Trench Warfare

Can't Think of a Title for This One. Sorry.

noreply@blogger.com (Reas Kroicowl) — Fri, 13 Nov 2009 15:36:00 +0000

I understand that not everyone is a mental health worker. And because of that, the whole cutting-because-one's-angry-thing doesn't make much sense. In fact, I'm sure it's fair to say that for most people it makes NO sense. At all.

And I know that when you see the aftermath of a cutter's rage, it's an alarming, bloody mess. (And let me just clarify my word choice. By "bloody", I don't mean bloody in the quirky, charming, British colloquialism sort of way: "She is a bluh-ey mess!" I mean, red, ooey, gooey, literally bloody.)

But honestly.

Really.

Sincerely.

Truly.

If someone gets angry, takes a razor, or a knife, or glass, or any other one of a million sharp objects available to him and starts hacking away at his arms, he's really NOT suicidal. I promise.

He's. Just. Pissed.

And you blindsiding him and calling the ambulance to go pick him up and haul him to the ER after an episode isn't going to change the behavior.

Know why?

Because that's going to piss him off even more. ->

On The Shooting Last Week....

noreply@blogger.com (Reas Kroicowl) — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 12:00:00 +0000

I'm going to go there.

And if you've been reading for a while, you know where that is.

I'm not going to dog the man because he was in the Army*

And I'm not going to dog all the Army bullies who called him a "camel jockey".

I'm not going to dog him because he had a poor work ethic, was unprofessional and just plain weird. (audio 6:12 minutes)

Or because he was likely lonely and probably depressed.

Or because he was devout Muslim (read: Terrorist. Because they all are, you know.)

Or that, like many people, he was a walking contradiction.

Or because he committed treason.

And I'm not going to go off on the fact that, living in this country, he was able to legally buy an incredibly lethal kind of semi-automatic at "Guns Galore" (I know, I know. Guns don't kill people. People kill people. Whatever.)

Nope.

I'm not touching any of that stuff.

Because the man was a psychiatrist.

Whacked. As a breed. I'm telling ya. ->

*On link, scroll to heading "recent fragging attacks"

Quotes from the Field

noreply@blogger.com (Reas Kroicowl) — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 14:45:00 +0000

"Sometimes I feel like I'm living in someone else's world." ->

When You Assume

noreply@blogger.com (Reas Kroicowl) — Tue, 10 Nov 2009 22:18:00 +0000

So, I walked into a hospital room not long ago and approached the patient first, as I always do. She had someone with her--people often do. I began my schtick and....

Well, maybe it's better if I just give you a play by play:

Me: Hi, My name's Reas and I'm with Manics R Us. I'm here to talk to you for a little while.

The Patient: OK.

Me: So, firstly, I'm going to ask your visitor to step out...

The Visitor (in a quite hostile, and might I add, loud manner): Excuse me? Excuse me?? I'm her BROTHER. (He removes his hat so that he could offer me the full impact of his glare.)

Me: All right. I'm going to ask your brother to step out.....

The Brother (yelling): No! No, you don't ASSUME I'm a visitor. I'm NOT a just a visitor. That's dis-RESPECTING me, calling me a 'visitor'. Who the HELL do you think you are, calling me a 'visitor'?

The brother went on for a bit about this, even throwing out the f-bomb to make his point. He was loud enough that a few nurses came to the door to see if everything was all right.

Sorry, brother. Didn't mean to disRESPECT. Honestly. I was just going by the neon orange sticker on your shirt that had "VISITOR" imprinted in 100 point type. ->

Does This Shirt Make Me Look Incencitve?

noreply@blogger.com (Reas Kroicowl) — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 22:39:00 +0000

So....

Over the weekend I got a really cool t-shirt.

I asked The Geek if it would be inappropriate for me to wear to work.

I thought the cupcake on it would offset the general subject matter.

He said since it was covered with skulls, it might not be the best wardrobe choice.

