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	<title>DrMedhus.com &#187; General</title>
	<atom:link href="http://www.drmedhus.com/archives/category/general/feed" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml" />
	<link>http://www.drmedhus.com</link>
	<description>On parenting, children, spouses and life</description>
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		<title>Politician Academy</title>
		<link>http://www.drmedhus.com/archives/412</link>
		<comments>http://www.drmedhus.com/archives/412#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sat, 09 Jan 2010 17:44:15 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Elisa Medhus, MD</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[General]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[America]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Conservative]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Democrats]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Future]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Politicians]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Taxes]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.drmedhus.com/?p=412</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Professionals are educated in their field: CPA&#8217;s Engineers, nurses, pharmacist, physicians, among hundreds of others. So why aren&#8217;t politicians, who have such incredible power over our collective and individual lives, required to undergo training too? We must insist each politician attend and pass courses in subjects like The Constitution (because they&#8217;re essentially bitch slapping it [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>Professionals are educated in their field: CPA&#8217;s Engineers, nurses, pharmacist, physicians, among hundreds of others. So why aren&#8217;t politicians, who have such incredible power over our collective and individual lives, required to undergo training too? We must insist each politician attend and pass courses in subjects like The Constitution (because they&#8217;re essentially bitch slapping it now), The American Revolution (to remind them what America is all about), Ethics (need I say more), and Economics (the remedial course first because they&#8217;re obviously clueless about this whole subject). They must pass these courses either before they take office or within the first six months of their term or their out! Invite all of your friends to join before America becomes a destitute third world nation! Invite your senators and representatives too! Join my Facebook group and get your friends to join too!  </a><a href="http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=238978984802"> Click on this link. </a></p>
<p>You can also buy a bumper sticker promoting the cause for around 5 bucks by clicking on this </a><a href="http://www.zazzle.com/politician_academy_bumper_sticker-128800245096367095"> link. </a></p>
<p>Basically it reads: POLITICIAN ACADEMY: Doctors and lawyers have to do it. Why not our nation&#8217;s leaders? Let this grassroots movement take root and spread like wildfire&#8230;for our children and their future!</p>
<p>Take the poll on this subject! Note: There is a poll embedded within this post, please visit the site to participate in this post's poll.</p>
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		<item>
		<title>Darwin&#8217;s Law</title>
		<link>http://www.drmedhus.com/archives/409</link>
		<comments>http://www.drmedhus.com/archives/409#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 02 Dec 2009 21:45:24 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Elisa Medhus, MD</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[General]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.drmedhus.com/?p=409</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Sorry I haven&#8217;t blogged for a while. One of my five children, my eldest son, Erik, passed away in October and frankly, even getting out of bed is a chore. Getting the mail, putting on makeup, eating&#8230;it all seems trivial, meaningless and pointless. But because I have such wonderful kids and a loving husband, all [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>Sorry I haven&#8217;t blogged for a while. One of my five children, my eldest son, Erik, passed away in October and frankly, even getting out of bed is a chore. Getting the mail, putting on makeup, eating&#8230;it all seems trivial, meaningless and pointless. But because I have such wonderful kids and a loving husband, all of whom need me, I march on, one foot in front of the other, trying to find and pass along strength. I am getting better as are the other family members. However, we don&#8217;t make a habit of turning down thoughts and prayers from well-wishers.</p>
