Several years ago I told myself that I couldn't let fear of social awkwardness thwart my charitable instincts. I have to repeat it to myself sometimes when I think I can help but don't want to because it might be weird. So then I'll do it. And it is always weird.
Today I was on a flight back from Atlanta and it sounded like a man a few rows up was asking for medicine from a flight attendant. The flight attendant offered him Tylenol, but said she didn't expect it to help his son's ears. A woman in the row ahead of him mimed holding her nose and forcing air into her ears as a method that might help. While it seemed like the man was getting plenty of input about his son's ear pain, I had a sack full of drugs I thought I should offer.
When I flew back from Munich the first time, I had a cold I had caught toward the end of my trip. That plane flight was misery; my nose was running the whole time, I couldn't sleep, and the pressure forced junk into my ears so bad that I got an ear infection and spent the whole next week recovering. But that time when I went to the doctor for the ear infection they didn't hand out antibiotics like candy (which I appreciate) but they told me to take Sudafed for several days to dry up the mucus and give my ears a chance to heal themselves.
This trip, when I was heading to Atlanta, I was at the tail end of a cold but I didn't want to take any chances. I brought two packages of Sudafed (the good, behind-the-counter, show-your-ID, assure-the-pharmacist-you-won't-make-meth kind), a whole bottle of Benadryl (dual purpose since I was staying with a friend with a cat, which I'm allergic to), and a bottle of lorataine (also for the cat).
So I went up to the man with my box of Sudafed and offered it to him. When I got to their row I could see his son had tears streaming down his face, indicating why they'd gone to the lengths of asking a flight attendant for meds. I tried to explain what Sudafed was, that I had previously had a doctor indicate it for mucus getting into the ears, and I tried to make him read the back of the box including contraindications. But he seemed to be foreign and I wasn't sure if he could read the box and I'm pretty sure "contraindications" wasn't in the vocabulary. After the lady one row ahead had chimed in that she thought it would be better to try the Sudafed before the Tylenol he had given a tablet to his son before I really knew what was happening.
And that is how I came to give drugs to strangers.
Of course, after this, I worried that I shouldn't have done that and kept watching to see if I could confirm the kid was 1. moving 2. breathing and since he was in a seat I couldn't see then I wondered what kind of trouble I would be in if he did have a negative reaction. But not too long after he was trading seats with his sisters and going down the aisle dry-eyed. When his father passed me on his way to the restroom he said "After he took your tablet it was like a miracle. Now he is fine!"
And that is how taking drugs from strangers turned out well for someone once. A story which should never be repeated to any impressionable young children.
Sunday, July 14, 2013
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
A Bit of Unusual
I frequently feel like I am the weirdest moment in other people's day.
For instance, I recently went to the doctor because one of my pinky toes has been turning sideways and feels funny. I figured I needed new orthotics for my shoes and was looking for a referral to a podiatrist but instead I was sent for X-rays and an MRI of the lower spine because my toes tingled when the doctor raised my leg, a "positive sciatic test". Anyway, my HMO puts you through a whole rigmarole before the doctor will talk to you about your actual problem, checking on all your medications, weighing you with your shoes, coat, and purse still on you, etc.
This time, the nurse asked about my activity level.
Me: Well, according to my Fitbit I've been doing over 10,000 steps a day.
Nurse: [Lengthy silence while she stares motionless at the computer screen]
Me: Is there not a field for that? You could just say 20 minutes.
Then, later, when scheduling the MRI the clerk made me answer the gamut of questions to see if I'd want to sue them after the MRI.
Clerk: Have you ever had surgery on your heart, where they might have inserted something metal like a pacemaker?
Me: No.
Clerk: Have you ever had surgery on your head, where they might have inserted something metal like a metal plate?
Me: No.
Clerk: Have you ever had surgery to implant anything in your ears, where they might have inserted something like a cochlear implant?
Me: No.
Clerk: Have you ever had surgery on your eyes?
Me: No.
Clerk: Have you ever had surgery to repair a broken bone, where they might have inserted surgical pins or screws?
Me: No.