He's probably right. ->

Friday Fluff

noreply@blogger.com (Reas Kroicowl) — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 15:22:00 +0000

No more death! I have a great weekend on tap and I'm not ruining it with any more sordid tales.

I could use a glass of wine, or three, after this week. I'm not sure THIS guy needs it, but his method is certainly entertaining, not to mention genius. I know. I'm jumping on the viral train here. But stuff goes viral for a reason, and this is hilarious. Take a minute and twenty-five seconds to agree with me and happy weekend! ->

An End

noreply@blogger.com (Reas Kroicowl) — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 22:48:00 +0000

I saw a dead body last night.

Heart attack.

He came in surrounded by emergency medical technicians and firemen. One woman was giving him air, another doing chest compressions.

The doctor went in the room and calmly put on his latex gloves, but he emerged again within five minutes.

Apparently the man never had a chance.

It reminded me of the only other time I saw a dead body...a body before morticians had a crack at it anyway. A true dead body, as opposed to some mannequin stand-in.

I worked at a children's hospital years ago. The job and I weren't a good fit, and I left after a brief stint. But I was on the cancer floor for a spell. One day I happened to be there when I heard a little boy died. Age six. I got a brief glimpse of his ashen face before the chaplain entered his room and closed the door behind him. Closed the door on me, but not the family's grief.

Last night, the man's feet were ashen too. ->

News Flash

noreply@blogger.com (Reas Kroicowl) — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 15:55:00 +0000

In case you didn't know,

In case you haven't heard,

Our lives are inner-connected. You, just by virtue of being here and living your life day in and day out, touch other people. Whether you like it or not. And when you decide to off yourself at your job? Well, people sorta notice.

Say you: Oh no!

Say me: It wasn't me!

A friend of mine posted on our bulletin board last night that one of her son's karate instructors committed suicide this past weekend--hung himself at the dojo.

Like the kids aren't going to notice he's gone. Like the parents aren't going to have to find some way to deal with their kids' questions. Like the adults in his life aren't going to miss him. Like people he's never met won't hear about it and take a moment...just a moment...for him, his family, his loved ones.

When The Boy was in the first grade his PE teacher did the same thing: hung himself. It devastated the school for months.

So don't you dare think no one cares. No one loves you. No one will notice. Because they do. And they will. ->

Some People are so Selfish

noreply@blogger.com (Reas Kroicowl) — Tue, 03 Nov 2009 18:08:00 +0000

She comes to the ER, all crying and stuff. She pours her heart out to me. She's NEVER, in all her seven decades on this earth, been to the point that she wants to end it all.

Ever.

She took the pills compulsively. She talked about how stupid it was and how she couldn't do that to her family and how she never wanted to be sent to the ER again for something like this. How humiliating! She was fine. She just had a bad moment. She doesn't want to die. She certainly doesn't want to commit suicide because of her religious beliefs.

So I let her go home. I speak with the family who agree to ensure she gets the follow up I recommend. Her husband was there, still working in his old age, still loving his wife of half a century. He's going to force the issue in the privacy of their own home.

Boomerang.

Five days later she did it again. And this time she took enough to earn an ICU stint. And what does she do? She comes to same ER and sees the same ER doc that she saw last week.

Can you believe the nerve?

I mean, the least she could have done was go to a different hospital for the social worker's sake. The social worker whose forecast was wrong. The social worker who's going to compulsively read the assessment over and over again looking for clues she missed before. The social worker who's going to feel guilty for not hospitalizing her. The social worker who thought she really connected with that woman during that assessment and made some headway. The social worker who's now going to have to staff and rehash and relive the assessment with God knows how many supervisors and nurses and doctors.

Working from the premise that ignorance is bliss, is that too much to ask?

Apparently so. ->

What Do You Think?

noreply@blogger.com (Reas Kroicowl) — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 22:48:00 +0000

Case Study (admittedly a switch for me):

Seventeen-year-old girl comes into the ER after a suicide attempt. I interviewed her and decided that she needed to be hospitalized.

