Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Bo's Cat Cam (With a P.S.) -- 7/29/09, 3:40 pm


Okay, Little Baby, I always knew that I was pretty boring, but you could at least attempt to hide it when you yawn.....


Okay, Leonard, how many times are you going to force Blaine to offer you a bite until you finally realize that you don't like blueberries?


* P.S.---Soon I'm going to write a blog post that explains some things about myself which might explain why I feel strongly about certain things (and not just about topics such as anti-Americanism but lots of other things) ---and why I fight for those "causes" so vehemently (even uglily) (is "uglily" a word?) ---and even why I allow my hot temper to take over sometimes (which I admit is hard to take for some people). Because I really don't think I deserve the degree of hate directed at me. (Hell, be angry or furious with me if you think I'm out of line in my behavior, but VIRAL HATRED, THREATS, and EVIL WICCA SPELLS?? Goddang! I ain't that bad!) So anyway, I'll write that post to see if you're interested---if not, so be it. But be prepared....

* *


Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Officer Barbrady Says There's Nothing More To See Here, Folks...


Hmmm......I'm still getting hundreds of hate mails a day, full of hatred, spite, cursing, physical threats, and "wicca spells" (whatever those are.)

WOW---I had no idea that so many of the fans of that particular person were all so evil!! (Kind of says a lot, you know, about the expression "the company you keep", if you know what I mean...)

Let's take a deep cleansing breath, folks.....breath in.....breath out.....and, as Office Barbrady would say, there's nothing more to see here.

Yes.....that's it.....a deep cleansing breath.

Sure, it was a bad incident. But it's over now. And hopefully we can move on from this now and go back to the happy little world on Exit 95 on the Yellowbrick Road. (And a thousand thank you's to my loyal readers who have sent me hundreds of emails in support!! You have no idea how much they mean to me! I love you all!)

* Oh yeah, and if I have to explain to some of you why some Americans don't appreciate any sort of anti-Americanism (no matter how subtle or in a "joking manner") wouldn't understand.

* And if you need a reminder of my family's patriotism, here's the story of my little sister and former President George W. Bush, who are still good friends.

Monday, July 27, 2009

It Came Back Again.....


ooooh, look! The "bubble" is back! See it up there on that closet door?

I was feeling really low this morning after getting hundreds of hate-emails from the buddies of a certain person who, instead of talking to me herself about our differences, got her hundreds (and I mean HUNDREDS) of followers to send me horrible, threatening, mean, and humiliating emails. Oh my God, it was an onslaught of hate that I've never experienced before. I can't believe the amount of horrid cruelty within those emails---it was so evil that I had to pray about it numerous times. That a simple argument between two people could escalate to that level of nastiness astounds me.....

But thank God for my loyal supporters who wrote me hundreds of supportive emails. You guys---I love you so much!

And then this morning I noticed the cats staring at that same spot again---and so I snapped a pic. And there it is again---the mysterious "bubble". In the second shot, it looks like there's more than one "bubble".

I wish I knew what it was!

What do you guys think about it? Is it something "real", or am I just insane? (Okay, okay, I already know that I'm insane, but you know what I mean.....)



Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Who Ya Gonna Call?---Part Four



Two kinds of people in this world,

Winners... losers,

I lost my power in this world,

Cause I did not use it,

So I go insane...

("Go Insane", Lindsey Buckingham)



Can you help me remember how to smile?

Make it somehow all seem worthwhile,

How on earth did I get so jaded?

Life's mystery seems so faded...

("Runaway Train", Soul Asylum)



It was the last few months of our time at Shadyside. Graduation loomed and Marla, Cindy and I were hurtling towards the finish line....

And then one day I noticed that I had a sore throat--- and within a couple more backbreaking weeks of patient care on the wards and endless classroom hours, the damn thing progressed down my bronchial tubes to my chest. I began coughing violently, became fatigued to the point of listlessness, and I began to experience frequent fevers. And as my condition worsened I realized, to my utter mortification, that I had most likely developed a nice little case of pneumonia.

But there was no room in my brutal schedule for illness, and so, doggedly, I plunged onwards. But I began flagging due to the fatigue, fevers, and the fact that my head ached so hard that no amount of aspirin relieved the pain. But I knew I couldn't stop. I simply had to go on.

I very badly wanted to graduate at the top of my class--- and I knew that my stellar grades had placed me square in line for that coveted spot. Also, I wanted to secure an "Acute Care" internship at Baylor University Medical Center in Dallas after graduation. And I knew that graduating at the top of my class combined with a high State Board of Nursing test score would help ensure that I met that lofty goal.

And so I had consistently refused to sign up for "sick call", which would have allowed me to stay in bed to nurse my illness. Instead I had plunged onwards, wandering around the hospital in a pale, ghost-like state, coughing and sniffling throughout the classes, clinicals and my nursing assistant job, clutching soiled Kleenexes and gobbling aspirin like they were candy.

"Go to the Family Clinic," a sympathetic Marla finally suggested. "You're dead on your feet. And you've been so sick that you haven't been studying very much--- and you know damn well that the cardiac test is day after tomorrow. You need to be seen by a doctor."

Her warning was valid. Because it was true--- I hadn't been studying. I hadn't been able to do anything but fall into my bed at night upon returning from my shift as a nursing assistant. And so, out of desperation, I did as she suggested.

The Family Clinic was the hospital's out-patient day clinic for routine treatment of non-emergency illnesses. It was located across the hospital campus, by the hospital's parking garage. Childrens' coughs and colds were treated there along with well-baby care. Pregnant women could get their monthly check-ups and prenatal care performed there also. And adults could get routine flu and cold treatment there as well as blood sugar and blood pressure checks.

It was also the place where the First Year Residents, the brand new doctors who had just completed their internships, could work under the supervision of more experienced doctors, honing their skills in the low stress atmosphere of the Family Clinic before taking on the more rigorous routines of the more acute-care departments of the hospital.

Student nurses were allowed free medical care at the Family Clinic--- and their care was always given by the First Year Residents. The hospital allowed the First Year Residents to"practice" on us students...

So that afternoon I trudged over to the teeming offices of the Family Clinic. After checking in, I languished in the waiting room among a bunch of squawling children, a couple of young pregnant women, and a few bored-looking adults who were reading the tattered, outdated magazines lying around. My head was pounding and I forlornly wondered how in the world I was going to feel like studying that night. All I wanted to do was to lie down....