<p>Now for today&#8217;s rant. After some mental rumination, I&#8217;ve come to the conclusion that Darwin was full of crap. Sure, he may have been right about that whole &#8220;survival of the fittest&#8221; thing, but announcing his theories to the world has done great harm. Although his publication preceded the Industrial Revolution by a number of decades, it wasn&#8217;t until the Industrial Age that society, particularly the West, began to use Darwinism as blatant justification for greed. In the name of this new &#8220;bible,&#8221; companies began to exploit the world, shaping a contentious landscape of dog-eat-dog commercialism and a new world view of competitive commerce. Industrialists have since created industrial environments as proof that Darwin was right, that hostile competition paves the way to a better society for everyone. And these industrialists have us convinced, because we all seek the best&#8230;the &#8220;new and improved.&#8221; Furthermore, we insist that companies provide us with those or lose to the competition. Although there may be benefits to this in terms of &#8220;progress,&#8221; has Industrial Darwinism defined our conception of such progress? What about spiritual progress? What about evolving in attributes such as compassion and understanding? What about striving to be a &#8220;new and improved&#8221; human being? What about working together in harmony to create a better world rather than fight one another in the mistaken belief that this will improve the lot of everyone? That said, I believe Darwin&#8217;s theory rationalized our need to compete, creating two divisions in our society: winners and losers. This, in turn, rationalized the human greed responsible for fueling the Industrial Revolution. Comments, even spirited and dissenting ones, are welcome.</p>
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		<title>Fighting the Fear</title>
		<link>http://www.drmedhus.com/archives/395</link>
		<comments>http://www.drmedhus.com/archives/395#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 30 Sep 2009 15:34:07 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Elisa Medhus, MD</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[General]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.drmedhus.com/?p=395</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[News flash: I&#8217;m an inherently timid person. In fact, I&#8217;m the antithesis of my husband, Rune, although 99.999% of the planet is too. Over the decades, he has laughed in the face of death; going so far as to taunt Death by giving him wedgies and sticking &#8220;kick me&#8221; signs on his back. He skis [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>News flash: I&#8217;m an inherently timid person. In fact, I&#8217;m the antithesis of my husband, Rune, although 99.999% of the planet is too. Over the decades, he has laughed in the face of death; going so far as to taunt Death by giving him wedgies and sticking &#8220;kick me&#8221; signs on his back. He skis downhill like a errant bullet, he gallops atop a horse like the Lone Ranger, he tears up the race track on his Ducati like a pro, all without the slightest hint of fear. Palms dry. Mouth moist. Underwear pristine. </p>
<p>I, on the other hand, even feel apprehensive when I&#8217;m at a party among people I don&#8217;t know. Even people I know a little. But I do have a track record of facing those fears by pushing myself off the cliff toward them. For instance, I have always detested flying. Most of that is due to the horrid motion sickness I inherited from my father. I pride myself on fact that I alone know exactly what happens on a plane after all the other passengers have left. I feel an intimate relationship with the cleaning crew who dig gum out of the seats, collect snot infested tissues from the ash trays, and reluctantly remove my bloated sick sack after I slowly nod my pale green countenance in affirmation. I can&#8217;t count the number of times that I&#8217;ve been unloaded into the care of my parents via wheelchair. Nevertheless, while I was in my Internal Medicine residency, I felt compelled to get my private pilot&#8217;s license. I was a bundle of nerves before every lesson, making several trips to the bathroom prior to each one. On one of my solo cross country flights, I encountered some bumpy air and got sick enough to have to throw up in my flight computer case. But I did manage to land the plane in one piece. Facing fear nearly always has its advantages though. Pursuing flying lead me to my husband. He was my flight instructor. Now, I&#8217;m satisfied to fly Southwest and munch on peanuts with a motion sickness patch attached stealthily under my blouse.  </p>
<p>Since then, I&#8217;ve sparred with other monsters like wakeboarding, motorcycling, skiing, scuba diving, and yep, even raising five (gulp) kids. Most recently, in an attempt to find an activity that I can enjoy with my husband, I&#8217;ve started horseback riding. This is no safe pastime, as Christopher Reeves could have testified. In fact, the first time I got on one since childhood was one of the most death defying feats of my life. The woman who tacked up the horse failed to cinch the saddle properly so that when I was loping up a steep embankment, it began to slip off. At the crest of the cliff, I grabbed futilely for a nearby tree, but momentum had already signed my dance card. I slipped off the horse and toppled, head over heels, looking none too graceful. At the bottom, my head slammed hard against the ground creating a sizable crater in helmet and causing me to see lots of pretty little stars. The wind was knocked out of me. I felt dazed. Stunned. As I was slowly performing inventory on various body parts, I heard my husband&#8217;s panic-stricken voice from above shouting &#8220;Elisa, MOOOVE!!!!!