Here's the deal: She wasn't a legal citizen, something I suspected when I initially saw her and confirmed later. I asked point blank about this issue, but only after I made the decision to send her to the hospital.

Say you: What does being illegal have to do with her getting treatment?

Say me: Everything. It's all about the bottom line. Always.

If someone doesn't have insurance and he gets sent to the psych ward against his will, he can always apply for Medicaid, usually when inpatient. The chances are 50/50 that the hospital can get reimbursed for services rendered. Without citizenship, however, there is no social security number and therefore no way for a person to apply for benefits. No Medicaid means no money for the hospital.* That she was a minor** complicated the situation even more. Someone has to apply on her behalf, unless she's pregnant. She wasn't.

This is the reality of the American health care system: the money has to come from somewhere. Mean? Absolutely. Reality? Afraid so. (Here's where I can slam my own employer, who wouldn't take her for this very reason. I asked.)

Add to the fact that her parents weren't present in the ER. Oh, they were in the metro area. They were just working and sent their child to the ER with an older sibling. You don't know how many people said to me: "If that were MY kid I would be in the ER with her, I don't care if I had to work". Because she was a minor, it was potentially a child welfare issue, and this was made clear to me by more than one person. The parents weren't there to sign the consent-to-treat forms, nor were they emotionally available for a suicidal teenager (so it seemed). Plus, they have never treated her depression, which has been apparent for a while and runs in the family. She also wasn't in school, but in my state, kids can legally drop at age 16.

So.

Do you turn in the family to a state agency (Child Protective Services) who can potentially wreak havoc on them by turning them into INS? A family that's been in the states for a decade? A family where both parents work hard--in fact the father had his own business? (I honestly don't know if he's legal or not. I don't think the mother was based on the circumstances that led to her being here. I didn't ask. Their legality wasn't my concern. And I frankly don't care.)

Or.... do you let it go, not make a CPS referral, knowing you can ensure the kid at least gets emergency treatment because you filled out the paperwork to make that happen?

What would you do? ->

*I'm working on the highly reasonable assumption that the family would not be able to pay for these costs out-of-pocket.

** In the past with adults who weren't citizens, I've just sent them to state hospital. In this case, no one knew what to do about a minor who wasn't a citizen. She ended up at one the state's facilities for children.

Odds-n-Ends

noreply@blogger.com (Reas Kroicowl) — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 10:50:00 +0000

1) There's been animal warfare in the trench the past seven days. My parents went out of town and left in their wake one Boston Terrier dubbed "Prozac"*, who's been shacking up at the House of Reas all week.

She's a pain in the butt.

I call her "Houdini Dog" and with good reason: EVERY time she comes to my house, no matter who's on duty, she manages to find some obscure crevice not fit for a mouse to negotiate and bolts. This wouldn't necessarily be a problem except my parents love that dog more than me and my brothers combined. I would have to sacrifice my own children as penance should she manage to escape and not be found on my watch. This week she's pulled her shenanigans twice (out the front door--she moved as fast H1N1 so there was no time to leash her), terrorized the dogs next door with her incessant growling and barking, vomited on my floor, defecated in my living room AND bitten off and nearly destroyed one stuffed kitty tail that The Diva's friend donned.

Speaking of cats, mine are pissed.

The LOOKS they've given me notwithstanding, I kid you not when I tell you that neither of them have placed their paws on the ground since Houdini Hound arrived. To wit:

Their water remains on the kitchen floor, where it's been since we moved in the house a decade ago. My elder cat, who is nothing short of a curmudgeon on his best days, was thirsty. Thirsty cats obviously have needs. Instead of jumping off the kitchen table (where he's been for the past five days), and walking to the full water bowl that was a mere five feet away, he took his paw and knocked over a glass of water that was on the table. Naturally it spilled all over my library book.