"Bo? You're next...." a tired-looking nurse called, waving me towards an exam room. "You know the drill. Put the gown on and sit on the table. Doctor will be here in a minute."

Ignoring the flimsy gown she'd placed on the counter, I crawled up onto the exam table and laid down, curling into a fetal position, feeling like I was a hundred years old. As I lay there, stifling the urge to moan out loud, I mouthed a silent prayer in my head....

Lord, it's me again--- it's Bo. Listen, I feel like an old nag horse who's been rode hard and put up wet. Dadgum but I feel bad! Please cure me, okay? I've got a hundred pages of cardiac notes to memorize for the big cardiac test which, as You know, is day after tomorrow. And I don't feel like studying at all....

After awhile the nurse returned, accompanied by a First Year Resident. Most of the Residents I encountered on the hospital's wards wore an eternal scowl. But this one was smiling.

"I thought I told you to put on that gown!" the nurse bitched. I ignored her and rose to a sitting position, dangling my trembling, feverish legs off the side of the exam table. I was so nauseous that it was all I could to keep from vomiting.

But I didn't vomit. I took deep breaths and willed myself to hold steady because, like all Shadyside nursing students, I was struck in awe by the presence of...a doctor......

At Shadyside, one of the last bastions of the Victorian, "old days" of medicine, we young nursing students were taught by the nuns that doctors were veritable gods. They were considered to be the most elite of human men....the highest level of professionals.....the most wisest of all medical practitioners....and the absolute ultimate of authoritative figures.

Doctors were to be OBEYED. And their authority was NEVER to be questioned.

At Shadyside, a nurse would still rise to give a doctor her seat when he arrived at the ward's nursing station. And when a doctor went to "make rounds" on his patients, the Head Nurse would follow him obediently, from bedside to bedside, while writing down literally everything he said --- which were his "Medical Orders" to be followed. And woe betide the nurse who failed to give a doctor his due respect--- the consequences could be catastrophic for her.

And thus I, as a lowly nursing student, was so fearful of doctors that I quailed in their very presence. I usually hid from them. Only "real nurses" or Head Nurses could speak to such all-knowing, flawless beings. Yes, the nuns had been very successful at indoctrinating me into the creed of Shadyside Nursing School--- that the immortal god-doctors were much too busy in their holy pursuits to entertain the presence of lowly personages such as myself.

And I would no more think of defying a doctor's order than to cut off one of my arms.

And so, when this young Family Clinic doctor entered my exam room---to examine ME of all people--- I felt an acute anxiety close to panic. I could barely look him in the eye. And I was petrified at the thought that my notoriously clumsy awkwardness might cause me to do or say something which would offend him.

"Hello there, Little Miss, I'm Dr. Retselom," he said amiably, holding out his hand for me to shake.

My own hand was shaking but I nervously held it out and shook his.

"Puh...pleased to meet you, sir," I replied, blushing furiously and staring at the ground. I was even more nervous than before because I'd noticed that he was extremely handsome and was flashing me a winning grin.

"Do you want me to put her in a gown, sir?" the nurse asked.

"Don't worry about it," he replied, still grinning at me. I knew he was trying to put me at ease but it hadn't helped--- I was so nervous that I could barely utter a coherent sentence.

"So," he said, glancing at my chart. "I see you've got some fever and coughing. How long has this been going on?"

"Um...about two weeks," I replied in a quavering voice, still looking at the floor. "The cough is getting worse and I feel so sick that I can hardly study."

The doctor took his stethoscope and, after asking me to take a series of deep breaths, listened to my lungs through my back--- over my shirt--- expertly moving his scope over the spots which corresponded to the different lobes of my lungs. He also looked at my throat, neck and ears.

"Well, honey," he pronounced, "I think you might have a touch of pneumonia in one of those lungs. Have you been coughing stuff up?"

"Yes sir," I replied. "Some yellowy stuff...."

It was so embarrassing to tell this doctor my personal symptoms!

"I could put you in the hospital for the night, get an X-ray and give you some antibiotics..." he started---but then I panicked.

"Oh no--- please don't do that, sir!" I blurted, unable to contain myself from interrupting him so rudely. "I can't go into the hospital--- I've got to stay on my feet! The big cardiac test is day after tomorrow and I haven't studied for it at all! And I work on the ward every night as a nursing assistant---please don't put me in the hospital!"

He thought about this news for a couple of minutes as he wrote on my chart, a funny little smile playing on his lips, and then he turned to look at me with a gentle, kindly expression.

"Okay," he said, softly and reassuringly. "I won't admit you to the hospital. But I am writing a note excusing you from working as a nursing assistant for at least two nights. And I'm going to give you a script for some antibiotics and cough medicine, okay? I want you to rest as much as possible."

"Thank you so much, doctor," I murmured with relief, totally grateful for this "doctor-god's" help.

"Just wait here and the nurse will come back to give you your discharge instructions after I write them, okay?" he stated--- and with that, both he and the nurse left the exam room.

So I sat there on the side of the exam table, waiting for the nurse to come back with my paperwork. I felt glad and relieved that I'd come to the Family Clinic. I knew the antibiotics would help my situation immensely. I had some hope, now, that with the medicine's help, it was just a matter of time before I would begin to feel a lot better and get over this pneumonia.

Just then, the door opened again---and I was surprised to see that it wasn't the nurse--- it was the doctor.

He slipped into the room and closed the door behind him, gazing at me with that same dazzling grin that he'd shown earlier....

"Hey there," he said. "You know, Little Miss....I forgot something. I forgot to listen to your lungs from the front."

"Oh...uh...okay..." was all I could manage to say.

I was confused. Hadn't he already listened to my lungs from the back? And after doing so he had seemed pretty satisfied with his diagnosis....

Cautiously, he approached me where I sat on the edge of the exam table--- and looked me in the eyes. It was unnerving---and I was so shy and confused that I couldn't meet his gaze. I could only look down at the floor, flustered and uncomfortable.

His voice softened as he said: "I'm going to listen to your lungs a little bit more, okay? So just relax for a second...."

And then he reached over and expertly unbuttoned the top five buttons of my shirt. He then reached into my shirt with one hand and dipped that hand inside my bra....and he cupped his hand around my left breast---and began caressing it.

I was stricken with shock.....

I could not move...

I could not breathe.....

