How I Met Andrew, Part 2

So, no contact at all between Thanksgiving and Christmas breaks.  But the moment I pulled into town, the phone rang.  Halleleuigh!  (I suspect my mother kept his mother in the know regarding my arrival.)

The night I drove into town he took me out to Pyewacket.  A small, dark, delicious gem of a restaurant on Franklin St.  We ate hummus and fish and shared a bottle of wine.  And over the course of three hours we both literally fell in love.  The attraction was mutual (thank you God!) and strong and fast.  He drove me back to my parents house, walked me to the top of the driveway, and kissed me.  He sealed the deal when he held my head in his hands as he pulled me towards him into a firm, long delicious kiss.

I had two weeks off and we spent every night and some of the days together.  By the third night, I became the first (and only) girl he'd ever loved.  Really loved.  And he told me so. 

Those two weeks were amazing.  There is nothing as satisfying as the love you share after 10 or 15 years together.  And there is certainly nothing like the excitement of new love.  We both knew that our lives were changing.  It was unexpected but exactly what we both wanted.

The only challenge was that Andrew had just finished college the previous June.  And was living with his parents.  And I was, of course, staying with mine.  So we had absolutely no privacy.  Until after dinner one night when Andew pulled his car into the horse pasture near the upholstery shop.  And to this day, the smell of horses and hay and fresh mowed grass is like magic!

When I think back on that time, I remember feeling almost dizzy.

How I Met Andrew, Part 1

I was a junior at Washington and Lee University, barely 20 years old, when my dad retired from the Navy and took a job at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill.

I had spent ninth and tenth grades in Japan, and then eleventh and twelfth grades in Annapolis, Maryland.  We moved, mostly happily, whenever and wherever to Navy told us.

The move to Annapolis halfway through high school was tough for a while but I was lucky enough to attend a small, private prep school.  If I had been sent to Annapolis High School, I think the culture shock may have done me in.  I guess I was really lucky that my parents were perceptive enough to know this.  I met friends after not too long, made the basketball team and started taking Latin, which I loved.

During my first two years of college, Annapolis was "home."  More than any other place.  It certainly wasn't Japan or any of the other myriad of locales I had lived  prior to college.  And I loved coming home during college.  I loved to see my friends and stay on campus of the U.S. Naval Academy, which was where we lived.

But after my parents left Annapolis and moved to Chapel Hill just before my junior year, I suddenly no longer had a "home".  I stayed on campus at W&L that summer and went to summer school.  During breaks I went with my college friends to their home towns.  I had no desire to go to Chapel Hill where I knew not a soul.

Now, at the time of the move to Chapel Hill my sisters were younger and attended elementary and high school.  They both adjusted very well to Chapel Hill.  As a matter of fact, Ashley started the third grade upon her arrival and to this day considers Chapel Hill the only home she's ever known.

Allison started as a sophomore at Chapel Hill High School.  She joined the swim team and acclimated well.  So well, in fact, that she found a boyfriend quite soon after arriving.  Consequently, the boy's mother and our mother became friends.

One day my mother was lamenting to the boy's mother that her eldest daughter (ME!) rarely came to Chapel Hill to visit because she didn't know anyone her age.  The boy's mother said, "Well, I have another son who is almost exactly your daughter's age.  Let me see if he will call Christy the next time she is in town and perhaps introduce her to his friends."

And, what do you know?  The next time I came to town, for Thanksgiving in 1992, Andrew did call.  (Me to my mom who was holding the phone:  Who is is?  What!?  You set this up.  Oh, come on!  This is so embarassing!)  And he asked me out to breakfast.  Breakfast?

"Ummm...No, actually that's not convenient .  It's my break from college.  I get up really early every day, but not on break."

He then asked if I was up by lunchtime.

"Usually.  Tomorrow will be ok."

So, I was about to meet someone my age in my new hometown.