2) We got a new copy machine at the hospital. Which is great. Really. Except it's some new-fangled contraption that belongs on the star ship Enterprise as opposed to in a mundane office. It copies! It faxes! It scans! It rubs your feet! All of this done from command central that is a screen. And once you touch said screen, of course, it doesn't take much to get lost in the screens, as they go on six, seven, eight levels past "go". PLUS, it's a double decker. Seriously. Which is not a problem if you're of average height. But if, like me, you're essentially no taller than an elf, well....that second level poses a serious problem if your office places this thing on a counter. Because the upper deck is the "feeder level", ie, is where you put the paper to be copied, scanned, faxed and rubbed. And if you literally can't SEE where to feed the paper...I envision some future blog entries is all I'm saying.

3) Anyone out there dressing up for Halloween? The Diva is a vampire this year and The Geek and his fellow geekers at work are once again doing the group costume effort. Last year, his office dressed as characters from...get ready for it, cuz this is a stretch...Office Space. This year, they've decided to channel the Peanuts gang, with The Geek playing the role of Charlie Brown (I'm pretty sure they gave him this honor strictly because he shaves his head, but I could be wrong.) All the costume prep here leaves me feeling a bit left out. But alas, the nature of my job calls for strict professionalism at all times. I can't very well show up in the ER to interview a suicidal person dressed as, say, Kurt Cobain, can I? ->

Remember This Yokel?

noreply@blogger.com (Reas Kroicowl) — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 10:00:00 +0000

Oh, yeah.

He did it again.

Twice.

He called trying to find a bed, we chit-chatted and I told him I would give him a call back as there were some things I had to clarify. His response? "Ok, baby".

That's when I knew I was talking to Romeo 2009. No one in a professional setting has ever called me that except this one guy from this one hospital. Don't get me wrong. I don't mind endearments. They can be, well....endearing. But not from a perfect stranger, and one who I know to be a young-ish male. Then endearments are annoying. And insulting. And have a tinge of misogynistic undertones.

I swallowed and hung up, knowing I would have to talk to him again at least once more and perhaps a second time within the next half hour. I told myself I absolutely would not let him get away with it again. No way. If this roue let another "baby" slip, I was calling him to the carpet.

Flash forward 15 minutes. After gathering the information I needed, I took a huge breath and returned Romeo's call.

Me: All right...so it would appear that everything is good, so here's what I need...

Casanova: OK, baby...

Me (not going to lie, I was much more forceful and much less professional than I intended): DON'T call me "baby"! I'm not your "baby".

Casanova: OK.

Me: So, what do his labs look like?

Casanova: I don't know.

Me: Well, I need the lab results before I call my doc and get an acceptance for your guy.

Casanova: Right. I know that.

Me: So soon as you have those back, call me and let me know the results. Then I can give my doc a call and we can get this going.

Casanova: OK, honey. ->

Quotes from the Field

noreply@blogger.com (Reas Kroicowl) — Wed, 28 Oct 2009 11:11:00 +0000

"I'm taking a lonely walk to nowhere." ->

Little Hint: My Wand Never Worked

noreply@blogger.com (Reas Kroicowl) — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 00:21:00 +0000

OK, here we go.

Again.

Docs, listen up, and I'm going to yell it this time cuz you can't seem to get the message on this one:

IF A PERSON IS TALKING CRAZY, NOT MAKING SUICIDAL THREATS AND TOOK A LOT OF DRUGS A FEW HOURS AGO, HE'S NOT PSYCHOTIC OR SUICIDAL. HE'S JUST STONED.

And I can't, repeat, CAN'T force inpatient drug treatment on him. It's sort of against the law here.

Even if he's only 19.

Even if it's affecting his functioning in college--his grades and his housing.

Even if it's caused him some legal trouble.

Even if he's obviously addicted, or at the very least heavily abusing drugs.

Even if he had a really rough time growing up and has absolutely no support from responsible adults.

I know it sucks. I know it's painful to throw a kid like that back into the frying pan. I know it seems like there should be something I can do.