After squeezing that breast a couple more times, he just as quickly repeated the motion on the other side, reaching again into my bra and cupping my right breast, caressing and squeezing it gently for a moment or two.

"These are so sweet....." he muttered in a strange, guttural voice. "So sweet...."

And then it was over.

I hadn't said one single word, nor had I ever looked at his face.

He quickly re-buttoned my shirt and turned to leave the exam room. Just as he was about to go out the door, he turned back to look at me one more time--- and he flashed that gorgeous grin again. And he said: "Look honey, if you ever get tired of all the little girls and old-bag nuns at the Nursing School, give me a call..."

And with that he left the exam room.

A little while later the nurse came back to my room and perfunctorily gave me my discharge instruction papers, including the scripts for the prescribed medicines. "You can get these meds filled at the hospital pharmacy," she told me. "It's in the main hospital building, to the left of Admissions---just follow the signs, you can't miss it. And they don't charge nursing students very much in there."

I mumbled my thanks and left.

* * * * * * * * *

As I exited through the door of the Family Clinic, I was met by a blinding rain. But I didn't even notice it.

And I ran...

Oh, how I ran.

I ran as fast as I could through the labyrinth of buildings making up the hospital's campus, skirting the paved walkways in order to run directly across the well-kept lawns. I ran like a frightened deer, vaulting over neatly-trimmed hedges, stomping ruinously through beautiful flowerbeds festooned with black-faced pansies, hurtling over park benches, splashing through muddy rain-puddles...

I was headed for the safety of the nursing school.

I burst through the huge doors of the east entrance to the nursing school building and skipped the elevators, opting instead to rush my way up the stairwell, taking stairs two at a time, leaving muddy footprints behind me.

When I passed the Housemother's floor she spotted me. "Bo!" she yelled out. "Why are you running up those stairs like a heathen? What in the world is so urgent that you have to run?"

But I ignored her and continued my mad dash up the stairs. When at last I emerged onto the fourth floor, I turned and ran like a bat out of hell down the corridor towards my room, ignoring the strange looks from a group of students milling around in the Lounge. Some of them were watching a movie on TV, and some of them were gossiping about the fact that there was a thief on the floor, as money and valuables had been coming up missing pretty regularly.

But I didn't give a damn about some stupid thief. And so I kept running towards my room.

"Hey, Bo!" I heard Marla shout. "What in the hell?" I knew she was going to come after me.

I finally arrived at my room--- and as I entered it, I slammed the door behind me, dropped my paperwork onto the floor, and I rushed across the room to throw myself onto my bed. I grabbed the quilt my mother had made me and wrapped myself in it for comfort. And then I simply laid there, staring stupidly at the ceiling, numb and cold from the rain.

It was there that Marla found me a few seconds later when she burst into the room. I was lying in bed, shivering and crying--- feeling so violated that I wanted to die--- I wanted a hole in the earth to open up and swallow me, taking me away forever....

"What on earth?" Marla exclaimed. She picked up the papers on the floor and glanced over them. "Hey, Bo, you need to fill these prescriptions! It says on here that you've got pneumonia!"

When I didn't answer she came over and sat on the edge of my bed, searching my face for clues to what was wrong.

"What in the hell is going on, Bo?" she asked. I could tell she was both puzzled and worried.

"I'm insane....I'm going insane...." I said simply. I couldn't meet her eyes....

"What do you mean, you're going insane?" she replied. "What in the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm leaving this damn place...." I replied. "I'm leaving this... this hell-hole! I hate this godforsaken place. I'm tired of the torture and ....I'm going to... I'm going to call my parents in Brazil and ask them to get me the hell out of here!"

And then Marla herself went into a panic.

"STOP IT, Bo!" she screamed at me. "You're not going anywhere, do ya hear me? You are out of your head! What's the matter with you?" And then she shook me hard, by my shoulders, forcing me to look at her. "YOU ARE NOT GOING TO LEAVE, do you understand me?"

"I'm leaving....I'm outta here...." I repeated. "I hate this damn place! I hate the nuns, I hate the students, I hate the nurses....and I especially hate the doctors!"

"I am telling you right now, Bo, that you can just get that idea right out of your head. You can't quit!" she screamed. She was frantic now.

"Listen to me, Bo!" she persisted. "The only reason I've made it this far is because of YOU, Bo! Yes, YOU! I've been hanging by a damn thread for months! And do you know why? It's because you are the fucking thread that I've been hanging onto, do ya hear me? And if you were to leave, I'd never be able to continue on by myself. So you've GOT to stay in this shit-hole for ME, Bo! Dammit, you've got to stay and help me, Bo!"

At a loss for words, I put my face in my hands and cried even harder, which confused her even further.

"Tell me, what in the holy hell happened to you this afternoon?" she asked, her voice softening. "Please," she pleaded. "Did one of the nuns yell at you? Tell me what happened."

I knew it was no use keeping silent. Marla loved me like a sister. And as much as she had just confessed that she had been clinging to me for strength during all the miseries we had experienced at Shadyside, the same was true of me--- I had clung to Marla for my own comfort in kind.

Marla's quiet, gentle, sensible personality had always been the perfect match to my rebelliously wild, irreverent, risk-taking nature. She had always been my source of rational stability--- just as I had been the source of her newly-found courage. She was my most bestest friend. And so I knew that if anybody could understand my despair, it was her.

"He....he...." I started. But I stuttered incoherently and couldn't get it out.

"He who?" she asked, still gripping my shoulders.

"Th...the...the doctor at the Family Clinic..." I said, looking away.

"Look me in the eyeballs, damn you!" she demanded. "What doctor? What happened?"

Finally, I looked straight into her eyes. Since I was having so much trouble expressing myself verbally, I tried to convey the horror of what I was feeling with my tear-filled eyes. But by this time I was crying so hard that I was hiccupping and could hardly make myself understood.

"He touched me...." I began, taking deep breaths in an attempt to slow down my crying and hiccuping. "The Family Practice doctor.... he was a first-year Resident..... and he... he put his hands down into my bra. He said he was listening to my lungs..."

"So what?" she replied, confused and not yet understanding. "Of course he would have had to listen to your lungs to see what was wrong with you---you know that, right?"

"'re not getting it!" I screamed into her face. "He had already listened to my damn lungs! And had already left the room to go write my discharge instructions! But then...he came back... he came back when the nurse wasn't there. He said he had forgotten to listen to my lungs 'from the front'. And then.... he unbuttoned my shirt and he ....he... did some things..."