Clerk: Have you ever had any surgery at all?
Me: No. [Pause.] Is that in case they left something inside you during surgery?
Clerk: [Confused look at the questionnaire.] I never thought about that before!
For instance, I recently went to the doctor because one of my pinky toes has been turning sideways and feels funny. I figured I needed new orthotics for my shoes and was looking for a referral to a podiatrist but instead I was sent for X-rays and an MRI of the lower spine because my toes tingled when the doctor raised my leg, a "positive sciatic test". Anyway, my HMO puts you through a whole rigmarole before the doctor will talk to you about your actual problem, checking on all your medications, weighing you with your shoes, coat, and purse still on you, etc.
This time, the nurse asked about my activity level.
Me: Well, according to my Fitbit I've been doing over 10,000 steps a day.
Nurse: [Lengthy silence while she stares motionless at the computer screen]
Me: Is there not a field for that? You could just say 20 minutes.
Then, later, when scheduling the MRI the clerk made me answer the gamut of questions to see if I'd want to sue them after the MRI.
Clerk: Have you ever had surgery on your heart, where they might have inserted something metal like a pacemaker?
Me: No.
Clerk: Have you ever had surgery on your head, where they might have inserted something metal like a metal plate?
Me: No.
Clerk: Have you ever had surgery to implant anything in your ears, where they might have inserted something like a cochlear implant?
Me: No.
Clerk: Have you ever had surgery on your eyes?
Me: No.
Clerk: Have you ever had surgery to repair a broken bone, where they might have inserted surgical pins or screws?
Me: No.
Clerk: Have you ever had any surgery at all?
Me: No. [Pause.] Is that in case they left something inside you during surgery?
Clerk: [Confused look at the questionnaire.] I never thought about that before!
Monday, April 8, 2013
Pinteresting
Maybe it's because of who I follow, but I've noticed the things on Pinterest fall into a few distinct categories.
1. Pretty pictures of wishlist type things - travel destinations, quaint forest cabins, fairy gardens, etc.
2. Household hints that simply cannot all work ("Replace every cleaning product ever with an equimolar and therefore neutralized solution of white vinegar and baking soda!")
3. Beauty tips, nail polish colors, outfit ideas, hairstyles
4. Ludicrous, delicious-looking foods
This is partly why I think that men don't use Pinterest. The other reason is that I did the math and men don't use Pinterest.
While I'm happy seeing the first three pass me by, I did want to try some of the foods. But really, when are you going to ever bake an Oreo in a chocolate cookie in a brownie in a tiramisu? I wanted an excuse to cook some of the ludicrous foods so I threw a Pinterest-themed party.
Sadly, I forgot to photograph the food. This is the closest I came:
Here you can see the pulled pork sliders, pigs in blankets, pizza dip, the ham and potato pancakes, the macaroni and cheese with tater tots, and the "cross between alfredo, lasagna, and mac'n'cheese". Along with the guacamole-stuffed eggs that came later that made up the the savory dishes.
The desserts I didn't get any pictures of but they were the stars. We had Tofutti pumpkin cheesecake, pistachio toffee, Butterfinger blondies, brownies with peanut butter cups and marshmallow fluff, homemade peanut butter cups, and apple dumplings made with crescent rolls, Mountain Dew, and Nectresse.
There were also activities. I set up a craft station in the guest bedroom with things to glue on magnets and the ten Biblical plagues hand puppet kit I had. My friend Jen brought her daughter Mariella who made this gem:
That is the puppet for the wild animals plague. According to Mariella it's going to a birthday party. It's so cute.
I also made a pinata.
I learned a few things about pinatas. For instance, they have an upper weight limit on the candy you put in them. And then, if you're butting up against the upper weight limit on your pinata, you should take that into consideration when you're having it.
Yes, that is a grand total of three feet off the ground.
Still, it did take three adults for it to break open.
And after spending probably 15 working hours making a pinata it was gratifying to see adults sprint for the candy and fruit snacks.
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Intensity
Going to Georgia Tech means that you pass on at least 50% of the typical college experience.
Or that's what I gather from television.