In reality? Not much. I can tell him he has a problem (when he's high. That'll stick, right?) I can tell him he needs to think about some counseling (because being brought up in the DHS system for years, that worked in the past, right?). I can tell him the drug use is gettting in the way (because he's 19 and having fun, he'll totally listen, right?).

There's no way around it. Those drug abusers are a pain and exceedingly stubborn. But if he tells me, in no uncertain terms: "I don't have a problem" then he's not ready to tackle it.

I'm not a magician. I'm merely a social worker.

Huge difference. ->

Never Underestimate a Social Worker Scorned

noreply@blogger.com (Reas Kroicowl) — Fri, 23 Oct 2009 18:49:00 +0000

It's happened before. I'm sure it will happen again. You call me out and then decide your patient isn't ready to go. People take a turn for the worse. You miss something on the labs. New labs indicate something else has gone horribly wrong.

All of this is acceptable and part of the job. I get that, although I whine like a four-year-old when it occurs. Mostly because wasting a colossal amount of my time is almost completely preventable, but that's for another day.

What's not acceptable, DOC, is calling in for a consult, taking one look at the nurse when you enter the nurses' station and saying, before the nurse can even finish a question about the patient: "She has (enter random, 13-letter, Latin-based word to describe an acute medical condition here)...she has to stay over the weekend." And then walking off.

Without a "thanks for your time" to the consultant.

Without a "sorry you had to drive here for nothing" to the consultant.

Without a "I appreciate you coming to see her" to the consultant.

Without a "kiss my arse and by-the-way that new haircut is not at all flattering" to the consultant.

Without even a glance in the consultant's direction.

Don't want to acknowledge her? Fine. But she knows the unit clerks. They can make your life a living nightmare in a deliciously passive-aggressive way.

Just saying. ->

Snippet from the ER

noreply@blogger.com (Reas Kroicowl) — Fri, 23 Oct 2009 00:32:00 +0000

Nurse 1, hanging up the phone, to nurse 2: I've got two spider bites coming in via ambulance.

Me: Say that again.

Nurse: Two separate spider bites. Two different ambulances. ->

Magic Bullet

noreply@blogger.com (Reas Kroicowl) — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 14:22:00 +0000

So I recently interviewed a lovely young lady, age twenty.

One of the reasons she was so depressed was that she had managed to hold on to her virginity for a lot longer than most of her friends.

Her mother had become pregnant at 16, you see, and put the fear of God into her.

And then she met a guy.

A really sweet guy.

So she relented. Once. ONE time. She even remembered the date--it was this past summer.

And what did she get for her troubles?

Gonorrhea. ->

Oh, The Wonderful Human Capacity for Fickleness

noreply@blogger.com (Reas Kroicowl) — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 19:48:00 +0000

You can't have it both ways.

You can't lovingly, respectfully kick your child out of your home when he turned 18, the legal adult age, because he didn't practice your religion.

And yet....

When he tries to commit suicide and I involuntarily commit him, you're going to play the "but-I'm-his-parent-and-I-should-have-a-say-in-his-treatment-because-he's-just-a-kid" card?

And by the way, you knew he was suicidal because he told you last week he was thinking of shooting himself. What did you do then?

Nothing.

So don't you dare lecture me about ethics and morals, OK? ->

Can't Turn it Off

noreply@blogger.com (Reas Kroicowl) — Mon, 19 Oct 2009 14:12:00 +0000

Neon sign.

On my head.

Blinking at all times:

I AM A SOCIAL WORKER. ALL NEEDY PLEASE INQUIRE.

(Being a geek would come in mighty handy at this point. Then I could tweek the html and actually make that statement blink. As it is, the actual geek is unavailable for consultation, so you'll have to use your imagination. It won't kill you.)

Say you: What brought this on?

Say me: The Mart of Darkness.*

Say you: Of course it did.

I try to avoid that store. I really do. My fair-weather-activism dictates only a few annual visits. Life circumstances, however, dictated two visits in the past week.

