Roughing It

Just this past weekend I had the honor of doing an interview with a vibrant, interesting woman who hiked the Appalachian Trail. (The article will appear in the July/August edition of Heart of Ohio Magazine.) She completed the over 2,000 mile hike and has been sharing her story with groups and in articles written by wimpy people like me who enjoy spending a couple of hours living vicariously through her experiences. Talking with her about her four and a half month meander through the wilderness made me think seriously about what it would take to do something like that.

In truth I think I'm roughing it if I find I've arrived at the grocery store without my cell phone. The thought of hiking over rocks, up mountains and down into ravines...of traversing narrow trails and watching for bears without a weapon (or an armed guard) is more than a little unnerving. As the story of this woman's adventure unfolded I realized I will am much better off staying in my comfortable seat and be part of the admiring audience. I'm just a city girl.

Think for just a moment of four and a half months without a chair to sit in, a bed to sleep in or a refrigerator to rummage through. Ten days between showers, wearing the same clothes for days on end and knowing everything you have with you fits into your back pack requires a self confidence I can't seem to muster. I carry more stuff in my handbag when I go to the movies than this woman carried into the wilderness; the more she talked the more I felt like Private Benjamin. (Goldie Hawn: “I wanted to join the other army, the one with the condos”)

Don't get me wrong, I'm not helpless. I can fix a kitchen sink with a nail file...but if I break a nail in the process I'm down for the count. Four and a half months without a hairdresser is cruel and inhuman punishment and, while I don't consider myself to be high maintenance, I think all that time without a facial would be pretty rough. After a day of walking twenty miles through the hill country, munching on beef jerky and trying to avoid being downwind of your companions, I would need more than a sleeping bag in a three sided shelter or a pup tent to prepare me for the next day.

I really was mesmerized by her story, and I listened intently as she spoke about the beauty of the countryside, the joy of discovering the great outdoors and the feeling of self sufficiency that was so satisfying. I am totally in awe of her tenacity and fortitude and, for just a little while, I felt inadequate when I measured myself against the yardstick of her courage and strength. Fortunately, that didn't last long.....

There is a place in this world for each of us. Her place is the brave female explorer who seeks to understand what she is made of. Mine is the bespectacled writer who takes her story to people who will also enjoy hearing about her adventure. I admit it, I'm a woosie whose biggest energy expenditure occurs on the stationary bike at the gym while listening to an audio book. At the end of the day I look forward to a glass of wine and a memory foam mattress...snap on the ceiling fan and life gets even better. Most of my enjoyment of the great outdoors comes from watching the Smithsonian Channel; it's likely to be the closest I'll ever get to a mountain trail or an ancient ruin. So be it.

Thank you Patty Stechschulte for sharing your story with me and allowing me to put it on paper to share with our readers. You keep exploring and I'll keep writing...your personal rewards will be great, but I get to wear prettier shoes.

                                                                Life is Good

Here kitty, kitty.....

It was late and I was locking up, getting ready to head off to bed.  As I snapped the lock on the basement door I heard a kitten crying.   I opened the door, snapped on the basement light; hearing nothing I decided it must have been outdoors.

My regular morning rush consists of packing my lunch, raking a comb through my hair and getting my third cup of coffee into a travel mug.  I stood by the basement door, ready to launch, when I heard it again.   A kitten mewing…but this time I knew it was in the basement.

This is the point in my story that I have to confess to being a dog person.  There are cat people, dog people, and a variety of other types; I am a dog person.  The only Cats I've ever enjoyed I saw on Broadway.

I put down my lunch bag, my travel mug, my huge purse and a slice of toast.  Tiptoeing to the basement door I eased it open; the stairwell acted as the sound conductor for a series of tiny mews.  There was a cat in the basement…there should not be a cat in the basement of a dog person.

I called to my husband aand proceeded to head downstairs to look for the source of the sound.  Quickly I discovered the cat was litter trained.  A box of white sand I brought back from Florida to put around some houseplants had served the purpose.   Drats!

Searching for the cat, Larry went one way and I the other.  Finally I saw something move, then jump to the window sill. 

A kitten, probably two or three months old, was pressed against the glass trying to escape. It was black as coal, its eyes were matted closed and it definitely had not had an easy life so far.   This was the offspring of one of the literally more than a dozen feral cats that roam the area.   Our neighbor thinks she is being kind, feeding the legion of strays that people drop off in our country setting.  The numbers have continued to grow to an overwhelming wave of stray cats.

Now I stood trying to decide what to do about this one.  It was small, very likely sick, and wild.  I went for my trusty broom, a plan to sweep it out the door forming slowly in my head.

Larry chased the terrified cat behind a stack of picture frames, “Can you grab it from there,?” he said.

“Uh….noooooooo,” I replied.  I mean really…who grabs a stray cat?  