I had started stuttering again.

"WHAT EXACTLY DID HE DO?" Marla demanded, still confused.

"He didn't listen to my damn lungs!" I explained. "He put his damn hands into my bra and held my breasts--- in his HAND!"

I began sobbing uncontrollably again. But I had to get it out. "He felt my breasts, Marla! Without a stethoscope! He put his hand down inside my bra and squeezed each of them! First one... then the other! He... he stroked and squeezed them... in a wrong way! A really wrong way! And.... and while he was doing it he told me they were 'sweet'! God, Marla, don't you get it?"

The confusion on Marla's face stayed there for a couple more moments. But then....

She finally "got it".

And with that dawning realization, Marla's previously kind, concerned face morphed into a mask of ugly anger. And for a few moments Marla wasn't able to speak. Her anger was so stark that she could only stare at me, trembling with shock and disbelief.

A doctor had molested her Bo!

Finally, she closed her eyes for a few moments, trying desperately to collect herself. And then finally she opened her eyes and looked at me with pure naked sorrow-- and a love so deep that no words were really necessary. But she did speak....

"Did you tell anybody?" she finally whispered.

"No...nobody...." I replied.

"That filthy..... creep..." I heard her mutter to herself, her own eyes filling with tears.

And then she simply took me in her arms and held me hard. And I wrapped my arms around her and held tightly onto her. And we both sat there for a long time, holding each other in our sorrow, rocking ourselves back and forth--- each of us trying to come to terms with the fact that our little world had just been shattered into a million pieces with the frightening realization that our cloistered existence in the Nursing School, under the protective umbrella of the strict nuns, wasn't enough to keep us safe.

Nay, the world was a dangerous place...

Even at Shadyside.

* * * * * * * * *

It was the night before the cardiac test. And I was sitting at my desk....

And since I had been too ill to study for the test properly, I knew only too well that I was doomed to fail the damn thing. I had begun taking the antibiotics and cough medicine the doctor had given me, but I was still pretty ill. But even though I was still pretty sick, I had rallied enough to be able to sit at my desk and try to study.

But to my chagrin, I realized that there simply weren't enough hours in the night for me to study for the cardiac test. I had barely touched the voluminous amount of required study material--- hell, it would have taken me at least a full week of hard cramming to do justice to all the material necessary to prepare for this test. And I had barely read my own classroom notes much less read the assigned text-book chapters and anatomy hand-outs.

And to make matters worse, the cardiac test was rumored to be the single most difficult test of a student's entire two years at the Nursing School.

I sat at my desk despairing. My tortured mind wrestled with the consequences of failing this test. First, I fretted that the lost points from failing this major test might cost me my goal of graduating at the top of my class. And secondly, apart from my class standing, I was also uncomfortably aware of what such a failure might do to my "reputation" in the nursing school.

I couldn't bear the thought of how the other students would react to the news that Bo had actually flunked a test!

I had always been such a study-animal perfectionist that the other students had gotten into the habit of expecting only the highest grades from me. And, shamefully, I had become addicted to the other students' admiration of my near-perfect grades whenever the nuns posted the latest test scores on the wall of the fifth floor for everyone to see.

I knew that I was guilty of the sin of pride!

Pride.... that most horrid of sins, the one which the nuns had ardently preached about as being the most absolutely wickedest of all the "Seven Deadly Sins"--- that sin which could surely send me to hellfire and damnation!

Yes, it was all too true. I had been prideful of my reputation for being the nursing school's "whiz kid", the student who not only consistently scored 100% on my tests, but who usually always scored the "bonus questions", which would raise my score from 100% to 102% or 104%.

I had once scored a 107% on a Microbiology test, a feat which I was told would go down in Shadyside history as being the highest score ever received on any test given in the century since the first nursing students had been admitted to the school....

As I sat there pondering my academic fate, I listlessly thumbed through my classroom notes, trying to decide whether I should just read through them as best I could--- or else forego the notes entirely and instead spend the night attempting a foolish Quixotian task of "scanning" the hundred pages of assigned textbook readings in the fantasmical belief that I would somehow "absorb" enough knowledge to pass the test.

And then I noticed something on my book shelf which I had forgotten. It was a fat folder of papers, the two-years worth of accumulated Shadyside academic material which my "Big Sister" had handed down to me the previous year when she had graduated.

All first-year nursing students were assigned a "Big Sister", a second-year student. The Big Sister's job was to help the hapless first-year student navigate the difficulties of their first year at Shadyside. And my Big Sister, Jolie, had been a great Big Sister. She had patiently instructed me in the idiosyncracies of the various nuns, reminded me of all the rules (and taught me how to break them without getting caught), had helped me figure out the maze of the seemingly endless corridors of the hospital and the underground tunnels connecting it to the nursing school, and she had held my hand through numerous first-year student disasters.

And Jolie had also graciously given me the folder containing her old classroom notes, quizzes, and tests from her two years at Shadyside. So I picked up the folder and flipped through its contents. And to my pleasure, I found the previous year's cardiac test, the version of the test which Jolie had taken.

"Eureka!!" my brain shouted, and a faint glimmer of hope began spreading throughout my thoughts.

I realized that even though I didn't have enough time to study all the material necessary to pass my own cardiac test, I did have time to study the topics covered on the previous year's test--- and that this might help me gain enough basic cardiac information to keep me from flunking altogether, perhaps even allowing me to score enough points to pass the dratted thing!

But I needed some extra "insurance". I needed more help than what I could gain from just looking at a few questions and answers from last year's test. I knew that I needed what my father always called the "big guns".

I needed help from The Lord.

And I thought that maybe I should be a little more formal for this prayer request..... more formal than the usual, careless little foxhole prayers I threw at Him during minor, "everyday" crises.

For this, I needed to meet Him on His own territory.

And so I threw on on my sweater and hurried to the main hospital building. I went directly to the hospital's little chapel, a smallish room located on a little-used corner of the 2nd floor, in back of the Pulmonary Ward. I entered the little Chapel and was instantly calmed. The peaceful, beautiful room was softly lit by small lamps and lit candles--- and several rows of lovely polished oak pews and kneeling-benches were lined up in front of an alter over which hung a statue of Jesus Christ on the Cross.

