I wish she would stay the fu$% out of my life.
Leave me alone, I dont care.
I am a grown up now; I am a big girl.
I don't need anyone.
Your husband is NOT my dad and never will be.
I don't have a dad and I dont need one.
Don't try to continue your dictatorship of my childhood: I am leading a revolution.
I dont need anyone.
Not even that almost-baby...
not even myself....

BFFFFFs

So I met some new people recently. One is a classmate of C's and then there are some girls from church. I don't think there is anyone in his class who is married.

His classmate, I'll call her Princess Jasmine, is a sweetheart. She's outgoing, and funny, a little crass, and reminds me of my roommate/sister-from-another-mother E. Princess Jasmine, however, is gorgeous. Not just run of the mill pretty, but exotically stunning. Maybe I'm a little insecure around her, especially since my husband is taken with her too. [Read: why can't he ever be friends with ugly girls?]. They have this teasing, easy, comfortable relationship that sometimes I feel a little out of place when I'm around them. Like I'm a stranger interfering. It's only been two weeks and they act like they've been friends their whole lives. She has a long-distance boyfriend, which is helpful

However, she has been more open and warm with me than the church crowd so far.
The church girls invited me to a boot camp on Saturday morning, but I felt like it wsa still hard to reach them. I HATE making new friends: it takes so long to get to that easygoing level. Maybe its because I don't have kids like they do, or that they have been friends for a little while, but I still felt like an observer to their conversations as I drove us to and from boot camp.

So here I am, after three weeks:
--Befriending Sonny's classmates and swallowing my pride/insecurities in regards to Princess Jasmine

--Trying to figure out how to get through to this group of women who don't need me to be their friend but who I need like a fish needs water.

I'm pathetic.

Reflection on My First Week as a Doctor's Wife

C started med school on Monday: it was his orientation week. The first day was mostly logistical (student I.D., insurance talks, OSHEA and HIPAA speeches, etc.). The second day was more inspirational for him as they were treated to talks on ethics and what it means to be an Emory-educated physician. The week progressed thus, with lectures and speeches and meetings. He came home and recounted his experiences to me and his excitement and confidence grew.

I guess I am more excited for him to begin this chapter than nervous. I guess I'm not the one doing the school work, so it doesn't affect me as much. In a way I am a little jealous that he is jumping into a new social scene and experiencing this part of his life without me. I can't talk to him about what we learned in class, or comment on our new found friends, or even commiserate with him on his workload. He said that he likes having me home to talk to when he comes home and having an escape from medical school--but maybe he will feel differently as it gets harder.
I have no friends in Atlanta, and my best friends are at least a 1,000 miles away. And now, my "bestest" friend is not only busy, but making new friends without me in medical school; intelligent, attractive, interesting friends with whom I have little or nothing in common with.

I know its not his fault, but the loneliness is already starting to sink in.
Please God, let all this sacrifice be worth it....

Everything but the glass slipper

I'm not going to lie: my life up to now has been pretty rough. From my abusive father eventually abandoning me, to being raised under the poverty line, to the various and sundry heartaches and disappointments I've suffered, I resigned myself to a difficult existence. But, like all fairy tales, one day it all changed. At the risk of being cliche' (which I often find that my life is) one day my Prince Charming rode up in his Harley, swept me off my high-heeled feet, and the rest is history.

So now, in the midst of our Happily Ever After, I am faced with some doubts. I’m still waiting for something terrible to happen or to wake up from this dream of an easy life that I’ve been having. What if the clock strikes twelve and it all goes back to crap? What if I find myself metaphorically stoking the fire in a soot-stained apron realizing that it was all my imagination?
Maybe A), God decides that once in a while we need a break from trials. Or B)maybe God prefers C and I am just blessed by association(like being popular by association, only with more perks). (In case you are wondering, the correct answer is B)

But, surely, I was born to struggle?

We have been blessed as newlyweds. My old roomate and good friend lamented of her marital financial situation while at my bridal shower, stating that her apartment was smaller than my living room and some nights they were lucky to get a good meal. Ironically, I had more money once I got married than before. C bailed me out of my college credit card follies, and we built up a savings account. My dismal income as a legal assistant at a law firm was augmented by a monthly contribution by his generous parents. Somehow the bills always got paid and we usually had a little left over for fun. For the first time in my life I have a new car.
Now, a year and a half later, we own our cars outright and have only one AMEX that we pay off monthly. We just bought a house and had enough money left over from our downpayment to remodel our house and add an addition.
This is in stark contrast to my childhood where I had to pay for my school field trips and was the only kid that got the brown bagged "Free Lunch" that the bus driver brought from the school cafeteria while the other kids brought Lunchables or -gasp!- bought food. The only new pair of jeans I remember getting were a $20 pair from JCPenny that I wore 4 out of 5 days of the week my freshman year in high school. (I didn't even know that most jeans cost more than 50$ until I got to college). Pretty much all my clothes were hand-me-downs. In seventh grade a malicious girl found out that my neighbors had given us a bag of clothing from their grandkids and spread it around school that I wore somebody's grandma's clothes. (Actually, it was the grandparents of a classmate of mine who were our neighbors, so inevitably some of the pieces must of been hers or her cousins'). We turned on the oven and left the door open in the winter for heat or had little space heaters in our rooms to keep us warm. One Christmas, my mom made our presents out of pieces of fabric she had and dollar store items. I remember sneaking peeks out of our front window to try to catch the women from the church delivering the donated presents from the members "anonymously" to our door on Christmas Eve. I remember wishing I were a chameleon and could blend into the rack of candy in the checkout aisle when my mom pulled out the brightly colored food stamps to pay for our groceries. I remember saving excess water to use to flush the toilet to save on the water bill. I remember worrying about the electricity bill when I was 8 and teaching my little sister to turn off all the lights when she left a room.

