UNBELIEVABLE

It’s good to be back at work after a two-week break. The summer session started Monday and although it was a zoo, still was glad to have my job.

There are rules and regulations for just about everything. The student health center at the community college I work at is no exception. There are set guidelines that must be followed. Students must be enrolled in the current semester and have paid the mandatory health fee in order to see a nurse, a doctor, or a counselor, free of charge; or to receive immunizations or other testing for various dollar amounts. Everyone who enters the health center, students and staff alike, must complete the sign-in sheet. Due to the privacy laws, or in other words, HIPAA, the names of those who sign in must be marked out. New patients must fill out three documents—general information, medical history, and sign a consent form giving permission to be treated. Simple. Easy to follow. Quite elementary. Well, apparently not for some people.

Wednesday afternoon a young gentleman (and I use that term loosely) came in and said he was sent by the trainer to see the nurse. Told him to sign in. After checking our records, advised him that a health fee needed to be paid in the cashier’s office first. He became agitated and told me he would pay it afterwards. I again told him our policy. He asked if he could pay it later and that someone else had told him he didn’t have to pay the fee first. We kept playing this song and dance; actually this individual kept questioning everything I said. I told him if he wanted to see the nurse, he would have to pay the fee now. With reluctance he left; but I kept my composure and it wasn’t easy.

One-half hour later we were graced with the presence of Mr. Attitude once again. Told him to sign back in. Mr. A peered down at the sign-in sheet and questioned why his name had been crossed out. Tried to explain the privacy regulations but it fell on deaf ears, and he continued to argue. I told Mr. A I didn’t need his attitude, and he gave it right back to me. Although he denied being a new patient, there was no history on record so I asked Mr. A to complete the necessary forms. He argued that he had already done so and refused to fill out any more. We went round and round again. I made a chart and attached a note of patient’s refusal to fill out the forms as well as his crappy behavior and put the file in the back.

Without the forms there would be no service and the personal trainer was called to come talk to Mr. A. She tried to explain. He just didn’t want to hear it. She went round and round with him but, of course, he was the victim and had done nothing wrong. In a few minutes there was the trainer, the coordinator/head nurse of the center, the office manager, and myself trying to reason with this guy. Nothing was accomplished. Just a waste of time. Mr. A still wouldn’t fill out the forms and left.

What else was there to do but shake our heads. UNREAL!!! Mr. A was as thick headed as they come and apparently has issues with being told what to do. The trainer said this was the first time in 20 years she was ever called to the health center to assist in problems with one of the athletes.

Our office manager always gets involved if she sees her staff being abused and during this time and his earlier visit, she kept turning around, but she realized I was holding my own. Later our health educator teased me by asking if I had anger issues.

All in all, I still love my job and will continue to do so no matter how many jackasses enter through the door.

AMITYVILLE HORROR REVISITED

Have you ever had a feeling that something was wrong, amiss, not quite right, or a twinge in the gut that something dreadful was about to be discovered?

After eating dinner and finishing that nightly ritual of teeth maintenance, walked back into the bathroom for just a minute and don’t always find it necessary to turn on the light. As I turned to leave, my left barefoot felt something moist and wet. Not near the sink. Not near the shower. Not near the hand towel. As a matter of fact, not anywhere you would expect to find a little stray liquid. The first instinct was that it came from the ceiling and stared up as I turned on the light. Nothing noticeable and looked down to see more than half the floor covered in water and most of it accumulated around the toilet and spreading outward. There also was at least an inch of water inside the shower. For the past few weeks the shower had been draining very slowly and thought about taking a wire hanger and fishing out the gunk from the drain but would forget about it until starting to take the next shower. Although I had not used the shower that day, did hear the neighbors using theirs earlier.

The water level continued to double in volume as the gurgling actions bounced back and forth between the shower and the toilet, reminding me of the classic movie but without the green slime. Informed the manager who gave me a beach towel and mop to wipe up the mess and came to take a peek. The water was coming from the wall behind the toilet. Carol flushed my toilet and the water rose and stopped just before it overflowed. After checking next door, Carol advised that their toilet had indeed run over and the tub was full of water. She had my neighbor plug up the tub so the water in my shower would stop rising.