There candlelight caused eerie shadows to play along the Chapel's walls. I knew that each candle had been lit by the family member of a hospital patient in the desperate hope that God would heal their loved one from whatever malady had caused the hospitalization. I muttered a quick prayer for those souls and then I eased into the front pew, where I knelt on the bench and threw myself over the rail. I was going to pray like I'd never prayed before.

"Look Lord," I prayed. "You know that I haven't had time to study for this test. How could I? I have pneumonia and I've been sick as a dog! But I sure as heck don't want to fail this test, Lord! And also, Lord... I am sick at heart. Why...why did you allow that... that man to.... well, you know...."

I paused for a few minutes, to let these issues sink into The Lord's thoughts, and then I continued.

"Please, Lord, give me a break here. Don't let me fail that test tomorrow morning. I couldn't bear it. I couldn't bear to fail a test when I've never made less than a damn 98% on any test I've ever taken here. Oh heck, forgive me for saying the word damn......but that word IS in the Bible, you know. OH NEVER MIND, LORD! Just PLEASE help me pass the cardiac test!"

* * * * * * * *

The morning of the fateful test found me gulping back another antibiotic pill and some aspirin. I had spent a fitful night coughing. But I hadn't taken the cough medicine because I was afraid the codeine in it would cause me to be drowsy during the early morning test---and I knew my precarious circumstances left little room for anything but peak brain performance.

Marla and Cindy accompanied me as we trudged our way up the stairs to the fifth floor. None of us had much energy to chatter like magpies, as we usually did. The events of the past few weeks had beaten us down to painfully thin, hollow-eyed waifs--- and morose, depressed demeanors were the best we could muster on this ominous morning.

We knew that a lot rode on this particular test for many students. Although the grade point averages of us three could survive a failure on this test, we knew that this wasn't the case for some of the students. Some girls' quarterly grade point averages were so painfully low that flunking this test would mean they'd be expelled from school. The nuns kept to a strict insistence on a 76% average or above. Anything less would not be tolerated, no matter how far a girl had come through the program.

Just before filing into the classroom, I noticed Sister Sandra in her nearby office. I paused at her door.

"Sister Sandra?"

"What is it, Bo?" she asked, irritated at being interrupted. Sister Sandra always seemed to hate to speak to students outside the classroom setting. I knew she considered us students as incompetent dumb-heads who shouldn't be allowed to sully her hospital's wards, and I knew that she considered me, with my smart-alek personality, the lowest vermin of them all.

"I just wanted to let you know that I'm going to fail the test," I told her simply. "I did not prepare for it properly."

Her only response was to level a silent, scornfull gaze at me.

"Come on," Marla said, snatching my shirt sleeve to drag me into the classroom.

"Why give her the satisfaction?" she hissed into my ear.

"I don't know....I don't know..." I replied miserably.

After entering the classroom, we all sat down in the proper "test formation", which meant that each student had to keep an empty desk between herself and the next student in order to prevent cheating.

Eventually, Sister Sandra entered the classroom herself and proceeded to give us the perfunctory "cheating lecture", which we all knew by heart.

Cheating will be tolerated, no books or papers are allowed on your desk, keep your eyes on your own paper, and any infraction will result in your test paper being taken and your expulsion from the school.....blah blah blah blah.

And then she began passing out the test papers, instructing us to keep them face down on our desks until she gave us the signal that we could turn them over and begin the test. Finally, after she'd handed out last test, she walked to her own desk, sat down, and uttered one word.


And we all nervously turned over our test papers, dreading what we would see written there---hoping against hope that the test's questions would ask those exact things which we had earnestly studied.

I sighed and closed my eyes, steeling myself for my upcoming downfall. And then.... I turned my own test paper face up.

And then my world began spinning round and round.....and I became so dizzy that I thought I might faint.

I looked again, just to be sure, in case my imagination was playing tricks on me. But it was still there....

It. Was. The. Exact. Same. Test.

Yes--- it was the exact same test which had been given last year!

Pride is the wickedest of the Seven Deadly Sins!

For some ungodly reason, Sister Sandra had not "rotated" the cardiac tests per school protocol as the nuns always did! She had most likely carelessly forgotten which one she'd given the previous year and had inadvertently given us the same test this year that she had given the year before!

I saw before me the exact paper which I had painstakenly memorized the night before. I had even looked up the answers to the questions which my Big Sister had gotten incorrect.

There it was, right in front of me..... my 100%.... plus the bonus questions.

Pride is the wickedest of the Seven Deadly Sins!

I knew the answer to every single question on the test.

And I had been presented with a choice--- to either confess to Sister Sandra that I unfairly knew all the answers, forfeiting everything and taking a score of zero----

Or I could cheat--- and take the test and pass it with flying colors.

As I pondered this horrible choice, an unwanted thought crept into my mind...

Nobody would ever know....

* * * * * * * *

As all the students madly scribbled answers onto the test sheets, I felt flushed and hot. I didn't know if it was the fever returning or my own shameful thoughts. And as I struggled with my conscience, I suddenly heard a commotion happening in the row of desks behind me.

Apparently, Sister Sandra had spotted something on the floor underneath a student's foot. Rising from her seat, she had approached that student and bent down to pluck the item up from under the girl's foot. It was a piece of paper with writing on it. And it had been found under the foot of a usually gregarious girl named Judy.

But Judy wasn't being very gregarious at this moment. She had gone pale--- and had tightly closed her eyes.

For a second or two, Sister Sandra gazed at the paper she had retrieved from under Judy's foot--- and then she threw a completely disgusted and disdainful look at Judy, upon whose face big teardrops were beginning to fall. Sister Sandra then picked up Judy's test paper, dramatically tore it into two pieces--- and pointed at the classroom door.

Judy jumped up and fled the classroom, nearly knocking Cindy's desk over in her haste.

Shocked, the classroom couldn't do anything but gaze in silence at the door through which Judy had exited.

"Just go on with your tests," Sister Sandra stated loudly.

And so we did.

When I finished marking on my own test, I rose to my feet and walked slowly up the center aisle to Sister Sandra's desk, where I handed it to her. Then I turned around to leave.

"Just a minute," Sister Sandra stated.

Pride is the wickedest of the Seven Deadly Sins!!!

I held my breath as I turned around to face Sister Sandra. She was scanning my test's answers, confusion growing on her scowling face. And then she looked at me with a frown.

"I thought you said you were going to fail this test," she stated acridly. "But all the answers to the questions I've looked at so far seem to be perfectly correct."

