From email@example.com Sun Nov 29 01:37:11 1998
From: "Rev. Random the Other" <firstname.lastname@example.org>
Date: Sun, 29 Nov 1998 04:37:11 -0500
Clinton denies purjury. The Pope offering indulgences. Kellogg's
to market cerials as nutritional. Social Security issue not real.
Israel to implement peace accord.
I love the smell of hypocrisy in the morning. Praise "Bob"! is what I
say. Of course, MY morning begins around 6pm, on weekends. Still two
blocks from the parking lot, my window rolled down to catch the last of
this beautiful weather, I thought, "THAT's not hypocrisy. That's
asphalt." Yep, new blacktop, and some new lighting. The crew arrived a
few hours after shift change, unloaded about four hundred five-gallon
steel buckets of blacktop goo, unloaded a backhoe and cut a trench across
the only access to the lot. Then they began at the entrance, dumping
buckets and using big brooms to spread the goop, working towards the
far end of the parking lot. Where the cars were. The cars belonging to
the day shift folks here. Of course, it's not in the Blacktop Sweepers
Union rules to notify anyone whose car is on the lot being covered...
So they just worked around the vehicles, circumambulating, making sure
to push gooy blackness into the tire treads in the front and rear and
slathering it on the whitewalls and rims, skirting the quarterpanels
and doors and fairings and fog lights as if it was Free Ziebart Day,
leaving a cameo outline of each car or truck on the lot surface. And
then they were gone, leaving a mountain of gummy buckets and angry men
in their wake. Those with four-wheel-drives gave rides to those
without, a quick Baha over the junipers, and who cares? Miserable
junipers. Of course, none of this is hypocrisy, just stupidity; nothing
that "Bob" himself wouldn't have done. Shit happens. Like the human
2x4 I just read about, weighing 15lbs at 15 years old, dead from
malnutrition--Mom just forgot to feed her. And they lived behind a
donut shop. Praise "Bob", I say, to stupidity as well.
Last night, which for me was at 7am, I drove home, opened the hothouse,
checked everybody for water happiness, gave Ganja her thyroid medicine
and the last can of Mighty Dog--the doggie equivalent of strained
prunes. Ganja is getting old. Thirteen and a half, only, but she's
always been a very active outdoor dog and now arthritis and cataracts
have slowed her to a crawl. We'd have the cataracts removed (shit, I'd do
it myself, it's not difficult) once they got real bad, but looking at
her x-rays it is doubtful that that will be necessary. All her joints
look like a big mush. Just like twin Kaya's, who died last year.
Probably gonna have renal failure just like her sister, as well. Ganja
was sprightly enough a month ago, then stopped eating. Pammy decided
that maybe she just can't chew, that dry food is too tough for her old
jaws. Hence the Mighty Dog. Nasty stuff. I pointed out that Ganja
still enthusiastically crunches down rib bones in about five
seconds, but sometimes hope outweighs reason when Pam's babies are
involved. We both get introspective when Ganja turns up her nose at
food, looking away just like her sister did. And I must point out
that Pam did keep Kaya alive--it took force feeding and IV fluids--for
eighteen months after Kaya behaved this way. For a week or two the
living room became an intensive care ward, then Kaya would start
gaining weight, then she was normal, hunting and raising hell for a
month or three. Kaya gained at least a year and a half of Quality
Life; you could see the spark and the little excited wiggle again,
the exuberant baying when the hunt was on. Reverend Pammy's the best
doggie nurse in the world.
Ganja is no stranger to the intensive care ward. It is no exaggeration
when I praise SisPam's nursing skills; she really is wonderful. Ganja
has survived a tick-paralysis, a broken front shoulder, a dislocated
back leg, and rat-poison. And surgery, several surgeries. Rat poison
works like a massive anti-coagulant, causing death via internal
bleeding. Pammy diagnosed that one correctly, one midnight when Ganja
dumped at least a quart of blood onto the kitchen floor, and her
emergency run to the late-night vet's for coagulant--and her insistence
that 1000cc's vitamin K was insufficient--was the only reason the dog
pulled through. It was Pammys post-surgical work that first elevated
her to Gription Physician, hell, to Gription Asclepius even. I sure
couldn't have handled it a tenth as well.