&#8221; Within seconds, I was aware of what sounded like a large herd of buffalo hurtling down upon me. I thought I was a goner when, shortly after, the horse&#8217;s entire 900 pound body, hooves up, landed on my back. When he struggled to right himself, I could feel ass and hooves pummeling me into a slab of ground chuck. Holy crap, it hurt. Eventually, Rune helped me up and I limped up the cliff observing in amazement the concerned, &#8220;deer in the headlights&#8221; look on his face. Fear of losing someone he loves is perhaps the only fear he knows. Once we reached the top, I dusted myself off and against my better judgment, got back on my horse, figuratively and literally. The real pain set in later that night. When I lost consciousness, Rune and my son, Erik, took me to a nearby emergency room because a week or so before, the whole Natasha Richardson thing had happened. In the end, I suffered several broken ribs, a lung contusion and a concussion. Now, when I ride horses, I do so with trepidation and respect, but I adore them and enjoy their companionship. </p>
<p>That said, fear will make you a stronger person if you survive. It helps you learn what limits you have mentally, emotionally and physically. If you encourage yourself to push against those limits, they begin to expand, and fear, that big black monster, becomes a shrinking violet. You <em>can</em> have power over your fears. All you have to do is nudge yourself into the darkness. </p>
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		<item>
		<title>Reforming Our Government</title>
		<link>http://www.drmedhus.com/archives/394</link>
		<comments>http://www.drmedhus.com/archives/394#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 10 Sep 2009 14:22:18 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Elisa Medhus, MD</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[General]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.drmedhus.com/archives/394</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Here are some simple measures to reform healthcare and other issues: First, require an affidavit from a second physician in order to proceed with a malpractice suit. This may help prevent frivolous claims. A &#8220;loser pays&#8221; option is another possibility, although more radical. Second, link physician reimbursement to health outcomes for their patients. Along with [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>Here are some simple measures to reform healthcare and other issues: First, require an affidavit from a second physician in order to proceed with a malpractice suit. This may help prevent frivolous claims. A &#8220;loser pays&#8221; option is another possibility, although more radical. Second, link physician reimbursement to health outcomes for their patients. Along with tort reform, this might help prevent the excessive use of procedures, etc. Third, give medical care to citizens and legal immigrants only! Close the damn borders to illegal immigrants while still opening them to those who are willing to come to our country through legal avenues. We need to educate the ever-growing hispanic voting populace that immigration reform is in their best interests and is not an attack against their race and their culture so that politicians won&#8217;t shy away from passing legislation for fair immigration reform. Fourth, fund  campaigns for political candidates with federal monies only and make it illegal for them to accept payment of any form (which is essentially a bribe, really) from corporations, individuals, lobbyist, etc. Sure it&#8217;ll come from taxpayer pockets, but in the long term, it&#8217;ll cost us far less. Only then will politicians fell free to create and pass legislation based on the best interests of the nation rather than their motive to be elected into or stay in power. Furthermore, since each candidate would receive the same amount of money, the playing field will be leveled. Campaign outcomes will be based on issues rather than media exposure. The same can be applied to the funding of their annual operating budget. Fifth, hire a private concern to root out and eliminate fraud, waste and corruption in government programs, including medicare, welfare, etc. Look how well credit card companies manage fraud! We must stop letting the fox guard the hen house! Fifth, require complete transparency in the government. We should have complete open access to every bill, how our legislators voted, what their attendance records are, etc. Sixth, if you want to raise our country to the next level and ensure we maintain a competitive edge in the global arena, educating the masses is key. Why not create free online courses for every citizen? GED courses, college courses, and even the class component of vocational training can easily be created and administered. Volunteer teachers and professionals can help supply the content and create the online exams and homework assignments, all of which can be graded automatically. Those citizens without computer access can use the computer at their public library. Last, require members of members to live by the same rules and in the same manner as their constituents. Elitism is out! No more perks, private jets, etc. I have more ideas. What are yours?</p>
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		<title>Connection Failed</title>
		<link>http://www.drmedhus.com/archives/392</link>