So now, in my cushy life, I cant help but feel its precariously balanced on the edge of a precipice. What if our luck runs out? What if I drag C down into my muddy pit of despair like Shrek in the swamp? Im just a big ball of optimisim!

Its been hard to write uncensored thoughts on this blog. I never know who will read it and what they will think. Maybe I shouldn't care what they think--but I do.
It doesn't help that my husband is still Facebook friends with practically every girl he ever took to lunch or looked at twice--so in a few clicks they can find out my dirty secrets (or ours). Similarly, any of my exes could type my name into Google one day when they are bored and stumble upon this little gem. Does the whole world need to know about my issues? (Or is that the purpose of blogging--a quasi-anonymity with the benefit of fulfilling that subconscious need for attention???) Anyway...I guess I should try it and see if the world comes crashing down or if no one will read it/care/comment/notice (which I think is the more plausible outcome, and more comforting).

So lately I've been reading a lot about pregnancy. Every time I go into an office I almost pray that I will have to wait 10-15 minutes to see someone so I can sneek a peak at FitPregnancy or Baby magazine. I actually steal these from waiting rooms and read them on my lunch break. (In my defense, I usually only take the ones that are at least a month or two old). I've already figured out what exercise routine I will use so I avoid the "I'm-pregnant-so-I-can-be-a-whale-if-I-want-to" pounds, picked out a kick-ass stroller with more safety features than a luxury car, and decided I will breastfeed if it kills me. Maybe borderline obsessive, you say? Nah. After all, this will be the biggest event in my life thus far. We have talked about when we are going off the pill and start turning all our practice plays into a Superbowl win. How does anyone truly prepare? It hit me that our planned time to pop a bun in the oven (I love pregnancy puns, dont you?) is coming up fast and I have no idea what to expect. But is it too soon to run out and buy books? Should I wait until I'm preggo and then find from What to Expect When You're Expecting that I'm not supposed to drink Red Bull?
Speaking of Red Bull, what if I get pregnant before the planned time and I don't know it? What if I eat the wrong thing or paint my house and harm the fetus? What if C reads this and thinks I'm nuts and refuses to procreate with me? (LOL, yeah...right...)
I guess healthy babies have been born to women who didn't even know they were pregnant and carried on as usual--surely my kid can have two arms, two legs, and a relatively normal-shaped head too?

Eight-legged Freaks

I keep having nightmares about spiders. I am not particularly afraid of spiders, but in my dreams I just can't seem to escape them. They are everywhere; hanging above my head, webs tangling my legs as I try to walk, under the covers, crawling down my back. What disturbs me the most is that these are almost nightly recurrences. When its not the arachnophobia-inducing nightmares, I dream about equally horrible circumstances: fighting off burly, bulletproof intruders; someone close to me dying; my husband leaving me. C said listening to strong bass in music makes you have nightmares, but I dont know if I am buying it. I think the spiders might have something to do with the few that are still lingering around the exterior of the house after surviving The Great Pressure Wash. But why would I dream about them in my bed and falling on me?
Any ideas?

Now maybe if I fall asleep with a can of Raid in my hand...

The lies we are told

I just watched Michael Moore's documentary "Sicko" for the second time. With a husband about to join the ranks of MD, I wanted to get another perspective on American healthcare.

Before I saw this, I was familiar with insurance issues and bureaucracy of medical care. I know firsthand the corrupt, avaricious politics employed by insurance companies to save their bottom line and screw the rest of us.

But I wanted to see the multi-faceted opinions on this subject before I made my decision.

I have talked to rich people, poor people, doctors, watched propaganda (for both sides), argued with my stepdad and husband, and relived my own experiences in trying to figure out exactly where I have been brainwashed and where the grains of truth have landed.