Ganja was out hunting and managed to skewer herself on a pointy stick
through the soft underbelly, into the gut. The vet cleaned the wound
and gave Ganja some neosporin. A few days later it was surgery, and
the incision was almost six inches long. Pammy kept the wound
irrigated and did the IV thing for the first time, in the livingroom
since the accident was in the fall and it's our only heated room,
in front of the woodstove. Heavy antibiotics for a while, which
suppressed any infection. Only, once the antibiotics wore off, Pam
could tell that there was still something wrong. At the vet's, there
was kinda horrifying news. The dog would have to get much worse. Pam
would have to let the infection run for a time, until obvious
infection "tracks" showed and could be traced back and incised. I'm
probably better at facing a dog who is in pain and looking up with
big helpless doggie eyes and saying "gonna have to tough it out a
while." It was Pammy's turn to start losing weight. But eventually
it was surgery time again, and JESUS GHOD ALMIGHTY, this time Pammy's
mettle was tested and proven, and I was viscerally reminded why I
decided not to go into the medical profession. Still unconscious,
literally still on the operating table, the vet handed over a dog now
seven pounds lighter--seven pounds off a twenty-eight pound dog.
The incision was over a foot long, with a half-inch wide "drainage
tube" run twelve inches long, from her inside to her outside. "You'll
have to clean and replace the drainage tube, and we can't close the
incision for a week or so..." said the vet. I kept thinking, imagine
a person-doctor handing you your kid fresh from the operating table,
split stem to stern, open, and "here, YOU do the post-OP". Gaaaah.
Stiches and tubes, drugs and IV and no solid food, and the whole time
Pammy has got intensifying troubles of her own, her back going
After what seemed forever, months, the cycle had to be repeated. Seven
pounds of dog were not enough, and Pammy had to tell the big sad
doggie eyes--eyes that had been through it and knew it--that she was
gonna have to suffer a bit and then a lot, again.
So last night, after three hours' sleep, 10:45am, the Jehovah's
Witnesses showed up. Praise "Bob"! I think that they joke among
themselves, saying "Yeah, I been out there, why don't YOU pay them a
visit next Saturday." Actually, there is one JW family that we kinda
corrupted; they visit once every year just to pick flowers and
raspberries and they NEVER mention Witnessing (but they fulfill their
obligation to visit, I bet) but I digress. This guy was young and
unprepared. I introduced him to J.R. "Bob" Dobbs, an HONEST
hypocrite, who runs a huge mind control cult, a outright fraud who
uses vile propaganda to seduce the unwary and lead them to trade
their Dollars for Hate and Sin. I write and distribute some of the
propaganda for the organization, I told him. "Probably your Church
Elders would be very concerned if they knew that you were talking
with me." I took an Arise in trade for "They Are Even DUMBER Than Us",
a part of a Chapter from Rev-X that I have many many handy copies of.
So I was awake, and I decided to drive into town for 100 drill point
screws and people-food for Ganja. Fuck 'Mighty Dog'. I bought cans of
corned beef, beef stew, tuna, chunky chicken chunks, and four packs
of hotdogs. I passed on the Southern Canned Meats--the ingredients
were heart & lung & stomach & "organs"--Christ it may as well BE
dogfood. I also had to replace several cans of Manwich. Canned
Manwich was something out of the early seventies, I recalled,
advertised as something that a woman could use to validate her role
as subordinate maid/slave and suggesting supernatural control afforded
to her, her "witchery" turning menfolk into sexless elves willing to
do heavy labor in the winter forests all day, all the while slyly
ridiculing the suggestion that women have ANY power, yet winking to
the housewives at the man's cluelessness regarding who REALLY is
manipulating whom. And some smarmy kid whose face I wanted to pound
spikes into. God, what an obscene representation of a family was....
err, sorry. Anyway, after reading about "organs" and being reminded
of a pair of pants I once bought because the tag listed, (honest):
50% Cotton, 25% Other and 25% Unknown, I thought to check all the cans.
The picture on the Manwich can looked yummy, certainly ground up
enough to pacify Pammy and her theory, but the stuff didn't really
have any meat in it at all. It was just tomato sauce. Huh. I guess
yer supposed to add it to ground beef.
I got Ganja to eat 16oz of tuna. A good sign. Real good. She'll
probably outlive me. Tonight (7am) she gets leftover rib bones, and
we'll try the beef stew.
And tomorrow (2pm? 3pm? or do the Mormons come tonight before noon?)
I'm gonna take videos. I can do this at Ward Gription. Can't do it at
Duke Hospital anymore. Nope, and the trend will spread to all other
hospitals soon. Especially in the birthing room. Duke just lost a
lawsuit. A woman gave birth to twins. When she recovered enough--48
hours per new NC law, up from 24 hours per the AMA/HMO rules (twenty
four hours and I don't care if your are still bleeding or nothin',
you're OUT OF THERE, we're NOT PAYIN' a MINUTE MORE,
*NO MATTER WHAT YOUR DOCTOR THINKS*)--when her recovery was deemed
insurance-complete, she found her twins to be injured, and no one
ALLOWED to admit anything.