Now, let me digress a bit and explain what I have always been attracted to in men.  Number one, tall men.  And number two, dark haired men with a certain look.  The best way to describe the look is to say that three actors have it and absolutely make me swoon:  Andrew McCarthy, John Cusak and Edward Norton.  Clean shaven, thin and muscular, thick eyebrows, intelligent faces.  I have seen the look in a few men in my life and my knees go weak every time.

So...the next day the doorbell rang, I answered it and almost fell over!  There stood the most gorgeous man I'd ever seen.  6'3", dark hair, clean shaven, thin and muscular, thick eyebrows, intelligent face.  O M G!

So we went out to lunch and had a great, albeit awkward conversation.  After all, we were just babies!  Just 21 years old.  But here were definitely some sideways glances and easy smiles.  Our eyes lingered on each other's a beat longer than necessary a couple times.  There was a spark there for sure.  We ended up spending the day together.  Watched a movie at my parents' houise.  And then he left.  I thought we'd had a good time but he said nothing about calling me again. 

Probably has a girlfriend.  Shoot. 

I knew I needed to take action.  Before I left to go back to school the next day, I called him at the upholsterer he was working for at the time.  He was on a delivery so I made a crucial decision.  One that changed the course of my life.  Literally.  I asked the boss, the man who answered the phone, to tell Andrew that I called.  And I asked him to tell Andrew that I sent my thanks for lunch and that I'd had a great time.

Andrew later said that if I hadn't made that phone call, he'd probably never have had the nerve to call me a month later when I came back into town.

To be continued...

Here's a Good One

While reading an article, I saw an interesting statistic:   80% of all medical malpractice claims paid worldwide are made in the United States.

Now, there are 6.5 billion people in the world and 300 million people in the US. Our country has 5% of the total world population but 80% of all malpractice payouts. Wow. Our physicians must really suck.

As a related aside, here's a medical malpractice suit of note:  a hospital, nurse midwife, and physician (who was visiting family in Korea during alleged incident of malpractice) settled a cerebral palsy birth injury case for $9.5 million.  The case had been steadily progressing through the court system for 14 years prior to settlement.

And Obama refuses to investigate tort reform as a possible avenue to saving money under Obamacare.  It's so amazingly transparent who pads his pockets and plays his puppeteers.  And it ain't us doctors.

Things I Say Almost Everyday (home edition)

1.  Morning sunshines!

2.  I love you.

3.  No.

4.  You have to eat breakfast or else your brain won't have any energy to learn in school.

5.  Thank you so much for... (grocery shopping, doing the laundry, cleaning the house, being the chauffeur, representing both of us at events and activities and at school).

6.  What was the best part of your day?

7.  You are so beautiful.  Inside and out.

8.  You are so handsome.  Inside and out.

9.  Bring me your toothbrush.

10.  Night night.  Sleep tight.  Don't let the bed bugs bite.  Wake up bright in the morning light, to do what's right with all your might.

11.  God bless Mommy and Daddy and Jack and Alice and Clara and....(the rest of our family, name by name, every night)

12.  Whoop!  They're down!!

13.  If I help you make lunches, will you take a shower with me?

Things I Say Almost Every Day (work edition)

1.  You're going to feel a little stick.

2.  Open your mouth, stick out your tongue and say, "Ahhh."

3.  May I listen to your heart and lungs?

5.  When was the last time you had anything to eat or drink.

7.  You may wake up with a little bit of a sore throat.  Possibly some nausea but I'll give you medicine before you wake up to help prevent that.  Really serious complications such as heart or lung problems or damage to your teeth caused by putting in the breathing tube are very, very unusual.  I expect you to do just fine.

6.  Nice deep breaths for me.

7.  You're going to be drifting off to sleep now.  And I am going to be right here with you until you're safely awake.  Sweet dreams.

8.  Time out!  This is....  She's having a ....  She has no known drug allergies and she's receiving....for her antibiotic.