There's the normal stuff like too many drunken parties and football. But besides the rampant nerdiness what seems dissimilar is the sheer amount of work.
My memory of college is moving into a dorm in the fall, going to marching band practice and the football games, holding a few board game nights with my roommates and our friends, taking a 3-4 day trip somewhere over Spring Break, and until we moved out in the spring we were otherwise either going to class or doing homework or working on a group project for the rest of our waking hours. That's how it was for everyone. Of course there were a few activities, like my roommates and I would normally select a few television shows we would watch together (Gilmore Girls, Grey's Anatomy, Desperate Housewives, Lost, and Heroes over the years). But oftentimes one or more of us would either do homework during the show or not watch it at all in order to do work. The constant state of being was work, such that someone who was not doing work was actively and mindfully taking a break from work in order to work harder when they returned. There was not "free time" - there were activities deliberately carved out of work time to prevent insanity. But sometimes you couldn't afford even that and you just went insane.
And all that work didn't mean anything if you didn't know your stuff. There might have been A-for-effort classes at Tech but I didn't get to take them. Professors made it clear that classes weren't graded on the premise everyone started at As and they took points off. No, everyone started at an F and had to earn points to get to an A. I actually took very few classes where points had any absolute meaning. In most of my engineering classes everything was graded on a curve, so you did not need a certain amount of points to get an A - you needed to get more points than everyone else to get an A.
One class that didn't use a curve was Physical Chemistry II, which was the quantum mechanics class. I took that class the year it was at 8 am, and the professor was the hairiest man I've ever seen. In that class, getting 33% of the questions right on the test was a C. An A was 66%. I think that demonstrated well how impossible the material was that no one could know 100% of it.
When the workload at Tech got especially bad, like at the end of a semester when projects were due and everyone was studying for final exams and you had to move out of your dorm room within 24 hours of your last test so you had to pack your entire room while you studied, there was a special state you could get into that I can only describe as "intense". It was a single minded focus on the tasks at hand with a cold and efficient prioritization of all the other features of your life. Your mind became hypervigilant and you could lay almost all emotion aside and solely work. Everything fell by the wayside. You would know exactly how long you could go without doing laundry, without eating, without buying food, without taking out the trash, so you could work as long as possible before having to waste time on those things. You would say no to friends and fun with no regret or guilt. It was all gone. You were just an automaton with one goal: survival.
Since college, the intensity has been very rare. But now it's back, and it's almost comforting. Being a single-minded extremely busy automaton is way better than being a pretty busy worrywart. Cold, hard, and focused.
I will say, it's easier to deal with when you have a car, your own washing machine, and enough money to buy convenience foods.
Or that's what I gather from television.
There's the normal stuff like too many drunken parties and football. But besides the rampant nerdiness what seems dissimilar is the sheer amount of work.
My memory of college is moving into a dorm in the fall, going to marching band practice and the football games, holding a few board game nights with my roommates and our friends, taking a 3-4 day trip somewhere over Spring Break, and until we moved out in the spring we were otherwise either going to class or doing homework or working on a group project for the rest of our waking hours. That's how it was for everyone. Of course there were a few activities, like my roommates and I would normally select a few television shows we would watch together (Gilmore Girls, Grey's Anatomy, Desperate Housewives, Lost, and Heroes over the years). But oftentimes one or more of us would either do homework during the show or not watch it at all in order to do work. The constant state of being was work, such that someone who was not doing work was actively and mindfully taking a break from work in order to work harder when they returned. There was not "free time" - there were activities deliberately carved out of work time to prevent insanity. But sometimes you couldn't afford even that and you just went insane.
And all that work didn't mean anything if you didn't know your stuff. There might have been A-for-effort classes at Tech but I didn't get to take them. Professors made it clear that classes weren't graded on the premise everyone started at As and they took points off. No, everyone started at an F and had to earn points to get to an A. I actually took very few classes where points had any absolute meaning. In most of my engineering classes everything was graded on a curve, so you did not need a certain amount of points to get an A - you needed to get more points than everyone else to get an A.