And both times I was hit up for some charitable deed.

The first time was 5 in the morning. I was walking out and a man sitting by the door greeted me from several feet away. He was so nice that I honestly thought he was an employee.

Then I got a whiff of his breath.

Yeah.

I think a cop's breathalyzer could register a significant reading from across the parking lot.

Turns out he just got out of jail. And was broke. And homeless. And lots of other stuff that I frankly didn't register. The upshot of it was he needed money, could I spare a buck? That was literally all I had on me so he got it. And naturally I felt bad that I didn't have more, but honestly? Not really inclined to go back and search for an ATM because my main goal in The Mart of Darkness is to get OUT as soon as humanly possible. Once I hit the atrium, there's no going back. Not even for liberal, middle class guilt.

The second incident was over the weekend. I had almost $200 worth of groceries in my cart, The Diva in tow, my brother in town, and a party for which to prepare. I'm hauling my (really heavy) load to my car and some woman who I've never seen in my life came at me like a bullet out of nowhere. She was talking really fast and she couldn't breath and she was having a panic attack and she needed help and she didn't feel good and her ride left her and could I take her to the hospital?

Say what?

She repeated her request.

She was older. She was obviously harmless. And mentally ill.

Really?

Out of all the people that were in that parking lot right then, and there were a LOT from which to choose rest assured, she had to pick the mental health social worker?

Epic sigh.

I was in no mood for distractions. I tried to talk her out of it. Especially when I found out she needed her "nerve" medication. But then she said "please". And offered to help load the groceries in the car.

Damn. It.

I took her, of course--straight to the mental health hospital in my town and God knows, I know where it is even though I've never worked there. She's been there before, of course, plus a few other places in my general metro area. She, too, was broke and homeless, although on Social Security. She's from Texas originally but has lived in my state for some time. She has a daughter whom she doesn't see often.

Say you: Well, Miss Nosey Social Worker, you sure grilled her.

Say me: You bet I did. I give you a ride, you give me personal info. That's the way it works. Besides, I need blog fodder.

Come to find out, she didn't know the people who had given her a ride to the store. Why she wanted to go to the store was beyond me but it struck me that this was probably one of the ways she negotiated the metro area: she gets rides from well-meaning strangers when she can. I guess if you're on the streets this is one of the tricks of the trade. I'm willing to bet she never asked men for rides, and women with children are a pretty safe bet, right?

At any rate. No more trips to The Mart of Darkness for a while. I've done my share, thank you. It's your turn. ->

*I absolutely refuse to link to that store. You can figure out which one I'm talking about, right?

Post Secret Today

noreply@blogger.com (Reas Kroicowl) — Sun, 18 Oct 2009 12:04:00 +0000

Blog Action Day--Guest Entry

noreply@blogger.com (Reas Kroicowl) — Thu, 15 Oct 2009 05:00:00 +0000

In honor of Blog Action Day, 2009 (subject: Climate Change), I've recruited a guest blogger.

The Boy.

At age 15, this subject has been near and dear to him for a few years now. I found it fitting that you experience his voice on the subject instead of my own. Especially since, when polled on the matter, I voted for the topic to be either health care or human rights.

I'm quite proud of him.

He just jumps right in. And provides links too, which I suggest you click so that you are better able to follow along. So, without further ado...

Let's get you nice and panicked first.

BUT WAIT!!!

Okay, now let's find a nice impartial source on the subject.

Hello?

They've gotta be around here somewhere.

Herein lies one of the problems: doing your homework is rather difficult when your sources are about as reliable as Encyclopedia Dramatica. I could only find a few short ones, so I'll have to make due with that. I'm not free of partisanship myself, having left school early to hear Al Gore make a speech about Global Warming a few years ago. Still, something makes me more inclined to believe that it's real considering how many others do. Maybe I'm wrong, but something says nay. On to the article:

This is one of the main reasons I'm inclined to believe that global warming is real.