Unfortunately, I was told the plumber would not be coming until the next morning around 8, 9, or 10. So, where does one go to alleviate? Although Carol thought it would be okay to use the toilet, I wasn’t going to take a chance. Luckily I had two places to go—my parents or the church building. Church was closer and thought about staying and sleeping on a pew but came home, went to sleep and repeated the process at 1:30 am and again at 5:00 before going to walk. Went to play a little tennis and to get milk at Ralph’s and upon my return noticed the water level in the shower would soon be trickling out onto the floor. Spent a little time bailing out water and pouring it into the sink. Now I could somewhat understand the misfortune of those people whose houses flood during natural disasters.

By the time the plumber arrived, I had to bail out water two more times. The plumber snaked out the pipes from the rooftop as well as the showers and was surprised that he had not been called out last night. The owner had obviously thought it could wait, but whom is he kidding—it would have cost more money. What a cheapskate!

A SAD FAREWELL

This morning my dad received a call that his brother, Gilbert, had passed away--the brother we flew down to see last month to celebrate his 90th birthday. His health was failing so it did not come as a shock. Although Dad says he’s doing fine, he tends to hide his feelings, but does realize that Gilbert is in a better place. Dad lost his sister, Lois, a year ago, his 92-year-old sister is not in top-notch shape, and Dad was questioning his own mortality not that long ago.

Dad won’t be going back for the funeral, but I’m sure it must be of some comfort to have been able to see his only brother before it was too late. Actually, I’m glad I was able to do the same.

To give you a little glimpse of this man’s life, the following is the poem I wrote for Uncle Gilbert’s 90th birthday.

THE YEAR WAS 1918,
THE BIRTH OF HOWARD COSELL,
AND THE FIRST FEMALE SHERIFF,
DOUBT THAT WENT OVER TOO WELL.

INVENTION OF THE FORTUNE COOKIE,
THE BIRTH OF PAUL HARVEY,
THE RED SOX BEAT THE CUBS,
WASN’T THAT JUST MARVEY.

MISSOURI TO CALIFORNIA,
FROM FARM BOY TO MARINE,
THEN YOU MET ELEANOR,
THE PRETTIEST GIRL YOU’D EVER SEEN.

RETURNED TO MISSOURI,
NOW FOUR KIDS TO RAISE,
STEVE, MARY, JOHN, AND PAUL,
THEM THER’ WERE THE DAYS.

SO HAPPY 90TH BIRTHDAY,
TO MY DAD’S FAVORITE BROTHER,
WHOSE NOT ONLY NUTS ABOUT CARS,
BUT METICULOUS LIKE NO OTHER.

Please keep the family in your prayers, especially Uncle Gilbert’s four children and his wife, Eleanor. They were married for over 63 years.

A HOPE SHATTERED

As I have mentioned in a previous blog, Jonathan was five years old when he was diagnosed with a lazy eye and eye patch therapy would no longer be beneficial after he turned eight. Every time Jonathan has to renew his driver’s license, he has to take the written test, a driving test, and must turn in a DMV 62, Report of Vision Examination, completed by the examining doctor. One of the doctors at an eye center in the local Wal-Mart had a different perspective of the eye patch therapy and said it would only be beneficial at an early age—as an infant. Although being told that nothing could possibly be done, I always believed that diagnosis would change because of the advancement in modern technology.

Also had wondered whether or not Jonathan’s vision disorder had developed because of the many head-banging incidents over the years--rolled out of my arms as an infant, rolled off the bed in a cabin in Pagosa Springs, hit his head on the corner of the organ, tripped and cracked his head open on the cement stairway of an outdoor mall. However, during another visit to the eye doctor last weekend, Jonathan’s diagnosis was finally understood.

Jonathan has amblyopia in his right eye that cannot be corrected by glasses or contact lenses and is not caused by an eye disease. Also called lazy eye, the vision is limited because the eye and the brain are not working together properly and the brain is favoring the good eye. His right eye is 20/100 and also has hyperopia (farsightedness) and astigmatism. Jonathan is part of the 3% population who has this neurological eye disorder. It will not get worse. It will not get better. It was a very heartbreaking disappointment.

Jonathan took the form to the local DMV and afterwards called me with great news. His name was removed from the temporary list and was given a regular driver’s license. It must have been the notation the doctor wrote on the form that Jonathan’s vision has not changed since 1995. When it’s time for renewal in five years, there should be no more hassles with red tape bureaucracy.