One class that didn't use a curve was Physical Chemistry II, which was the quantum mechanics class. I took that class the year it was at 8 am, and the professor was the hairiest man I've ever seen. In that class, getting 33% of the questions right on the test was a C. An A was 66%. I think that demonstrated well how impossible the material was that no one could know 100% of it.
When the workload at Tech got especially bad, like at the end of a semester when projects were due and everyone was studying for final exams and you had to move out of your dorm room within 24 hours of your last test so you had to pack your entire room while you studied, there was a special state you could get into that I can only describe as "intense". It was a single minded focus on the tasks at hand with a cold and efficient prioritization of all the other features of your life. Your mind became hypervigilant and you could lay almost all emotion aside and solely work. Everything fell by the wayside. You would know exactly how long you could go without doing laundry, without eating, without buying food, without taking out the trash, so you could work as long as possible before having to waste time on those things. You would say no to friends and fun with no regret or guilt. It was all gone. You were just an automaton with one goal: survival.
Since college, the intensity has been very rare. But now it's back, and it's almost comforting. Being a single-minded extremely busy automaton is way better than being a pretty busy worrywart. Cold, hard, and focused.
I will say, it's easier to deal with when you have a car, your own washing machine, and enough money to buy convenience foods.
Monday, February 25, 2013
Quieting the Voices
Sometimes I wonder if the way I think is fundamentally different from others'.
The first time I realized this might be true was in college, when I was having dinner with my roommate Karen.
The cafeteria that night had a chicken enchilada casserole. We remarked to each other that it was actually quite good, then we each concentrated on eating for a few minutes, after which I volunteered, "I wouldn't care if there were insects ground up in here as long as I couldn't taste or feel them."
To Karen, this statement came out of left field and she made me explain my train of thought.
First, I had thought of how the chicken enchilada casserole was the least adulterated form of meat the cafeteria had offered in a long time. The chicken was therefore the purest protein we had recently eaten.
Then I thought that chicken was actually one of the most efficient meat-producing animals.
Then I thought of how insects are actually the most efficient meat-producing animals, in terms of how much of what they eat is converted to meat.
Then I thought of how despite that insect meat isn't cost effective because there isn't a big enough industry to have economies of scale.
Then I thought how McDonald's is accused of padding their meat with things like insects but that wouldn't be logical because insects are more expensive.
Then I thought I wouldn't mind if more traditional forms of meat were padded with more efficient protein sources like insects as long as the taste, safety, or gustatory experience was not compromised.
When I explained that to Karen, she said, "That whole time all I was thinking was 'Mmm, food'."
What I wonder about now is if my thought processes influence my need for near constant audio distractions. Over the years I've realized that the only time I don't want noise is when I'm talking with someone or writing and need to be able to concentrate on my mental narrative. Otherwise, I prefer to have music or TV in the background or my brain gets impatient and it will choose to create its own, often pointless narrative which takes the form of endless worrying or complex and sarcastic Facebook posts. At work, data analysis and lab work practically demand music or my brain is going to zone out and I'll make mistakes. It's almost as if I don't get "quiet" - my brain will provide the noise itself so I get more effective "quiet" with actual noise.
One of my main disappointments with alcohol (besides the heartburn it gives me) is that it does nothing to quiet my brain. I would be very interested in a product that could shut my brain up sometimes.
The first time I realized this might be true was in college, when I was having dinner with my roommate Karen.
The cafeteria that night had a chicken enchilada casserole. We remarked to each other that it was actually quite good, then we each concentrated on eating for a few minutes, after which I volunteered, "I wouldn't care if there were insects ground up in here as long as I couldn't taste or feel them."
To Karen, this statement came out of left field and she made me explain my train of thought.
First, I had thought of how the chicken enchilada casserole was the least adulterated form of meat the cafeteria had offered in a long time. The chicken was therefore the purest protein we had recently eaten.
Then I thought that chicken was actually one of the most efficient meat-producing animals.
Then I thought of how insects are actually the most efficient meat-producing animals, in terms of how much of what they eat is converted to meat.
Then I thought of how despite that insect meat isn't cost effective because there isn't a big enough industry to have economies of scale.