The cat darted under the basement stairs and I swished at it with the broom.  From the laundry room I heard, “Get this off me!”   Larry emerged from a corner with the cat hanging from his right hand!

I grabbed the cats back legs as they flailed around, trying to connect with his arm. 

“Let’s work toward the door, when I get it loose toss it out the door,” I said.

In an “I Love Lucy” shuffle side-step movement we inched our way to the outside door.    I let go of the cat’s legs and pried open his jaws, Larry flung it out the door!  Blood dripped from his hands and seeped from scratches and bites on my own.

Without even seeming to touch the ground the cat shot off into the back yard and never looked back.   Two other large cats stood watching us curiously, then turned their backs and sauntered off into the woods.

As soon as the cat hit the ground I realized we hadn’t thought this through very well.  The cat could have been rabid; at the very least it looked sickly.   Uh-oh.

We trooped upstairs to scrub with antibacterial soap and pour alcohol into the teeth marks and scratches.   I called our family doctor for advice; the nurse agreed that someone should check us out, so we headed to the emergency room.

I felt pretty silly walking into the hospital emergency room to explain we had been attacked by a kitten.  It crossed my mind to embellish my description of the animal, but I thought better of it. 

The PA who tended to us explained that a cat bite/scratch is much more serious than a dog bite.  In addition to the worry of rabies, there is catch scratch fever and some unpleasant infections that can follow an episode like this.   More people are hospitalized from infections from cat bites/scratches than from dog bites/scratches.   Who knew?

Two hours later, antibiotic prescriptions in hand and our freshly administered tetanus shot sites band-aided, we left in search of lunch.

A week later we’ve talked to the health department, they wanted to put an APB out on the black cat……good luck with that.   They also say we might want to consider taking a series of rabies shots;  we’re still kicking that around.  

Like all experiences we have learned something from this….or at least I have.

1.      Never grab a cat.  Never.  Ever.

2.      Nothing in this experience changes the fact that I am a dog person.

3.      If you’re in a tough situation with someone, get your plan straight.

4.      Never use your hands for something you can do with a broom.

                                                        Life is Good

  

    

The Appointment

At no time in our history has communication been easier. Cell phones, texting, email, Twitter, Facebook, Skype.....and on and on. It seems to me that my purse is always ringing, and at home I may have two phones demanding my attention at the same time.   Communication...non stop communication.

While most of us generally appreciate the contact with family, friends and acquaintances there is another communication that has taken an ugly turn, and that is with your health professionals. Oh how I miss the days when I made an appointment and never heard another word till I walked through the door of the office.

Today in the world of medical and dental care time is king. It seems we are allotted less and less time with our professionals, more and more time with surrogates. Nurse practitioners, dental hygienists and medical assistants fill the void that now exists as the doctor or dentist moves through his day of fifteen minute appointments at the pace of someone walking a five K with a storm blowing in. Because of this time compressed workday everyone associated with the practice shudders to think you might forget your appointment. This is where the desire for a non-stop system of “communication” comes from.

Last month I had an appointment with my nameless professional, a standing six month check up that has become routine...at least for me. I've grown accustomed to the day before reminder; I've always appreciated that. Unfortunately my health care provider seems to have been introduced to some cutting edge technology, and the whole thing has changed.

Two weeks before my scheduled appointment I received a “robo-call” instructing me to push 2 if I planned to keep my upcoming appointment. I pushed “2”, and went on with my life.

The next day I received an email telling me to respond if I planned to keep my scheduled appointment. I ignored this because I had just informed the nice robotic voice yesterday of my commitment by pressing 2.

Three days later I received the same email. I responded “yes” this time since ignoring the last one only got me more email.

Now we are in the week of my scheduled appointment and the whole system steps it up a notch. I received yet another canned phone call telling me if I needed to reschedule my appointment to please do it now. The auto caller went on to explain the financial penalties for missing an appointment without 24 hours notice. Feeling as if I had just been subjected to the Vulcan mind meld, I decided 24 hours notice was probably unnecessary. This system seemed to be tracking their patients with everything except ankle bracelet monitors, so I'm pretty sure they could fill my empty fifteen minutes in record time. Anyway, since I had already tried to reassure everyone by phone (please press 2) and by email (please respond in the positive) that I DO plan to make the appointment and did NOT need to reschedule, I reluctantly hung up on the robot.

Next day I get another email....which I also ignored.

Not to be outdone, the day before my actual appointment I get a reminder call from a real person. I assured the nice young lady that I really, really planned to be at my appointment the next day. I also told her that they could call off the robots, shut down the email blasts, and call back any drones they may have sent out searching for me. I would be there. I hung up convinced there are people being stalked who hear from their tormentors less frequently than some poor schmuck with a medical appointment.

I guess technology has taken over every corner of our society, however I personally I think this intensive system of “reminding” needs to be reserved for husbands who forget anniversaries and deadbeats who owe you money.

Press 2 if you agree with me......

                                                         Life is Good