This cooling is definitely a double-edged sword for environmentalists. It gives us puny humans precious time to get greener, but at the same time it reignites the simmering Global Warming debate back into the political flame wars of 2005. Global Warming hoaxers have started speaking loud and proud again, and there's a serious debate on whether we should revive the Kyoto Protocol in 2012.

We've been given this precious gift, this undetermined amount of time, and we can't waste it. Now is our time to prepare. Here is my 6-point plan to take advantage of this stage of cooling.

1. Stay the course
I once read from a source I don't remember that this cooling could last for decades, and if that's true, then great! Think about the changes in technology from 1900 to 1950--pretty impressive eh? Now from 1950 to 2000: it almost seems like we're moving along faster than ever before. Just think from 2000 to now! With all of the new work into green tech, we probably have more than enough time.

2. Be ready for the New Gas
Plenty of research is being done into completely replacing oil. Even the Bush Administration took a stab at it (foreign readers, look up Corn Ethanol). What the Obama Administration needs to do is to wait for a green gas to become cheap and efficient, and then swoop in. They need to make it as readily available as possible while making regular gas unpopular. They'll need to require it to be stocked at gas stations, shut down the national oil fields, and implement a tax for using what shall by then be called "dirty gas". If the budget allows for it, they can even use some money to build "clean gas" producing-factories. All of this applies to the rest of the first world as well; once Japan, Europe, and the U.S. take these measures China, Russia, and Brazil will follow.

3. Do this
For once the outrageously overfunded U.S. Military is doing something productive. This is a double-edged sword with two edges facing away from us. Not only does it provide much greener (well, in the long run, rocket fuel is BAD for the environment), but it also serves to prevent the sun from heating the ozone. Chances are that the ultra bloated Pentagon is going to get its funding cut sometimes*, but this should definitely remain and be heavily funded.

4. Get involved yourself!
blah...blah...blah CARBON FOOTPRINT!...blah...blah... OMG RECYCLE!...blah...blah...blah MAIL YOUR CONGRESS-MAN PERSON!. You've all heard it before, and you probably all agree, since this is obviously a liberal slanted blog, but I want to present something encouraging. In my hometown there is a car dealership which, while they destroyed the sledding hill *coughjerkscough* did do something very cool. They put a windmill out to add some power. Quite frankly, all big buildings should do this. Not only does it rake in some sweet PC points, but it also has a genuine impact. My dad put it best:" If all car dealerships did that, it would have a genuine impact." The corporate hive mind can do a lot, particularly in a capitalist society. And the encouraging thing is that YOU did this indirectly; the pressure for green did it.

5. Ignore the Naysayers
As I said, they could have a point, but I don't think so. A lot of people are sure of this threat, even if it has been overblown sometimes. We need to all start bullying through to get this stuff done. The best part is, none of it even has drawbacks! We can take the solar panels down if they cool us down to much! Who can object to non-oil gas? What could possibly be wrong with people having a concern for the environment?

6. Prepare for the worst
In the end, all of these measures might fail. There might not be enough time, or money, or political capital (excepting point 4) to take such drastic action. But the one action we need to take is to prepare for a too warm Earth. Once the sunspots get up and running we will be dangerously close to the point at which methane deposits under the permafrost are released, at which point the process becomes near irreversible. These desp erate plans might become a reality. The world needs to develop new systems for monitoring climate change as closely as possible, so that we are ready to deploy them with time enough. They could also serve as a safeguard if Global Warming really is fully natural, so it's a win-win situation.

That's my opinion, I have nothing else to say. ->

*I, of course, am less optimistic of this happening.

Shameless Self Promotion

noreply@blogger.com (Reas Kroicowl) — Wed, 14 Oct 2009 22:08:00 +0000

So, I got quoted in an article about social work bloggers, and I just had to share. I'm a STAR! Minor quibble, though. I'm more than the editor of this rubbish; I'm also the sole provider of content (with an exception or two*). Maybe she was protecting me by referring to me as an "editor", which I appreciate. Social workers tend to do that. But I have to take full responsibility for my actions, right?