Then I thought how McDonald's is accused of padding their meat with things like insects but that wouldn't be logical because insects are more expensive.
Then I thought I wouldn't mind if more traditional forms of meat were padded with more efficient protein sources like insects as long as the taste, safety, or gustatory experience was not compromised.
When I explained that to Karen, she said, "That whole time all I was thinking was 'Mmm, food'."
What I wonder about now is if my thought processes influence my need for near constant audio distractions. Over the years I've realized that the only time I don't want noise is when I'm talking with someone or writing and need to be able to concentrate on my mental narrative. Otherwise, I prefer to have music or TV in the background or my brain gets impatient and it will choose to create its own, often pointless narrative which takes the form of endless worrying or complex and sarcastic Facebook posts. At work, data analysis and lab work practically demand music or my brain is going to zone out and I'll make mistakes. It's almost as if I don't get "quiet" - my brain will provide the noise itself so I get more effective "quiet" with actual noise.
One of my main disappointments with alcohol (besides the heartburn it gives me) is that it does nothing to quiet my brain. I would be very interested in a product that could shut my brain up sometimes.
Friday, February 22, 2013
Lessons
Things I have learned the hard way:
Doorknobs: you have to turn them before they work.
Nail polish remover is capable of dissolving some scissors.
Vegetable stock, made in the crockpot, can putrefy if you let it cook longer than the recommended time. The smell will wake you up from a dead sleep.
"Container compatibility issue" means "that bottle of sodium hydroxide is going to dissolve on your desk".
If it tastes rotten, stop eating.
If you are the youngest, most junior, and only female employee in a room, don't do anything they tell you without checking with your boss first.
Never serve salad dressing out of a cow creamer. You will never get the garlic out of the hollow legs.
Apple pie, muffins, and toffee are all flammable.
If your date ever says "I don't know how I'm going to explain [you being here] to my roommates", leave. Leave right then.
When you're somewhere unfamiliar, double check that the icon on the bathroom door has a skirt.
When it doubt, don't mix that chemical with bleach.
If you mix that chemical with bleach anyway, do it in the fresh air.
Just because you splash things in lab into your mouth all the time doesn't mean that anyone else does. Stop mentioning it out loud.
Doorknobs: you have to turn them before they work.
Nail polish remover is capable of dissolving some scissors.
Vegetable stock, made in the crockpot, can putrefy if you let it cook longer than the recommended time. The smell will wake you up from a dead sleep.
"Container compatibility issue" means "that bottle of sodium hydroxide is going to dissolve on your desk".
If it tastes rotten, stop eating.
If you are the youngest, most junior, and only female employee in a room, don't do anything they tell you without checking with your boss first.
Never serve salad dressing out of a cow creamer. You will never get the garlic out of the hollow legs.
Apple pie, muffins, and toffee are all flammable.
If your date ever says "I don't know how I'm going to explain [you being here] to my roommates", leave. Leave right then.
When you're somewhere unfamiliar, double check that the icon on the bathroom door has a skirt.
When it doubt, don't mix that chemical with bleach.
If you mix that chemical with bleach anyway, do it in the fresh air.
Just because you splash things in lab into your mouth all the time doesn't mean that anyone else does. Stop mentioning it out loud.
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Sick Day
Today is my first sick day in a long time. I don't always make the best decisions at 3 AM, but this is a good one.
It took a while though. When I started feeling bad in bed my brain thought it would be most effective to explain the discomfort through a dream. The dream started explaining that I had a troublesome genetically modified cell line at work and it was giving me grief. The rest of my brain wasn't with it enough to figure out that there is no possible way a cell line can give you a stomachache, but it did know that lately I hadn't been working with any troublesome cell lines. After a while all of my brain finally clued in that this wasn't a problem with any of the eight cell lines it kept listing in my brain by name, and that the problem was me.
By 6 AM I had already gone through my entire day's schedule and knew I wouldn't miss anything too major if I didn't go to work. Yesterday I had somehow had a very awesome day of getting things done so today's agenda was mostly make a set of slides even prettier and review two short documents I already had requested access to, printed, and tracked down ancient comparitors for. While I wasn't sleeping I also had already mentally composed the emails to my boss and my reports so I fired those off too.