		<comments>http://www.drmedhus.com/archives/392#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 08 Sep 2009 15:13:58 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Elisa Medhus, MD</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[General]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.drmedhus.com/?p=392</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[I find it amazing how cocooned we are from each other. We hide behind iPods, iPhones, and blank scares. Ever run across those mall kiosks with those neo-terrorist sales people who shout &#8220;excuse me, ma&#8217;am, then try to shove soap slivers or hand creams in your face against your will? Those guys can be as [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>I find it amazing how cocooned we are from each other. We hide behind iPods, iPhones, and blank scares. Ever run across those mall kiosks with those neo-terrorist sales people who shout &#8220;excuse me, ma&#8217;am, then try to shove soap slivers or hand creams in your face against your will? Those guys can be as aggressive as a love-starved bull in a corral of cows in heat. My response is to slap my iPhone to my ear and feign an important conversation. Or sometimes I quicken my pace and, with a focused expression of urgent purpose, I glance repeatedly at my watch. This gives the would-be assaulters the impression that I have no time to dilly dally. Third world countries await my grabbing them from the jaws of poverty and starvation. Of course this doesn&#8217;t come off too well when I forget to wear a watch. And what about those street beggars who forlornly stare at you through the window with those pathetic cardboard signs pleading for help? You and I both know they make more money than a lot of blue collar workers, tax free. Plus they have a job, which, nowadays, is a rare bonus for many. And they do it all while maintaining a nice bronzed tan. But I try not to look them in the eye. Instead, I stare intently at the traffic light as if I&#8217;m at the starting gate for the Indianapolis 500. I feel a little guilty but I know by the nicotine stains on their hands that the money will go to Philip Morris, not a square meal. What I&#8217;m saying here is that we&#8217;ve stopped connecting with each other. We come home from work and ignore our neighbors rather than hang out in the street or pop in for a visit. Even when we make eye contact, it isn&#8217;t really true contact. Sure our eyes are pointed in the general direction of the other person&#8217;s eyes, but our minds are turned inward. We&#8217;re mired in our own thoughts: what to cook for dinner, whether to trim our toenails today or tomorrow, or which kid&#8217;s turn is it to change the kitty litter. So I tried an experiment recently. When I went through the McDonald&#8217;s for my usual biscuit and Diet Dr. Pepper, as I grabbed my goodies, I truly looked at the person&#8217;s eyes&#8211;at their soul, really. It was a strangely nice feeling. Their gaze locked onto mine for a millisecond or two longer. I felt their spirits change, emanating an element of surprise and appreciation. Now I try to make connections whenever possible. I greet strangers as we cross paths in the parking lot, I try to make family and friends feel loved and appreciated. I try to connect. It&#8217;s powerful stuff and I&#8217;m all the better for it. I draw the line on the mall terrorists, though. After all, I&#8217;m only human.</p>
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		<item>
		<title>Mall Outings: a Contact Sport?</title>
		<link>http://www.drmedhus.com/archives/345</link>
		<comments>http://www.drmedhus.com/archives/345#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 30 Apr 2008 18:00:38 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Elisa Medhus, MD</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[General]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://drmedhus.com/?p=345</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[At the risk of revealing myself as a freak of nature, I admit, I hate&#8230;no, wait, I DESPISE shopping. I&#8217;ve been this way since birth when I first flinched at the doctor fanning himself with the bill for his services, but it&#8217;s gotten a lot worse for many reasons. Like those marathon back-to-school shopping sessions [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p style="text-align: left;">At the risk of revealing myself as a freak of nature, I admit, I hate&#8230;no, wait, I DESPISE shopping. I&#8217;ve been this way since birth when I first flinched at the doctor fanning himself with the bill for his services, but it&#8217;s gotten a lot worse for many reasons. Like those marathon back-to-school shopping sessions with my mother who, bless her, had to clothe four little girls in something other than burlap or broiler foil. The waiting, the fighting, the threats of decade long punishments all took their toll. Having kids of my own sealed the deal. Sequential and relentless gimmes can wear a person down like a Makita industrial belt sander. Should be a New UN sanctioned form of torture. Unfortunately, my kids, especially my 13 year-old daughter, hold my disgust for shopping over my head with,&#8221; Why can&#8217;t you be like the other moms and go shopping with me?&#8221; and &#8220;You never like to do the things I like to do!