PHENOMENAL

In the past I’ve attended plays, sporting events, and concerts on both amateur and professional levels. Some were free while others a little more pricey, but not many can compare to the five dollars of entertainment witnessed last night on a folding chair in a large multi-purpose room (for lack of a better word) at a Christian junior and senior high school located in Orange County. The event—the annual “Big Night of Jazz” with three school bands performing with a special featured woodwind artist. This year was basically a night of Duke Ellington. School bands. Big deal. Have heard a few and you couldn’t pay me to attend another performance.

The first group was the Junior High Jazz Band. The musical director, Isaac, who looked like a kid himself, had only been at the school for two years. The group was quite impressive for being so young. The next band was the Jazz Workshop. The musical director for the high school band, Len, played trumpet with this group. Again, more great music. The last group to perform was the Eight O’clock Jazz Band including the featured guest artist, Keith Felch, a teacher and performer in Southern California for over 30 years. It was wonderful, exceptional, remarkable, and not just Mr. Felch who happened to play several instruments, but the entire group. The playing abilities of several of these young talents were emphasized throughout many of the songs, but a certain young gent on the ivories stood out, actually the only reason I was attending this concert.

Knew he was good after hearing him play in the church Praise Band. Found out just how good after hearing a solo during my first encounter of the church’s annual Gift for Jesus program. Realized how much this kid knew his stuff after I was asked to join the Praise Band as (what I call) a “background” keyboardist. Not only do I have a new found respect for this young man, but also I’m now even more intimidated. Do you suppose Daniel would teach me everything he knows if I paid him?

To me, Daniel is, well…phenomenal and in a class all his own. He is graduating this year and will be attending a popular California university majoring in Pre-Med. Definitely think Daniel would have a shot at receiving the title on America’s Got Talent and winning the million-dollar jackpot, which leads me to the million-dollar question. Why am I playing in the same group as Sir Daniel?

OH, GOOD GRIEF!

Yes, Glenda, I agree and hope Charles doesn’t read yesterday's blog (would hate to see him beat me up; doubt I could hold my own). :) Guess I pulled a Geron. That was just too funny yesterday and apparently it stuck in my mind. Could say it’s Geron’s fault; could say I’ve watched too many episodes of JAG; could say my uncle who just celebrated his 90th birthday was a Marine or… but it was my goof. Guess it shouldn’t surprise me. When our student worker comes in and is going to microfilm, I see the cord sprawled across the floor but within five minutes, I’m tripping over it.

My apologies to Sir Charles. He is definitely an Army man.

A NEW BIRTH

Believe it was around the ripe age of 11 when I walked down the aisle during the invitation song to confess that Jesus was my Lord and Savior and was ready to be baptized. That song might have been “Just as I Am” as it seemed to be the going song for invitational response. A good friend, Lora, had already gone forward to do the same. My parents were surprised. Never had I mentioned the desire to be baptized let alone the intention of doing it that evening (yes, for those in shock, church met three times a week). It was an important day and it would also be the last day my best friend’s father would be Candelaria Church of Christ’s pulpit minister. Not only would Laura be gone, but also a man I considered a significant part of my life (actually the entire family) and the only one I could ever imagine being involved in such a life-changing event.

Over the years have questioned my real motivation of that night and whether or not I became baptized for the right reason and not just because Bob was leaving. Have witnessed a handful of self-proclaimed Christians becoming baptized again for one reason or another and to be honest, wondered if I should be doing the same. However, I knew I loved the Lord and 40 years later still believe in the same basic principles, so I’d say I’m fine in God’s eyes.

This morning a pretty, young lady was baptized and unlike me, she let her desires be known but waited a week until her father would be home. Charles is a Marine and stationed in Northern California and periodically returns home to be with his family. Shelby not only wanted her dad home to observe this special time, but also to participate by baptizing her. Charles also baptized his son, Marcus, last year.

For some unknown reason, I grew up believing that only a “man of the cloth” could perform this ritual; otherwise, the baptism would be null and void. Actually having your own father dunking your body into that freezing, cold water in the baptistery. What a concept and a great concept at that. Who better than an earthly father turning over his child to the Heavenly Father. Charles is not the first father I have seen do this but did like what he said, “One of the best things you can do--baptize your child.” I was raised in a Bible-believing, God-fearing home and now wish that Dad could have had the privilege that night so many years ago.

Now subject to debate: What if a mother wanted to do the same? Yes, what if Glenda would have liked to baptize Shelby today? Personally, I don’t think God would mind at all.