9.  Let's have a fast turnover, girls!

10.  Hey, sweetie.  I'm on my way home.

Fair? Or Not?

Not long ago, I cared for a patient who was experiencing chest pain. The patient had already undergone a cardiac bypass surgery. He told me that he was currently using crack and methamphetamine.


Now, let me ask, whether he has no insurance, private insurance, Medicaid or Medicare, is this fair to the system? If he gets disability, is it fair to the system? If an insurer couldn’t deny him coverage, would that be fair to those who are paying into the system, but trying to stay healthy? Those who will probably contribute far more than they cost the insurance pool? (And who would certainly cost less than this ‘member of the pool.’)

Would you be willing to hand him your money to cover his expenses, knowing what he habitually does? I’m not talking about the money laundering scheme that taxation is. I’m talking about walking up to him, crack pipe in his hand, sitting in his living room with a beer and big screen television, and handing him $1000 to cover his medications for heart disease and hypertension? Would you feel good about it?

That’s what we’re all being asked to do, over and over again. Think about it!

For those who tell us that providing care to all is the ‘moral thing to do,’ tell me about the implicit morality of taking from the productivity of others without any consequence or gratitude among the recipients?

This is one of the many places where our current trend towards the tyranny of the masses falls flat.

Love My Station Wagon

A few years ago we bought our first fun car.  We threw utilitarianism, sensibility and restraint to the wind and bought a BMW 330xi.  Not only did we buy one, but we custom ordered it.  It had a rich dark brown leather interior and a fast silver exterior.  A combo that was not made in the factory so was made especially for us overseas.  And we loved it.

We went on dates in it, took weekend jaunts in it and took it for plenty of plain old joy rides. It had all-wheel drive so I could trust it to get me through any sort of weather in these Virginia mountains.  And for the first time, I could drive into the doctor's lot and not get heckled.  (A typical line from one of my colleagues: " Hey, when did they start letting the housekeepers park here?"  Nice.)

It really was the perfect car.  Until.  Until the day came that the children no longer spit up, threw food nor required carseats... so we  started letting them ride in it with us.  And it was so nice to jet around town in a small car as opposed to the Suburban.  The gas guzzling tank that, while essential for beach trips and other travel, is not ideal for around town.  Takes twice as long to do anything in the Suburban as it does in a car.  Parking is an art form, merging is difficult and vaulting into it takes well-honed skillz.

The problem began to arise about a year ago when the children's hineys grew and it came to be that the three of them no longer fit comfortably in the back seat of the BMW together.  So some questions arose.  Do we go back to the Suburban for all in-town family transportation?  Or do we look for a more appropriately sized car and *gasp* sell the BMW?

The idea was just too horrifying to consider until two events occurred on the very same day a few months ago.  One of our anesthesiologist friends asked Andrew if he'd ever consider buying his almost-new Volvo Cross Country, and one of my orthopaedic surgeon colleagues stopped me in the OR and said, "I know this is kinda random, but I've always coveted your car and if you ever want to sell it, I'll give you whatever you want for it."

So, to make a long story short, we did a three way car swap.  Now, the cars in the doctor's parking lot haven't changed.  They just have different owners.  I do find myself looking longingly at my pretty car every now and then but I am happy to report that it's being well taken care of.  It's new owner has taken pity on me and doesn't often mention how much he likes it, how well it accelerates or how valets push each other around to see who gets to go park it.  

And we really are thrilled to have the Volvo.  It has been problem free.  (Aside from the fact the girls call it the Vulva...but we're working on that.)  It has two jump seats in the back so it accomodates seven comfortably.   We get ease of driving and high capacity.  Plus, we can easily separate the children when there is in-fighting and civil unrest. 

Additionally, it was a great financial deal so we ended up with a wad of cash in our pockets to boot.  And Andrew has promised me that as soon as the rooster and his hens fly the coop, we will once again own a fun car.