&#8221; (Exits, stage left, Stomps to room, slams door.) Obviously she forgot our recent shopping spree at Charming Charlie&#8217;s where a tiny basket of &#8220;cheap&#8221; costume jewelry can break a bank account. Obviously, she forgot about our trip to the nail salon where I treated her to a mani-pedi (just learned that whole terminology, aren&#8217;t you proud?) Obviously, she forgot how intimidating a trip to the mall can be. And we&#8217;re not talking about the infamous Galleria here in Houston, which so happens to be WAY outside my comfortable one-square mile driving area. We&#8217;re talking about Memorial City Mall, just a couple of minutes from my front door. Just finding someone who speaks English is a challenge. There are probably more foreign immigrants per square inch there than in Ellis Island in the 1900s. Plus, you have to coordinate your shopping perfectly. If you get a couple of carts full at Target first and want to go to Abercrombie next, you can&#8217;t wheel the Target carts out into the mall. At a certain point, the chart won&#8217;t budge. I think they have that mutant Magneto buried under the flooring there. So you have to save Target for last or load your car with the Target purchases and drive to the other side of the mall for the rest of the shopping. Walking past kiosks can be a little tricky. Pushy salespeople (yes, all foreigners) thrust slices of soap in your face, ask to see your nails, try to squirt lotions on your hands and nosily inquire about your cell phone plan. But no worries, because I&#8217;ve devised a plan to circumvent their attack. First, put a determined look on your face and walk with hurried yet confident steps that say, &#8220;Piss off, peon, I&#8217;m important.&#8221; Never, and I mean NEVER make eye contact, because that&#8217;s just an invitation to seep into your personal space and latch on like fungus on a week-old slice of bread. Every once in a while, look at your watch because this tells them, &#8220;Back off, Jack. I&#8217;m late for the G-5 Summit.&#8221; This only backfires when you look at your bare wrist, which I&#8217;ve done. If you don&#8217;t wear a watch, fake a heated conversation on your cell phone about the benefits of sealed borders and deportation. Hmm. maybe this whole strategy will work when you come home after work only to find the kids are lined up at the door with every conceivable inconvenient or expensive request.</p>
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		<title>Christmas Cards</title>
		<link>http://www.drmedhus.com/archives/341</link>
		<comments>http://www.drmedhus.com/archives/341#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 21 Dec 2007 18:24:36 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Elisa Medhus, MD</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[General]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://drmedhus.com/?p=341</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[I don&#8217;t completely get the whole Christmas card tradition. It&#8217;s gotten to be more of a compulsion based on shame more than anything else. First of all, how many of them do you read and think, &#8220;OMG, how awesome is this artistic masterpiece! I&#8217;m saving it forever in my special box of treasures.&#8221; Yeah, I [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p style="text-align: left;">I don&#8217;t completely get the whole Christmas card tradition. It&#8217;s gotten to be more of a compulsion based on shame more than anything else. First of all, how many of them do you read and think, &#8220;OMG, how awesome is this artistic masterpiece! I&#8217;m saving it forever in my special box of treasures.&#8221; Yeah, I didn&#8217;t think so. Hell, I don&#8217;t even recognize some of the people&#8217;s names on hte return address! Even when the card has a picture, it&#8217;s like, &#8220;nope, haven&#8217;t a clue.&#8221; Then there are the pangs of guilt when you throw them away, so I have 213 of them on my mantel for a few weeks. Trying to get them to stand up is a booger. One falls and it&#8217;s the hole house of cards stunt.  I always enjoy the cards that are letters bringing me up to date on the family gossip, but the two-pagers describing everything from the new dishwasher they bought and Johnny&#8217;s 12 year-old molars finally coming in are tedious. Christmas is way to busy for me to read a letter that will be published in paperback soon. Those photo Christmas cards are cool, but I don&#8217;t like it when the photo is of the kids only. I&#8217;m like, &#8220;Are these the kids I sponsor from Children International?&#8221; &#8220;Are they orphans dropping a hint?&#8221; &#8220;Did their parents flee from home? They look like little devil.&#8221; But those pets-only pictures are the worse. I picture the sender dying at the age of 95 in a room with 5,000 cats, some of who are nibbling at fingers and toes. My biggest fear is sending a Merry Christmas card to non-Christians but I don&#8217;t keep tabs of my friends&#8217; religion and I&#8217;m not about to buy Happy Hanukkah, Happy Jihad, Happy Hinduism, Happy Buddha, Happy Winter Solstice and Happy Kwanzaa cards too. I say we scrap the whole thing. You can always given them a Christmas Superpoke on their Facebook page.</p>
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		<title>But I don&#039;t want a sandwich&#8230;</title>
		<link>http://www.drmedhus.com/archives/334</link>
