Big Big Words
Annika and I, discussing the possibility of getting a dog:
Annika: I'm not allergic to dogs, right?
Me: No, you're not.
Annika: I'm just allergic to cephalosporins and ... what's that other stuff I'm allergic to?
Annika: Yes, that's right. I'm allergic to cephalosporins and amikacin. But not
Me: No, not dogs.
Annika: Do I need to go to sleep for this test?
Me: No, not this time. It's just an ultrasound.
Annika: OK. But if I have to go to sleep I want Genny to be my anesthesiologist.
(Paging Genny, PICU nurse, Genny. I hope those night classes have been going well. Because you're on
Phlebotomist: OK, this rubber band thingy is going to squeeze really hard.
Annika: That's a tourniquet
Isn't medical life fun? I mean, what's with Mary Poppins and her "Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious"? Like that's
some big tough word. Annika and I are going to write our own song and call it, "Cephalosporinamikacintourniquetanesthesiologist!"
Even though the sound of it
is ER-talk for "you got dissed!"
If you say it loud enough, you'll sound hip like a Decembrist!
(Disney, I am available for free-lance lyric work. Call me! Cephalosporinamikacintourniquetanesthesiologist!)
The internet is a kind place...
I do occasionally fact-check myself; check my spelling ... responsible stuff like that. Not usually until a day or two after I've hit the publish button, unfortunately. In checking my Apocalypse Now
quote in the entry below, I was reminded that Robert Duvall's famous line already speaks of gasoline ("I love the smell of Napalm in the morning. The smell, that gasoline smell. Smells like victory.")
I feel a bit silly. And nobody called me on it.
...and so is the world
Sometimes I regret not being anonymous here, but I figure that boat's long since sailed (see conclusion above). But the other day I ran into a woman I hadn't seen for ages, a fellow mom from a playgroup that I stopped attending over a year ago. She asked me, as normal people do in the course of normal conversation every day, "How are you?"
I hesitated, just slightly I think, over the question. There's always that moment in your head when you're caught between just saying "Great!" and leaving it at that, or saying something more truthful, which will inevitably lead to way more elaboration than the polite question was meant to elicit. In that moment of hesitation, she inclined her head a bit toward me and said, "I read your blog," as if she knew that I was trying to figure out an answer.
And just like that, relief! I didn't have to explain all that had happened since I'd last seen her, all our worries about Annika's future, and we could just have a chat, like normal people in a Target store.