.
If those nurses in California had ever heard a yes from me they'd probably have thrown a party, in the bar. They'd have had a drink for/over me and reinforced their clout with each other. "See? We just have to believe in this work. It's so important. We can eradicate TB, one person at a time!" I imagine they'd have no fights with their spouses for a good, long week after that.
Instead, I'm in Minnesota. Not California, the land of immigration where "foreign" communicable diseases drift in like pollen pods. Minnesota doesn't have as much TB. So, the doctors and nurses who don't work with many refugee/immigrant populations don't see many TB cases. I know, we have refugees and immigrants here; we have a lot of them. But nothing compares to places like California and New York for immigration, and the nurses there have a whole different job cut out for them.
So, in Minnesota, I get major patient autonomy and I get to take my meds in peace. I get to schedule my own blood work at the end of my treatment when I please. Hell, I think they'd just forget about me if I never mentioned anything about ending. I really liked having ease, privacy and complete control over this decision.
I believe four different nurses in California read my skin test results. Three of the four were nurses whose sole job was to work with TB patients. They knew what they were doing and they did it like it was the most important thing in the world.
I imagine them going to happy hour together once in awhile and sitting back to talk about all the TB cases they'd had that week. "Ooh, that blood and septum case, goodness!" One would say, needing catharsis about the most advanced patient of the week. "It's a good thing we can drink 'cuz that guy has enough antibiotics to shut down his liver in a week if given alcohol! We have to call him every day and make sure he's complying with his meds!"
When I did my own research and got scared of the side effects of the prophylactic antibiotics those nurses tried very hard to convince me to start immediately, I stopped talking to that clinic. Then, another county nurse started to call me. About once every two months for a year I got a call from her. She was calling to see if I'd started my meds yet and if not, did I need more information? Was I sure?
The thing about taking the latent TB meds is that it's not required, but due to a worldwide public health campaign to deal with the current TB epidemic, there are all these TB police out there calling people like me. Pimping out their meds. Losing sleep at night over the ones who refuse. Sigh.
In Minnesota: I got a primary doctor, walked in, said, "I have latent TB. I think I want to take the meds." He said, "Oh. I'll get you a prescription after we do another skin test. And, well, since you're not quite 30, we don't have to do any routine blood tests. You'll be fine. Just take it." I had to educate him about the side effects. I speculated that I was the first patient he'd seen with TB exposure. He was scarily laid back about it. Then, I get meds, and nothing more from him or the clinic.
If those nurses in California had ever heard a yes from me they'd probably have thrown a party, in the bar. They'd have had a drink for/over me and reinforced their clout with each other. "See? We just have to believe in this work. It's so important. We can eradicate TB, one person at a time!" I imagine they'd have no fights with their spouses for a good, long week after that.
Instead, I'm in Minnesota. Not California, the land of immigration where "foreign" communicable diseases drift in like pollen pods. Minnesota doesn't have as much TB. So, the doctors and nurses who don't work with many refugee/immigrant populations don't see many TB cases. I know, we have refugees and immigrants here; we have a lot of them. But nothing compares to places like California and New York for immigration, and the nurses there have a whole different job cut out for them.
So, in Minnesota, I get major patient autonomy and I get to take my meds in peace. I get to schedule my own blood work at the end of my treatment when I please. Hell, I think they'd just forget about me if I never mentioned anything about ending. I really liked having ease, privacy and complete control over this decision.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Roseville Theater
Went to a $2 movie at the Roseville Theater last night. The carpeting reminded me instantly of the roller rink I grew up going to. Everything was old, old, and a sign on the outside said they might close in March. Might? Unless what? The seating was in a bow curve rather than a slope, which I don't understand, but made it seem like the floor had sunk over time. I thought, "we're in the plains with no mountain within hundreds of miles, but we don't have to model our theaters after the landscape, folks."
The ceiling was pock marked with these:
So, the best part was that the clientèle who filed in with and after us were of a very special, specific demographic. I'm not making fun here, I am a social worker after all. Many fit my stereotype of welfare recipients, and additionally there were lots of crumbly old folks. It was just not what you get on a Saturday night in any other $10 per seat theater. Some characters were pure entertainment, for sure.
We tried very earnestly to record the conversation right behind us with a cell phone. The recording didn't turn out well - otherwise I'd post it here. Two men in their 50s-60s sat behind us with one woman the same age, who never said a word. They talked very loudly about guns. I wish I'd kept notes. Here's a sampling from my memory of some words they used: napalm, rifle, machine gun, WWII, Vietnam, ammo, pistol, automatic fill-in-the-blank, aircraft, magazine, cartridge, etc., etc. I said to L., "we should make out right now," and she just about bitch-slapped me for making such a life-threatening joke.
Though we could've been anywhere - New Jersey, 1 hour outside of San Francisco, Houston, Florida, you name it - it sure felt like a Minnesota moment to me.
Old, slow, smelly people, funny accents, gun talk, bad hair, multiple kids diving into one giant popcorn tub, sagging seats. I dunno why, but I thought, "here I am. Minnesota." And so I sank deep into my squeaky, rusted seat for the full experience.
The ceiling was pock marked with these:
So, the best part was that the clientèle who filed in with and after us were of a very special, specific demographic. I'm not making fun here, I am a social worker after all. Many fit my stereotype of welfare recipients, and additionally there were lots of crumbly old folks. It was just not what you get on a Saturday night in any other $10 per seat theater. Some characters were pure entertainment, for sure.We tried very earnestly to record the conversation right behind us with a cell phone. The recording didn't turn out well - otherwise I'd post it here. Two men in their 50s-60s sat behind us with one woman the same age, who never said a word. They talked very loudly about guns. I wish I'd kept notes. Here's a sampling from my memory of some words they used: napalm, rifle, machine gun, WWII, Vietnam, ammo, pistol, automatic fill-in-the-blank, aircraft, magazine, cartridge, etc., etc. I said to L., "we should make out right now," and she just about bitch-slapped me for making such a life-threatening joke.
Though we could've been anywhere - New Jersey, 1 hour outside of San Francisco, Houston, Florida, you name it - it sure felt like a Minnesota moment to me.
Old, slow, smelly people, funny accents, gun talk, bad hair, multiple kids diving into one giant popcorn tub, sagging seats. I dunno why, but I thought, "here I am. Minnesota." And so I sank deep into my squeaky, rusted seat for the full experience.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Walking up hills with ice
I'm not the only one who blogs about how Minnesota winter is enough to drive you a little crazy. This is a good cab story, and I knew I had to link you all to it when I read this:
"Whenever there's a blizzard, I usually end up stowing my car in a ramp about a mile away and walking home. In the ice, however? I seriously did not want to walk up the hill when it was covered with a quarter-inch sheet of ice."
Duluth is beautiful, but I think I'd rather spend summers there, quite honestly.
When it was too hot, or it rained too hard, everything came to a halt in El Salvador and nothing got done until it was more bearable. Is that what happens here when the streets freeze over?
"Whenever there's a blizzard, I usually end up stowing my car in a ramp about a mile away and walking home. In the ice, however? I seriously did not want to walk up the hill when it was covered with a quarter-inch sheet of ice."
Duluth is beautiful, but I think I'd rather spend summers there, quite honestly.
When it was too hot, or it rained too hard, everything came to a halt in El Salvador and nothing got done until it was more bearable. Is that what happens here when the streets freeze over?
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