Sewage. Lawyers, court dates, etc.
Now, when you sue a hospital, it's not like you are suing a Person, a
Doctor or Nurse. There is a Lawyer who represents the interests of
Duke, and it goes something like this:
"If it pleases the Court, I can assure you that Duke Hospital has
every procedure in place to assure that its patients, especially the
newborns committed to it's care, are given the absolute state of the
art in medical care. I wish to add that I personally am appalled that
anyone can even suggest that it is not the absolute highest priority
to provide the best possible care in the birthing and maternity
centers. We are the recognized leaders in birthing technology,
providing the best possible for the Mother, the child, and indeed the
whole family. We were leaders in founding our Maternity Apartments,
a miniature colonial village yet with every modern convenience
where the whole family be comfortable during the Birthing and the
Recovery; we provide three separate Birthing Pools at 98 degrees if
such service is desired, and our staff is considered among the best
in the country, winning the prestigious Alexander Award last year.
"Now, I am the first to recognize that every parent wants their child
to be born in perfect health. Indeed, we want the same, and our
emphasis in pre-natal care can only lead to the conclusion that at
all stages of the Birthing experience, the health and care of both
the mother and the child are paramount. Yet, as we all know, now all
babies are born in perfect health. Some are born sick, some deformed,
some undeveloped. In these cases, we continually strive to provide
the best for the patient. Now, I'm not saying that I know what, in
fact, is the case with the twins being here represented. I have only
the evidence that I was able to gather from interviews with the
doctors, the nursing staff, and the interns on duty over the two day
period in question. However, I must point out that Childe 1, who is
missing an index finger, is within the statistical expectations for
the Hospital, given our high number of births and the statistical
FACT that one in every 15,250 births is missing an index finger. The
plaintiff's claim that one of our interns accidentally cut off the
child's index finger while snipping a feeding tube IS IN NO WAY
SUBSTANTIATED by any evidence that I have seen and is FULLY DENIED by
"Additionally, claims that the second Childe was NOT born with a birth
defect in her esophagus, requiring delicate surgery, is NOT BORNE OUT
by any evidence that *I* was able to determine, and indeed Duke
Hospital FULLY DENIES that the unfortunate disposition of said Childe
was caused, willfully or otherwise, by the actions of any persons in
employ by this renouned institution."
Yeah, it was Daddy that had a video of the twin's birth, and the
Lawyer for the parents, after letting the denials run, has Daddy run
the film, saying "COUNT THE FUCKING FINGERS, ASSHOLE." And "CHECK OUT
THAT ESOPHAGUS, ASSHOLE."
Duke Hospital takes it "colonially", with big damages on top of big
lawyer fees. So what do they do? WHO do they decide needs protection
in these trying times? ALL of us! PRAISE "BOB". PRAISE FUCKING "BOB"!
They immediately institute a policy of NO CAMERAS, NO VIDEOS.
PRAISE "BOB"! Not to investigate whether there is a crazed intern
purposely snipping fingers and puncturing esophagii, not to institute
procedures that make it more unlikely that such things could happen
accidentally (hold a piece of hard plastic between the tube and any
fingers before you snip...) not to be concerned that perhaps there is
a PROBLEM (24 hour shifts for nurses, 36 hour shifts for interns?),
not to be relieved to find a way to further improve the
care process. PRAISE "BOB"! Just make it so we can deny
accountability. PRAISE "BOB"! It never happened! The children were
BORN that way, they were ALL born that way.
And of course, the new policy has NOTHING to do with that law suit.
PRAISE "BOB"! We are concerned about the DANGER in the Birthing Room.
Doctors might TRIP over camera cords. PRAISE "BOB"! The daddy might
FAINT and hurt himself. It might be DISTRACTING at a crucial moment.
PRAISE FUCKING "BOB"! And the Doctors, hey, the Doctors have a RIGHT
to NOT BE ON CAMERA! PRAISE "BOB"!
I suppose that I should point out that I have very mixed feelings
about the whole camera-in-the-birthing-room thing, the way that
direct experience cannot substitute for watching a television these
days. Stupidity. PRAISE "BOB"! It's probably not worth writing home
about, but if I do, I'll be sure to use a new 33 cent Ayn Rand stamp.
Ayn Rand was a big supporter of the US Postal Service as a proper
function of the Federal Government, and the trembling, fauning
approval by her Estate and various Institutes makes this particular
item essential for MY mail. Oh YES, Laissez faire will certainly
solve all the Humans' problems. PRAISE FUCKING "BOB"!
And for Xmas I want a SubGenius WallClock.
Rev. Random the Other
"nothing in this story is true, I made it all up. please don't sue me"
"PRAISE FUCKING "BOB"!