		<comments>http://www.drmedhus.com/archives/334#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 31 Aug 2007 15:32:13 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Elisa Medhus, MD</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[General]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://drmedhus.com/?p=334</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Well I&#8217;m officially part of the sandwich generation, meaning I&#8217;ve lost my appetite permanently. My kids are still, well, kids, but my mother is suffering from dementia. I won&#8217;t go into the complex medical issues but basically her mind is suffering from years of an elevated calcium from hyperparathyroidism. The parathyroid glands, located underneath the [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>Well I&#8217;m officially part of the sandwich generation, meaning I&#8217;ve lost my appetite permanently. My kids are still, well, kids, but my mother is suffering from dementia. I won&#8217;t go into the complex medical issues but basically her mind is suffering from years of an elevated calcium from hyperparathyroidism. The parathyroid glands, located underneath the thyroid, control calcium/phosphorus metabolism and too much calcium is neurotoxic. For weeks, she refused to go to the hospital. It took a broken ankle to get her there.  Her ankle and the hyperparathyroidism was surgically cured, but the cognitive effects of the hypercalcemia may take three months to reverse. The bad news is that she may have Alzheimers underneath it all, but hopefully not. We don&#8217;t know how long she&#8217;s had the disease, but looking back at her old records, her doctor neglected the3 elevated serum calciums for at least two years. Kinda slipped under the radar. Anyway, my 87 year-old dad and I have been at the hospital every day (minus two mental holidays off) bathing her, urging her to eat, brushing her hair and teeth, and disimpacting her at times. (Oh, you might not know what that last one is and you&#8217;re probably better off enjoying that blissful ignorance. If you&#8217;re the curious type and you haven&#8217;t just eaten breakfast, it&#8217;ll be safe to read on: Fecal dismpaction is the procedure of digging out the poop that has stubbornly impacted itself in the rectum. High calcium levels cause constipation so you can imagine what can accumulate over a few years. I basically had to mine her rectum with my spelunker&#8217;s helmet, a feces-proof flashlight, and a big stick to beat off any wild animals that crawl out to attack me.) She does seem to get better, but sometimes she thinks she&#8217;s at the mall. The other day, she kept asking anyone who came into her room if they were there to fill up her car with gas. She called to tell me she was butt naked in a gas station waiting for her Mercedes to finish getting detailed. Before that, when she was at her worst, she was seeing little men in the corner with peacocks and cocktails on their heads. She warned me that soon there&#8217;d be bodies floating in the street, reeking of rotting flesh, then she&#8217;d have me check the toilet for floating bodies. It&#8217;d be entertaining if it weren&#8217;t alittle sad. Of course, if she does have Alzheimers, I&#8217;ll have to be aware of signs in my own future. I&#8217;m batty enough as it is now. These past several months have been a physical, emotional and mental drain on my dad and I. As a new card-carrying member of the sandwich generation, I started out a robust meatball sub with melted mozzarella and have turned into a moldy egg salad sandwich with wilted lettuce and soggy tomatoes. Pray for my mom&#8217;s full recovery. We&#8217;ll know in a couple more months if she&#8217;ll get all or part of her brain back. If anyone has any advice, I&#8217;m all ears.</p>
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		<title>Eyebrow Width&#8211;the Overlooked Sign</title>
		<link>http://www.drmedhus.com/archives/330</link>
		<comments>http://www.drmedhus.com/archives/330#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 27 Apr 2007 16:19:40 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Elisa Medhus, MD</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[General]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://drmedhus.com/?p=330</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[I think eyebrow width gets a bad rap. Lips and eyes get all the attention as a message board that says, &#8220;I&#8217;m pissed, happy, adorable, hard-ass, sour, sweet, bitter, or yes, horny. Even our wrinkles receive more notice! They say, &#8220;I&#8217;m distinguished, I have character, I&#8217;ve had a full life, I don&#8217;t believe in wearing [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>I think eyebrow width gets a bad rap. Lips and eyes get all the attention as a message board that says, &#8220;I&#8217;m pissed, happy, adorable, hard-ass, sour, sweet, bitter, or yes, horny. Even our wrinkles receive more notice! They say, &#8220;I&#8217;m distinguished, I have character, I&#8217;ve had a full life, I don&#8217;t believe in wearing sunglasses, I have a frequent buyer card for Darque Tan, or I&#8217;m old as dirt.