Table Mountain transplants paper kidney to my chair
11-07-15 14:55 Family Humor,Baby
I hope that like us in California, you’re enjoying a wonderfully happy summer. Lots of things happened this week:
When I showed up at the surgical center for an extremely minor matter involving my right eye, it didn’t seem that I’d discover the cause of planetary deforestation. But..
“That seems like an ominous pile of paper documentation,” I thought as a fork lift delivered my file to the check-in clerk - who asked for identification and insurance cards.
Prepared, I handed them to her noting that: “You already have several copies of those,”
She made additional copies and I signed a mass of release forms. (I agreed that my insurance company could pay them. I agreed that they could bill me for what my insurance company didn’t pay. I agreed to pay if I was billed by them. I acknowledged that they could sue me if I didn’t pay their bill. I agreed that they could remove my right eyeball if they lost any lawsuit..) I was taken to the laser room (“Maybe the laser will incinerate all this paper,” I thought. Wrongly.)
The nurse took my blood pressure (which, by the way, was excellent), filled out a few more pages and began asking medication questions.
“I don’t take that,” I replied to one query.
“It’s for your kidney transplant,” the nurse replied.
“Kidney transplant? I’m sure I’d remember if I had a kidney transplant.” “No wonder my dossier was so big,” I thought. “It’s mixed with someone else.”
“So you haven’t taken this medication today?” The nurse forged ahead.
“Not today. Not yesterday, Not ever.” I replied. “Are you queued for a brain transplant?” I thought.
“I’ll need to check with your physician,” the nurse replied.
“Good idea. Ask him about ‘Samuel Martinez’, too.” (I had read, upside down, the name on the medication page.)
“Now I’ll have to fill out an exception report,” the nurse thought as she walked away.
While I have no background in the medical care industry, clearly there is room for efficiency and effectiveness improvement. It is interesting that they use sophisticated treatment devices while the back office is awash with paper that is processed the same way that Hippocrates handled his primary care office. (Except that they’ve moved from scrolls to flat ‘letter-size’ paper)
As regular readers know, California is in the midst of an epic drought. So far this year, we’re running at 25% of normal rainfall. (That means we’ve had about 3 inches of rain.)
“But,” I explained, “the national weather service is predicting a very strong El Niño for the coming winter.”
“They’re predicting the winter weather now?” Nazy replied.
“The last time they had a strong El Niño - in 1997 - there was 47 inches of rain in Santa Barbara during the rainy season.”
“That’s…”
“…. unbelievable.” I interrupted.
“How do they know what will happen this winter?”
“Computer models, Nazy.” I replied. “The same kind of models the banks used to measure the risks of sub-prime mortgages.”
Nazy and I hope that they’re right about the El Niño because the water situation is rather dire. (Tom Selleck, of Magnum PI fame, is accused of stealing tanker truck loads of water to irrigate his 60 acre avocado farm.) In addition, the situation is so grim that my “standard fix” won’t work..
“We can’t even wash the car!” I exclaimed after reading the latest city advisory. (“Severe drought. We have no water to waste. We are all in this together.&rdquo
“What a shame”, I thought, “It always rains after I wash the car.”
Because ‘we are all in this together”, the city is doing it’s part. An exceptionally expensive project - starting the mothballed desalination plant, was authorized. The plant was build in 1996 - just before the 1997 giant rainfall - they never used it. Now environmental issues (“It will put salt into the ocean.&rdquo were overridden - a rarity in California. I am convinced that If the authorized money quickly is spent quickly, the chance of heavy rain this winter will increase dramatically. (And the desalination plant will be re-mothballed until the next drought.)
While we’re on the subject of water - swimming lessons for Tiger, the first grand(est)son, continue. Interestingly, because ‘We are all in this together”, the swimming facility has instituted water use restrictions. (Shower time is limited and shower water pressure has been reduced.) It gives me a queasy feeling..
“They’ve been using the same water in this pool since the drought started, Nazy.” I began.
“So?”
“A lot of babies have been swimming and, you know what else, in this water.”
“They use chlorine, Dan. Lots of chlorine.”
Young Tiger is, of course, unbothered by water shortage concerns. He has gotten very confident in the water.
Finally, a major development in the long-standing Martin Family dining room table conundrum. First some background. We bought the dining room table when we bought our first house. (The first house, on Kensington Road in Memphis, had a large dining room. We filled with a large, massive, heavy table.) Nazy wasn’t enamored by the acquisition.
“I always hated that table.” Nazy interjects.
As initially acquired, the table had three normal chairs and one ‘head of the table’ CHAIR. (An arm chair.) The special CHAIR was mine - and then Nazy’s parents visited. Each morning, I noticed that Nazy’s Dad (The Admiral) had moved ‘my’ CHAIR to his PLACE. Each morning, I rearranged the chairs and CHAIR. After a few days, I came home from work. There were 4 chairs and 2 CHAIRS.
“You need two like THAT,” Nazy’s father explained as he pointed to his purchase: two Captain’s chairs. (Or, more accurately, one Captain and one Admiral chair.)
We moved the table, chairs and CHAIRS, to Vancouver, Houston, Hanover, The Hague, Zurich and Santa Barbara. Before each move, Nazy tried to sell, give away or burn them. She always wanted..
“…. a round table, Dan.”
“We’ve never had a round dining room,” I thought. “Not even a square dining room.”
Now, Melika and Tom just bought a house that (I am not making this up) came with a round, marble-topped dinning room table that they don’t want. The table weighs as much as the Starship Enterprise and is roughly the size of Manhattan Island.
“But it is beautiful,” Nazy interrupts.
“So is Mount Fuji,” I replied. “But I wouldn’t put it in my dining room.”