Here is what I've determined:

First, we are lied to from the moment we are born. Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny; your braces look great, glasses are flattering with your bone structure; he wanted to call but he had to take his mom to the hairdressers; etc. These lies are not only perpetuated by our parents, but also by our government. I was told that Rush Limbaugh is a genius, for example. My ultra-conservative stepdad fed me other inaccuracies during my adolescence and when I tried to contradict him, I was punished. A liberal classmate tried to convince our Public Speaking class that partial-birth abortion is not murder. My government told me that we are spending billions of dollars in Iraq for my benefit--I have yet to see the benefit. Meanwhile, my country is deep recession and my neighbors are losing their house. 

I am told that socialized medicine is evil, Communist, and corrupt--but insurance CEOs and pharmaceutical company CEOs are among the highest paid individuals in our country while middle- and lower-class people are dying from lack of adequate healthcare and medicine.

Michael Moore has poisoned your view, you say. You have been brainwashed and are easily swayed, you admonish. Hmmm... maybe. But maybe, just maybe, he isnt the evil, -gasp- liberal, socialist my stepfather/Rush Limbaugh says he is. Maybe Moore has a point. Anyone who is quick to point fingers usually hasnt lived in a country where national healthcare is available. I did.

My mom, step dad at the time, and I moved to Malmo, Sweden in 1991. My little sister Luisa was born in Lund, Sweden in June of 1992. I remember our live their surpsingly well, considering I was 6 years old. I went to a "dogis", a daycare, so I could play with other kids my age. It was in our apartment building a few floors down. We were poor, by American standards, since my stepdad was a student at the time (I dont remember if my mother worked since she didn't speak the language). But the things I do remember are important to my point.

My daycare was cleaner and more well-run than most here in the States. We had real food, plenty of play time, and a clean comfortable place to explore. Since my mother was a single parent, I have been in and seen many daycare centers in the States.

We had a fairly nice apartment, a car, and took the train or walked to most places because it was close by. Our apartment complex was clean and well cared for. When my mother delivered, she was only in the hospital for two days. She jokes that when I was born she left the hospital with so much stuff that she needed an extra suitcase but my sister was only given a onesie in Sweden. And the best part: she walked out without a bill. Delivering a baby in a hospital in the US these days runs about $10,000 and up when you factor in the doctor's fee and hospital fee. C-section? Complications? Even costlier. 

I know what you are thinking: "well you won't pay the bill with national healthcare but someone will." True. But I pay taxes that pay for your roads, your policemen, and your food stamps, so isn't it fair? Besides, isn't this the concept that Jesus taught in the New Testament to feed and clothe the hungry and naked? How many homeless and destitute people exist in this country? How many single parents struggling to make ends meet? How many families are losing their homes? How many of the aforementioned can afford to pay to see a doctor when illness strikes them or for medication to keep them healthy and alive? None. Does that mean they should be left to die because they can't afford to pay? For all our altruistic democracy, we are failing the very people our government was set up to help. Healthcare is a human right, not a luxury. 

I have two small examples that I wanted to mention.

The first is undocumented workers' or immigrants' children's access to healthcare. In Utah, there is a law that no child, regardless of their parents' citizenship status, is denied healthcare. Should a child be left to die because their parents don't have citizenship? What if that were your child? I didn't think so. So, children whose parents are undocumented are on state-run Medicaid and can be immunized, treated, and hospitalized without fear of repercussion to their parents. This is one positive step towards a shifting view of medical access from only the luxury of the rich, to becoming a right for all mankind, regardless of citizenship and income. (Some of these undocumented workers DO pay taxes and contribute, but that's another topic for another time).

The second is an first-hand experience in how much pharmaceutical companies profit off medications in the U.S.. On our trip to Puerto Rico in May, Janene (my mother in law) needed to get a prescription from the pharmacy because she wasn't feeling well. When we went she asked me to ask the pharmacist for the generic brand because the pill ran about $60 a piece here and they wouldn't take her insurance. I translated her request and the pharmacist said she didn't have the generic. We asked her how much it was anyway, since she needed it. $6 a pill. Six dollars versus sixty. Thats a $54 dollar profit the drug company gets for each pill prescribed in the U.S. No wonder their CEOs have private jets. 

Now imagine an elderly person on a fixed income. Many have an average of 3 or 4 medications they take a month, often its upwards of 6 or 7. How can Grandma afford to pay for her medications if  her insurance doesn't cover them (which they usually don't; or they cover a small amount--leaving the bulk for the patient to pay)? Drug companies are, quite literally, ripping off little old ladies for that 90% profit margin. 

So, to conclude my incoherent rant, I want to say simply this: the next time you hear the words "socialized medicine" and your mind flashes to the former Soviet Union and that evil word "communism", take a minute to think about what it would mean for this country and the regular citizens who would benefit from it. I know that as a future doctor's wife, maybe I am jeopardizing my chances of having that Range Rover I want, but I will sleep better at night knowing that some little old lady will live another day because of my selflessness.