&#8221; But how thin our brows are, for instance, can speak volumes. You know those women who pluck their brows to a 1-micrometer thickness? Stay away from them. They&#8217;re usually hard-ass bitches with a set of brass knuckles in their Coach purses. And you&#8217;ve seen guys and girls with the whole mono-brow thing going on? Stay away from them because they probably smell. If they don&#8217;t have the time and awareness level to mow that strip once in a while, they probably don&#8217;t have the time and awareness to take a shower every day. OK, I know some cultures find that bushy one-piece desirable, but those people usually stink anyway. There&#8217;s an interesting brow characteristic that, I&#8217;m proud to say, I&#8217;ve standardized into a marker for dementia (loony-tunes crazy, for those of you who don&#8217;t watch doctor shows on TV.) I&#8217;ve coined this marker the &#8220;Epstein Dementia Scale&#8221; after one of my old patients. Several years ago, I admitted her to the hospital for an evaluation of an abrupt onset of dementia (see above is you suffer from short-term memory loss.) Every day on hospital rounds I noticed that she painted &#8220;eyebrows&#8221; on at varying distances from her real (albeit scanty) ones. The more out of it she was, the higher the painted ones were. Eventually, they migrated north all the way to her hairline. That was the day she was double-parked in the Twilight Zone. Some cultures, for reasons that escape me, have the custom of actually shaving their brows only to apply a strip of eyebrow pencil to replace them. My daughter, Michelle, has more than once fantasized about attaching alcohol swaps to her thumbs, running up to one of them, vigorously rubbing the swabs on those pencil strips, then running away. Given the neighborhoods where she&#8217;d find her prey, I fear for her safety. Notice that no mention of specific cultures have been made here, so those who wish to protest this blog, take you little PC-tree-hugging ass, sit it in a corner, and think about how overly serious you take life.</p>
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		<title>American Idol Fever</title>
		<link>http://www.drmedhus.com/archives/313</link>
		<comments>http://www.drmedhus.com/archives/313#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 24 Feb 2006 16:21:20 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Elisa Medhus, MD</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[General]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://drmedhus.com/?p=313</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Yup, I&#8217;ve been sucked in. Avoided it for the first 4 seasons, but couldn&#8217;t escape this time. Now, I panic at the thought that something might interfere with that magic hour on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday when American Idol comes on. Last night, we had report card pickup at the middle school. Technically, we&#8217;re supposed [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>Yup, I&#8217;ve been sucked in. Avoided it for the first 4 seasons, but couldn&#8217;t escape this time. Now, I panic at the thought that something might interfere with that magic hour on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday when American Idol comes on. Last night, we had report card pickup at the middle school. Technically, we&#8217;re supposed to get the kid&#8217;s report card and meet each teacher to discuss how things are going, etc. But I snatched the report card from the counselor&#8217;s hands, went to the cafeteria where the teachers were sitting a tables arranged in a circle, and executed the 500 m sprint easily rivaling Apollo Ohno&#8217;s gold medal run. And the frenetic wave of my hand didn&#8217;t seem to slow me down, either. Let&#8217;s see ya manage that Apollo! I actually hate meeting teachers because I feel compelled to throw myself at their feet and beg for mercy, especially those who&#8217;ve had the older siblings too. Bless the poor souls. Then again, part of me wants to show up and put on the &#8220;see, I&#8217;m an intelligent, responsible, tough love parent doing the right thing. Ain&#8217;t my fault. Just a quirky gene (from my husband&#8217;s side.) Anyway, back to American Idol. I just love playing the part of the judge, slashing contestants to ribbons though my voice sounds like a pig in the throes of an imminent slaughter. Even in the shower. So now it&#8217;s &#8220;Hmm, she&#8217;s a bit pitchy,&#8221; or &#8220;Wow, that was the bomb!&#8221; or &#8220;Where&#8217;s the stage presence? Where&#8217;s the X factor?&#8221; The other day, Lukas stalled (as usual) on doing his homework and each stab he made at it was woefully incomplete. At first, he&#8217;d hide worksheets just to get out to doing it, &#8220;I can&#8217;t find it! Oh well,&#8221; only I&#8217;d  &#8220;find it&#8221; conveniently hidden in the kitchen trash. He&#8217;d sometimes tell me his teacher told gave him express instructions not to do the assignment, and that if he failed to comply and actually did complete it, he&#8217;d be penalized severely. Talk about a lame liar! But when he finally got &#8216;er done, I praised him as Randy would, &#8220;Dawg, I think you did good, man. Alittle shaky at first, but you hung in and worked it out. Dawg, it was okay for me.&#8221;  And I think a few of the male contestants are really hot for juveniles!&#8221; Too bad one of the best singers looks like he belongs in the foothills of the Appalachians sitting in the back of a Ford pickup wearing overalls on his shirtless body, sucking on a piece of straw, lovingly holding his Remington 357 Bolt Action Rifle in one hand and a dead possum in the other. I mean seriously! What are they going to do about those teeth if he wins? Whatever mule kicked him in the mouth needs to kick the other side to put things right again. But despite his looks, his voice makes him sexy.</p>
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