I know at work we're not required to say what we're sick with (and if I remember my manager training right your boss can't ask either). But I volunteered that it was food poisoning 1) because I'm suspicious of the shrimp curry we had at our lunch meeting and 2) I think you get fewer emails if everyone pictures you barfing than sitting sedately on the couch drinking tea and wiping your nose every once in a while. I don't know why I always think the lunch meeting food is going to someday poison everyone, but if it does, I want them to have all the information they need. What? Everyone but the vegetarians are out sick today? Call the health department!
Or report it anonymously online! I found that website once and work is technically in San Mateo County too.
Once several of us agreed that the two giant key lime cheesecakes at our meeting hadn't agreed with us, but that was more likely the unexpected richness than anything microbial. That was back when we used to get two giant cheesecakes or a sheet cake for 10 people. I wonder why that stopped. That must have been a different caterer. Plus, I see how the food is delivered about an hour early, and how the leftovers get sit out all afternoon. I'm kind of surprised we don't have more food poisoning, actually.
But in truth, I probably gave this to myself. Most of the leftovers I ate last night were only five days old but before dinner I snacked on an English muffin and I used butter from a butter dish I had only recently unearthed, and it didn't taste quite right. Unsalted butter never tastes quite right, spread on things, which is why I was using old butter dish butter because I was hoping it dated back to when I had bought salted butter (yes, I realize how stupid this is as I write it). But it was unsalted too. And might have been a little rancid.
Once I can stand to stand I'll clean out the fridge. Protect me from myself.
It took a while though. When I started feeling bad in bed my brain thought it would be most effective to explain the discomfort through a dream. The dream started explaining that I had a troublesome genetically modified cell line at work and it was giving me grief. The rest of my brain wasn't with it enough to figure out that there is no possible way a cell line can give you a stomachache, but it did know that lately I hadn't been working with any troublesome cell lines. After a while all of my brain finally clued in that this wasn't a problem with any of the eight cell lines it kept listing in my brain by name, and that the problem was me.
By 6 AM I had already gone through my entire day's schedule and knew I wouldn't miss anything too major if I didn't go to work. Yesterday I had somehow had a very awesome day of getting things done so today's agenda was mostly make a set of slides even prettier and review two short documents I already had requested access to, printed, and tracked down ancient comparitors for. While I wasn't sleeping I also had already mentally composed the emails to my boss and my reports so I fired those off too.
I know at work we're not required to say what we're sick with (and if I remember my manager training right your boss can't ask either). But I volunteered that it was food poisoning 1) because I'm suspicious of the shrimp curry we had at our lunch meeting and 2) I think you get fewer emails if everyone pictures you barfing than sitting sedately on the couch drinking tea and wiping your nose every once in a while. I don't know why I always think the lunch meeting food is going to someday poison everyone, but if it does, I want them to have all the information they need. What? Everyone but the vegetarians are out sick today? Call the health department!
Or report it anonymously online! I found that website once and work is technically in San Mateo County too.
Once several of us agreed that the two giant key lime cheesecakes at our meeting hadn't agreed with us, but that was more likely the unexpected richness than anything microbial. That was back when we used to get two giant cheesecakes or a sheet cake for 10 people. I wonder why that stopped. That must have been a different caterer. Plus, I see how the food is delivered about an hour early, and how the leftovers get sit out all afternoon. I'm kind of surprised we don't have more food poisoning, actually.
But in truth, I probably gave this to myself. Most of the leftovers I ate last night were only five days old but before dinner I snacked on an English muffin and I used butter from a butter dish I had only recently unearthed, and it didn't taste quite right. Unsalted butter never tastes quite right, spread on things, which is why I was using old butter dish butter because I was hoping it dated back to when I had bought salted butter (yes, I realize how stupid this is as I write it). But it was unsalted too. And might have been a little rancid.
Once I can stand to stand I'll clean out the fridge. Protect me from myself.
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