The table (see photo below) is being transported (by several strong men) this weekend. (Fortunately, I have a picture of the tabletop that is being moved. See below)
When I showed up at the surgical center for an extremely minor matter involving my right eye, it didn’t seem that I’d discover the cause of planetary deforestation. But..
“That seems like an ominous pile of paper documentation,” I thought as a fork lift delivered my file to the check-in clerk - who asked for identification and insurance cards.
Prepared, I handed them to her noting that: “You already have several copies of those,”
She made additional copies and I signed a mass of release forms. (I agreed that my insurance company could pay them. I agreed that they could bill me for what my insurance company didn’t pay. I agreed to pay if I was billed by them. I acknowledged that they could sue me if I didn’t pay their bill. I agreed that they could remove my right eyeball if they lost any lawsuit..) I was taken to the laser room (“Maybe the laser will incinerate all this paper,” I thought. Wrongly.)
The nurse took my blood pressure (which, by the way, was excellent), filled out a few more pages and began asking medication questions.
“I don’t take that,” I replied to one query.
“It’s for your kidney transplant,” the nurse replied.
“Kidney transplant? I’m sure I’d remember if I had a kidney transplant.” “No wonder my dossier was so big,” I thought. “It’s mixed with someone else.”
“So you haven’t taken this medication today?” The nurse forged ahead.
“Not today. Not yesterday, Not ever.” I replied. “Are you queued for a brain transplant?” I thought.
“I’ll need to check with your physician,” the nurse replied.
“Now I’ll have to fill out an exception report,” the nurse thought as she walked away.
While I have no background in the medical care industry, clearly there is room for efficiency and effectiveness improvement. It is interesting that they use sophisticated treatment devices while the back office is awash with paper that is processed the same way that Hippocrates handled his primary care office. (Except that they’ve moved from scrolls to flat ‘letter-size’ paper)
As regular readers know, California is in the midst of an epic drought. So far this year, we’re running at 25% of normal rainfall. (That means we’ve had about 3 inches of rain.)
“But,” I explained, “the national weather service is predicting a very strong El Niño for the coming winter.”
“They’re predicting the winter weather now?” Nazy replied.
“The last time they had a strong El Niño - in 1997 - there was 47 inches of rain in Santa Barbara during the rainy season.”
“That’s…”
“…. unbelievable.” I interrupted.
“How do they know what will happen this winter?”
“Computer models, Nazy.” I replied. “The same kind of models the banks used to measure the risks of sub-prime mortgages.”
Nazy and I hope that they’re right about the El Niño because the water situation is rather dire. (Tom Selleck, of Magnum PI fame, is accused of stealing tanker truck loads of water to irrigate his 60 acre avocado farm.) In addition, the situation is so grim that my “standard fix” won’t work..
“We can’t even wash the car!” I exclaimed after reading the latest city advisory. (“Severe drought. We have no water to waste. We are all in this together.&rdquo
“What a shame”, I thought, “It always rains after I wash the car.” Because ‘we are all in this together”, the city is doing it’s part. An exceptionally expensive project - starting the mothballed desalination plant, was authorized. The plant was build in 1996 - just before the 1997 giant rainfall - they never used it. Now environmental issues (“It will put salt into the ocean.&rdquo
were overridden - a rarity in California. I am convinced that If the authorized money quickly is spent quickly, the chance of heavy rain this winter will increase dramatically. (And the desalination plant will be re-mothballed until the next drought.)While we’re on the subject of water - swimming lessons for Tiger, the first grand(est)son, continue. Interestingly, because ‘We are all in this together”, the swimming facility has instituted water use restrictions. (Shower time is limited and shower water pressure has been reduced.) It gives me a queasy feeling..
“They’ve been using the same water in this pool since the drought started, Nazy.” I began.
“So?”
“A lot of babies have been swimming and, you know what else, in this water.”
“They use chlorine, Dan. Lots of chlorine.”
Young Tiger is, of course, unbothered by water shortage concerns. He has gotten very confident in the water.
Finally, a major development in the long-standing Martin Family dining room table conundrum. First some background. We bought the dining room table when we bought our first house. (The first house, on Kensington Road in Memphis, had a large dining room. We filled with a large, massive, heavy table.) Nazy wasn’t enamored by the acquisition.
“I always hated that table.” Nazy interjects.
As initially acquired, the table had three normal chairs and one ‘head of the table’ CHAIR. (An arm chair.) The special CHAIR was mine - and then Nazy’s parents visited. Each morning, I noticed that Nazy’s Dad (The Admiral) had moved ‘my’ CHAIR to his PLACE. Each morning, I rearranged the chairs and CHAIR. After a few days, I came home from work. There were 4 chairs and 2 CHAIRS.
“You need two like THAT,” Nazy’s father explained as he pointed to his purchase: two Captain’s chairs. (Or, more accurately, one Captain and one Admiral chair.)
We moved the table, chairs and CHAIRS, to Vancouver, Houston, Hanover, The Hague, Zurich and Santa Barbara. Before each move, Nazy tried to sell, give away or burn them. She always wanted..
“…. a round table, Dan.”
“We’ve never had a round dining room,” I thought. “Not even a square dining room.”
Now, Melika and Tom just bought a house that (I am not making this up) came with a round, marble-topped dinning room table that they don’t want. The table weighs as much as the Starship Enterprise and is roughly the size of Manhattan Island.
“But it is beautiful,” Nazy interrupts.
“So is Mount Fuji,” I replied. “But I wouldn’t put it in my dining room.”
The table (see photo below) is being transported (by several strong men) this weekend. (Fortunately, I have a picture of the tabletop that is being moved. See below)
For last week's letter, click here
The Dining Room Table
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