Any who...

Thanks to The New Social Worker Online for the recognition. My quote is under the "Blogging Tips" section.

Oh, and guess what? If you Google "Trench Warfare", I show up on the first page. Woot! Googling "social work blogs", however, does me no good. I'm buried. Must figure a way to change that. =/ ->

*I have another guest entry, but I didn't tag it as such. Wading through over 440 entries has done little to help isolate that one post. Lesson learned. So sorry, M! If you remember the title, please let me know.

Quotes from the Field

noreply@blogger.com (Reas Kroicowl) — Wed, 14 Oct 2009 18:19:00 +0000

Me: OK, so how old is your daughter?

Her: 42 years old.

Me: And how long has she been living with you?

Her: 42 years. ->

Greener Grass

noreply@blogger.com (Reas Kroicowl) — Tue, 13 Oct 2009 23:42:00 +0000

Ever had anxiety?

And no, I'm not talking about test anxiety. Or first date anxiety. Or job interview anxiety.

I'm talking anxiety.

Can't drive a car anxiety, because you're terrified that out there, on the roads, it's literally kill or get killed.

Can't go into stores anxiety.

Can't answer the phone anxiety.

Can't answer the door anxiety.

Can't leave the house for days anxiety.

Must get ready a certain way anxiety.

House cleaned ad nauseam anxiety.

House ordered ad nauseam anxiety.

Can't eat food anxiety.*

Panic attacks almost daily.

Thoughts turning round and round and round and round and round and round.....

Can't leave the house. Can't see friends or family. Can't eat. Can't sleep without (so sorry...here it comes) "pharmacological intervention". So naturally the depression creeps in. And lingers.

Anxiety so bad and depression so complete that suicide seems to be an option. A viable option, as a matter-of-fact.**

Except....

Except the anxiety prevents an attempt: what if it all goes wrong? What if I don't die? What if I hurt myself enough to do serious damage but nothing more? Who will find me if I do die?
What will my mother think?

Any of this feel familiar to you?

Me either.

But imagine it. Imagine those crippling, treacherous bookends of depression and anxiety. Bounding you so tight you literally can't function.

But wait! There's more!

Not only is there anxiety. And depression. There's a chronic illness. And with that comes pain.

Now, tell me: wouldn't you be smoking pot all day too? ->

*Should all of those modifiers been hyphenated? I think so, but that route seemed a bit awkward. My apologies to Eats, Shoots, and Leaves.

**hypenated?

Don't Judge a Book...

noreply@blogger.com (Reas Kroicowl) — Mon, 12 Oct 2009 14:56:00 +0000

OK, Ms. Alpha Woman. I spoke with you the other day at the hospital. You know who you are.

You are, to enlighten the masses here, modern-day-perfect personified. Perfect height. Perfect weight. Perfect shirt. Perfect jeans. Perfect legs in perfect jeans. Perfect booty. Perfectly coiffed auburn locks. Perfect nails. Designer shoes. Designer bag. Piercing blue eyes.

Confidence exudes from you. You're striking. Handsome. Obviously successful. In control.

You are the kind of woman who sends normal females cowering into corners. You enter a room and men are immediately panting after you. Or cowering into corners. Or both. And you know it. You own it. You work it.

When you breezed in to the ICU that day, Chanel # 5 wafting from you like a zephyr, and made your terse inquiries, you quite literally scared the nurse--she wouldn't talk to you. She came to me and told me I had to talk to you and tell you what was going on. Which made we wish that I carried a flask.

But guess what? All that beauty, confidence, success and perfection--all that armor that can be the envy of so many, doesn't change the fact that your life sorta crumbled, does it? It didn't protect you from your marriage, which is in shambles. Or from your husband's torrid emotions, which manifested in a suicide attempt.

Outward appearances really can be deceiving. ->