But I couldn't speak. After giving her a blank look, I simply shrugged---and left the classroom.

* * * * * * * *

Marla stopped by my room when she finished her test. I was sitting at my desk, staring at the wall.

"Glad we got that bitch of a test out of the way!" she remarked, plopping herself on my bed.

"Yeah," I mumbled. "It's over...."

As Marla chattered, the same sentence kept repeating itself, over and over, through my mind.....

I thought you said you were going to fail this test?

"Can you frigging BELIEVE that Judy was caught cheating?" Marla continued. "Totally unreal for sure! Eileen said that she had seen Judy moving her foot back and forth to look at her cheat sheet. God, what a totally embarassing way to get kicked out of school!"

"Totally...." I echoed.

I thought you said you were going to fail this test?

"Anyway, let's celebrate the end of the cardiac section," she said happily. "Let's me, you, and Cindy go to Joe's Bar and play some pool! I could use a drink after that whole deal!"

"Sure," I replied vaguely, trying to think of a way to quiet the accusatory, tortuous thoughts swirling in my mind. "I could use a drink right now. Hand me that bottle of vodka in my closet---it's hidden behind those shoe boxes."

She retrieved the vodka bottle and handed it to me.

I unscrewed the cap, lifted the bottle to my lips--- and chugged a couple large gulps.

"You idiot," she giggled, amused at my crudeness. "How can you drink that horrible stuff straight?!"

Marla was smiling with relief, thinking to herself that the "old Bo" was back....

And she didn't notice that I wasn't smiling....



Monday, July 20, 2009

Bo's Cat Cam---7/20/09, 3:05 pm


Nobody could ever say that Leonard is not a "playful" cat.....

Sunday, July 19, 2009



Please everybody......ANYBODY??

Please, I'm begging for prayers for this young American soldier, captured by fanatic militants in Afghanistan!!!

He must be so frightened!!! And with good cause--- because you all know what these fanatic militants do.....they BEHEAD people!!! Google and read all the articles about Somalia---fanatic militants have beheaded many Christians there! And the same types have beheaded women in Pakistan!

And remember the American journalist, Daniel Pearl??? And how he was kidnapped and then beheaded by fanatic militants in Pakistan??!!

I'm not trying to be a drama queen here, but I am begging for prayers for this young soldier!!

Okay, okay, in my plea for prayers, I'm at least I'm going to say this:

Throughout the eons of this planet's existence, only TWO people have offered to die for you.......

And that would be Jesus Christ.... and the American soldier.

(Jesus offered to die for your soul, and the American soldier offers to die for your freedom....)

So please....pray for him?

(And yes, I'm almost finished with "Who Ya Gonna Call?---Part Four".)




Friday, July 17, 2009

Self-Help at Bo's House....

You're waiting for someone to understand you,

But you've got demons in your closet,

And you're screaming out to stop it,

Saying life's begun to cheat you,

Friends are out to beat you,

Grab on to what you can scramble for....

("Hide in Your Shell", Supertramp)



Each of us here in Bo & Blaine's household has our own unique method of psychiatric "self-help", none of which I think my therapist, Fred, would approve--- but I'll list them here in case anybody else finds them helpful:

Blaine's Macho-Man Method:

Nothing bad happens in this world that a good sized, bacon-wrapped, filet-mignon of Kansas beef won't fix, preferably matched with a baked potato the size of your head:


Leonard's "Seinfeld" Method:



Little Baby's Usual Asshole-Cat Method:

"I'm not listening to you while thinking: "la-la-la-la-la-la...."


Bo's "What Does Fred Know?" Method:

Nothing bad in this world happens that a pretty shade of "L'Oreal" blonde hair color can't remedy....especially if it means optimum shock value when I next walk into Fred's office sporting a completely different hair color than I had at our previous appointment.....


Don't let the tears linger on inside now,
Cause it's sure time you gained control,
If I can help you, if I can help you,
If I can help you, just let me know...




Tuesday, July 14, 2009

Can We Have A Moment of Silence?.....


So goodbye Yellow Brick Road,
Where the dogs of society howl,
You can't plant me in your penthouse,
I'm going back to my plough...

("Goodbye Yellow Brick Road", Elton John/Bernie Taupin)


Someday little girl you'll wonder what life's about,

What others have known--- few battles are won alone,

So, you'll look around to find,

Someone who's kind-- someone who is fearless like you...

("True Grit", Glenn Campbell)



Hats off, folks... an era has passed...

Bo's trusty Jeep, blessed road nurse vehicle, crosser of valleys, forger through storms, forder through flash floods, and 4-wheeler over tree-trunks and boulders.....

.....has been sold.

Let us all have a moment of silence for this legendary vehicle, which unselfishly and steadfastly gave it's life in the service of others.

This hard-working four-wheel drive Jeep Wrangler Sport was equipped with "shift-on-the-fly" 4-wheeling capacity, all-weather tires to prevent skids on ice or sleet, an extra electrical system to defrost windows during emergencies like blizzards, a protective hard top and roll-bar in case I "rolled" on dangerous Texas cattle-country terrain, floor drains in case of flooding--- and it was purchased very specifically as the "indestructable" and necessary transport of me and my nursing equipment during the rough years of my profession as a Road Nurse.

And it worked its heart out for me!! It carried me to see my patients through long years of sunshine, rain, or snow; storm or calm; inner city or Texas ranch country; chicken farms or fruit orchards; good times or bad---all during a wild-west cacophony of human episodes of drama, comedy, heartbreak, and horror---and it just tears me up to have to sell the thing.

This Jeep had HEART. And it never failed to carry me and my nursing bag to my destination--- a seriously ill patient who needed me. It never failed me--- NEVER, I tell you, NEVER....sniff...

No, it never failed me nor my patients--- nor my fellow Road Nurses, those good ole girls I worked alongside in the wilds of the vast, sprawling lands of Texan cattle country.

But, like its owner, the Jeep is battered and bruised from many long years of work in the nursing profession. Also like its owner, it was injured and worn out, repeatedly, in the line of duty (its mechanical innards--- and its owner's broken back and joints) and is now finding it necessary to bow out of the profession prematurely and with reluctance---yet laden with thousands of memories--- some good, some not so good....

Here are some of the highlights of this wondrous Jeep's life during my long Road Nurse career, much of it in the ranch and cattle-lands of Texas (and please forgive the varying blog layouts or styles---some of these were written in the "early years"):

Where the Texan part of the story began---at first simply to talk about knitting, but which turned into something much more complicated.... in a hicktown far, far away....


Er...and then there was the time I caused a cattle stampede and thought I was going to get myself killed in a very un-glamourous way: *


During the tragic, yet glorious years of the infamous Band of Sisters:


When the Jeep actually forded a deadly flash flood that I had stupidly attempted to drive through--- but the faithful Jeep saved my idiot ass:


The plight of small-town Road Nurses in Podunk---when we ourselves were not always strong or healthy....


During the years I learned to deal with Texan patients:


And my beloved Jeep never got its feelings hurt, even when I was in a completely bitchy mood--- like when they called me Eddie Haskell:


Ah yes...and who could forget the Rough Girls....


The times I gratefully realized that you never have to shoot an injured Jeep with a broken axle--- versus in the "olden days" when Road Nurses had to ride horses (and where I describe what I say verbally to patients... versus what I'm REALLY THINKING):


Ah yes....can't leave out the tales of Legendary Road Nurses (and please forgive that some paragraphs run into each other due to my crappy HTML skills):


....aahhh, but there's a million stories.....and the Jeep was there through it all...

But now it's time that the Jeep is allowed to retire and age gracefully---and it has been sold to a trusted someone who will give it a softer life rambling around a nice peaceful Texan "deer lease"--- or ferrying bargain-hunters around to flea markets and such....

Roll on, Noble Jeep.... roll on......

How I will miss thee......



Sunday, July 12, 2009

Message To You Dadgum, Tuna-Breath, Naughty, Yarn-Destroying Cats:


You can run, varmint, but you cannot hide!!




Thursday, July 09, 2009


WOW! I am totally honored!

My blog has been included in the Third Anniversary Edition of the "Change of Shift" nursing blog carnival, hosted this month over at Kim's awesome blog, Emergiblog!!! It is also the beginning of "Change of Shift's" fourth year!

The posts from my blog that are being featured are the first three installments of my series of posts, "Who Ya Gonna Call?"--- about my years in a convent-run nursing school (and there's also a TRUE ghost story!)

This is a great honor to me---and I thank you for including me, Kim, from the bottom of my heart!

There are TONS of great blog postings in this month's "Change of Shift"---much great reading! So grab a cup of coffee and a muffin--- and then head on over to Emergiblog for some rip-roaring reading!



Wednesday, July 08, 2009

In My Mother's House ....


Blaine and I had a wonderful visit at my mother's house in Texas.... I call her "Mumsy"..... and the above picture is her portrait, painted by a famous artist. Isn't she beautiful? I adore my Mumsy....

Since retiring from the US Foreign Service a few years ago (the Diplomatic Corps), she has returned to her own art. She, too, is a well-known artist---and she has many mediums and muses. Currently, she is concentrating on her mosaicing and sculptures.

She sells some of her art pieces in shops, and she is also featured in certain publications. She is on the internet as well. The below picture shows a wall in her "TV room". The whimsical camel portrait is one that she painted herself---and she won't sell that piece for any price. (The ceramic pony on the shelf is an original "Painted Pony" (part of the collection of the "Trail of Painted Ponies") that I gave her for Christmas one year. I myself collect "Painted Ponies"...

I am lucky---because she has given me many, many beautiful, spectacular pieces of her work---made just for me....

The below picture is a sink counter she mosaiced, situated in one of the powder rooms in her home. (And she included in the mosaicing some intricate glass birds that I had bought for her one year...)

Blaine and I only just got home to Kansas today---and we're pretty tired. I will speak more of my Mumsy ---and our visit to Texas---later.....



Thursday, July 02, 2009

Conversation Between Bo and Blaine The Night Before Leaving For a Vacation in Texas to Celebrate the 4th of July At Bo's Mother's House:

(And also a Post-Canada Day message to Yarn Harlot!)

* Blaine (sitting at the computer, thinking he is so smart): "Okay, Bo, I've printed out 4 different Yahoo Maps for the various routes we could take to your mother's house in Texas...."

Bo (tired after scrubbing, for the umpteenth time, the ring-around-the-bathtub in Blaine's bathroom): "Did you finish the laundry? I've vaccumed the entire house, cleaned the bathrooms, wiped down all the appliances, and mopped the kitchen floor---I definitely DO NOT want to come back to a dirty house. Oh and thanks, sweety, for washing my horseback riding pants---I thought I'd lost them. They're so comfortable that I'm going to wear them for the trip in the car down to Texas. I love how they have that extra padding on the inside of the thighs..."

Blaine (still jazzed about his computer adventures): "No, I haven't finished all the laundry yet, kitten--- I've still got the towels and the linens to wash. Uh...riding pants? Those are my thermal underwear pants, you idiot! And hey, you DID strip off the bed linens, didn't you?"

Bo (looking at Blaine with the "death look", and definitely smarting with embarassment about the "riding pants" incident) (because she really DID think that they were her long lost horseback riding pants---where in the hell had they gone?...): "Yes, I did, Mr. Smarty-Pants. And may I add that your side of the bed looked quite dingy? I think you need to quit smoking---that brown "nicotine-ness" is leaking out of your pores."

Blaine (laughing heartily, not realizing the danger he is dancing towards): "Quit smoking? Yeah RIGHT, Miss Priss! Why should I quit my bad "bed habits" when you won't quit yours? For example, I'm damn tired of your habitual snacking in bed at night---I actually find FOOD in the bed sometimes!"

Bo (suddenly remembering...): "Oh, piffle! That stray saltine cracker was an... an accident."

Blaine (guffawing....and Bo never likes it when Blaine guffaws...): "Stray saltine cracker? Hell Bo, I've woken up on top of heavily buttered and jellied English muffins before!"

Bo (thinking to herself) : "....and the strange thing was, that poor little saltine cracker wasn't even broken. Huh. I must have slept like the dead that night..."

Blaine (still stupidly happy about his stupid computer maps): "Okay, like I said, I've got several maps printed out. I want you to look at them so we can decide which route to take. On one route it's a straight shot down a State highway---but it winds all over the place, wasting about 3 hours of driving time going through National Parks and crap. But the other route---the one my buddy at work clued me in about--- is a more complicated route... but you get there quicker. You simply go down Highway 48 down through an Indian Reservation in Oklahoma, and then you make a detour at some place called 'Broken Arrow'.... or was it 'Little Big Horn?'..."

Bo (losing patience and sighing heavily): "Listen, you idgit. The whole state of Oklahoma is an Indian Reservation! Why can't we stay on the damn Interstate? I don't want to go wandering down to Texas on a bunch of little-known back roads and camping trails that turn into dirt roads! We'll get lost for sure!"

Blaine (saying typical male "famous last words"): "Don't worry about it, hon, I've got it ALL UNDER CONTROL...."

Bo (REALLY losing patience now, since she can NEVER understand the American male's penchant for leaving the safe and straight Interstate Highway for the lure of "shorter" back roads, even though every damn time Blaine has left the Interstate he has screwed up the whole trip and they arrived at their destination 8 hours late and with 2 new dents on the vehicle...): "Under control? I'm not kidding here, Blaine! Most of Oklahoma is Indian Territory---a lot of them Cherokee. And they don't take kindly to stupid tourists acting like idiots on their land!"

Blaine (again stupidly--- but this time stupidly confident): "But why should we worry, sweet potato? Your great-great-grandmother was a full-blooded Cherokee Indian--- and thus you are legally part of the Cherokee Nation. Hell, you've got the ID card to prove it! If we got lost or something, all you'd have to do is show your Cherokee Nation identification card and somebody would have to help us, right?"

Bo (suddenly TOTALLY repentent and sorry that she had carelessly changed purses last month---and had unfortunately not bothered to second check all the stray pieces of papers that she had left behind in the old purse---all because she had switched the bags impatiently because the old purse was an outdated Dooney & Bourke and she was anxious to sashay her sassy little self around Overland Park with her new Juicy Couture bag---the one with the 70's style "Peace Sign" on it...): "What do you think---that it's like a damn YMCA membership? I lOST THE DADGUM CARD YEARS AGO, STOOGE! And I'm blonde! Do I look like a dang Cherokee Indian to YOU?"

Blaine: "Okay, okay. Don't get excited, puddin'. Just look at the maps I've printed out from the computer. They're very explicit about the routes to take through the not-so-populated areas. We'll be fine."

Bo: "Yeah right, Blaine. That's what the two idiots said in the movie "Children of the Corn"....."

Blaine: (unable to speak due to hysterical laughing....)>

(And so, both Blaine and Bo hope to go have a very nice 4th of July Independence Day celebration at Bo's mother's house---and, incidentally, her mother has give her entire life to the service of the United States, retiring a few years ago from the US Foreign Service. (Bo's father died at a young age, 58, also retired from the service of the US Foreign Service....)

(And, on the 4th of July, the USA's Independence Day's festivities, Bo is going to refrain from praising her country in the rude and asshole way that Yarn Harlot chose to praise her country on its Canada Day--- which was by taking unfair, snide swipes at America, comparing it unfavorably next to Canada. Bo does not feel it's necessary to praise her own country by making rude comparisons to Canada (or any other country). What is puzzling is that Yarn Harlot has made it a habit of taking pot-shots at the USA whenever she does a Canada Day post---and Bo suspects that YH does this deliberately, to "stir the pot" so to speak, to create controversy and generate publicity for herself---because Yarn Harlot is an intelligent person and is well aware of the possible impact her statements could make on patriotic Americans. ) (And I truly don't usually "focus" on Yarn Harlot so much, but she has really irked me this month.....)

Anyway, you'd think that Yarn Harlot would be a little more careful about insulting patriotic Americans since 80% of her book sales and knitting income are generated in AMERICA--the country she apparently despises, as seen by her subtle anti-American "jests" and "quips". (And they may be "subtle", but they're negative all the same.)

Bo does not believe in insulting another country--EVER. And Bo thinks one should be especially polite and courteous to one's bordering neighbors.

Bo loves her own country purely and innocently, as the country of her birth and the place she calls "home"--- and she totally honors its military and diplomatic personnel who have kept her country safe and sacred---without feeling it necessary to criticize its neighbors, Canada or Mexico---or anybody else for that matter! Bo loves Canada and Mexico for their own wonderful merits! In fact, Bo loves all countries, cultures, and all the other kinds of people in the world---no matter what! explanation of Bo's short fuse for Yarn Harlot's thoughtless anti-American comments:

Bo lived overseas for most of her life before returning to America as a college student. She experienced much anti-Americanism throughout her life. In fact, Bo almost lost her life (and her mother's life) in Syria, in 1998, in an anti-American incident. It is a nightmare she relives, night after night, in her dreams.... no matter how much her dedicated therapist, Fred, attempts to remedy this sad fact.

Bo has experienced so much anti-Americanism in other countries that she is, frankly, SICK TO DEATH of it. It dogged her family during Bo's entire upbringing years, while living in foreign countries. But what's a worse hurt to Bo than hearing Yarn Harlot make anti-American jokes is to hear her own countrymen, Americans, make anti-American comments, as some of Yarn Harlots American friends were encouraged to do by Yarn Harlot's thoughtless blog post on Canada Day!

It hurts Bo TO THE CORE to hear Americans make anti-American remarks--no matter how much they feel that America's leaders have screwed up. Hey, America's leaders are only human--and they are imperfect and mistakes just like any other country's leaders' also have flaws and foibles. Bo feels so strongly about this, and she loves her country so much, that she is willing to write this post-- which may piss some people off!

Please understand Bo's point of view. She was forced to live overseas all her life due to her parents' employment with the US government. And she missed her own country terribly during those years. And, she almost lost her own and her mother's life in an anti-American event, and thus, she values and cherishes her beloved country more than anything else in the world.

She is VERY SENSITIVE to anything perceived as anti-Americanism---even in jest or disguised as a "joke".

You hear that Yarn Harlot? You cannot toss around anti-American remarks as if they are fodder for your next knitting joke.

And so, Yarn Harlot---don't ever again send me a rude message complaining about my taking you to task about your blog's thinly-veiled anti-American remarks on Canada Day. My 4th of July Day makes me proud to be an American without feeling it necessary to criticize anybody else's country---and I'm going to take this opportunity to tell you that the next time you choose to arrogantly criticize me for taking offense at your anti-American comments on your blog :



Or I will get a posse to talk to your publishers and tell them that some of us Americans might not want to read any more of your books, you hear that? I can no longer stand idly by while you make jokes at the expense of the honor of the USA.